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littlewriterfullofwords · 1 year

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Destroy me

Pairing: Banda x fem/reader

Summary: Y/N is obsessed with Banda and is almost stalking him

Warnings: swearing, obsession, blood, selfharm, 2nd season spoilers (if there is more let me know)

A/N: Another feeling too personal. Intelligent psychopaths are my type so please forgive me... Probably will write second part to it, part with all those bloody stuff he did to reader <3

Even though you were living, if you could call 'living' trying to survive by playing those games in a 'magic' world you found yourself in, life quietly, your mind had been a mess since you have seen Banda on the street. Why? Well...you were a big lover of criminal stuff and serial killers so Banda had to be on your list. You knew almost everything about him, knew names of all his victims and God, you wanted to be one of it. It might sound weird but you have been fucking obsessed with this man since you saw him on the TV few years ago after being arrested for the first murder.

Personally, you were masochist. Your body was covered in scars you had made yourself, for joy and self-destructive purposes, and burns. You loved pain every kind of it so when you had seen Banda on the streets of the Borderland, you saw your opportunity.

You have been following him for days until you joined the game, Jack of Hearts. You didn't like heart games, who did here, but you joined so there was no turn back.

You didn't find yourself a partner, you trusted maths and probability more than any of those lying beasts called humans. Yet every round you would ask random person to tell you the sigh on the collar to be sure your calculations were right. And they were, every fucking time.

During every round you were following Banda, his every move, his every breath, while leaning by the wall in the shadow. You were sure he was feeling that, your stare fixated at his body, but that was what you wanted, you wanted him to know you, see you. Yet he had never looked your way.

"Hey." while walking through the corridor someone grabbed your arm but quickly moved their hand away when felt something wet there. "Omg, you are bleeding! Are you okay?"

"Yeah." you said with calmness and looked at the now red sleeve. "That's fine. Nothing important."

While you were saying that your eyes found Banda under the wall with his black haired partner but he was looking at the floor. God damit. You wanted to scream "LOOK AT ME!" but all those people around were stopping you. They were so useless, they were a burden, weight by the leg. You wanted them all dead.

"Are you sure you okay?" someone else asked when they saw the red stain of blood on your sleeve.

"I'm fine." you murmured and walked away to hide in the shadow in the corner.

You rolled your sleeve and looked at bloody lines you had made to impress your...crush, we can proudly say that. The red liquid was dripping from the wounds, leaving little stripes on your skin, but you really didn't care about it, you were so used to that you weren't paying attention to it.

"Here you are." a boy in yellow-and-black T-shirt squatted next to you and handed you few tissues. "We don't want you to bleed out."

His smile looked genuine you almost believed him. Maybe you should have.

"Thanks." you wiped the blood from around the wounds then covered them with other white papers. "If I died you would have bigger chances to survive. You know that."

"Yeah but it would feel not fair." answered the boy and got up. "Take care of those."

And left happily with a smile on his round face. You also smiled, it was the first time someone cared about you since you were in Borderland. And it felt weirdly good.

The game has been going on pretty quickly since the first lie. Then everyone went like domino, lies, lies and one more lies. No one was a friend now. It was harder for you to hide in the shadows or follow Banda around without him noticing. Yet you didn't give up, every opportunity was good so you had taken every and each one.

And the day when it was only you, Banda, office guy aka Yaba and his girlfriend, Chishiya and Enji came really quickly. Now maths was harder, a lot harder but it was your only hope now and ever. As long as it was working you weren't ready to give it up.

"Your hand." the silver haired man, Chishiya, came up to you the same day with a pack of biscuits in his hand and pointed at the red sleeve. "Why?"

"Not your problem." you answered harshly, he wasn't someone who deserved to know the reason.

"Banda, right?" another question from the man made you look at him with consternation written all over your face. "You got an interest in him."

"Not your business." you growled and walked away, away from Chishiya and from the answer you didn't want to share.

The same day, all of the survivals walked into cells and gave their last, as found out later, answers. But before leaving the small, ugly looking, rooms, you all waited. All except from the Jack of Hearts. Enji.

"God, the should have chosen someone else." you whispered when you heard his voice. "Someone clever at least."

You wanted to leave the cell but other voices stopped you. You recognized Chishiya, Yaba and Banda, all of them making fun of the stupid Jack of Hearts and his plan of playing with Banda or other people in the prison. You wanted to laugh as well, make jokes alongside with all the men outside, but you decided to still hide in the cell and listen. But the one word caught your attention, 'torture', and it brought a big smile on your face. You knew Banda would play the leading role in torturing and you wanted to see that.

"You can stop hiding." Chishiya walked up to your cell and called you from the outside. "They are gone."

Not willingly, and for sure not happily, you opened the door and left the small room to face silver haired man.

"I wasn't hiding." you said and closed the door. "I was relaxing."

"Just as you were relaxing after our last conversation." answered silver haired and walked away unbothered.

"Stop being so nosy." you whispered before you walked the other way heading towards the exit of the prison.

But when you were passing one of the cells you realized the door was open. Your curiosity won so you peeked inside and almost gasped, but quickly covered your mouth. There was Banda and Yaba, both kneeling next to Enji with sharp objects in their hand already covered in blood. You knew you shouldn't be looking, but the adrenaline in your veins and big amount of curiosity made you stay and look. Until Banda moved his head and looked you in the eyes.

"Wanna join?" asked calmly the serial killer and a smile appeared on his lips.

"Nah, thanks." you answered but deep inside you wanted to work arm by arm with your inspiration and crush. "I'd rather look. Don't want to get my hands dirty. But I have to go. Have fun you two."

And you left, despite the will to stay and watch.

But you didn't walk away. You stopped behind the enter door and waited. For what? For Banda and Yaba...well, mostly Banda. You wanted to ask a favour.

"You said you had to go." his voice shooshed away your thoughts and made you look at him and his companion. "Plan changed?"

"Yeah...I mean n-not really." you stuttered and felt the blush on your cheeks. "May I ask you a favour?"

Men looked at one another and you were sure they were talking with their eyes only, like two friends who had known each other for years. Yaba nodded, bowed your way and walked away slowly, fixing his suit.

"What's the favour?" asked Banda, his voice and the small space between you two caused you chills on the back.

"Can you please...hurt me?" you didn't care how crazy that sounded, you needed that, you needed him to hurt you. "Please?"

You quickly rolled up your sleeves and moved your arms closer to the killer to see. You saw him clearly looking at your scars and cuts and you saw him smile, it gave you hope.

"You were looking at me all the time in here." he pointed at the prison behind his back.

"Oh you realized." you scratched the back of your head playing someone who didn't know that. "Well...sorry for that."

"You are not sorry." Banda made one more step and grabbed your arm with fresh cuts then put a pressure on the wounds. "I can see that in your eyes. You wanted me to see you."

A gasp left your lips because of the wave of pain coming from the cuts, his deep voice and just him being so close. You felt the wounds reopen, you felt the blood streaming down your wrist, you wanted more.

"Tsk, you got me." you giggled and looked him in the eyes. "So would you do me this favour I had asked?"

"With pleasure." his smile changes, it became dangerous, but still fucking attractive.

This night you both didn't leave the prison again. You stayed there and let Banda do whatever he wanted. And you were grateful.

