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rumblelibrary · 3 years

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The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and a minor depiction of a fight. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: I am a nerd for a good Victorian novel and a sexy Alienist.I have always been charmed by Laszlo’s mind and inner conflicts. So I took the chance and tried to have a run into that rollercoaster. The story is placed between season 1 and season 2.

Diary belonging to Dr. Laszlo Kreizler. This is a professional book of annotations over medical treatments of an alienist toward his patients. Do not disclose and send it back to the address if found: Kreizler’s Institute, xxxxxx, New York City (NY) L.K.

Samuel Griswold Goodrich, Illustrated Natural History of the Animal Kingdom (c1859). Contributed for digitization by University Library, University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.

Schiller in his “Die Weltweisen” wrote: So long as philosophy keeps together the structure of the Universe so long does it maintain the world’s machinery by hunger and love. From the philosopher point of view sexual life takes a subordinate position in human’s life, from recent studies pushed by European philosophers, everything is about sexuality and its development. I like to think of the experience of being an alienist as the process of Queen Penelope that, while waiting for her husband Ulysses return, undoes her craftwork every night. I undo the fabulous constructs of people’s beliefs to go back to the rough sketch that stands at the beginning of their loss, their complex, their pain. Maybe that’s why working with children is so motivating and fascinating. They can be saved and yet, I am well aware, some of those sketches already traced in their young lives equal to scars that not even the most advanced theories could cure. But I can sooth them. I can prevent them the torment, the anguish, the recollection at night of those monsters. I feel like a poet would be a better alienist than a philosopher, but I have got no poetry nor philosophy in my veins, but the cold experience of the razor blade judgment of Life itself.

Today I observed a fight among the children at the Institute. Age range between 10 and 12. Boys. The fight was over the possession of a side of the playground, the territory of a pack of youngsters formed under the name of Steven. Peculiar lad, coming from a military background finds comfort in replicating the schemes he lived in his family. He takes the role of the Father/Captain of the team and subjects children that come from a similar background story, but do not posses his same attitude to the command. All quiet on the front, until the space he declared is own spot got affected by the presence of others. Intruders. I knowingly let the events unfold to see how Steven would react to his challenged authority. His reaction was, at first, worded, a sketch, a stage-play of an action he witnessed over and over, and he knew the part so well that some of the contending kids lowered their stance against him. Among considering to mildly intervene into this pyramid scheme of authority, another boy, Jan, calls himself on the role of the educator and hero of the masses and proceeds to unfold a wild and well assessed punch on the newly declared dictator face. Balance is established again. No need for me to arbitrate, once more the laws of nature seem to apply to children as in a state of nature.

Meet John Moore over lunch. His job at the newspaper is picking up, he is charmed by the spirits and the wits that he finds in his shared office with all the other writers. He mentions many, goes on and on over qualities and troubles, gossips and tendencies, and even little scandals here and there. To be aware of all those details gives me no interest, but to see a dear friend so invested clearly gives me something to pick up. To consider also the amount of details and the way he describes this or that member of the journal, I can do a small exercise of analysis. It is almost too easy because John is painfully genuine, even some of the kids at the institute would beat him hands down in a battle of lies. The more he likes somebody, the more he goes on about all the details and the characteristics, often letting aside the physical appearance. When he doesn’t like somebody he has a couple of adjectives for the wits and around four or five for the physical aspects that usually indulge on some repulsive idiosyncrasies. John is a man that painfully fits in the storyline of The Picture of Dorian Gray: to him physical beauty is spiritual beauty and, of course, the other way around. This part of him surely intrigues me, makes me want to tease more from him. But, as a friend, it concerns me as John is way too prone to purposelessly decide that somebody with good eyes is also a good human being, which is a very romantic and admirably naive way of judging matters. I noticed some names that keep repeating in his narration. I dread that it is synonymous of a soon encounter from my side with the objects of his admiration. Fetiches, I dare to say, that I will have to annihilate before they sediment into his mind, perpetuating a narration that soon sees John being mislead by others.

Reserved: Tickets for the Eroica, Symphony n. 3 by Ludwig van Beethoven. Thursday evening.

Note on the show: the first movement lacked the pathos needed to begin with, I am not sure that the guest orchestra really managed to portray the wider emotional ground needed to withstand the whole representation. As the evening progressed there were some outstanding performances by the cellists. Still not approving the choice of reprising the early quick finale movement against the lengthy set of variations and fugue that we are used to in presence of the Eroica. Underwhelming the performance of the horn and oboe, vital in the comprehension of the genius of Beethoven.

Niki is a new addition of the Institute, quite old for the standards. He is already 16, he will leave when summer ends to some expensive college his family meant him to stay. His parents expect me to make him “normal” in the time we are allowed together. He is Austrian and I let him act it out like I don’t understand German for the first week of hist stay until today. I believe I hit his pride, which is good, in the moment I answered back to one of his sneaky comments. Now he knows. He is not safe from me, he doesn’t like it. The young man has a tendency to danger, risky tasks and edgy situations. In his mother’s own words “Niki is not afraid of anything”. The phrase didn’t raise any excitement in the father, rather some sort of painful acceptance that is role as the alpha male of the house is probably not only being challenged, but already diminished, if not abolished. I have taken in consideration that Niki will break himself a bone or two in the process of the therapy, probably out of the spite of boredom or rebellion. It took him less than few days to turn himself into an outcast among the outcasts, which only drives me closer to analyse the complexity of his narcissistic wall of self defence. I gave him a physical challenge to lift a certain weight, he is a pretty skinny one, he didn’t like the challenge, but I am sure he will take it. He is a brainy guy, he hates to be questioned on unfamiliar ground. He won’t sleep at night thinking about it. A challenge, in this first phase, can only bring me closer to the ease of his pains. To continue the observation.

It is a sad privilege of medicine, in particular the one I practice, to be able to witness the weaknesses of the human nature and the reverse side of life. Nevertheless, I oblige this same privilege of the study as life moves into shades of darkness. To be aware of it gives more solace to my soul than to be victim of patiently waiting for the inevitable unfolding of the events. To be able to understand more about psychology would bring more comfort and elevation to any human being, the times might not be there yet, but eventually something will move into the direction of a more wholesome approach.

Dinner meeting with Sara Howard, at the restaurant Jardin Des Cygnes, 7 pm sharp. Do not expect to reach the dessert. Do not know if John will be participating due to undeniable tension among the two and the fatal despise of John over French cuisine.

The case that Sara unfolded tonight to my ears feels more and more like pulled out from some gothic book or from the mind of a Roman historian that needed to justify the godly origins of an Emperor. One killing, apparently random, a very constructed iconography over the body. Signs and insults, shapes and drawings. Is this a work of art? Does the killer wants his victim to be his Mona Lisa? His David? I am charmed and destabilised. If this was a murder like any other, then why to spend so much time into it? Based on the description the act of killing itself was quick: a sharp cut over the throat, almost like not wanting to ruin too much the surface to use as base for, what? I keep rerunning those symbols over and over as Sara described them to me, my mind is flooded with the designs of greek philosophers that needed to explain themselves why the sky is above our head and never collapses on us. Hilarious how, no matter the science advancement, in the mind of many the sky stands inevitably overt their shoulders, suffocates them, brings them to a death of the soul and not of the body. Is all this graphic charade indeed only a form to scream for attention? To stress the eyes of an unaware viewer? It seems ridiculously elaborate, a scream for attention would be quick, it would be like guided by instinct, not reasoning, craftwork. Any man with a knife can paint in blood red the walls of a room and that’s asking for attention. That is the primal howl: look at me! I am here! But this one. I don’t know yet.

Spent the early morning reading anew my copy of The Metamorphosis by Ovid. Didn’t touch it in a long time and I got bedazzled by the world of terrible sensuality, anger and selfishness of those gods and mortals. I think back at all the deviances and weaknesses of human kind and I try to relate it to all of those humanoid figures. Niki would be a minotaur, the lonesome son left in the labyrinth and his strive for success is his bull’s head. Or maybe a centaur, because of his wits and strategic thinking. I might keep up the process, maybe this is the way to understand my patients better, to understand the killer better. Must remember not to romanticise it. Greek gods were probably the first form of self indulging of a society that needed gods to be forgiving and allowing favours and punishments, but only in exchange of sacrifices. But the sacrifice never comes from the God’s will, but from the will of the man that perpetuates the act of killing. To sacrifice someone or something is the sadistic response to a lack of love deeply inherited in human mind that becomes neurotic. Is the killer giving the God of his own neurosis a body to feast upon?

I talked with Jan this morning. The young boy is about 10, but he acts like a full grown adult. I could easily asses that’s the reason why he could challenge Steven in that fight. Two children mimicking adults situations they know too well. Jan is son of an industrial man, but he is also son of the dialectics of the industrial revolution. He sounds like he swallowed some of those books about working class rights and communism, probably pushed by a resentful surrounding (mother?uncle? the midwife?) over the social role of his father. As much as incredibly smart and lectured, Jan lost most of his early occasions in life by spending a considerable amount of time using his fists. The anger ever present in the young boy always surprises me, he seems to be holding a power, a strength of a full grown man in those tiny arms. Nevertheless, he is already the tallest of the group. He is surely an idealist, which makes him also tragically fragile. His strength mixed with his heart of gold can make him the best of the heroes or the worst of the villains. He apologised for the fight, he specified how he didn’t like the sound of Steven’s voice, more than the sound, the level of pitch. I can’t stand somebody shouting orders, I just don’t listen anymore. He is so mature even about his own feelings, almost a gentleman in his chivalry toward the weaker children, honest with his open heart and resentful against any form of injustice. I am not spared by his ways, he would come at me whenever he feels like I was being partial over some of the kids, his sense of justice blinds him and transform a perfectly balanced boy into a ranging animal.

Ordered book, to be delivered around tomorrow evening: Introduction à la méthode de Léonard de Vinci by Paul Valéry. Suddenly feeling myself as a gross ignorant in art themes. I always regarded myself aware of the artistic personalities and tendencies of present and past, but this new amount of perceptions over the human figure and the human body leads me to document myself more. I could ask John for advice, but he wouldn’t take things at matter that seriously. I can almost hear him say how I can make gruesome a pleasant topic such as art. I should probably wait to see the body to push any further aesthetic study, but I find myself not being able to stop. I reckon, I can allow myself a vice or two.

Today I saw the body of the killed man, courtesy of the Isaacson's. To be fair, I had underestimated it. In Sara’s descriptions, probably due to her more analytic mind, all the charm of the representation got lost in favour of a less cryptic and reasonable understanding of the act. Sara got what some alienists will call a masculine mind, which I don’t perfectly agree on. If I apply that same approach John would be a very feminine mind, all wrapped up in romanticising even the ugliest. I guess that dividing the world in “fragile and gentle” and “strong and powerful” is just easier to explain the fluctuation of something that doesn’t need a real name or a category like human inclinations on thoughts. I got a feverish sense of patience by looking at the body. Each symbol traced with sapient slowness, dense of the time that the killer spent with the body. That is a work of hours, he had time and meaning. He had resources and was able to spend not less than the time he needed to reach, a vision? An ideal? A message? Is it the message meant to be understood? Am I supposed to unravel it or it is maybe just the way the killer communicates within himself? And if I do decifrate the code, will that bring me closer to him? Or to his next victim?

Reminder: ask John to replicate all the symbols on the bodies in the correct measure and order. It might be needed some hard convincing. Addition: scheduled meeting, his house, 3 pm.

It wasn’t a day like any other when I met you. Or maybe it was, and that’s why I got so struck by it and now I am here playing it over and over through what my memory clung on so desperately. In my own experience, life was often similar to swimming in a lake. Those rich, dense lakes in the north of (illegible cancelled word) were my father used to bring us during summer. I still feel the pull, the draw down toward the abyss. It ashamed me, in a way, the fear that such a simple feeling aroused in my young mind, unaware nevertheless, that such a feeling would follow me through all my existence. It was a prophecy and, like most of the prophecies, was a riddle. I cradle in my heart the charm of those days, the mindless happiness. The foolish feeling of freedom. Little I knew that freedom would be taken away from me that soon, that the body that used to navigate me over the dense waters, helping me to fight the haul toward the unknown, would become my own cage. That day. Today. The day where I met you, the day I was afloat. The child gasping for air felt the wrench become a gentle push and now he is floating on his back over the scary waters of reality and malice. It gave me relief and it gave me terror, because since that very moment I knew that I would never be able to move on from the sight of you. From the feeling of your eyes lingering on me. From the smile you so easily shone upon me. From the whiff of imported perfume that hit me when you turned on side exploding that swan like neck. And nothing, not even my stern look, could dim that wave of hope that your sole presence washed over me. The abyss roars, calls me to a home of damnation and terror and curses my name and yet you repeated that hell-bound name of mine after me and I felt safe.