#ff writer #ff #alice in boderland x reader #alice in borderland #alice in borderland ff #alice in borderland s2 #banda x reader #banda alice in borderland #god I love serial killers #aib #aib x reader #Spotify

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artficlly · 1 year

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the horselords of naraik [chapter two]

A quiet civil war has raged across the kingdom of Garwic for nearly three decades. The cruelty of the Duke of Garwic knows no end, bringing death and misery with each raid upon the lower-class. The horselords of naraik have fought to protect those suffering under the Duke's violence. The reader being the daughter of the duke is captured and held for ransom, only things are not as they seem. The reader can only hope that the horselords recognise her as a victim rather than a villain before it is too late. Fantasy AU

Pairing: horselord!bucky x duchess!witch!reader

Warnings: huge selfharm warning, self mutilation, suicidal thoughts, starvation (in a SH context), violence, blood, wounds, death, swearing, yelling, angst, tension, mention of sickness, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: going to start working on the last 1/2 chapters of this fic now that i've cleaned up the ending of the third chapter. this chapter is particularly triggering in regard to sh/depression topics so please read at your own risk. not proof read - sorry for any typos

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon as you began your work. The day previous you had concocted a herbal remedy for Aunt May’s cough – Peter collecting fresh herbs from the outskirts of camp and the group of healers who traveled with the horde. It would take many weeks to heal the cough fully, the herbs would only ease the symptoms enough to allow her body time to strengthen.

You had pressed the fresh leaves and flowers with a rock, hurriedly pouring the juices into a bowl to be given to May to drink. As much as you poured good intention into the herbs, you knew they would only scratch the surface of her sickness. No matter how many concoctions you made, the herbs would not help until the fever broke.

Peter had done as you asked, retrieving a length of rope from camp and a heavy rock from the river bed. May had slept with the rope laid across her chest and abdomen, the twine and fibers capturing the fever that ravaged her body. Peter had been nervous when he had delivered the rope, cautious of touching the fibers in case he caught the fever trapped inside.

He was familiar with witchcraft, the both of you had watched your mother and her friends at work many times all those years ago. The horselords equally would have witnessed magic before, but not so openly. Steve – who had come to guard you once more – eyed the process suspiciously. A portion of the camp had heard of Peter’s desperate efforts, although none had moved to stop you from your tasks. Despite their hatred for your status as duchess, the horselords still thought you were a witch. They would not deny you had power since part of your blood came from Idamir, rather they worried that your intentions were to cause harm over good. If Bucky had caught wind of your performance he hadn’t said a word, the two of you riding in silence the day before.

Now sat at the base of a tree, once again tied up your back flush against the rough bark, you performed the magic which had grown to be desired and despised. A small crowd had gathered as you worked, watching as you weaved the length of rope into three large knots larger than the size of your palm. The knots were complicated, multiple layers of strands overlapping each other into an intricate design.

Once the knots were sufficiently layered and tightened, you wove the remaining rope around the river rock. The knots would need an anchor, so you ensured the knots were tight and would remain steady in place.

“You must throw it into the Khurak River. The spot must be fast flowing, not stagnant.” You instruct as you grit your teeth, fingers straining as you tighten the final knot in place. “The knots trap the fever within, the water will soothe and cleanse the fever until it is no more.”

“Why not burn it?” Peter asks, a nervous look in his eyes as you hand him the rope. The small crowd hums in agreement, leaning and looking over each other's shoulders to catch a glimpse at the knotted rope.

“The knots trap the fever within, if you burn it the knots will release. The fever will be set free, it will take hold of May again or maybe another.” You explain, giving the anxious looking Peter a curt nod. “The fever will break overnight.”

Steve disperses the crowd with a grunt, reminding them that they had a camp to tear down yet. Luckily, the horde had been following the Khurak River south, so Peter would have plenty of opportunities throughout the day to dispose of the knots. You lean back against the tree trunk once more, bark digging into your back as you sigh. Behind you the river lazily flows, the sounds of birds ringing out through the trees.

“Will the fever truly be broken by tomorrow?” Steve asks. You crack open a single eye, squinting at him. He stands by the remainders of his usual fire, wood smoldering as it reaches its end.

“Do you have no faith in my abilities?” You joke, tilting your head at the man. He grunts in annoyance once again, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you with little amusement.

“I do. I just have never seen such methods. Our healers usually just give the sick yarrow and willow bark and pray for the best.”

“I am surprised you never adopted Idamiran witches into the horde, like you did Peter.” You reply, opening your eyes fully. You have to lean your head back to look at him, he towers over you normally but even more so when you are sitting.

“Most of them are dead.” He responds bluntly, any sense of amusement falls from your face. He wasn’t wrong, so many had died over the decades of raids. The nobles despised not only the lower class, but magic users. Even if the southerners were the ones to farm the food and craft the goods, the nobles made the taxes higher until protests rang out across the land. The king of Garwic watched it all happen and never lifted a finger to stop the slaughter, instead it seemed he encouraged it. The king had always been whispered to be mad, fuelled by a bloodlust and cruelty that rivaled even the duke. Down south his name was whispered in fear, even his brothers who were kings in neighboring kingdoms did not dare challenge his reign.

“I suppose we have my father to blame for that.” You manage to utter. You don’t dare close your eyes, you know the faces of the dead will paint the blackness and consume you whole.

Steve’s expression is unreliable, a tense silence consuming the both of you before he speaks. “Why didn’t he kill you?”

Your mouth remains closed, limbs suddenly feeling numb. You rip your gaze away from his, instead staring out into the camp watching as tents are torn down for travel. Your jaw clenches as you can hear the cracking, screaming, the hot pain arcing up your spine. So many faces, all forever imprinted into your mind. Would they have held on? Would they have given up? Why had you held on for so long, why had you held on for hope of a savior? You had been doomed since your birth, your mother decided to tempt fate regardless. Your fingers itch for the athame, a haunted look glazing your eyes.

“I don’t know.” You say, voice shaky. You wonder if Steve knows it is a lie.

xxx

A few days later Bucky had permitted you a bath. You were unsure if it was out of pity or because he was sick of riding with you constantly covered in mud and bark. May’s fever had broken as you predicted, Peter bringing you the good news immediately. You continued making the medicine from herbs each morning for May, she was still weak but had a fighting chance with your help. Even Nat had reluctantly accepted the new routine, wordlessly watching with a scowl as you ground the juices from the leaves and flowers.

Nat and a few of the women were to escort you to a slow flowing section of the Khurak River – it was common for women in the south to bathe together. You had spent time assessing each woman as you had walked, wondering if there was a chance to overpower the small group and run. Run to where? You did not know. You knew it was a foolish plan. Your eyes rested on one of the women you had heard much about due to her unfortunate circumstances. She had traveled north with her husband and the rest of the raiding party, only for him to be killed during an encounter with the Grawic Guard along the way. Not only was she left a widow, but she was left heavily pregnant. You imagined it was frightening for her, the prospect of bringing a child into the world alone. At least she had the other women of the horde to help and guide her.

You examined Wanda now, belly swollen and fatigue in her eyes. The healers predicted she would be due any day now. From the glimpses you had caught, you knew the healers were nervous. The midwife that had meant to travel with Wanda had died during the same raid her husband had – using her last breaths to protect Wanda from Grawic steel.

“What will you call him?” You ask the auburn, watching as she unlaces the front of her dress. Her slender fingers pause their movements, eyes darting to meet yours.

“How do you know it will be a boy?” Wanda asks, behind you Nat makes an irritated noise.

“I just do.” You reply with a soft smile, Nat marches over so she is in your vision. She gives you a warning look, placing herself near Wanda in a protective manner. You had noticed the redhead had a soft spot for Wanda.

“I wouldn’t trust anything this witch says.” Nat hisses, crossing her arms over her chest.

“It is fine, Nat. She meant no harm.” Wanda defends you, waving her hands dismissively at the redhead. “What else do you see?”

“Wanda.” Nat warns, placing herself between the two of you. You bite your tongue, fingers finding the lacing on the front of your dress.

“She helped May, I am sure talking won’t hurt.” The auburn huffed, stepping around Nat as she looked at you. “Go on, tell me. What else do you see?”

You are slow to reply, sighing through your nose as you unlace your dress. The other women have already entered the water – oblivious to the conversation unfolding. Nat is rigid in place, jaw muscles tense as she stares at you. You know it isn’t because she’s afraid of you throwing enchantments, rather not wanting to scare Wanda with the news of a painful birth.

“He will be born during a storm, a doncayo, it means where lightning has struck.” You speak slowly, lifting your eyes to stare hard at her swollen belly. You tilt your head as you listen to everything and nothing at all, hair raising across your arms. “In Idamir it is a good omen to have a doncayo babe. It means the boy will be a great blacksmith, strong enough to bend steel with his bare hands. Since he is a Naraik babe, he will be a strong warrior.”

“You know birth well then?” Wanda asks, a warm smile having spread across her face. You note how her palm rests on her belly, stroking the swell absentmindedly. Beside her, Nat has visibly relaxed but still casts you an irritated look.

“Not really. My mother did, she helped when the midwives could do no more.” You explain, watching as Nat scoffs.

“Your mother… the whore.” She comments under her breath, earning a scowl from Wanda. You bite your tongue with a shake of your head. You turn your back on the two women, pulling the last of the lacing free so your dress hangs loosely from your shoulders. You watch the women in the water, a tense silence growing between the three of you.

“How do you know when a witch is born? They say they don’t know if an Idamiran babe is a witch until they are born.” Wanda asks and you pause. You cast a look over your shoulder, eyebrows knitted as you take in Wanda’s curious expression.

“The wind goes still.” You start, turning your body to face her. “All the birds go silent, like when they know a predator is near. Even the river stops running, the tide of the sea frozen. The land grows quiet as if in mourning.”

“Why?” Wanda asks, voice barely above a whisper. You swallow hard, pushing your hair over your shoulders. It tangles messily, covering your back fully as you allow your dress to pool at your waist, chest exposed.

“I do not know, it is just the way of things.” You reply. Nat’s eyes have widened as if she is horrified. Wanda’s mouth parted in shock. They are staring directly at your chest, at the spot between your breasts. There lies the sigil you had carved into your flesh, raised white scars curved across your smooth skin. The scar starts as a point on your sternum, parting as it separates into three different points like a diamond - two points under each breast while the final continues down to your stomach. The tips curl into different patterns of swirling lines, but at the center of the diamond lies an eye shape which stares unblinking. You don’t flinch under their gaze, don’t even bother to react as you allow your ruined dress to pool at your feet.

“That sigil, where did you find it?” Nat asks, stepping closer. You step backwards in return, a confused expression gracing your features. A sense of urgency has taken over Nat’s demeanor, walking closer as if she is afraid you will disappear into the aether at any moment.

“Find?” You question with a quizzical look, backing away further until you are knee-deep in the river water. Wanda looks between the two of you with a look of disbelief. “I designed it.”

The two women are rigid, Nat frozen in place only moving to look back at Wanda. Wanda’s previous inviting behavior melting into something more uneasy, a disturbed sensation crawls across your skin. One of the nearby women noticed the strained interaction, watching with a questioning stare.

“Get dressed and go get Bucky.” Nat snaps at her. The woman doesn’t question the command, instead rushing to get dressed while the rest of the women follow suit. Despite the sense of dread sinking into your bones, you submerge yourself into the water before Nat can bark a command at you too.

xxx

The bath had been what you expected, quick and heavily monitored. Wanda and Nat muttered between each other, worry clear in their faces. You tried to keep yourself impartial, now allowing the anxious confusion to gnaw at your stomach. The two women had provided you with some replacement clothing, your old dress ruined from days of travel. You were secretly happy for it, much preferring the loose linen and cotton clothing of the Naraik. It was similar to what you wore in Idamir - a simple green linen skirt that reached mid-shin, a section of lacing at the top used to adjust the fabric to frame your hips. It had been paired with a white shirt with a string lacing front and long sleeves.

By the time Bucky arrived you were half dressed, having only just slipped the shirt on to cover your back and arms. You had pulled your hair over your shoulders, covering your breasts with the long damp strands as Bucky marched over to Nat and Wanda. He barely cast a look in your direction at first, instead muttering away with the two women.

Steve stood nearby, eyes fixed on you with a hard swallow and you began lacing the shirt from the bottom up. You look up to meet his eye, dragging the strand of cord through the eyelet with a forceful jerk of your arm. He clears his throat, eyes diverting as you smile wickedly at him.

Bucky has his sword in hand once more, you swear it is like an extension of his own arm. He prowls towards you, pointing the sharpened tip at the sigil. You cease your movements, watching as he cocks his head to one side.

“So you are a witch then?” He asks, voice rough and low as always. You hadn’t shared words in days, hearing the gravelly tone sent a near shiver down your spine.

“You never asked.” You reply bluntly, watching as speechless thoughts tick away in his mind. His eyes are firmly planted on the sigil, a look of conflict crossing his rugged features.

“First the spells for May, and now this. I suppose this means the rumors about your mother are true.” Bucky drawls, you narrow your eyes at him. Steve seems to shift awkwardly in place, glancing at Nat who gives him a long look. You know better than to snap back at Bucky, instead opting to pull the fabric of the shirt closer together. The linen covers the swell of your breasts better than the damp strands of hair. You begin pulling the cord through the eyelets once more, briskly lacing the two pieces of fabric together.

“What? You are not going to deny that your mother is a whore, Duchess?” Bucky jeers, poking the tip of his sword over the pupil of the sigil, forcing you to pause your lacing. You look up at him, eyes flashing in warning. You nearly consider baring your teeth like a wild dog, raising your hackles and tearing his throat out in a fit of rage.

“The dead can defend themselves, they will strike you down if you taunt them so.” You spit back at him, swatting the blade away with the back of your hand to continue lacing. Bucky chuckles darkly, pressing the blade in further so it rests against your skin. You catch the sharpened edge in one hand, fist closing around the steel.

“That sigil, what does it mean? Where does it come from?” He asks, continuing to provoke you. He pushes the blade further into your hand. You do not give in, even as blood begins to seep from the growing wound. Pain shoots down your forearm, skin slippery against the steel.

“It is from nowhere. Sigils are uniquely crafted to suit the spells need. This one was for protection.” You grind out, eyes narrowed.

“Protection…” Bucky drawls with a scoff. “And how is that going for you?”

The blade digs harder, blood dripping onto the muddy riverbank. You do not yield, you have endured more pain than a simple cut. The pain you had endured was ancient, centuries of women before you that had been tormented by men and life alike. In that moment you felt them all, the pain you all shared, the pain that radiated from every scar that lined your body. Your eyes remained fixed on Bucky, locked in a silent conversation. In your mind's eye you could see shadows of a memory, voices overlapping each other as the events grew more muffled and distant. You dig deeper, staring harder into his eyes as the blood runs slick down your arm. The voices become screaming, each trying to drown each other out. The world feels silent, only the roaring of battle and the scent of smoke consuming both of your senses. His memories are jumbled and frantic, swallowing you whole.

The sound of a whip cracking jolts Bucky from the trance, a haunted look overcoming him. His eyebrows knit together, his arm locked in place as he tries to pull the sword from your grip. You hold on steady, watching as he begins to squirm. Memories, thoughts, long forgotten whispers… they swirl around and consume you. You could release the blade, release him from the spell but you can't help yourself. You cannot stop yourself from wanting to punish him, you want to make him understand. As you read deeper into the corners of his mind, he can equally see yours, a mirror of pain and torment. Much like you, he wouldn’t be able to see anything specific, he would only be able to feel your pain, your emotions or hear the way that you screamed. You could not present him with a full reenactment of your memories, nor could he play his to you, but you could share every way that you had both suffered through sensation. Somewhere in the distance you can hear the muffled shouting of Nat, blurred shapes in the corners of your vision.

Everything snaps back into place as Wanda suddenly slaps your hands away from the blade. You release the steel with a hiss, hand throbbing as blood pools in your palm. Wanda stares between you and Bucky in shock, the blade now laying in the mud at your feet. You expect Bucky to strike you, to bare his teeth and attack with words. Instead he stands like a stone, watching you with a conflicted expression.

“What the fuck was that?” Nat barks, Steve holding her back by one arm as you examine the cut across your palm. It was deep, you would need to stitch it together and apply a poultice to prevent infection.