John told me so much about you, it feels like I have always known you.

The rope is gone from my neck, the guillotine won’t fall on me, I am spared, I am free.

I have read your latest article, I am thrilled to help with the case.

I am in disbelief.

Your voice.

Dr. Kreizler

How dare you? How dare you to come into my life, to appear, like a vision, mystical, in a way I despised at University when all those theology students talked about the divine. In this very moment I can’t recollect much of what you said, something about the case, about going with John at the obituary. It feels confusing, I feel overstimulated, my memory fails me, I am not sure anymore. I write these few lines and it is passed the hour of the witches and I wish, I demand, to never see you again, because life should never grant hope to a condemned man.

#dr laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler headcanons #laszlo kreizler x reader #the alienist fanfic #victorian age #v writes #the diary of doctor laszlo kreizler

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

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Fish

For @whump-advent-calendar‘s day 4-6, Burn/Candles

CW: Referenced medical whump and dehumanization, light burn (accidental), captivity, muzzling, drugging reference, reluctant whumper turned caretaker

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BAHRAM’S NOTES NOTE TO SELF - SAVE IN EXTERNAL HARD DRIVE. DO NOT LET DR. L SEE.

October 22nd, 20XX 3:45 am Mer in Residence: 19 Days

It’s time to admit I’m more or less keeping a diary at this point as I get to understanding him. So far I’ve written separate notes to myself… for ten or so straight days of the nineteen we’ve had him here, and it’s getting harder to write the official transcriptions the way Dr. L wants me to.

Dr. Lachlan insists I call the mer ‘it’, that it’s to help me distance myself emotionally since it’s such a good mimic of humanity, but I don’t think it’s a damn mimic, I think it’s just… human.

I mean, obviously it’s not HUMAN, but… Miah spelled it out for me, we had an argument about this when he first got here. She gets so angry that he’s getting hurt and you know, I guess I believed Dr. L - mer aren’t my specialty field, I’m a snake man really, I don’t know the first bloody thing about fucking cetaceans.

Anyway, I said to her at the time, “It’s not human.”

She told me, “Maybe not H-U-M-A-N, but P-E-R-S-O-N,” just like jabbing me in the chest afterward. Also, Miah can fingerspell in a way that really makes you feel like a six year old getting yelled at by your mother, for the record. I can’t describe it any other way. I was ready to just melt away from personal embarrassment before she even finished signing “person.”

That’s not the point of this.

I didn’t start a diary just to tell myself how right Miah is about all of this, but hey, here we are.

I need some days off so badly.

Miah wasn’t around today, it’s really just been me and the mer - I’m off for four days coming up here, after 20 days of work, and she’s going to come in and do 24-hour watch until I’m back. It’s not so bad - I don’t really know anyone here, and the bed’s comfortable enough. Dr. L’s paying rent on my apartment so I won’t lose it while I’m working, anyway.

I still feel like some low-level henchman, though. Like any moment some asshole in a tank top is going to show up with guns and I’ll just be a faceless evil stepping stone before the boss fight with Dr. L.

I mean, we all know that Dr. L’s going to be the boss fight, right? Anders would just like lay down or throw Miah in front of himself or something.

No, that’s not fair, he really does love her.

Bahram this is all hypotheticals about a video game. Get back on track, man.

So Miah must have gone shopping or something. She came back with a bag full of these candles from this bookstore she really likes. I mean she came back with an insane amount of books, too, but she had this candle she pulled out and put down on my desk.

She set down the candle - it’s this really nice deep blue and has some kind of like ocean scene painted on the label, like, isn’t that thematic - and smiled at me. “This one reminded me of what we’re doing,” She told me, and her signs were… softer. Her expressions were softer alongside them.

Does that mean… anything? I don’t know. She just put it on my desk and then wandered off. I thanked her but I had to take her shoulder and get her to look at me, first. Maybe her face was a little red.

Maybe not.

We keep the tank room pretty warm, I’m sort of cold-natured and the mer seems more active when we keep the lights really warm, so…

I don’t get why she bought me a candle and why she looked away before I could thank her for it. I don’t get it, and I feel like I should, but I don’t. Is she not looking because it wasn’t a big deal, or because it was a big deal, or… what?

I really WOULD sink into the floor if Dr. L or Miah ever saw that I wrote this. Get it together, Bahram. You are not writing a diary about Miah fucking Kirsse.

It’s been just me and the mer, all day. Dr. L was gone, too, meeting with whoever’s funding this whole thing. She’ll be gone until next week, so there’s no real work getting done, for now. Just blood draws.

She’s showing them its claws she took off. I don’t know why. Honestly, I have such a bad feeling about this, but I needed the cash and nowhere else was hiring for a job that would give me room and board and still time to work on my own research. Not that I’ve done a bit of THAT in a week.

I get too distracted by the mer.

He swims in circles. He stares at nothing, or pokes the plastic coral and ferns we got him, or hides in his cave. I can switch the screens over to watch the camera feed from inside the cave, but he doesn’t do much in there, either. I caught him picking at his scales, and I need to ask Dr. L about that. She took three scales off his tail, which for the record I had nothing to do with (whose record? I’m writing this to myself, and what the fuck does it matter about scales when I’m the one sticking the damn needle in his elbow twice a week), and I caught him sort of whistling sadly and picking at the empty spaces.

They’ll grow back, Dr. L says. She’s not worried.

I am.

A little.

I’m starting to think Dr. L is lying about a lot of things, and I’m not sure what to do about that. If anything. This is a job, and I get paid better than I’ve ever been paid in my life. So… what do I do?

I could call the hotline and report him. It’s anonymous.

She’d know I did it.

I don’t know why, but… I don’t want her to know it was me. Cowardice, I guess. Pure bloody cowardice.

But Miah hasn’t emailed the hotline, either. We can’t both be cowards, right?

Anyway.

Tonight was tank cleaning, which is a bloody fucking chore. Anders was around long enough to help me get the mer tranq’d and into the lift and then the rolling tank where he can just sit until I get my work done. Poor thing just lolls around when he’s tranq’d up. Barely blinks.

Doesn’t stop its fucking crying, though.

We took a lot of blood from him today, too, so he was very weak. Barely moved, just curled himself up small so he was totally in the water and watched me work after Anders left. We’ve got a scrubber machine that does the hard work, I just have to hose some things down and then make sure its filter is still operating correctly. Watch the scrubber. Whole process takes about three hours from start to tank totally refilled, as long as I do it weekly. It’ll take much longer if I let it slide.

Double-checked the camera in the cave, and when I walked out of it I saw the mer’s head was up, watching everything I was doing. He dropped right back down under the water when he saw me looking at him. The muzzle looks so monstrous on him, but more than that, it makes him look like a monster.

Maybe Dr. L doesn’t muzzle him to keep us safe, but to keep me from seeing his expressions while I’m here with him all day.

No, that’s stupid. She doesn’t even think he’s sentient, right?

I finished up, and when I came to roll him back to the lift, I saw he’d popped his head up out of the rolling tank and was looking around the room itself. He hasn’t really looked around at all before this, and he was still tranq’d but maybe I fucked up the dosage? Because he was pretty alert, kind of whistling to himself and giving little chirps and clicks. He sounds like some weird mix of killer whale and fucking otters or something. When he saw me, he flinched back down under the water, but I had this idea.

Dr. L took his claws, and he’s still muzzled except when he’s on the table or when he eats, so like, it’s not like he can hurt me, right?

His eyes had gone to my desk, looking at… I guess all my books and papers and my laptop and everything. Maybe the candle. I waved my hand around until I saw that he was watching me again. With those big eyes it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s looking at, but when I clapped my hands he blinked at me, so I know he can hear it, can see me.

Then - and I swear I’m not lying - he moved himself up out of the water, and put his palms together. His earfins twitched out and back against his scalp, and his white hair dripped water all down his shoulders.

He cocked his head at me. Then he put his hands together, harder this time. He clapped, and then… he clicked.

I KNEW it. I KNEW clicks were questions. Dr. L said their brains don’t work that way, but I bet they do. Who’s even considered how their brains work? Maybe they’re just like us. All the studying I’ve been doing shows that the scans we’ve done of dead ones are pretty similar in overall size and placement of their center of language. They’ve shown that mer populations have their own dialects if they don’t interact with each other, like the Atlantic transients sound totally different than the Pacific transients, which sound different than the residents that stick close to the coastlines up by Alaska...

Making my own head hurt. I don’t even care about fucking mammals, but I guess I do now.

“That’s right,” I said when he clapped, not like he can understand but still. I said it, and I clapped again, and he clapped back. “Can you give me your head? I’ll take your muzzle off, yeah? If you don’t bite.”

Dumbest fucking idea ever, but hey.

I think maybe he knows the word muzzle, because he whistled and shrunk down again, lowering his hands. His ear flaps flattened again. I saw the deep red marks around his neck, from how we have to use the catch-pole to get him out, and I just. I just felt like shit, you know?

I’m shit, that’s what I am, we’re torturing a child, more or less, who hasn’t done a thing to anyone but be by himself because he lost his bloody fucking family. I can’t keep telling myself I’m not the bad guy, you know?

I’m going to jail if I report him, aren’t I? I helped bring him in, after all. There’s my whole career down the drain.

Is this how it felt when everyone was being shit to monkeys in the 70′s and calling it psychology? Did some of them just go along with it because they thought they had to?

This is not helpful, Bahram.

I sat down at my desk and tried to figure it out. His eyes were on me the whole time. I looked over at Miah’s candle, and looked at the label. Like I said, ocean scene. Fronds and ferns and…

I turned the label to face the mer, and tapped on the image with my finger. “Fish,” I said, feeling dumb as hell. I told myself, it’s a bloody animal, Dr. L would roll around laughing at you for this.

But he came back up out of the water. There was a long moment, and I heard him click, and then a soft, “Sssshhhhhh,” sound came from behind his muzzle. They have lips like ours, although their way of communicating is basically whalesong and relies heavily on underwater acoustics. He’s louder in the tank than out of it, although I guess fear might make him quiet, too.

The recordings I found on youtube they get in the ocean are deafening loud. Their voices travel so well underwater, it’s amazing. People sell fucking CDs with mersong over piano to fall asleep to.

I poked at the ocean scene on the label again. “Fish,” I said firmly. “Do you want fish?”

He knows fish.

I KNOW he knows fish because he sat up, held out his right arm, and tapped his elbow with a blunt-edged, broken-off claw before he looked back at me, trembling with fear. He clicked again, twice.

I can’t even tell you how shit I feel, realizing he was asking if I was going to take his blood first. That’s what he meant, it has to be. He poked at the exact spot where he’s bruised up from the needle.

But it makes sense, right?

He’s been here twenty days, more or less. Every couple of days, when he’s hungry enough, we bribe him with fish to get the pole on him, take blood or whatever else, and then he eats.

No, WE don’t take his blood. I take his blood.

He thinks - and he’s fucking thinking, I know he is - that he only eats if we stick a needle in him.

I’m hurting a child.

I’m teaching a child to be hurt.

I’m not religious but this feels like the sort of thing you ask for forgiveness for, doesn’t it? I should call Maman and ask her who I could talk to. I’m going to call Maman or Baba tomorrow.

No I’m not.

What would I tell them I need to speak to someone about?

What if whoever I speak to calls and reports him, and Dr. L knows it was because of me?

I need to stop thinking about this.

“No, NOT draw blood,” I said, and he whimpered again, held out his arm further, closer to me, tapped his elbow again. I knew he could still hurt me - their strength is prodigious, the first time we got him out of the tank he nearly pulled Dr. L down into the water with him - but I decided it was worth the risk.

I kept thinking, he’s more scared of me than I am of him, but you know, of course he is. He’s the one with bruises.

I stretched my own arm out and showed it to him. He flinched back a little, and then leaned forward again, sitting in the little rolling tank that’s barely big enough to hold him. His blunt claws touched my arm, delicate as a feather, clicking as he poked at the sleeve of my sweater.

“No draw blood,” I said. “Just fish. Eat.” I mimed chewing.

He looked at me and clicked twice, cocking his head, then looked at my candle from Miah, pointing at the ocean scene. “Ffff-sshhhh,” he said, muffled.

“No, that’s a candle, it just has fish painted on it. Candle. Fire. Yes?”

Blank stare.

Then, repeated, “Ffff-sssshhh.”

I sighed and pulled out my little lighter. I don’t smoke or anything, but I hate the way matches smell, so I have a lighter on me basically all the time. Plus, having lighters was a pretty good way to make friends back in undergrad when I gave a fuck about that.