“An enchantment to corrupt my mind, like her mother did the duke.” Bucky speaks up finally, although his words sound hesitant and conflicted. Even if the spell was broken you could still feel the wisps of his emotions ghosting your mind, confusion and sympathy swirling around a void of rage. You clench your fist, teeth grinding together as the wound comes to life with shooting pain.

“No.” You gasp out. “I was showing you the past. My situation isn’t as simple as you wish it to be, don’t you understand?.” You explain, but Bucky only shakes his head with a sneer. Whatever sympathy or pity he was feeling didn’t show on his body or face, any softness replaced with his usual underlying anger.

“You have the blood of a madman and the magic of a wicked whore.” He hissed at you, any sense of confliction gone as his eyebrows pulled together in rage, lip curled into a snarl.

Anyone else may have backed down at the sight, an enraged Naraki Horselord was one to be feared. Such anger would be whispered of during bedtime stories, warnings to never cross the warriors of the southern plains. A sense of frustration grew in your gut, an exhaustion of having to defend your position. You had shown him the past, shown him how your suffering was one in the same. You had both seen death, battle and loss, yet he was in denial. He was so stuck in his own prejudice and grief that he could not see past it, could not overlook your blood and realize you had the same enemy.

“You don’t know what you are speaking about–” You begin, but are nearly immediately cut off.

“Why are you alive?” Bucky asks, prowling forward so he stands above the sword at your feet. You lift your chin in defiance and meet his gaze “Why was the duke so eager to keep you as his daughter? You are illegitimate, you have no value to him. All you prove is that you are exactly like your mother.”

“You know nothing of my mother!” You snap, warning a cold laugh from the horselord.

“Blindfold her.” He commands sharply to a tense looking Nat.

“Buck–” Steve starts, only to be dismissed with a wave of Bucky’s callused hand. Nat is by your side, wrapping a strand of cloth around your injured hand. You don’t have the energy to protest, nor argue with Bucky any longer.

Bucky glances at you with a look of distaste. “Gag her too if it pleases you. I think I preferred it when she didn’t speak at all.”

xxx

You hadn’t had the heart to inform Nat or Steve that a blindfold would not prevent you from using your magic. Your talents were in your blood, a part of your body and soul. It was always with you, even in the darkness. You felt foolish and defeated for ever thinking that these people may help you, let alone accept you. You had hoped that you could’ve used your healing knowledge for good, helped them and in turn they would have helped you. But Bucky was stubborn and cautious, you supposed it was for good reason. He wouldn’t see any reason to trust you, any tender feelings or doubts he would easily chalk up to your magic interfering with his mind.

It felt like you were in the manor once more, isolated in a house full of people. You stopped talking entirely, no longer finding a need. Either your father would eventually pay the ransom and you would be returned to your previous purgatory, or the horselords would kill you. Both seemed a similar fate, but the latter would be the kindest.

Your visits from Peter stopped, due to your argument with Bucky you were no longer allowed to make the remedy for May. Instead the healers made it each morning and you would sit in silence as the world slowly woke up. You could tell the horselords were unnerved by your silence, muttering in hushed whispers when they walked past. Even on horseback, your back flush against Bucky’s chest, you could feel their burning gazes on you.

“You have to eat.” Steve’s voice broke through the evening air, the feeling of a plate being nudged in your hands for the fifth time in the past hour.

With the depression and defeat came a hunger strike. It wasn’t a rebellion, rather an admittance that you didn’t care any longer. A same bout of depression had hit you in the manor months ago, only coming to an end when your father had you force fed after days of fasting. You had quickly realized there were easier ways to die than starvation, at this point it was more to punish yourself. Or maybe to feel something other than the numbness that settled over your soul.

The first day you had stopped eating, Steve had assumed you were doing it to be difficult. It was only on the third day that him and Nat had become concerned. By the fourth, Wanda had come and begged you to eat. You didn’t. You didn’t eat, you didn’t speak, sometimes you wished you didn’t breathe.

You hoped one night you would close your eyes and never open them again. You would not, no, you could not return to that manor house. You could not live out the fantasy your father planned for you. You could not play duchess, feasting and living in luxury while the king ordered raid after raid upon the south.

You would wake each morning, listen to the river flowing, the birds as they darted through the trees and the bustle of the camp. It was serene, a piece of calm that you breathed in and savored. Then you would be hoisted onto Bucky’s horse and spend hours on horseback. By the end you would swear you wanted to sob, to curl up into a ball and let the earth swallow you whole. Bucky barely spoke to you, only to make snide comments and jeers at your expense. The quieter and weaker you grew, the more concerned Steve and Nat seemed to become. You weren’t sure when Nat had decided she liked you. Maybe it was because you stopped eating, but you also placed her kindness from the moment she spotted the sigil on your chest.

That afternoon when Bucky had pulled you from the saddle your knees had given in, collapsing next to his stallion. He hadn’t laughed, rather huffed in surprise as he realized how frail you had become. A part of you wondered if he cared, if he were worried at all. But you would not be able to tell the difference between a worry for a ransom or a worry for your person.

“Maybe the blindfold is sucking all of your powers away, Duchess?” He had said, poking you with the toe of his boot. You hadn’t replied, silent as ever. Nat had rushed off her mare to your side, pushing your hair from your face as she cradled your cheeks with worry.

“She hasn’t eaten in a week, Bucky.” Nat had snapped at the man, helping you to your feet.

“Good. Maybe she should starve.” Bucky had cut back, walking off with a huff.

Pulled from your thoughts, you hear Steve grunt in annoyance. Leaves crunch beneath him as he shifts in place, seated next to you under the large willow tree. The plate of food in your lap was cold by now, adding to the lack of appeal.

“Eat,” Steve commands, nudging you with his foot. You bite your tongue, leaning your head against the bark of the tree. The breeze was slow and cool, strands of hair tickling your neck. You listen to the birds, the bubbling of the river. Beside you, Steve drawls your name once more, near begging as he taps his finger against the wooden plate. “You will die if you do not eat.”

You can’t help it – a dry laugh leaves your lips. Your throat feels raw from lack of use, your laugh sounding croaky. You wet your lips with a smile, pointing your head in his general direction. For the first time in days you break your silence.

“You think I don’t want to die?” You say, voice rough and gravelly though laced with amusement. You can almost imagine the deep frown that would cross his face.

“You are upset. You have made your point, but I don’t think you actually want to die.” Steve responds gruffly. You can hear the sound of him running a hand through his beard, coarse hairs scratching against his skin.

“I would rather die than go back to my father.” You mutter. “If he doesn’t pay the ransom, Bucky will kill me anyway. I have thought it all through – every outcome ends with my death. It would be a mercy to get it over with.” You wave your hands wealy for effect, arms straining against the rope that ties you to the tree.

“I think you have known every outcome long before this hunger strike. Why now? What changed?” Steve asks, you chew on the inside of your cheek with a sigh.

“I thought I could change fate. I am just repeating the mistakes of my mother.” You admit reluctantly, tilting your head back to meet the bark once more. “I thought the horde could save me, that I could earn their respect by being a healer. Bucky hates me and I do not know why, but I know that he seeks my death so I am better to just…accept it.”

Steve contemplates this for a moment before speaking. “He has his reasons to be… cautious.” He says, words slow and carefully chosen.

“So you think his hatred is justified?” You retort.

“I think he is conflicted.” Steve sighs. “He has a great respect for you, I can see it. He has always had a respect for the people of Idamir.”

“Respect?” You laugh bitterly, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Why do you think he lets you ride with him? Most prisoners we take are tied up to walk behind the horses, then when they can walk no more we drag them.”

You scoff in response, “I do not understand you horselords. You claim to respect me one day and then threaten me the next.”

“You need to understand that Bucky and the duke have history, his hatred is not for you but rather your bloodline.”

You let out another dry laugh, cutting back sharply, “I cannot help my blood.”