I flicked on the lighter, and the mer chirped, curiously.

Has it never seen fire before?

Why would it, it lives in the ocean. Don’t be a dumbshit, Bahram.

“Fire,” I said, and held it out a little for a closer look. “Fire.” I tilted it and lit the candle, and the mer leaned forward, rapt, as the wick sparked up to flame and I blew the smaller flame on the lighter out.

“FFfffff,” The mer said, barely audible. It clicked and held out its hand, and I wasn’t fast enough.

“No, wait stop-”

The mer’s fingertips touched the flame and it let out a deafening loud cry of pain and jerked its hand back down into the water, whimpering at the new kind of hurt, looking at me like it was MY fault, and maybe it was. Eyebrows furrowed, little crease in its forehead, big sad eyes.

The big sad eyes are wrecking me.

“Well, don’t touch fire and you won’t burn,” I said, shaking my head. “No touch fire. Fire bad. Fire burn.”

He held out his hand to show me. “Ffff-rrrrr.” It was a plaintive little breath of air, not quite a real sound.

The ends of two fingers were a little dark, that’s all. I could explain that by saying he’d hurt himself in the tank, maybe. I shook my head and pointed at the water, and it put its hand back in there, huffing a little breath of relief, I think. The water probably helped with the sting.

“Right. Fire bad. No fire.”

“Ffff-rrr... buh-ddd.”

“Right. Fire bad.” I stood up and walked over behind him, and he tried to turn and watch me but I shook my head and pointed back at the candle and he sort of huffed again and looked away. I felt him tense when my fingers touched the back of his head, but he sat still.

Probably because if he struggles when she goes to take the muzzle off or gets her fingers near his mouth, Dr. L has this electricity stick thing…

I’m not supposed to mention that in the transcripts.

I’m not supposed to mention how he screams, and he doesn’t sound like a whale or an otter, then. He doesn’t sound like an animal.

He sounds like a child.

He IS a child

He’s just

I’m a fucking

No. I need to focus. This is stuff I can’t tell Dr. L, I need to write it down here where it’s safe.

The muzzle is easy to get off, you just need to be looking right at it, and I unbuckled and pulled it free, feeling a little resistance from how well it stuck to his face. Without it on, there are deep red lines along his cheeks and jaw, not open or bleeding, just irritated.

He didn't grab at me, or bite. Just watched me with his big eyes as I laid it down on my desk. For a second we were both just quiet, looking at each other.

Then he pointed at the candle again. “Ffff-sssshh.”

“No,” I said. “Candle. Fire.”

The mer’s eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head, echoing what I did earlier. His hair slapped around. His teeth look like shark’s teeth up close, only there’s a lot less of them. “Nnnn-nnnuh,” He tried, shaking his head again.” Nnn-uh. Ffff-sssshhh.” Then he pointed at his mouth, opening wide, showing me the tongue behind his teeth. “Fffff-sssshhh. Ffff-ssshhh.”

I laughed, covering my mouth - he seems to be scared when we show too much teeth, probably in the ocean it’s a threat and they don’t smile like we do. Which, why would they?

But, see, I realized that he wasn’t pointing at the candle at all, but at the fish painted on it. Then he moved to look at the bucket of fish he gets as a reward for obedience, and pointed at that, then looked back at me to see if I was paying attention.

Of course I was. I was barely fucking breathing. This is signs of abstract thought process, recognizing that the image of a thing isn’t the thing itself. That he can point at it to represent what he wants. “You want fish? Is that it? You’re hungry? Want to eat some fish?”

The mer blinked and made a sound like a chirp, clapped his hands together. “Rrrrr. Fff-sssshhh.” He pointed at his mouth again. “Ffff-ssshhh. Buh-rrrrmm. Ffffsshh.”

“What did you say?” I whispered. My heart went cold. I can’t describe it any other way.

“Buh-rrrrmmmm. Ffff-sssshh, Buh-rrrmm.”

The bloody thing knows my fucking name.

He knows we have names and he knows mine and that means-... that means he has one, doesn’t it? If he has a name, if he has

I’m his fucking nightmare aren’t I

I’m the worst fucking thing that could happen to him, me and Miah and Dr. L and Anders and this is a job but it’s the worst thing that’s happened to him and it’s only

It’s going to get worse for him.

He’s going to die here and he’ll know all our names when he does.

Anyway, so... you know... I brought him a bucket of fish.

What else was I supposed to do?

He knows my name!

He let me put the muzzle on him again without fighting after he finished, and I got him back in the tank once the water was refreshed, and he’s sleeping off his meal now. I can see him on the feed, curled up inside the cave.

But I’m wide awake, so I thought I’d write this, because…

Because what the hell do I do now?

I can’t tell Miah.

Can I?

---

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @slaintetowhump @moose-teeth @misspelledwitch @whumpfigure @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @whumpywhumper

#whump #mer whump #nonhuman whumpee #wac2020 #fire #burns tw #burn #mer whumpee #reluctant whumper #caretaker and whumpee #reluctant caretaker #caretaker whumper #referenced torture #tail whump #referenced #captivity #muzzled #muzzle #forced drugging reference

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jkrobertson · 3 years

Note

I was meant to add this in the other question but I forgot 🙃 thank you for answering as well. But do you think if Ulquiorra was still alive that something was bound to happen between him and Orihime ? I think their reunion would’ve been really beautiful and touching. It actually kinda reminds me of Damon and Elena in a way.

Okay... You are pushing me dangerously close to watching Vampire Diaries. I mean first there are all the sexy gifs on the internet, now you're comparing Damon and Elena to ulquihime... I need more free time.

Anyway, what happens if Ulquiorra lives?

Something, that's for sure. The thing that would determine the kind of the relationship between him and Orihime would be the same thing that has one of the greatest effects on any relationship: timing.

(long, rambling explanation under the cut)

If he came back quickly, like before the final arc or even during the time before We Do Knot Always Love You, I feel like it would have strong potential to turn romantic. The earlier he returns, the better the likelihood of success of Ulquihime being a real thing. Why? Well, part of it boils down to Ichigo.

Ichigo is the kind of boy who really has no time for girls. He has no mental energy to waste a thought on them. Sure, he cares for Orihime and has a special place in his heart for her, and he probably has urges and all the natural inclinations of boys who are interested in girls, but he leaves it there. He is busy getting other things done and proving himself to... himself. His kneejerk reaction is to push any concrete thoughts of romance or attraction as far away from his attention as possible.

In an interview in the JET artbook, Kubo mentions that Orihime and Ichigo did not start officially dating until after he graduated from university. I think ichihime is a very sweet and gentle ship, and once Ichigo makes his move at the end of We Do Know Always Love You, Orihime is kind of locked in on him. So Ulquiorra has until then to make his move.

So that explains Ulquiorra's window of opportunity. Now I want to talk about Orihime, prefacing this by making it clear that I really do believe that Orihime loves Ichigo in a real and pure way. Even if nothing romantic ever came to fruition between them, she would still love him. She would just adjust her expectations to be satisfied with whatever he was willing to offer her. If that means all he was ever willing to offer her was friendship, she would take it and take the necessary steps to adjust her expectations to conform to his boundaries. That's just part of growing up.

What we haven't talked about is how Orihime would change based on different circumstances than those set forth in canon.

So imagine, Orihime is quietly biding her time, patiently waiting for Ichigo to realize what his dick is for, and otherwise building stronger friendships between herself, him, and their supercool sidekicks. She's strengthening her powers, learning a lot about herself, and gaining self-confidence. She's having fun and saving the world. Her plate is pretty full.

Despite all this fulfilling growth, Orihime still faces a deep, overwhelming struggle with loneliness. She has grown up abused and neglected. Her darkest traumas have less to do with hollows and more to do with knowing her parents never loved her. She will always have anxiety gnawing at her, which won't be blunted until she feels like she has the kind of love that lasts forever.

Now, of course, she has her hopes pinned on good ol' Kurosaki-kun for this purpose, but that doesn't mean that no one could ever take his place. Also, I don't for one minute believe that Orihime is so pure of heart and innocent of mind that she doesn't think about sex and love (which she sees as two inseparable sides of the same coin insofar as it relates to her) any less than a typical teenager. To the contrary, I think she is probably more curious about it than most of her peers, in large part because of her trauma.

However, Orihime has not gotten to where she is - top three in her class, healthy, and maintaining her own household as a teenager on a small budget - if she wasn't mature and world-wise for her age. She doesn't always come across that way, but she knows how to manage her needs and wants. She also knows how to keep a healthy distance between herself and those who might want to take advantage of her, because, let's face it, she could be a very easy target.

This is why, in Bleach canon, no one ever got between her and Ichigo. Because although she had a lot of admirers, none of them were worth her consideration. None of them had history with her. None of them understood her special powers. None of them knew her weaknesses and traumas. Only her small circle of supernatural besties knew her well enough and had enough of her trust to consider a relationship with, and of those three boys, Orihime was only attracted to Ichigo. Besides, Ishida and Chad would never think to get in between Orihime and Ichigo.

But Ulquiorra would.

If he returned, he would need her. He would provide her with the attention she craves and the fascination that gives her the confidence she would need to turn her attention away from Ichigo. She would not be able to deny that she and Ulquiorra share a strength of connection on par with that of her and her nakama.

She would hesitate for a only a moment before deciding to do whatever she could to assist Ulquiorra in adjusting to his new life. It would be a very significant reunion, initially, but then reality would creep in.

Ulquiorra requires work to find a place in his new reality. Orihime is not afraid of hard work, but undertaking Ulquiorra's rehabilitation would not be all sunshine and roses. He doesn't just follow her advice like some kind of lost puppy, either. He can be stubborn and confrontational. She would be forced to examine and explain things she takes for granted.

This process would make her question much of her previous beliefs, just as he questioned his beliefs about the heart when they were together in Hueco Mundo. He would make her feel like she had value in her ability to teach him things about the world.

Although he would not bicker or put her down for sport, he would frustrate and challenge her. He would make her assert herself. It would reignite the chemistry between them that she was too terrified in Hueco Mundo to recognize.

Orihime would focus on Ulquiorra so much that she would not notice her attention drifting away from Ichigo until it was too late. By that time, she would realize that Ichigo is not the be-all-end-all romantic target she had previously thought.

When she eventually realizes she is attracted to Ulquiorra, it would not be a spark, it would be spontaneous combustion. They wouldn't spend a lot of time being cute and flirting and wooing one another. She would realize that she wants him, and it would happen pretty fast. I feel like either she would make a first tentative move and he would reciprocate, or it would just be like a mutual realization and he would make a move and she would just melt into it and match his energy.

I think both Orihime and Ulquiorra don't really have a clear idea of love and sex as separate concepts. She would conflate the two as one thing, and he really doesn't conceptualize either of them, rather just experiences them and then later accepts them as a singular expression. Their relationship would be very, very physical. Over time they would both start to appreciate the more delicate and complex flavors of both love and sex, and would begin to enjoy just being affectionate and quiet companionship and all the other lovely parts of being in a relationship.

I think that if they were able to reproduce, they would find themselves relatively young parents, because they can't keep their hands to themselves and would let passion carry them away in the heat of the moment. Ulquiorra would be obnoxiously proud to have successfully made a new life with "the woman".

I could go on and on and on about these two. I'll stop here for now, but feel free to ask anything else!

#ulquihime #asks #jkrobertson school of thought

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mnemo-li · 3 years

Text

Calebros: A Rant About My Favorite VTM NPC

I do love the newer Vampire: the Masquerade content, but sometimes the writing leaves a lot to be desired. A prominent example is - what in my opinion is - the butchery of Calebros’ character in Beckett's Jyhad Diary.

While I do love seeing the more brusque side of Calebros’ personality, I don’t think I’ve ever recalled him being this vulgar in the original Clan Novels. He was definitely not dropping the f-bombs left and right, and even his gruff manner had more to do with dry humor, sarcasm, and keeping up the dignified image fit for a clan leader. I do realize that this series of chat is set much after his whole ordeal as Prince of New York is over, so maybe the experience really changed him. However, the in-universe explanation of his drastic shift in personality is lacking– it is most likely the result of a change in writers which led to inconsistent writing and characterization.

Here are some examples of scenes that presents his characterization in a more nuanced light.

Scene 1: The Nictuku Accusation

“They would have eaten me, I tell you!” “I believe you, Jeremiah,” Calebros said in a forced, calm tone. He was tired of nodding politely, of reassuring his clanmate. Jeremiah could be a difficult person to like at times. This was rapidly becoming one of those times. “Don’t you humor me!” Jeremiah snapped. “I’ve been coming to you about this for weeks now.” Seems more like years, Calebros thought. “And still you’ve done nothing. Nothing!” Jeremiah paced around, gesticulating wildly. There was no second chair by Calebros’s desk, and for this very reason. He mostly didn’t like guests, didn’t want guests, didn’t want to encourage them to sit down, to take a load off and stay for a while. Most anyone who had reason or inclination to visit Calebros was irate, complaining, or tiresome. Jeremiah happened to be all three presently. “That is not true,” Calebros assured him. Jeremiah snorted in disgusted. “What, then? Tell me. What have you done?” “I have considered quite carefully your report.” “Ha! Like I said, nothing. ‘Considered my report…’” Jeremiah repeated contemptuously. “This is what I think of you and your reports—” he said, grabbing a handful of papers from the nearest stack on Calebros’s desk. Jeremiah made to fling them into the air— Instantly, Calebros’s hand shot out and latched around his visitor’s wrist. Talons pricked undead flesh ever so slightly. “Believe me,” said Calebros evenly. “You do not want to do that.” They faced each other for a moment, one monstrous creature restraining the hand of another. Jeremiah’s fingers, biting into the papers, were long and grotesquely thin, little more than needles of bone. His entire body was thin and hard and covered with knots, bulging masses of hardened tissue, like an old, gnarled swamp tree. Finally he stopped resisting Calebros and returned the reports to the desk. “I’m sorry,” Jeremiah said and resumed his pacing, just as intently if less frenetically.

This is from the Nosferatu clan novel. Here, Jeremiah is trying to get Calebros to believe that there truly are Nictukus dwelling in the sewers. Calebros is, frankly, tired of hearing the folk tale especially when he has other pressing matters to deal with. Yet, even with his patience paper thin, he does not lash out at his broodmate. He is shown to be deeply introverted, anti-social perhaps, but he does not let his own nature affect his duties. As the Nosferatu primogen - as the leader of the clan - he has to listen to the concerns of his family, no matter how absurd. He knows when to express his authority, and he never abuses it. Again, no f-bombs dropped.

Scene 2: The Salt Lake

“Geez, what am I, your mother?” Emmett asked. “No,” Calebros said. “You are my brother, my broodmate.” “Brood, litter, whatever. We were both chosen to suck the old blood tit, so who am I to ask questions?” Calebros sighed. Blood tit, indeed. “That’s not how you remember it.” Now it was Emmett’s turn to sigh. “Don’t do this. Don’t get all… You always do this, get all touchy-feely we’re-all-brothers-in-the-blood, when you soak your head, blah, blah, blah…” “Make light of it if you will—” “I will. Thank you very much. Got enough salt here?” Emmett flicked some at Calebros.

This is from the Nosferatu clan novel. Here, Calebros has just came up from his meditation within the mud hole / salt lake. He is shown to be introspective and even sentimental. In terms of character voice, his more poised speaking style and inner monologue is contrasted against Emmett’s rough, colloquial style.

Other Sources

In the Calebros graphic novel, a similar scene is shown where Calebros is depicted to be trying and failing to remember his past before he became a vampire, losing his mind as he mixes up imagination with false memories. His inner dialogue in the graphic novel shows him saying:

“Do I tell him that his prince, his... compatriot?, is losing his mind? Never.”

This very much reflects his true nature. In Vampire: the Masquerade, there is a system of nature vs demeanor. According to his character sheet, his demeanor is that of a “director” while his nature is a “martyr (penitent)”.

Director: To the Director, nothing is worse than chaos and disorder. The Director seeks to be in charge, adopting a "my way or the highway" attitude on matters of decision-making. The Director is more concerned with bringing order out of strife, however, and need not be truly "in control" of a group to guide it. Coaches, teachers, and many political figures exemplify the Director Archetype.

Martyr: The Martyr suffers for his cause, enduring his trials out of the belief that his discomfort will ultimately improve others' lot. Some Martyr simply want the attention or sympathy their ordeals engender, while others are sincere in their cause, greeting their opposition with unfaltering faith in their own beliefs. Many Inquisitors, staunch idealists, and outcasts are Martyr Archetypes.

Penitent: The Penitent exists to atone for the grave sin she commits simply by being who she is. Penitents have either low self-esteem or legitimate, traumatic past experiences, and feel compelled to "make up" for inflicting themselves upon the world. Penitent Archetypes aren't always religious in outlook; some truly want to scourge the world of the grief they bring to it. Repentant sinners, persons with low self-esteem, and remorseful criminals are examples of the Penitent Archetype.

All of these quotes, if feel, matches very much with the Calebros I knew from the clan novel saga. Below are also a set quotes detailing Calebros’ inner dialogue in his graphic novel.

“As prince, only I can save them, only I can keep them from looking where they shouldn’t. A force exists underneath this city, sleeping, and it must remain so, lest we all perish.

“Augustin, my sire, left us to investigate the Nictuku, and came back to me with this information. Could this be Gehenna? The Final Nights? When the Ancients awake to devour their errant children? Can it be stopped? Should it be stopped? Everything that is done is a hope of staving off the inevitable. Why?”

“My embrace into this world was a foregone conclusion, made for me by Augustin. It is no different for anyone else. Why then do we not welcome the coming Armageddon? Exchange one world for another. It sounds almost painless, except I would never accept such a course, neither would my fellow Nosferatu. Neither would my fellow Kindred, for that matter.”

He is incredibly contemplative, and determined too, willing to fight against the inevitable apocalypse of the vampires. As long as his clan and the Kindred as a whole does not give up, does not give in the the despair of Gehenna, he too will be willing to fight for the survival of others.

Scene 3: Against a Master Manipulator

The character of Hesha is... complex. I see him as sort of a sweet-talking, cunning, charismatic cult leader. Here is a dialogue between him and Calebros.

“No harm was done,” Hesha said softly, his voice still the slightest bit scratchy from the ordeal he’d undergone. “As you say,” said Calebros, not looking up and continuing to write furiously. “You concede without agreeing.” Hesha laughed quietly. Calebros’s head whipped up. Angry words were ready on his lips, but the Egyptian’s smile was not mocking. The Setite obviously realized the weakness of his position, physically and strategically, as well as the fragility of their alliance. “Candor is important between friends,” Hesha said. “Otherwise, perceived insults take hold and fester.” “I am quite accustomed to festering,” Calebros said curtly. “I fear that I’m growing so as well,” Hesha said, squeezing one of the boils that stood raised about one of his many open wounds until the canker popped, and frothy pus ran down his arm. He laughed quietly again. Calebros punctuated a written sentence with a particularly violent period. “Your woman willfully disobeyed her instructions.” “She exercised discretion,” Hesha countered. “She blatantly disregarded the safety of my people.” “If anything had gone wrong,” Hesha said, “it would be Pauline lying torn on the ground. Your people would have faded into the night, none the worse for wear.” Calebros fumed. Probably Hesha was correct—but the Nosferatu was not about to admit as much. “I will speak with her,” Hesha said reasonably. “She has not encountered those of your clan before. She’s not aware of how strongly your predilection for…” “Cowardice?” Calebros suggested accusingly. “Prudence, I was going to say. She’s not aware of how strongly your predilection for prudence runs.” Good choice of words, Calebros thought. But, then, Hesha always chose his words carefully, always seemed to know just the right thing to say. It was discomforting in a way, how easily the Setite could alleviate tension with just a few words. Go ahead, Eve. Take a bite of the apple. Adam might like some too. But it seemed that they needed one another—and that outweighed their natural and mutual tendencies to distrust one another. Just barely.

Hesha’s actions managed to get under Calebros’ nerves, as seen in his curt speech, his furious writing, his accusatory reply to Hesha. He is angry for the safety of his clan (which, as seen from all the other sources, is something very dear to him). He is even shown to be stubborn, refusing to admit that Hesha was correct. Even still, he keeps his head rather than loose his cool completely. He also realises Hesha’s smooth words for what they are- manipulation. He is willing to compromise and form a sort of alliance with Hesha too, despite of his distrust and personal feelings.

Calebros and Ramona

I found the strange friendship Calebros had with the Gangrel Ramona to be incredibly touching, and tragic due to the turns it took towards the end (which I won’t spoil). Below are some excerpts from the Nosferatu clan novel showing Ramona’s initial meeting with Calebros and his later assessments of her character.

Neither Pauline nor the other girl, Ramona, had been subjected to the full brunt of facing a Nosferatu. Not until now, that is, when they were brought into Calebros’s presence. He did not hide his true appearance from them. And he could read the dismay, the fear and disgust, on their faces. Of the two, Pauline made the worthier attempt, attempt, to maintain her demeanor of professional detachment—perhaps Ruhadze had taught her well. The Gangrel, unsurprisingly, was not so couth. She gawked, both at Calebros and at Hesha in his current condition, and she hid her revulsion quite poorly, if she tried at all. […] Ramona looked at Calebros again, a more measured look this time, trying to see through the deformities. Good girl, Calebros thought. Young and brash, but not stupid.

Ramona reached for a calendar on Calebros’s desk, but tossed it back when she realized it was from 1972. “That’s still a whole month, and nobody knows where Leopold was that whole time. He could have gone back to the cave.” Smart girl, Calebros thought. He was leading her along the same path of reconstructing events that he had followed.

He compliments her intelligence again and again, and seems genuinely fond of her. Which I believe is why, after he became Prince of New York, he allows her a private audience with him to which he offered her a safe passage out of town which she rejects, viewing his actions as a betrayal. Below is an excerpt from what I think is the Clan Brujah novel.

The hunched form stepped forward, leaning heavily against the seatbacks as he came. Ramona kept straining to pick out the sound of broken gasps that must accompany such labored progress, but the air did not stir. "You had requested an audience, my dear. A private audience. I have gone to some pains to secure a place where we might be alone. Privacy is such an indulgence here. All too often, I find myself unable to justify the expense of importing it. And there is always someone else jealous of such decadence. But you have not come to hear of my distractions. Sit here, next to me, and tell me why you have come.”

[…]

“Calebros chuckled low, a sound like an engine turning. "No, I don't imagine you would. I will miss your straightforward style, Ramona. I find it refreshing. But already you know that there is no longer any place for you here. In the midst of battle—against the Sabbat and later, against Leopold and the Eye—we could afford certain marriages of convenience. But these partnerships will not survive the challenges of peacetime. Your associates, Mr. Ruhadze and Mr. Ravana, they found themselves in much the same position. Each has already left New York.”

[…]

“Calebros was silent for a time, letting her wind down. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you with the Eye, Ramona. And I'm sorry you will have to leave us. Believe me, I would like nothing better than to find a place for you here. I will have sore need of people who can be relied upon in the nights ahead. But you know what you would be up against if you remained here— the posturing, the none-too-subtle snubbing, the outright backstabbing. You are a rarity among our kind, Ramona. But because you are different, you will be hated and eventually destroyed if you stay among the society of the damned. Know that I will remember our time together fondly. If I can be of any assistance to you in relocating..." "No, I understand. It's 'thanks for your help; here's your bus ticket.' Well, I don't need any of your favors. I don't like the strings attached to them. And I resent the fact that you think I'm so stupid that I'll let you screw me over and then thank you for it." "Ramona...”

Again, even during his tenure as Prince of New York he is so damn eloquent, I definitely can’t fathom the word fuck ever slipping out of his mouth. He is compassionate, helping Ramona perhaps for future gains too, but mainly I believe he genuinely wants to do something right, give her the happy ending she deserves for once.

Moreover, I have a soft spot for this quote of Calebros pondering about Ramona’s nature, why she’s always so angry at the world, why every word out of her mouth sounds like an accusation. It showcases well his world-weariness, a cynical attitude that hides his concerns for others.

What have you seen that makes you so angry, so bitter, little one? Calebros wondered. Family killed? Have you been betrayed? How many times, I wonder. You’d best get over it, if you hope to survive.

So... yeah. I’d pay money to see an accurate portrayal of Calebros in a newer media otherwise I might have to write my own fanfic pairing my OC with him

#vampire: the masquerade #new york by night #calebros #vtm

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dahlia-coccinea · 3 years

Note

What’s your opinion on the main characters in WH (like one for Nelly, one for Catherine etc)? Do you have a favourite and a least favourite?

There are a lot of main characters...I guess Nelly Dean, Heathcliff, Catherine Earnshaw, Cathy Linton, Hareton Earnshaw, and Linton Heathcliff? I feel bad cutting out Edgar and Isabella, they are important characters but I could easily write a thesis on each character and I don’t want to make this unbearably long (you’re going to regret asking me this as it is lol).