“I know. I will explain,” Steve starts with a sigh. “There was a raid, a bad one, years ago. The duke took some of the women hostage, made a show of whipping them as torture until they could barely walk back to his estate. Before we could rescue them, he executed them publicly. Bucky’s mother and sister were among them.”

You were tight-lipped as Steve recounted the story, dirty fingernails dragging over the linen of your skirt. You knew of your fathers affection for whippings, he was a cruel man who enjoyed torturing his victims until nearly all life had left them. The prisoners of the duke did not fear death – rather the torture that came before. You had grown to know each of his whips intimately, from the simple leather ones to the ones with metal barbs attached to the tip.

“Bucky’s left arm - I am sure you have seen the scars - was nearly chopped off by Grawic soldiers while fighting to try to save them. He was unsuccessful, barely escaping with his life. The witch healers of Idamir helped him, nursed him back to health. He has a great respect for them, which is why their slaughter was so hard upon us.”

You feel a cold dread rise in your stomach at the mention of the slaughter – visions of your mothers body pierced by a spear. You clench your fists around your skirt – snapping back before you can think. “Yet he despises me?”

You can feel Steve’s disapproving frown at your harsh tone. “That is where the conflict lies. He wants to like you, because he knows you are more Idamiran than duchess. But he made a promise to himself to kill the duke and all of his bloodline, so they could never hurt or kill ever again.”

A cold chill seeps down your spine, previous anger quelled by an ice in your veins. It wasn’t simple, just a hatred for your father, it was so much deeper and visceral than a simple promise made in haste. Bucky didn’t want to just kill the duke, he wanted to destroy him and everything that he had ever built.

“He wants to wipe the duke’s blood from history.” You whisper. Your hopes for being saved by the hoard seemed even more futile, like any efforts you may have made in past weeks were pointless. No matter what you did or what you tried, Bucky would not turn. He wanted to wipe you from history.

taglist | @boofy1998

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #marvel au #the horselords of naraik

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peach-coke · 3 years

Photo

General Warnings: Blood, Canon Typical Violence, Cutting/Selfharm, Flashing Lights, Hallucinations, MCD, Medical Institutions, Mild Body-Horror/Gore, Needles, Restraints, Torture

Masterlist below the cut

No. 1 – LET’S HANG OUT SOME TIME || Waking Up Restrained ⤷ Supernatural || 1.06 - Skin

No. 2 – IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY || Kidnapped ⤷ Supernatural || 13.19 - Funeralia

No. 3 – MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY || Held At Gunpoint ⤷ Supernatural || 5.16 - Dark Side of the Moon

No. 4 – RUNNING OUT OF TIME || Caged ⤷ Supernatural || 1.15 - The Benders

No. 5 – WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING? || On the run ⤷ Supernatural || 12.09 - First Blood

No. 6 – PLEASE || No More ⤷ Supernatural || 9.16 - Blade Runners

No. 7 – I’VE GOT YOU || Support ⤷ Supernatural || 1.05 - Bloody Mary

No. 8 – WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? || Don’t say Goodbye ⤷ Supernatural || 9.10 - Road Trip

No. 9 – FOR THE GREATER GOOD || Take Me Instead ⤷ Supernatural || 11.17 - Red Meat

No. 10 – THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED || Blood Loss ⤷ Supernatural || 10.19 - The Werther Project

No. 11 – PSYCH 101 || Crying ⤷ Supernatural || 14.13 - Lebanon

No. 12 – I THINK I’VE BROKEN SOMETHING || Broken Trust ⤷ Supernatural || 5.01 - Sympathy for the Devil

No. 13 – BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT || Delayed Drowning ⤷ Supernatural || 2.11 - Playthings

No. 14 – IS SOMETHING BURNING? || Fire ⤷ Supernatural || 1.01 - Pilot

No. 15 – INTO THE UNKNOWN || Possession ⤷ Supernatural || 5.04 - The End

No. 16 – A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY || Hallucinations ⤷ Supernatural || 7.01 - Meet the New Boss

No. 17 – I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING || Blackmail ⤷ Supernatural || 6.04 - Weekend at Bobby’s

No. 18 – PANIC! AT THE DISCO || Phobias ⤷ Supernatural || 7.14 Plucky Pennywhistle’s Magical Menagerie

No. 19 – BROKEN HEARTS || Mourning a Loved One ⤷ Supernatural || 2.22 - All Hell Breaks Loose: Part Two

No. 20 – TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE || Field Medicine ⤷ Supernatural || 4.09 - I Know What You Did Last Summer

No. 21 – I DON’T FEEL SO WELL || Infection ⤷ Supernatural || 11.02 - Form and Void

No. 22 – DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? || Drugged ⤷ Supernatural || 5.11 - Sam, Interrupted

No. 23 – WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? || Sleep Deprivation ⤷ Supernatural || 7.17 - The Born-Again Identity

No. 24 – YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE || Forced Mutism ⤷ Supernatural || 2.10 - Hunted

No. 25 – I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS || Blurred Vision ⤷ Supernatural || 5.21 - Two Minutes to Midnight

No. 26 – IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD… || Migraine ⤷ Supernatural || 2.05 - Simon Said

No. 27 – OK, WHO HAD NATURAL DISASTERS ON THEIR 2020 BINGO CARD? || Extreme Weather ⤷ Supernatural || 8.23 - Sacrifice

No. 28 – SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS. || Accidents ⤷ Supernatural || 1.22 - Devil’s Trap + 2.01 - In My Time of Dying

No. 29 – I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR || Emergency Room ⤷ Supernatural || 7.02 - Hello, Cruel World + 7.03 - The Girl Next Door

No. 30 – NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? || Internal Organ Injury ⤷ Supernatural || 5.18 - Point of No Return

No. 31 – TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE || Left for Dead ⤷ Supernatural || 13.21 - Beat the Devil

#Whumptober2020 #Masterpost #Completionist #Long Post #Supernatural #SPN Gifs #My Gifs

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multyfandoms-imagines · 4 years

Text

Lobotomy Corporation masterlist

Under cut for length, TW mentions AND SPOILERS, please let me know if something is not right

Sephirahs

Yesod comforting sad S/O headcanons

Protective Binah headcanons

Binah romantic headcanons

Hokma with an employee, who sees him as father headcanons

Malkuth hurt/comfort imagine

Angela + Sephirahs (excludinng Tiphereths) romantic headcanons

Yesod and (S/O) who kissed him alot

(S/O) helps Yesod to fall asleep

Meltdown Chesed, Tiphereth, Hokma and Binah with injured Reader headcanons

Upper Sephirahs with depressed (S/O) fluffy headcanons

Netzach + energetic (S/O) who likes to nap with him fluffy headcanons

Meltown Gebura (Red Mist) + Meltdown Binah (Arbiter) headcanons

Chesed + Netzach + Yesod poly headcanons

Upper Sephirahs + Chesed comforting (S/O) after a nightmare headcanons

Chesed + male!Reader headcanons

Manager headcanons (sort of)

Angela + (S/O) fluffy headcanons

Malkuth + Hod headcanons

Chesed + Netzach + Reader poly relationship headcanons

Hokma romantic headcanons

Upper Sephirahs, Gebura being forgiven by their (S/O) they injured during their meltdown fluff headcanons

Upper Sephirahs, Chesed and Gebura with affectionate (S/O), who gets embarrassed when given affection headcanons

Tiphereth A/B headcanons

Netzach + (S/O) who likes to nap on him headcanons

Binah + easily flattered!(S/O) headcanons

Ghost!Carmen + Binah headcanons

(Agnst) Gebura/Red Mist who hurts her (S/O) during meltdown headcanons

TW: injures - Upper Sephirahs + (S/O) who was hurt during their meltdown headcanons

TW: blood, injures - Sephirahs (excluding Tiphereth) + (S/O) who got hurt, but still jokes