Nelly - She is not the “sensible soul” that she esteems herself to be. Compared to other characters she may seem discerning, but that’s partially because she’s just a witness to events that more deeply affect other characters. She can be very biased towards and against certain people, and her opinions tend to be fairly rigid. Her actions and convictions seem more an unconscious exhibition of societal norms of the time and her station in life; rather than her objective rational thinking. She certainly isn't immune to common superstition and small-mindedness. That being said, she is not the villain of the novel as critic James Hafley argued. She certainly isn’t heartless and cruel and she is motivated to do what she believes is the right thing to do. Overall I like her character.

Heathcliff - It's a testament to the complexity of his character that there is such a wide range of narratives on him…some I admittedly don’t understand. While a powerful force in the novel, I think he shows himself to be very human and fallible, and not the “ghoul” or “vampire” he is sometimes accused of being. It makes me laugh how many times I’ve seen critics say he is the human embodiment of the Heights but the first meeting of him it's literally said that he is a “singular contrast to his abode”? It’s also strange that his physical nature is often questioned by critics that reduce him to an elemental symbol, yet I would think Catherine is a better candidate to say she is more symbolic since we first encounter her in a dream and she is merely a memory/ghost in half the novel. Not to mention that throughout her life she displays a fixation on the spiritual and divine (not that I think she is symbolic either). I think he’s meant to be read as a human, not a devil or a symbol, and it makes it more interesting to read him as such. He can be sarcastic and witty and also utterly devoid of humor. His pain and loss is tragic yet his anger and hatred is fearsome. He plans to enact revenge over decades and (kind of) succeeds yet he also is so short-sighted and often misjudges characters and situations. He’s a villain and a victim and never plays either part in exactly the way you’d expect. Despite all this, he never feels inconsistent or out of character.

Catherine - I’m such a broken record on her lol. We get a lot of negative opinions about her from Nelly but everyone else loves her? So I think it’s worth questioning what Nelly says about her. I don’t agree with popular narratives that exaggerate how terrible she is. She is certainly proud, quick-tempered, and her strong, unrelenting nature is unique for any character and even more so for a woman. These traits also make her Heathcliff’s natural counterpart, although she is never cruel in the way he can be, and she doesn’t seem to enjoy that side of his character either. I think audiences/readers often forget the better parts of her character, such as her love for her father regardless of his constant admonishments, her love of Heathcliff despite his harshness and his wrongdoings, and her brother Hindley in spite of all his cruelty. The tragedies of the novel are not her fault as it has sometimes been suggested.

Hareton - It is interesting his character probably has the most physical descriptions and I’d say is the most flatteringly portrayed male character. Yes, he starts off being described as brutish by Lockwood, but we later get many moments showing he also has a gentleness. His faults are normally immediately shown as not wholly his doing and I’d say he has the most character growth, even more than Cathy. Cathy’s appearance gets a lot of mentions too, but because Lockwood is kind of a romantic and in a faraway, lonely place, it makes sense that he projects a lot of romantic notions on her. We don’t need to know that Hareton is good-looking but it’s certainly made known lol. I think it’s in part because Cathy’s and Hareton’s good nature are meant to be shown as desirable and Nelly certainly makes an aesthetic connection there in her descriptions of them. I really like his character, and how despite everything, and his initial pride, he tries repeatedly to help Cathy, even though it does nothing in gaining her good opinion and only puts him at odds with Heathcliff, who he sees as a father. He also shows that you don’t have to be the product of your upbringing.

Cathy - I really like how she tries to do the right thing and is good, yet doesn’t allow anyone (even Heathcliff) control her. She has faults but she’s able to grow from them. She also has a lot of similarities to her mother. For both Cathy and Hareton, I really dislike the idea that their move to Thrushcross is the symbolic win of culture over nature. That’s never made any sense to me and makes even less sense when you consider that Emily preferred nature, and the freedom and spirituality she found there, and not riches and formality. And after all, Cathy and Hareton are the successors of Catherine and Heathcliff. I can’t imagine they will become supremely refined, cultured, and gentle. Everyone forgets they are both wild and proud, and at their worst, they both physically hit the other - Cathy cuts Hareton with her whip, and years later Hareton hits her. This notion of their new domesticity comes from the narrative of the Heights = wildness and Thrushcross = respectability and progress, and I’ve mentioned before this also distorts our image of Isabella and mislabels her as a weak, refined, gentlewoman, even though she shows herself to be highly spirited. Sorry, got a little off-topic at the end there. I think they can forgive and learn to be kind to each other without equating it to them becoming genteel and upper-class. I don’t like that critics do this.

Linton - I get why he’s no one’s favorite character but I don’t hate him. He is tragic, despite the fact that he also very annoying and bratty lol. I understand why he doesn’t care to better himself, and it seems pretty clear his behavior is a cry for the safety and affection that has been missing in his life since his mother died. He’s a pawn in a game he doesn’t understand, and yet he’s very aware of his role as a pawn and that his life will be short and its meaning and worth are ascribed inasmuch as he can prove useful. It’s understandable that he would cling to Cathy and her kindness to him. Of course, some of his sufferings are his own making. It seems he could less lonely if he was perhaps a little kinder to Hareton who doesn’t seem to have a preconceived dislike of him but is pushed away by Linton’s snobbishness.

Favorite: That's a really difficult question. The simple answer is I love them all hah! It does change, but I do often go back to Catherine Earnshaw. Charlotte Bronte wrote that there is a “certain strange beauty in her fierceness” and I think that sums it up perfectly. The fact she dies tragically young and the closest we get to her as a narrator is the little bit of her diary Lockwood reads, and that her memory lives on so strongly with Edgar and Heathcliff, all make her a compelling figure. The fact that so many readers hate her also makes me like her more lol.

Least favorite: Everyone always says Linton and Joseph are the worst so I’ll say Zillah because she doesn’t get picked on enough lol. She literally didn’t realize Nelly was being held hostage and instead believes some bullshit story about her being lost in a marsh and assumes Heathcliff saved her?? She was terrible to Cathy - granted she had been proud and stiff-necked but she was clearly being held against her will? Like is Zillah just not at all aware of her surroundings? She doesn’t get Dr. Kenneth when Linton is dying and instead leaves Cathy alone crying in the stairway, supposedly out of fear of losing her job if she disobeys - yet she didn’t seem worried about that when she puts Lockwood in Catherine’s old bedroom? She also knowingly embarrasses Hareton when he shyly asks her to ask Cathy to read aloud for him - she immediately says that Hareton is the one asking for it. Zillah is just one of those people that has no self-awareness and no consideration for others beyond her self-preservation. So yeah she wins the spot of “least favorite” lol. I’m not sure if you meant my least favorite of the main characters? If so then it would have to be Linton just cause no amount of sympathetic feelings towards him makes him less annoying lol sorry.

#wuthering heights #there is probably a million grammatical errors but i hate rereading myself lol its like hearing a recording of my voice #thoughts

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some-stars · 3 years

Text

Fic writer questionnaire! Tagged by @deputychairman, thank you!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

65....just waiting for 69 so i can celebrate

2) What's your total AO3 word count?

288,609

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

okay, so, there's a lot so we're gonna collapse some. So, 16: The Witcher (games and show), Supernatural, Dark Angel, Glee, Stargate (both SG1 and SGA), MCU, Vampire Diaries, Teen Wolf, due South, DC (comics and movies), House of Leaves, Sense8, Harry Potter, Les Miserables (book), Doctor Who, and X-Men movies. Oh, and I wrote a lot of NSYNC RPF back in the day but you will never see it. (Unless you literally read it back then and remember one and want to reread it, I’m not ashamed of them if you were also in the pit with me. If that is the case feel free to ask.)

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

all some children do is work: this one surprised me, i did NOT think there was this kind of appetite for almost-gen turned-into-a-kid fic, but i do really like the fic itself so i'm contented with its acclaim

method: i mean, it's fake dating, written back when there wasn't much non-modern-AU fake dating in witcher fandom (possibly there still isn't?) so, not surprised

Emergency Pants: this is the one that the Claw chose back in 2012 bc i had written very pornographic tony/bruce about a month after Avengers came out so there was a big appetite for it. i don't much care for it these days except i do still think the tony voice is good

warm you like the sunshine: deeply unsurprised this one is popular (and it's one of my own fics that i reread a lot), it's extremely tender BDSM with a juggernaut pairing, that gets the readers

As often as from thee I go: honestly kinda surprised about this one, which is just a 2500 word confection i wrote for my own satisfaction, but it does have explicit sex and jaskier crying about his feelings so maybe it makes sense

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I almost always do, but usually just with "Thanks!" unless it's a detailed or lengthy comment.

6) What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

"Long black night, morning frost" (Les Miserables) for absolute certain. One of the very few fics I've written with an outright unhappy and pessimistic ending (although I found it very cathartic to write). For Witcher fics, "Kind" and "go ask alice" are about as sad as I get.

7) What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Almost all of them, honestly. There's a point in happiness of endings where you really can't distinguish degrees. Probably the most--not saccharine, but distinctly Happy Ending-ish is either "Water like a stone" or "Darling, if you only knew," which to my eternal shame are both Glee fics. In terms of Witcher fics...it's still hard to pick! I think the kidfic trilogy ended very, very happily; I think "If you live through this with me" ended TOO happily.

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you've written?

I do not, and I don't read them, at least not since the days of the late 90s/early 2000s when I once read a really good Highlander/X-Files crossover (oh, and Martha's cosmic horror fic where Stargate and Angel and I think something else all cross over but it feels quite natural and right). I don't like fusions, either, most of the time.

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Never! In 20 years! I've been extremely lucky.

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

ahahahahahahahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

yes...yes you could say i write smut. on occasion. you know, when the urge comes on me. i write mostly kink or at least kink-adjacent fic, but i've done some vanilla scenes too, and i write m/m and m/f and (occasionally) f/f. fun fact, my only rimming scene to date was in a f/f/f threesome!

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

I think so? I can't remember, honestly, which sounds dreadful but like...I don't READ the translation, because I am sadly monolingual, but I get a burst of delight when someone asks to do it (or to make a podfic).

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have tried--me and a friend once got like 12k deep into a co-written Tiger and Bunny fic--but it doesn't really work out for me. I am a massive control freak when it comes to writing and absolutely miserable to work with. (Although I wasn't so bad back when we wrote the T&B fic, we just sort of never got around to finishing it. Which is sad, because it was GREAT.)

14) What's your all time favorite ship?

Max/Alec from Dark Angel. I shipped it when I only started watching DA for Jensen's episodes, I shipped it when I fell in love with Max, I shipped it when I frantically hand-wrote notes about the fic I wanted to write, I ship it right now as I'm typing, I will ship it in my grave. Also it's not a het ship bc neither of them are heterosexual, thank you very much.

15) What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I only post finished fics, but in terms of things I haven't posted, I still think my "For A Good Time Call" fem!jaskier/yennefer(/geralt) AU would have been truly incredible. If you haven't watched that movie go watch it immediately so you can share this beautiful idea with me.

16) What are your writing strengths?

Ohhh, this and the next one are hard, because I truly don't know. Well, besides "porn." I am genuinely good at porn, which is HILARIOUS considering how many more sex scenes I've written than participated in. But overall, I have so much angst and neurosis and tenuous self-worth tied up in writing, I'm a very bad judge of my own skills. Also, it depends on the fandom! In some fandoms I'm good at dialogue, in others not so much. In some fandoms I'm good at pastiching the tone of the source and in others...Not So Much.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

If I had to pick a weakness, though, I'd say concrete imagery/detail. Like, the things that characters are physically doing either out of emotional reaction or just, they're doing something in that scene. Dialogue is usually easier (not sure if it comes out better, but it's easier).

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I used to be mildly annoyed at it but! Now! On AO3! You can put a footnote by the French or whatever, so the reader can jump down to read a translation and then jump right back up. I now feel that if you choose to include dialogue (or any words) in another language from the rest of the story, this is the only acceptable method.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I remember vaguely in 1996 or so writing a couple pages of Kit whump for the Young Wizards books. I wrote some execrable nonsense in X-Files, but in my defense I had just turned 13. I don't THINK I wrote anything for Star Trek, which was my first fandom. Oh, and I attempted to write fic for Homicide, which I watched in 7th and 8th grade and lied about my age to get onto the good mailing lists (they were actually the bad, racist mailing lists, I would later realize, but again I was 13).

20) What's your favorite fic you've written?

Sorry to disappoint anyone who follows me for Witcher content, but it's either "The absolute absurdity of end-series items" (House of Leaves) or "A quite unlosable game" (Dark Angel). They are both Big Idea fics, and I feel like in both of them I got the Idea across brilliantly, and I'm truly proud of them and think they're the best things I've ever made. (In terms of Witcher fic, it's the kidfic trilogy for sure.)

I am not going to tag anyone because that always makes me mildly anxious, but if you read this and you want to do it you can say you were tagged by me! :D? :D?

#meme

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rwby-diaries · 3 years

Photo

Happy birthday Ruby!

Our most adorable shooting star is up! Ruby was born on October 31st (kept from CRWBY canon)! She came into the world just a pink little thing, and she stole everyone’s hearts with just one look. Her family loves her so much and so do we!

Line Art by: @bosiphas

Colour by: @data-plays-viola

Ficlet by: @lameclub

Edited by: @bosiphas @yang-diary @data-plays-viola and @thetopazvulpix

Ficlet under the cut!

“Happy birthday Ruby!’’ Different voices all cry out in unison as Ruby stands there with her eyes big and wide.

“You guys shouldn’t have!’’ She says awkwardly - causing Yang tomorrow her eyes and smirk in her direction.

“Jaune spilled the beans, didn’t he?’’

Ruby scoffs loudly, “Whaaat? How could you possibly assume that our good, kind-natured friend Jaune--’’

“You don’t have to defend me, Ruby. It’s pretty obvious,’’ Jaune says while scratching the back of his head with an embarrassed smile. Weiss rolls her eyes as she walks over, taking Ruby’s arm and leading her in the other direction.

“You can count yourself out of the next surprise party,’’ Weiss says with a pointed look back at Jaune. Ruby giggles before turning around to better keep up with her friend. They begin to approach a round table not that far from them - causing Ruby to let out a giant gasp.

The table is decorated with many different trays of sweets and baked goods - carefully placed in order of colour and type. Ruby turns back towards her friends.

“You didn’t have to do all of this!’’ she says with a big smile on her face as her eyes well up with tears.

Nora giggles, "Ren spent the last two nights making sure every cupcake was perfect, didn't ya buddy?"

Nora finishes the question with a poke to Ren’s ribcage and a smile. Ren looks down at her with a puzzled look on their face, "You only turn 15 once - I don't see why I should hold back." Yang shakes her head as she leans on their shoulder with a smirk.

“We aren’t making fun of ya bud! No need to be self-conscious about the amount you made.

“Anyways,” Yang adds with an even bigger smirk, “Nora’s bottomless pit she calls a stomach will probably eat half of this in like an hour.”

Ruby giggles as she takes a single cupcake and, without an ounce of hesitation, bites into it. The sweetness burst to life in her mouth, causing them to hum in appreciation. “Oh! This is so good Ren, maybe the best thing I’ve ever eaten!’’ She exclaims as she quickly devours the rest of her sweet.

Yang whistles, “That’s a bold statement - considering we grew up around the self-proclaimed 'Best Cook in all of Remnant' - Uncle Clover.’’

Ruby blinks for a few seconds before she laughs in response. “Listen, both are on the same level as the other - actually this reminds me of my 13th birthday,’’ Ruby says happily as she finds herself becoming more distant and lost in thought.

~~~

"Uncle Qrowwww!" Ruby shouts as she jumps onto his arms; he catches and holds her up with ease. "I can't believe I get to spend my birthday with both you and Uncle Clover!" Her eyes sparkle as her legs dangle back and forth mid-air.

"How was the ferry ride from Patch? Hope it wasn't too scary to travel on your own." Qrow questions with a head tilt which only causes Ruby to scoff in response.

"You're talking to a future huntress here, Uncle Qrow - a little boat ride wasn't gonna scare me," Ruby says with a big smirk on her face before she continues "Besides I barely ever get to see you guys these days and no way was I going to spend my birthday alone!"

Qrow chuckles as he affectionately ruffles their hair. "Oz decided to let me have a free weekend. Coincidentally, Mr. Tin Man felt the same for Clover," he smiles as she jumps back down to the ground.

"Tin man?"

Before Qrow could respond to her inquiry - the front door swings open and another voice is heard. "So, our favourite lil' whirlwind is here already?" Clover says with a smirk as he leans on the doorframe. Ruby lets out a squeal as she zips across the front lawn and practically leaps into her uncle's chest, knocking the man back a couple of feet.

"Uncle Clover, it's been so long!" Ruby cries out as they hug him tightly and Clover smiles warmly down at her. As she drops back down and takes a step back, she can barely contain her excitement, frantically patting her legs. Clover takes a few seconds to recover from the intensity of Ruby's hug, then looks down at her with a proud smile.

"I swear you've grown an inch or two since I last saw ya!" He exclaims with a short gasp - inspecting them closely.

Ruby giggles, "It's actually just my new boots," she explains as she shows them off proudly which causes Clover to whistle into admiration. Ruby pauses for a moment and gestures for their uncle to come closer, the other doing just that, as they stretch up to his ear in a stealthy fashion.

"But if anyone else asks - I finally had my growth spurt." Ruby whispers.

Clover takes a second to process that before he snorts and stands back up, "Your secret is safe with me munchkin." He finishes with a wink and ruffles their hair. Ruby let's out a playful grunt as she frantically goes to fix her hair back to the way she liked it just as Qrow approaches from behind them.

"I'm gonna pop these bags up to your room, squirt, and then I hafta check on your birthday surprise," Qrow explains as he easily picks up and carries in her assortment of different backpacks and cases. "Why dontcha join your uncle in the kitchen?" He suggests with a smirk towards Clover - who beams brightly in return. Ruby nods enthusiastically and takes hold of Clover's arm.

"Yesss come on Uncle Clover, time's a wastin!" They cry out as they tug Clover in the direction of the kitchen which has her uncle laughing warmly; allowing for his nibling to drag him in the direction she wanted to go.

"We'll see you soon babe - shoot me a text when everything's ready!" Clover shouts back towards Qrow and the other nods in agreement.

As the duo separated themselves from Qrow - they enter into the kitchen. The whole room was rather neatly kept - totally unlike Ruby’s kitchen at home, which often fell victim to plates and dishes piling up, especially if it was just Ruby and her dad.

On the table in the middle, there was a variety of different baking utensils and ingredients - all neatly sorted and ready to be used. Ruby gasps loudly as they sprint into the room, admiring her surroundings with great excitement.

Clover trails in not far behind the other and chuckles softly, "I was going to have the cake and everything else ready for you, but I remembered how much you love to bake, so I waited to make the cupcakes." He tells them while watching the young kid take in the sight before them with big eyes.

"Always! Just because it's my birthday doesn't mean I don't want to make badass cupcakes-" Ruby stops herself when she realises what she let slip past her mouth and clears her throat. "Doesn't mean we can't make awesome cupcakes," they correct themself with an innocent smile. Clover rolls his eyes playfully, choosing to ignore that in favour of wanting Ruby to enjoy her birthday.

"Anyways! We should get started - would you like to do the honours?" Clover says as he passes her the bowl of butter and Ruby nods in a dramatic fashion. As she dumps its contents into the mixing bowl before her, her uncle pours some casting sugar in before presenting Ruby with the whisk.

"Use it wisely, young one." Clover says.

Ruby gasps while taking it carefully and nodding, "I won't let you down good sir." She tries to keep up the serious demeanor but she couldn't contain the giggles that were building up deep down. As they begin to whisk the ingredients together, Ruby starts to ponder on a few things.

She was excited beyond belief about spending her birthday with her uncles - it was a rare sight when both of them could attend. But… there were small things that were nagging at Ruby and refusing to let go. Their sudden quietness immediately catches her uncle's attention, who then turns to face her.

“Something on your mind?” Clover asks in a gentle tone - completely surprising Ruby who lets out a tiny yelp. It didn't take her long to recover from that sudden question as Ruby looks down at the mix and sighs.

“I'm happy to be here with both you and uncle Qrow but… It's my first birthday without Yang.” Ruby speaks very quietly as she slows to a halt and their hair falls onto her face - hiding her true expression. Clover watches with soft eyes as he lowers himself down to her level.

"I know how hard it must be with Yang being on that school trip and your dad being busy," Clover starts in a gentle tone while pushing Ruby's fringe back once more, "but trust me when I say you're going to have a great birthday with the most awesome surprise." He gives her a big smile as the words seem to do the job of cheering her up. Ruby's expression lights back up and they wipe their eyes

"Thank you Uncle Clover," she says with a lopsided smile. Clover laughs as he kisses her forehead and stands back up - the pair returning to their tasks.

"So uncle Clover - a birthday surprise huh?" She asks with a sly smile.

Clover glances down for a moment before chuckling to himself, "You got that right." He doesn’t elaborate further, simply gesturing for her to stop the whisking for a moment. As he adds a small tablespoon of vanilla extract, while Ruby's curiosity reaches an all time high.

"I wonder what it could be - maybe a mega awesome present-"

Clover laughs, "Ruby I know you have long figured out I'm the weak link when it comes to surprises," he says with a side glance down towards the kid.

Ruby giggles. "Yeah I found out when you accidentally told Yang that dad was considering the motorcycle license-"

Clover hushes them with a small laugh, "Which your dad never ever lets me live down."

"But I promised your uncle I wouldn't breathe a word of it - so will a simple reassurance that you will love it suffice?" Clover asks.

Despite the desire to know brewing deep down within Ruby - she understood this was something super important to keep a secret. With a sigh, she finishes her whisking and nods in agreement. Clover pats her on the head

"Not much longer now," he says while taking the bowl away.

"Now remember - 15 minutes in the oven or you'll burn them!" Ruby calls as Clover goes to fill the pre-prepared cupcake pan with the batter.

Clover scoffs,"You're talking to the 'Best Baker in all of Remnant' here Ruby. I ain't about to let these cupcakes burn on my watch!"

After the batch has been fully cooked and decorated, Clover's scroll finally dings on the counter loudly. Ruby's head perks up.

"Is that Qrow telling us everything is ready?!" They ask while frantically patting the table.

Clover laughs, "Let's see." He walks over and picks the device up. After being silent for a few seconds, the man looks back up and smiles. "We have to head out back."

Ruby follows behind her uncle enthusiastically - as he leads them down the hallway.

Excitement was thrumming all throughout Ruby's body as they got closer and closer to their destination. About a dozen different scenarios were rattling around in their head at once - but they just couldn't come to a solid conclusion. Was it a new cape? Maybe they're getting a super cool motorcycle too?! Clover stops before the backdoor and turns to Ruby.

"Close your eyes buddy," he tells her with a big smile. Ruby did exactly as she was told and soon after did they feel Clover gently take their arm and begin to lead her forward.

Ruby could feel the cool breeze of the outside world as they were continued to be led by her uncle - the shuffling of feet could be heard too. After a few seconds, Clover orders her to stop and she does just that.

"Can I open my eyes now?!" They exclaim, growing more impatient by the second.

Clover laughs, "You can now."Ruby's eyes flutter open. After taking a moment to adjust to the sudden sunlight - Ruby focuses her gaze right ahead of her, letting out a huge gasp at the sight before their eyes.

"Happy birthday Ruby!"

Different voices yell in unison, coming noth only from her Uncle Qrow, but also from her dad and sister, standing next to Qrow with huge matching grins. Ruby begins to bounce on the spot before jetting across the grassy garden.

"Oh my gosh!" They yell, tackling all their family in one swift motion, everyone being knocked to the ground by the force of it. Everyone laughs wildly as Yang and Tai embrace Ruby.

"You said you guys couldn't make it!" They say with tears in her eyes and Yang swiftly wipes them away, a soft smile on her face.

"You didn't think I'd miss your big birthday bash, did ya sib?"

Tai nods, "I decided to get off work early and Yang finished up her Huntsfolk Observation Trip quicker than expected." The trio finally stand back up and Tai his head tilts in Qrow's direction before continuing.

"Qrow managed to pull some strings to make sure we were all here," he says with a smirk.

Yang scoffs, "I had to make sure these old timers were doing your birthday right." She gives both Tai and Qrow a smug grin. Tai playfully jabs his daughter in the ribs and Yang snorts in response.

Ruby's face lit up - not sure how to react. Tai's face softens for a moment as he turns back around to pick up an item he dropped when they fell, picking up a small book with a pink bow neatly placed on top of it.

"I wanted you to have this. We all spent the last week getting all the pictures printed and organized." He explains in a quiet tone while placing the book into Ruby's hands.

Ruby stares at it, seeing the words 'Ruby's Birthday' printed on the top stirred emotions deep down. Everyone crowds around them with supportive looks which encourages Ruby to open the book, letting the pages fall open somewhere around the halfway point.

As Ruby looks down at the page, she could see Yang holding their baby self with the help of Tai, her older sister’s eyes wide with wonder.

"Yang insisted that she held you the moment she laid eyes on you," Qrow chuckles fondly.

Yang gives a quick snicker in response, "I just knew how awesome my baby sibling was the moment I saw them," she says while ruffling Ruby's hair and the other pushes her off with a smile.

"What is it with all this hair ruffling today?!" Ruby asks with giggles sprinkled in between words.

As they flip backwards to the previous page, they see two pages of Qrow and Clover holding them as a baby as well.

"Clover of course, had to make a luck pun," Qrow says with a smirk in his husband's direction and the other stuck his tongue out playfully.

"So nothing much has changed between now and then?" Ruby points out which causes everyone else to laugh alongside them. Ruby turns the page further back towards the front of the book, seeing a picture of Tai.

"I remember when your mother went into labour - I quickly ran back into our room to specifically get that shirt," Tai explains with a short laugh, pointing at the red ‘#1 Dad’ shirt in the picture.

Clover scoffs, "You were planning that gag ever since Summer became pregnant too."

Tai waves him off “I’m the embarrassing father - I have an image to maintain!’’ He laughs and Ruby snorts in response - looking up at her dad with happy eyes. After a moment, Ruby’s attention once again falls back to the book before them - as they flip to the first page of the book and Ruby finds herself growing silent.

Tai looks down at them with sad eyes as he places his hand on her shoulder "She wasn't scared at all when she was pregnant with you - I was more frightened than her." That comment has Ruby look up to her dad with a sad smile as she let him continue.

"She did everything in her power to make sure you were brought into the world safely and surrounded by love," he explains as everyone around them watched on in a wistful way "Your mom loved you so much Ruby. Every moment she spent with you was everything she could've hoped for."

That was what brought on the tears - as Yang and Ruby both found themselves starting to cry. Everyone then closed in for a group hug. Nobody moved for a few moments, just choosing to instead enjoy each other's presence in total serenity.

"One last thing," Yang says with a smile as she pulls back and taking out a small camera. "Every year me and Ruby take a picture together for their birthday," she explains as she gestures for everyone to squeeze together "And this is the first time we've all been together in a long long time."

Yang places the camera on the nearby picnic table and sets a timer "Everyone says cheese!" She cries out while rushing over just in time as everyone screams out that word excitedly. The camera clicks with a flash and everyone starts to giggle. Qrow gives Ruby a quick pat on the head.

"Now let's dig into some birthday cake, shall we?" He suggests and Ruby gasps loudly.

"Birthday person gets the first slice!" She exclaims as she zips over in a burst of petals.