Gebura + Hod headcanons

Yesod + (S/O), who gives alot of affection headcanons

Gebura + Binah + Reader poly relationship headcanons

Angela headcanons

Chesed + weak, trans boyfriend Reader headcanons

TW: yandere - Yandere!Angela headcanons

TW: yandere - Yandere!Chesed headcanons

TW: yandere - Yandere!Malkuth headcanons

Abnormalities

TW: yandere - Yandere Queen of Hatered headcanons

Der Freischütz + Clouded Monk headcanons

Child of Galaxy + parent!Reader headcanons

1.76 MHz headcanons

Der Freischütz and Funeral of the Dead Butterflies comfort Reader after they got a panic attack headcanons

Army in Black + Reader "semi-attachement work"

Parasite Tree headcanons

Fragment of Universe headcanons

Dream of a Black Swan, brothers headcanons

Dreaming Current + (S/O) in a sibling-like relationship headcanons

Laetitia headcanons

TW: injures - Der Freischütz and (S/O), who he shot on accident headcanons

TW: blood, horror - Burrowing Heaven headcanons

Yin headcanons

Alriune headcanons

TW: yandere - Yandere!Der Freischütz headcanons

CENSORED headcanons

WhiteNight headcanons

Der Freischütz+Funeral of the Dead Butterflies+Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary poly relationship headcanons

Singing Machine headcanons

Der Freischütz + Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary headcanons

Punishing Bird, Big Bird and Judgement Bird discovering the "truth" about the "Monster" headcanons

Apocalypse Bird headcanons

Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary+ Punishing Bird+Big Bird+Judgement Bird poly headcanons

The Silent Orchestra headcanons

TW: injures - Der Freischütz and Funeral of the Dead Butterflies with injured (S/O)

TW: yandere - Yandere!Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary headcanons

TW: PTSD - Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary with (S/O), who has PTSD

Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary + Scarred Reader

Porccubus and Schadenfreude headcanons

Judgement Bird headcanons

TW: yandere - Yandere!Big and Will be Bad Wolf headcanons

Big Bird Headcanons

La Luna headcanons

Shy Look Today headcanons

Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary + Abnormality!Reader headcanons

Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary + shy, small Reader romantic headcanons

Magical Girls + strong Reader headcanons

Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary romantic headcanons

TW: mentions of selfharm/selfhate - Knight of Despair headcanons

Queen of Hatered headcanons

King of Greed headcanons (sad headcanons)

Army in Black headcanons

Mountain of the Smiling Bodies headcanons

Possible warnings: mentions of LSD/Drugs - Dreaming Current headcanons

Funeral of the Dead Butterflies + Der Freischütz headcanons

Dream of a Black Swan (Sister/Elijah) headcanons

Nothing There headcanons

TW: yandere, manipulation - Yandere!Funeral of the Dead Butterflies headcanons

Punishing Bird headcanons

Melting Love headcanons

One Sin and Hundred of Good Deeds headcanons

Void Dream headcanons

Rudolta of the Sleigh headcanons

Meat Lantern headcanons

TW: yandere - Yandere!Hammer of Light headcanons

WhiteNight + Funeral of the Dead Butterflies headcanons

TW: yandere - Yandere!WhiteNight + 12th Apostle!Reader headcanons

Laetitia and "Sibling" Employee

Funeral of the Dead Butterflies headcanons

Der Freischütz headcanons

TW: yandere - Yandere!Plauge Doctor headcanons

General

Lobotomy Corporation fluff

#lobotomy corporation #lc #masterlist

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summoner-kentauris · 3 years

Note

What does your interpretation of Zacharias think about Líf and Thrasir? (You can either just answer or write a lil story if you feel like it)

OOOO now i have thought in my free time a fair amount about what líf thinks of zasha but, and i cannot believe this, i have not thought about what zacharias thinks about líf and thrasir. full disclosure, book III happened to be going on when i formally stopped playing feh. i kept up with the story after that but, theres my obligatory knowledge base disclaimer.

also minor cws through this whole thing because i talk here and there about zacharias and his... mm, canonical relationship to death/selfharm

so, i spent a lot of time thinking about this one, and i keep coming back to my gut reaction, which is that i don't think zacharias would like them very much. i dont know why i think that, though.

PART ONE

i think a lot of it would depend on how they approach him, which is maybe why i've spent more time thinking about the reverse of this ask, come to think of it. see, i think zacharias could go any which way in terms of what he thinks of them. i think he could hate them, as two people who killed versions of everyone he ever loved, including metaphorically killing off the two people closest to him.

i think he could love him, having seen the hell (ha ha literally) that they went through. understanding what that feels like. given the way he talks about his suicide attempts, and honestly that he spent most of book I trying to get people to kill him, really his whole relationship to death. i mean the man talks a lot about death and killing. he might not be the feh OC who best understands how manipulative and... whats a good word. alluring? what im trying to say is that besides eir, he might be the one most likely to understand why Hel and hel's offer appealed to líf and thrasir. i feel like this bit has a place here: "With his dying breath...he begged for his life. He called out your names! "I'll do anything you ask! Just let me live!" excepting of course that i still am not sure if i think he said/thought that or not. ive never been sure who really is in control of speaking right then and there. Anyway. Probably he could come to understand Líf and Thrasir's stance, enough that he could care about them the same ways he cares about his versions of Alfonse ann Veronica

on the other hand, i can see him being fully horrified by the choices those two made in response. this bit: Not anyone... This dark god...seeks death. And it cries for the destruction of Askr. Like. Líf and Thrasir are intentionally enacting the same thing as the dark god's desires, in order to correct a mistake they made that, uh, also enacted the same thing as dark god's desires. talk about awkward. and i think Zasha, who has lived with this nightmare in his head for so long, might recoil from people who are so directly aligned with it. who wants to be around someone who has become, who has chosen to become, everything you ever feared you'd be? especially when you're nearly drowning from the effort of fighting to stop yourself.

i could also see him meeting them and it being incredibly, incredibly bad for him. i feel like, he puts a whole lot of... mm. what am i trying to say.here:

Yet it is you that says this, dear friend, and so I must consider it. I see the faith reflected in your eyes. Perhaps it is possible...

SPEAKING OF BUNNY ZACHARIAS I ALSO THINK YOU COULD TAKE THE FOLLOWING:

You never change. All you see is a lofty goal, even if you lack the means to achieve it... The idea that gods would fall by the hand of man is a fantasy... and a preposterous one. This is a goal that even our ancestors Líf and Thrasir could not achieve.

setting aside the obligatory wtf zash i know you know your lore (fuck, maybe there is no killing the gods, maybe all Fire Emblem victories are temporary at best and Zenith is the only one who knows it. but i think, probably not), i think you could spin a very believable scenario where zacharias takes one look at these two ambitious, arrogant posers and absolutely refuses to speak to them any further.

so, part one, i think that zacharias could think any number of things about líf and thrasir. which i suppose means that i think he's fairly neutral on the subject of líf and thrasir. makes sense to me, i suppose. i feel like zacharias | bruno has practice (regardless of whether he's any good at it or not, or whether its any good for him) at holding and maintaining separate personas, so I don't think the fact that líf and thrasir were alfonse and veronica would necessarily be all that important to him.

which brings me to part ii

what happened to dead zenith zacharias

if zacharias is neutral on the subject, I think a lot of their relationship is going to pushed in one direction or another by líf and thrasir themselves.

and, complicating matters (when do I make things simple?), i think their approach to zacharias would of course depend on what happened to their zacharias. correct me if im wrong, but i dont think we have even a hint what happened to him.

there are three ish options I'm seeing. one: as dead world zenith is further along in its timeline and as zacharias claims he's almost out of time with his curse, other zacharias died due to that before the war with hel. i feel like scenario one is the most likely to lead to a good relationship between main zacharias and líf and thrasir.

two: mr. professional "knows plot relevant things out of knowhere" was the one who found out about angrboða's heart in the first place. especially given "As destruction took hold, we joined with Embla to seek the forbidden heart...", which to me sounds a lot like, "hel was kicking our ass then zacharias showed up and said we should go get this mystical plot object from embla". thrasir even says she and líf weren't allies before the world went to shit. anyway. hear me out here:

Yes. The heart is sealed within an Emblian blood temple. If that seal is broken, someone will die each time the heart beats... Those who perform the rite are the first to die.