~~~

“That’s such a sweet story Ruby,’’ Pyrrha says with a warm smile on her face and placing her hands on top of heart in a fond manner. “Would you like to take a picture with all of us?’’

That question easily catches Ruby’s attention as her eyes go wide, “Oh my gosh yes! I’d love nothing more,’’ they say while jumping on the spot and clasping her hands together. “It’ll show off our awesome costumes too. I dont have one good birthday photo in Halloween costumes, and I’ve almost always had a Halloween birthday.’’

Weiss raises an eyebrow “Ruby, you were born on Halloween, every year is a Halloween birthday." Yang hushes Weiss with a playful push.

“You can survive one night without making a sassy remark Ice Queen,’’ she teases which obviously irritates the other but after a moment, Weiss takes in a deep breath and seemingly composes herself.

“Does anyone have a camera then?’’ Weiss asks.

Everyone looks around at each other before shrugging and Nora groans, “Where’s Velvet when ya need her.” . Blake’s head perks up as she takes out her scroll and gestures to it.

“It’s not as traditional, but I think your scroll could work.’’ She says with a small smile.

Yang’s face lights up “Once again - Blake is here with the big brain,’’ she says with a wink which in turn causes Blake’s cheeks to flush red and she looks down at the floor with a tiny smile. Ruby takes out her device and beams brightly.

"Everybody squeeze in - I’m pretty short,’’ she says loudly and everyone begins to crowd in around them, all trying their best to get in level with the camera. With a bit of effort, Ruby manages to hold the scroll as high she possibly could and she gives a big smile.

“Everyone say cheese!’’ She yells and everyone screams that word at the same time.

A flash on the scroll lights up the room before Ruby lowers it down - inspecting the picture that was taken. As they look at the photo, tears begin to well up in their eyes and she sniffles lightly.

Yang glances down with a fond look on her face and pats Ruby lightly on the head, “All good Rubes?’’ Ruby wipes her eyes and nods frantically.

“It’s everything I could’ve hoped for.’’

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sonic-wildfire · 3 years

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Emotion Sickness: Diary Entries from Shadow the Hedgehog (Part 1)

Select entries from Shadow’s diary were found and compiled by Sonic (with Shadow’s permission) as an homage to both Shadow’s development and their relationship together. The entries were made between March 2009 and October 2013. This part of the compilation contains the entries made between March 2009 and December 2010.

10:53 PM - 4 March 2009

Hmph. Another day behind me. I crossed paths with Sonic today and he offered to have lunch with me. The request was somewhat flattering, but I turned it down. I don’t really need to eat.

Why is Sonic always so nice to me? It’s a liability to be within ten feet of him at this point, considering how much trouble he gets into. Whatever. I’m better by myself anyway.

5:02 PM - 19 July 2009

Amy visited me today and said she was here on Sonic’s behalf. Don’t know why, but she wanted me to know Sonic was offering to have me over at his place.

Sonic has a permanent home? Who knew?

I thought about it for a bit, but I declined. Again, I don’t understand why Sonic continues to do nice things for me even though I’m the most miserable being on the planet. It’s not that I hate them or anything, but I just can’t get close to anybody else. What if they reject me? What if...

Forget it.

I can’t think about this stuff. I’m going to take a nap. My thoughts are the last thing I need to be with right now.

6:46 PM - 30 November 2009

Wouldn’t you know it, that stubborn blue hedgehog turned up at my door today and again asked me to spend time with him. I was about to just tell him to piss off, but something about this interaction was different. I don’t know what, why, or how, but... it actually sounded appealing this time?

Very hesitantly, I said I’d think about it but don’t expect me to take you up on the offer. He just smiled, said okay, and left.

Maybe I should at least try to be somewhat charitable for once. I called up Rouge and told her about what had happened and she just teased me over it before hanging up. You know, typical Rouge.

But she did tell me that it was ultimately my decision to make.

Hm. I think I might go after all.

12:25 PM - 2 December 2009

Just got back from having breakfast with Sonic. He was actually surprised I showed up. Honestly? I was surprised, too.

I didn’t talk too much, but Sonic... oh boy, Sonic. It’s like he never ran out of things to talk about. He’s smiling the entire time he’s with me, too. It was almost alluring just how much his bright demeanor contrasted with my moody self.

One of the things Sonic talked about was his friends. I was fully ready to just stop him right then and there (it rubs me the wrong way when anybody mentions friendship), but then he told me I was a “good friend” to him.

I asked him if he was serious. Sonic said yes.

In retrospect, it was certainly more eventful than most days. Perhaps little meetups like this would be healthier for me if I did them every once in a while.

3:59 AM - 28 May 2010

I can’t rest. I keep thinking about Sonic.

We’ve been meeting occasionally like I said I should. The longer I’m with Sonic, the more I begin to see in him what I could’ve been.

He’s a caring, generous man with everything going for him. People like him. He has a purpose in life. He’s coolheaded, rational, and valuable to society.

So why on Earth would Sonic be spending time with me, a reprehensibly depressed alien who is so completely worthless and undeserving of care? How could he possibly like me when I don’t even like myself?

I’m tired and tears are pricking at the corners of my eyes. I need to talk to someone in the morning.

1:51 AM - 29 May 2010

I called Rouge and told her about last night. She wasn’t very vocal, but she did offer a little encouragement. She said I don’t get enough sleep and that a little bit of rest would put me at ease for a bit. But I’m still on edge. What does Sonic see in me that I don’t? Or am I just overthinking this? My thoughts are erratic right now, so I’m sorry to anyone reading if this doesn’t make sense.

Ugh.

I can feel tears welling up in my eyes already.

I’m so weak. I’m so pathetic.

Who would ever want to spend time with someone like me?

All I do is brood in the corner of the room all day and be an asshole to everybody. I don’t understand how anybody could be tolerant of me, much less a “friend.”

Yet... I’m still drawn to Sonic. For whatever reason, he’s just so inviting. He’s nice. Too nice.

11:32 AM - 8 August 2010

Over the past few months, Sonic and I have been visiting each other more often, and not much has changed.

From me, at least.

Sonic has been growing even kinder towards me than before. Sometimes, he’ll give me small gifts like a scarf. Other times, he’ll ask me about myself. If I were ready, I would’ve just spilled my true feelings about myself right then and there.

But I wasn’t ready. So I just talked about the very few things I did find enjoyment in. Gardening, space, and Chao. I begged him to never tell anybody about what I said to him, and he looked at me like I had three heads but vowed to keep it a secret anyway.

I just don’t know. Sonic’s a good guy, but... I can’t bring myself to be friendly with him. If I start growing close with people, they’ll just die or leave me and I’ll be heartbroken again just like last time. I can’t go through that again. I’m not strong enough.

I appear tough on the outside. But the truth is, I’m always on the verge of breaking down. My mental state is so volatile and virtually uncontrollable.

Chaos damn it, just get out of my head already!

3:40 PM - 23 December 2010

The holiday season. A time for joy, reminiscing on the past, looking forward to the new year, and exchanging gifts.

For everybody else, that is.

Ever since I came here, I’ve spent every Christmas alone.

All the others have a big gathering at Sonic’s house, having a good time (allegedly). I was never interested in these and I always declined every single invitation I got from Sonic. Yet, like clockwork, he still sends me one every year. Maybe hoping that I’ll change my mind one year.

After a lot of self-reflection over the past year, though, I’m not sure how much more invitations I can reject before Sonic gives up trying.

I crumble in social situations. Interacting with anybody other than Rouge, Omega, or Sonic for more than ten seconds takes an insane amount of willpower.

Something has to give. Either I go for once or they stop trying.

12:48 AM - 24 December 2010

I’ve decided I need to go. Maybe bring one of my Chao if things go wrong. I’m not necessarily doing this because I want to go. In fact, I’d be a lot happier if I didn’t go because at least I know things can’t go wrong if I’m by myself.

But I can’t stop thinking about Sonic and his friends. It drives me crazy.

9:21 PM - 24 December 2010

Party’s tomorrow. Note to self: don’t fuck this up.

11:17 PM - 26 December 2010

How quickly things can change has always amazed me. Tonight proved that.

Everybody was really surprised to see me showing up, but they said they were all grateful I showed up. Sonic, of course, was the first to welcome me, giving me a hug that admittedly felt like a breath of fresh air after so much time alone. Then again, I have a reputation so I needed to act like he was crushing me to death.

I didn’t spend much time talking with other people, though I did exchange some small talk with Rouge. The usual.

As the party grew longer, I found myself being... complimented by others?

Knuckles said he hoped I was “doing well.” Cream gave me a single flower while wishing me a merry Christmas. Tails shyly waved at me (I put on a smile and waved back). Omega said I was “one of the only creatures made of flesh” he trusted.

I’m sorry. Did these people forget who they were talking to?

Dinner was fine, though I was particularly eager about the sweets. Oh, right, I forgot to mention I have a knack for candy. The more you know.

Of course, then it was time for gifts. I swear you could fill the Grand Canyon with the sheer amount of presents under the tree. I guessed that roughly three of those were for me, ready to be mailed to me if I didn’t show up.

So you can imagine my surprise when I saw eight presents being dropped into my lap and all of them reading “To: Shadow.”

We all took turns opening our presents. I had two presents from Amy (a coffee mug and a Chao toy), one present from Espio (a kunai), one present from Tails (a bag of coffee beans), one present from Knuckles (a Kill la Kill DVD) and... three presents from Sonic?!

The first one was classic Sonic stuff. A sweater with the word “faker” sewed on the chest. He thought that one was really funny. I didn’t really care.

The second one was more genuine. A pair of rocket boosters for my shoes. My old ones are just about dead, so this was welcome.

The third one... subverted all expectation. It was a small box that contained a piece of paper. It read:

“Dear Shadow, stay after the party and meet me upstairs when the others leave. Signed, Sonic.”

The others were curious about what Sonic meant by this. Silver joked that I was being sent to the principal’s office.

Eventually, the party came to a close and people left. I went upstairs as Sonic had told me, and there he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

He motioned for me to take a seat next to him. I sat down and asked him what he wanted me for, half-expecting something stupid.

“I understand you haven’t had the easiest life...”

I instantly got up to leave. No way I was sticking around to hear this again.

But Sonic grabbed my arm and yanked me back to the bed, his face now spelling genuine concern.