Now. Líf claims he was the one who broke it open, but he also was present for the war that followed and only after was he killed and inducted into hel's army. so. both of those things can't be true. i propose that the magic mcguffin located in a sealed emblian blood temple was unlocked by our dear zacharias and thats what killed him in other zenith. i think its possible that other veronica was the one who did it, but you know. its all imagination at this point. also, and i forgot this, but thrasir does go off about how she can't lose until she saves her brother, so. something especially tragic happened at least. and oh boy is scenario two a nice fresh tasty tragedy. so that's scenario two. other zacharias directly died as a result of attempts to fight hel

number three thing that could have happened to zach is boring. he's always off doing things, he could have just died off screen. i mean. everyone did, eventually.

frankly he could still be alive for all i know. the heart appears to take the lives of people in the world, not of the world, or else the summoner would have been fine. so, if zacharias was on one of his off world jaunts, he could conceivably be a-okay. well. as okay as someone who's whole world died. i don't think that's what happened, because thrasir is pretty clear about feeling that she failed him, but yknow.

líf and thrasir's reactions to the above

thrasir is i think the most straightforward. i can't really see her approaching main zacharias with anything but positive intent. even if she's only a little bit open, i think thrasir and zacharias will probably have a decently tolerable relationship. if zacharias can come back to a country that exiled him as a kid and let his mother die in a dungeon and then go on to not just befriend but protect and care for a half sister he didnt know before then, then i think he'll find a way to care about thrasir. you know, intsys could have had fun making another perpetual older brother character. as i understand it, xander gets brother'd a lot, he and zach could have talked. could have been fun. a whole, zacharias, a historically traumatized child: *arrives in a world* every currently traumatized kid in a five mile radius: oh shit this one's ours now. you know what im saying? found family except zacharias would very much like it to stop finding him. he's got important brooding to do. but anway, they didn't go that route and its a tragedy.

líf is... more complicated. i think scenario one creates the most positive outlook. i can see him still having guilt over zacharias' loss, but i think any of it would be overshadowed by everything else that happened. in this scenario, líf finally gets back a piece of the world he'd lost. yeah, it's not his zacharias, but still. it is a zacharias, who is living and breathing and frowning and asking why you are staring at me, knight. i think the two of them could get along rather well, although i see them having significant issues with pessimism. inch-restingly enough... the dark curse bades its hosts to kill askrans. and líf is, well. dead. so... perhaps... perhaps líf wouldn't trigger the curse like alfonse does. in that case, not only does líf get someone back he thought he'd never see again, but so does zacharias.

scenario two is just a nightmare. frankly, i initially thought this scenario would lead to líf just ignoring zacharias (out of guilt, pain, etc), but i was rereading the scripts looking for the spelling of angrboða and this came up:

Tell Hel. She'll erase those memories. She'll erase them all...

so, honestly? i think that in scenario two líf just straight up gets hel to remove his memories of zacharias (as an aside maybe this is also why he never ever ever talks about other anna >:{ )

in that case, líf wouldn't really have any reason to talk to this man, who causes this empty deeply sad feeling to well up in him for now discernible reason. and zacharias has no reason (or time) to talk to this standoffish general of the dead. so. that's a real ships in the night moment.

number three i think líf would still hold the same guilt as in number two, but i don't think it would be as horrifically tragic, so i think it's more likely he'd be willing to approach zacharias. he does appear to have even worse of a thing than alfonse about not opening oneself up to people, but i think that even if he's líf, he once was an alfonse, and being that this is me answering this, i don't think any alfonse can really keep away from a zacharias for very long. its a version of the person who once knew him as well as any other person in the world. like líf can't really seem to stop himself from associating with main sharena, i don't think he could stop himself from reaching out in his own way to main zacharias. and god does that man need some more friends. i think zacharias would probably be a little frightened of líf, and of what an alfonse could become. but i think probably... i feel like a lot of book i issues stem from the fact that, justified or not, zacharias thinks alfonse would risk anything, any harm to save him. i don't know that confronting an alfonse who literally risked everything and did all harm to save his world would be a comfort, but i do think zacharias would get a lot out of having someone who's already done the worst they can do. been there, done that, got the tshirt. i think zacharias would be a little afraid of what an alfonse could become, but i think he would no longer have to be afraid of... no, anxious about it. i think there's a kind of calm in having something confirmed that zacharias could appreciate. healthy? unhealthy? fuck if i know. i also think that in líf, zacharias has a friend who he can't physically hurt anymore. lífs already dead. been there done there got the.... glowing gel torso. i think, curse nonewithstanding, zacharias will always have some degree of tension and fear about hurting people he's in a relationship with, be that because of his issues with abandonment, of abandoning, of harm, etc. but you know. líf's kind of a rock. and he's already hit his rock bottom, now that i'm thinking about rocks. i think that kind of steady, placid deathness could really help zacharias. and i think he would find it soothing, whether or not he knew why.

plus he will be able to know that if the curse gets him, if he dies... he'll still have a friend in the realm of the dead. he doesnt have to be so afraid of leaving and getting left

so there we go! lots of musings. i have been thinkin about why my headcanons are less that and more elaborate branching theories, and i think it is because i would change my opinion depending on which story i wanted to tell or hear or see.so yeah. dunno which one of these answers belongs to the question, what does your interpretation of Zacharias think about Líf and Thrasir?, but hopefully at least one of them is interesting to read about!

OH also. i think he would be petty-ly annoyed about them cribing líf and thrasir's name. like full on scholar petty. probably showed up to the order in a nerdy huff excited to meet the actual factual líf and thrasir and turns out its just those two, sitting around glowing and reciting death metal lyrics like they're spoken word ballads. dont think he'd get over that ever.

#as an aside during the course of writing this #i have become convinced that ''I was powerless to stop it... There was nothing I could do...'' eir #could probably have interesting things to talk aboutwith ''he was all alone... there was nothing he could do to save himself...'' zacharias #anonymous #whew thats a lot of words #ill spell check in the morning #yeah right no ill spell check tomorrow evening #thats more likely #that was fun to think about #i hope this makes sense because i am NOT going to reread it #im going to go get dinner #sat here and DID NOT MOVE for ages #my neck is killing me #thanks zacharias

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phoenixdaneko · 3 years

Note

tw for selfharm ig

Chapter 1.

AN: Special fangz (get it, coz Im goffik) 2 my gf (ew not in that way) raven, bloodytearz666 4 helpin me wif da story and spelling. U rok! Justin ur da luv of my deprzzing life u rok 2! MCR ROX!

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Hi my name is Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that’s how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don’t know who she is get da hell out of here!). I’m not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a vampire but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I’m also a witch, and I go to a magic school called Hogwarts in England where I’m in the seventh year (I’m seventeen). I’m a goth (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black corset with matching lace around it and a black leather miniskirt, pink fishnets and black combat boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Hogwarts. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

“Hey Ebony!” shouted a voice. I looked up. It was…. Draco Malfoy!

“What’s up Draco?” I asked.

“Nothing.” he said shyly.

But then, I heard my friends call me and I had to go away.

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AN: IS it good? PLZ tell me fangz!

Chapter 2.

AN: Fangz 2 bloodytearz666 4 helpin me wif da chapta! BTW preps stop flaming ma story ok!

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The next day I woke up in my bedroom. It was snowing and raining again. I opened the door of my coffin and drank some blood from a bottle I had. My coffin was black ebony and inside it was hot pink velvet with black lace on the ends. I got out of my coffin and took of my giant MCR t-shirt which I used for pajamas. Instead, I put on a black leather dress, a pentagram necklace, combat boots and black fishnets on. I put on four pairs of earrings in my pierced ears, and put my hair in a kind of messy bun.

My friend, Willow (AN: Raven dis is u!) woke up then and grinned at me. She flipped her long waist-length raven black hair with pink streaks and opened her forest-green eyes. She put on her Marilyn Manson t-shirt with a black mini, fishnets and pointy high-heeled boots. We put on our makeup (black lipstick white foundation and black eyeliner.)

“OMFG, I saw you talking to Draco Malfoy yesterday!” she said excitedly.

“Yeah? So?” I said, blushing.

“Do you like Draco?” she asked as we went out of the Slytherin common room and into the Great Hall.

“No I so fucking don’t!” I shouted.

“Yeah right!” she exclaimed. Just then, Draco walked up to me.

“Hi.” he said.

“Hi.” I replied flirtily.

“Guess what.” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“Well, Good Charlotte are having a concert in Hogsmeade.” he told me.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God!” I screamed. I love GC. They are my favorite band, besides MCR.

“Well…. do you want to go with me?” he asked.

I gasped.

Chapter 3.

AN: STOP FLAMMING DA STORY PREPZ OK! odderwize fangs 2 da goffik ppl 4 da good reveiws! FANGS AGEN RAVEN! oh yeah, BTW I don’t own dis or da lyrics 4 Good Chralotte.

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On the night of the concert I put on my black lace-up boots with high heels. Underneath them were ripped red fishnets. Then I put on a black leather minidress with all this corset stuff on the back and front. I put on matching fishnet on my arms. I straightened my hair and made it look all spiky. I felt a little depressed then, so I slit one of my wrists. I read a depressing book while I waited for it to stop bleeding and I listened to some GC. I painted my nails black and put on TONS of black eyeliner. Then I put on some black lipstick. I didn’t put on foundation because I was pale anyway. I drank some human-

this is all that I could copy from the fic

I'm afraid of what the rest of that goddamn fic looks like

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hillywooddestiel · 6 years

Text

A Warlock's Troubles

Characters: Magnus x warlock!Reader (kinda platonic since I'm a Malec shipper but if you want it to be romantic it could be)

Warnings: explicit self harm, talk of self harm, bit of language, bit of fluff though

Word count: 1.1k

Description: anonymous asked

heya! idk if you still write for shadowhunters but if you do, i'd love to read about magnus taking care of one of his former students, as she badly hurt herself willingly (warlocks cant always love themselves do they?), and like he cares for her, and tries to get her mind off selfharming for a bit, maybe like dancing together, like back in the old days? of course, if it triggers you, you can decline this request i'd understand! have a nice day! 💜

A/N: I've been meaning to post for so long but kept forgetting and I feel really bad because I got this ask so long ago but here it is! More Shadowhunters! Any more requests? Just send an ask. Enjoy xx

Story:

“Stupid… worthless… piece of shit!” Y/N added more crimson lines to her upper arm with a sharp shard of glass from the vase she knocked over. That's what tipped her over the edge. Over the past few days, she'd been feeling awful about herself and felt every little mistake she made hit her heart. As the blood collected in drops and rolled down her arms, she dropped to her knees on the floor and began to sob. The feelings would pass, they always did eventually. She'd be clean for several months, years even, and then things would build until she snapped, reaching for something sharp. It had been the save for years. Being centuries old wasn't always a good thing: people you loved grew old and died, you had to live through wars, people would come for help beyond your abilities leading them to suffer.

“Y/N darling? Are you home?” Magnus Bane. Oh no, “I would have knocked but you appear to have left your door unlocked. Y/N?” He came around to the study- the place he often found Y/N busy beavering away on spells and charms.

“Magnus wait-” she told him feebly as he came through the open doorway.

“There you are- oh no no no no no! Dear, no!” Magnus knelt down beside Y/N, snatching the glass away from her hand and tossing it away.

“Magnus please,”

“No, Y/N dear, I'm not leaving you like this. We've been here before.” He hugs her tightly with one arm while lifting her injuries to the light, casting a protection charm over them. A magic elastoplast.

Magnus made up a fast healing concoction with the ingredients Y/N had in her alchemy cupboard and slathered it all over her arm, whispering some incantations for good measure, before making her a cup of herbal tea and wrapping her in a knitted quilt. Y/N thanked him quietly and sipped from her teacup.

“How long this time?”

“Nearly three years.” She told him solemnly, fiddling with the corner of the blanket.

“Don't beat yourself up dear, keeping your thoughts bottled up doesn't help in this situation. Do you want to share with me what's on your mind?” he asked, reaching to hold her nervous hand. She remained quiet, seemingly ignoring him, “You know I'm not going to stop asking… you'll feel better.”

“A little girl got sick. Her mom came to me for a remedy and I didn't get it done in time... The girl died Magnus, she died! Because of me!” Y/N looked to her former teacher with tears in her eyes.

She'd been busy, really busy; her diary was full for a whole month. The woman burst into Y/N’s home office in floods of tears begging for a treatment that would mean her daughter, willing to pay any price. Everyone that came to Y/N for help desperately needed it. With regret, Y/N told the poor mother that there was a waiting list for her services and she would just have to wait. Just one week later, Y/N had the potion made and was knocking on the door of the woman who had come to see her. The same woman answered it with bloodshot eyes, a crumpled tissue in her shaking fingers: the little girl had passed away from her illness that morning.

Magnus didn't say anything. He'd been in Y/N’s position many times before. Nothing could be done about it. Warlocks may be powerful beings but they can't save everyone.

“What are you doing?” She asked as Magnus got up from the sofa and shuffled over to the corner table. The static sound of a needle hitting vinyl and 20s swing filled the room.

“You need a distraction. I hope you haven't forgotten how to do the Charleston my dear.” He extends his hand for her to take.

“I could never.” She grins, placing her hand in his and standing to begin their dance. They kicked their arms and legs to the side in unison while moving around in a circle before cross stepping forwards and backwards in line with one another. After that, Y/N held Magnus's shoulders to kick herself up into the air, twisting her body to land facing upwards to kick her legs one at a time moving backwards. Helping her back up smoothly, Magnus began performing fishtails with Y/N following his lead. The moves all came naturally to the pair as though it had been merely a day since they last practiced and not nearly a century.

It was how they met, dancing. There was a speakeasy run by a warlock and full of magical curiosities. It was a wondrous, and most importantly safe, place for warlocks and other brings with demon blood in their veins to go to and be themselves. Y/N came to the city having been disowned by her family for her powers and the teenager was terrified. After overhearing some passers-by, she found her way to the hidden establishment and instantly felt at ease. Everyone was different and unique. She felt that she would fit in. There was a little trouble with some werewolves built like brick walls but she defended herself with the help of a little magic, which is where Magnus stepped in.

“You have power, child. I'm impressed.”

“I'm sorry, who are you?” Y/N was defensive at first- her mother wasn't the best but she did teach her that men weren't too be trusted, especially older men.

“Magnus Bane, fellow warlock.” He flashed his amber eyes at her as proof.

“What do you want, mister?”

“An apprentice. You have much potential and I believe I can help you.”

“Are you feeling better, Y/N?” Magnus asked as they fell onto the couch, breathless.

“Much.” She responded, though her hand ghosted her injured arm. He took notice of this and took hold of her hand in his.

“Listen to me darling, it wasn't your fault. Here,” he produced an emerald necklace with a large stone set in gold, “I want you to have this. Whenever you feel like hurting yourself again, hold this stone in your hand. I have a matching one connected to it and I will be here for you right away.”

“Thank you.” Y/N wrapped her arms around Magnus in a tight hug, tears escaping the corners of her eyes. Living for such a long time gets old and the feeling of helplessness never truly goes away but, with someone who is there for you, things can never be too bad.

#shadowhunters #magnus x reader #magnus bane #magnus x you #magnus bane x reader #magnus x friend!reader #shadowhunters x reader #shadowhunters tv #shadowhunters tv series #one shot #request #anonymous #anonymous request #malec #self harm

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