“...I know you mean well. Sometimes, you do things that we think are dumb but actually turn out to be smart. Other times, you just do dumb stuff. But that’s not the point. The point is, I want you to know that I’m still here for you. I can tell you’re bothered by your thoughts. But the bottom line is that I, and we, care about you. We love you, Shadow. I love you. Please don’t think you’re not worthy of being cared about. We have our ups and downs, but we always work it out eventually, right? I know your thought process works differently than mine. That does not make you any less deserving of respect. My greatest wish is that you would love yourself as much as we love you.”

I was stunned. That bastard. Quickly losing my composure, I began blubbering about how I couldn’t stand the thought of getting close to someone just to lose them again. How I’m so terrified that I will just be manipulated and used by people pretending to be my “friend.”

Sonic told me that he would never go away and that he would never “use” me.

Fuck. Fuck.

Sonic embraced me and I’m embarrassed to admit that I began sobbing as I wrapped my arms around him. I swore to myself that I’d never show any kind of weakness around them.

“It’s okay to cry,” he told me. “Don’t be afraid anymore. I’m here now. I’m here.”

“And I always will be. That’s a promise.”

#sth #Sonic the Hedgehog #Shadow the Hedgehog #Sonadow #Shasoni #Sonic Fanfiction #Fanfiction

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 years

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“Come closer--allow me to spin you a story.”

A fun little aesthetic update to the blog, my dear readers.

Recently, I commissioned the talented @loliya-art to bring the little cursed Raven to life. They created a variety of cute expressions for her, so I will be utilizing those assets in some of my responses to non-requests.

Please check out loliya-art and consider supporting them!

Who is this mysterious maiden cloaked in black feathers?

It’s Raven~

Twisted from the raven of the infamous Alice in Wonderland riddle, “why is a raven like a writing desk?”. She never existed, was never truly depicted--now, she is an idea given a form.

Random headcanons for her under the cut.

Raven is a young lady! However, she often refers to herself as they/them, since she feels that a narrator/storyteller must remain “neutral”.

150 cm tall; she is a smol birb.

She lives in Crowley’s attic. The room is piled high with books and papers, littered with bottles of ink and quills.

Constantly reminds her Uncle Crowley he should be more responsible--though he just caws right back that she should just relax and enjoy her school life.

Sometimes she helps out Uncle with his duties, since she feels bad that he has taken her under his wing at no cost to her.

Keeps a diary to record her adventures and observations. She thinks she’s being clever about where she keeps it, but we all know it’s stuffed under her pillow. (No peeking allowed, or she will peck you!)

Her taste in fashion is very gothic lolita.

Jumpy, especially around loud sounds.

Has the appetite of a bird, but she’s very curious about trying new and exotic dishes.

Besides the obvious hobbies (reading and writing), Raven also likes to people watch, raise little plants (they help perk up the room!), and brew (as well as name) new colors of ink. Most recently, she made a lovely peacock blue-green and labelled it Brilliance.

Special talent? Making increasingly outlandish excuses to avoid romantic scenarios and advances. She knows the tropes and how to disrupt the mood but it’s a shame that a certain eel knows exactly how to twist her words against her.

Her guilty pleasure is snuggling up with a good old fashioned romance novel or shoujo manga...but she will vehemently deny it if you ask her about it.

Speaking of denying things, she does that a lot. What a tsundere. It’s more of a defense mechanism than anything, since she is still rather emotionally immature.

Her big words and self-important way of speaking are just a way for her to mask how easily flustered she is...as well as to hide her deep-seated trust issues.

Despite how serious she tries to be, Raven does find herself daydreaming a lot. Daydream about what, you ask? Of her happy ending. A bird is allowed to dream, right?

She would describe herself as pragmatic and sharp-tongued--but at one point, she was innocent, gullible, and soft spoken. Raven hates that old, foolish version of herself.

Her mortal enemies? Savanaclaw and Rook. That entire dorm is teeming with predators--and Rook is a predator in his own right. They just rile her feathers up—though recently, she has started to get along a bit better with him.

Friends with Riddle, if only for their shared distrust of the Leeches. They have little tea parties and shit talk the twins over scones and sandwiches.

Not particularly close to any of her other peers. She gets along with them just fine, but seems to hold people at a safe distance.

Do not ask her what her opinion is on leeches or eels. She will snap at you.

Raven uses her powers of observation and skill with wordcraft to mend the relationships of those around her. If two friends are fighting? She’ll get them to reconcile. Someone’s looking for love? She’ll give them a slight nudge.

How selfless of her--or is that the curse talking, the tomes calling for new tales to be penned, and the raven looking for inspiration?

Not the best athlete. She has very slow reaction times and is just...overall clumsy. The only thing she is decent at now is running away from things that scare her.

Generally frail and weak. Sucks to be her. Can’t swim, and can’t fly (at least not in her human form). Again, sucks to be her.

True to her namesake, she has the ability to turn into a raven, though it only seems to happen during moments of intense distress or weakness. After a certain amount of time elapses, she turns back into her human form.

Raven can summon an enchanted swing set to fly her human form here and there. She has decorated it with ribbons and tissue paper flowers to make it look pretty.

Hates the hot weather--it makes her molt.

You know what else she hates? Leeches. They’re the absolute worst.

Know what else she hates? Jade Leech. He’s the absolute worst.

#twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #something no one asked for #annoncement #update #Raven Crowley

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dearest-bucky · 4 years

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Breath of life (One Shot)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: After Thanos snapped his fingers and wiped out half the population of the planet, the remaining half was left more broken than ever. Some people tried to move on and make the best out of the new world they were living, others couldn’t bare to do so.

Words: 8.3K

Warnings: Angst, so much angst you better sit tight for this one

A/n: The reader’s condition with her humanity is based of The Vampire Diaries, especially the parts where Stefan would flip his humanity off and go on killing sprees. It is explained further in the story but I thought I could give you a clue as to where the idea came from.

Originally posted: May 11, 2020

Every noise suddenly stopped. Even the wind that moved through the leaves of the trees, causing them to rustle, couldn’t be heard anymore. The growling of the beasts stopped, the grunts of people fighting stopped.

The air was uncharacteristically still.

Thanos snapped his fingers and vanished through a portal. He was gone.

It was only a few moments later when screams of people started piercing the air, panicked, desperate. Then she turned her head towards him, hearing his surprisingly calm voice.

“Steve?” And then he vanished too. He turned to ashes right in front of her eyes and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She saw Steve walk towards the pile of ashes that were left behind, kneeling to softly touch the ground, a devastated look in his face.

“Oh God.” Was all he said, losing his balance and falling on the ground with a thud.

Everyone that were left soon gathered around him. Natasha, Bruce, Rhodey and Thor standing there, battered and tired, but their faces showed fear and shock too.

Everything was silent and still until a blood curdling scream that erupted from the depths of her chest left her mouth. Five pairs of eyes turned to look at her, but none of them was fast enough to move towards her as to not let her now unconscious body fall to the ground.

She woke up with a headache, in a room so white it almost blinded her. She was dizzy and unsure of her surroundings and she started to panic, frantically trying to remove the IV in her arms and the other wires attached to her body.

A nurse came in immediately, but as soon as she saw her state, she left the room hurriedly, only to return a few moments later with other people. In the middle of her panic she recognized Steve, and when he neared her bed, trying to stop her thrashing she clung to him like a lifeline and started to cry with loud sobs.

He cradled her head in his arms softly, shushing her with his voice. Eventually she had no choice but to calm down and Steve was grateful for that.

Despite her calming down, he didn’t move away from her, now sitting more comfortably on her bed and hugging her so tight he was surprised how she could still breathe. But she seemed like she didn’t care about that, her own arms linked around his torso just as tight, maybe more. She was still crying, but now it was only silent tears. She was so weary and exhausted she didn’t have the force to even sob anymore.

After a few more minutes, or maybe it was hours, not moving even an inch or letting go of him, with her face still burrowed in his chest, she mumbled tiredly. “Where are we?” Her voice was so weak and almost inaudible, but Steve’s super soldier hearing didn’t miss it.

“Wakanda. We brought you to the palace’s med bay immediately after you lost consciousness.” He explained and she could almost see it again how it all happened.

In her head replayed the moment she saw Bucky vanish right in front of her, she saw Steve’s desperation and as if she was living an out-of-body experience, she saw herself scream and then crash to the ground with a loud thud. Then her mind, just like her body, had blacked out too. Everything that surrounded her turned dark once more, and if it wasn’t for Steve’s presence keeping her grounded, she would have lost it again.

A fresh wave of tears streamed down her face and she could barely manage to wipe them with the back of her hand before speaking again. “I want to go home.”

Home. But what was home anymore? The Avengers compound in New York? That hasn’t been her home in almost 3 years. Wakanda? Definitely not. This place was filled with so many memories she wanted so badly to forget. In the last five years of her life, she had associated the notion of home not with a place, but with a person. To her, home was Bucky. But now that he was gone, she was left alone, homeless.

“Don’t worry Y/n, I’ll take care of you.” Steve whispered near her ear and she couldn’t do anything but agree. He was all she had left, the closest connection with Bucky, so she guessed it would be the right thing to stick with him.

The next day, they were all gathered near the quinjet, all that were left anyway. She stood close to Steve, always leaning to him, scared that if she moved to far he would disappear too. After saying goodbye to Okoye and a few Dora Milajes that were left, they entered the jet one after the other, heads hanging low and hurt.

Natasha was sitting next to Rhodey and Bruce, while she and Steve sat a few feet away, her head always leaning on Steve’s shoulder. The atmosphere around was heavy with heartbreak and loss and nobody was speaking, but their thoughts were all too loud Y/n could practically listen to them scream just as loud as she had before.

She had cried the entire night, exhausting herself to the limit and now she didn’t have the strength to even think anymore. She could only sniffle silently next to Steve, hoping to God she could fall asleep. At least then, she had no recollection of what had happened, she was away from the painful reality she was forced to live in.

The flight to New York was long, longer than anyone could bare to stay confined in such a small space without having to face each other and see the disappointment written across each of their figures. When they arrived though, they were met with Pepper, who looked just as bad as they did. Her eyes were red and swollen from all the crying and as soon as she saw Rhodey, she ran to hug him in hopes of consolation.

Steve hoisted Y/n in his arms, walking with her towards the sleeping quarters. He entered her old room with slow steps and set her on the bed quietly. She had fallen asleep almost an hour before landing in New York and Steve was thankful for that. He covered her body with a thick blanket and walked out just as quietly, closing the door behind him.

New York

It had been three weeks since they had returned from the greatest loss of their lives, yet they were still as disoriented as the first day. The half of the population was really gone. Hell, the half of the entire living creature. It was as if they had never existed. As if they had never been alive before. The only proof of their existence were the memories of those who were still alive. During these three weeks, there was no sign from Tony. He was considered lost too, along with the unfortunate half.

Y/n spent the days mostly in her bed, in the confines of her room. She barely moved, barely ate, barely talked. In such a short period of time all that was left of her was the shell of the person she used to be. She was grieving and it seemed that isolating herself from the rest of the world was her way of doing so.

It was just another day, just like the rest of them had been, when Natasha opened her door and entered her room with a glint in her eye she hadn’t seen during this last month. “Tony’s here.” Were the only words she said before she walked out of her room again, just as quickly as if she had come, and Y/n thought for a moment that she had imagined it all. That maybe her tired brain had her hallucinating. But she was soon proved wrong when she heard commotion coming from outside her room. She threw the blanket on the floor and got up from her bed too quickly for her own liking. Bad idea! Her vision turned black as soon as she got up on her legs and she had to lean on the bed again or she would fall down. She blinked hard a couple of times before standing on shaky legs and making the way towards the voices in the other room.

As soon as she entered, she was met with Tony yelling at Steve, disappointment and anger noticeable in the tone of his voice. She stood back, not daring to say anything as Tony continued to talk to Steve, calling him a liar and then only a moment later he lost consciousness. Y/n let out a small gasp when she saw him fall to the ground like that, so weak and tired.

After the satellite signal for the appearance of a new planet, the Avengers, or what was left of them, along with Carol, Nebula and Rocket, left on a mission, hoping they would be able to undo the Snap.

Considering the weak state she was in, not only physically but also mentally, Steve ordered her to stay at the compound with Tony and Pepper, despite her arguing and insisting that she had every right to go in that mission as much as the rest of them.

So she sat next to Tony’s bed with Pepper, chatting softly while Tony was having a much needed rest.

“Don’t lose hope just yet.” Pepper said to her, a genuine tone of voice, but she had a hard time believing it nonetheless. It was easy for Pepper to say so. It wasn’t the love of her life who turned to ashes in front of her. She had Tony back. Back and safe and close to her. Something she didn’t. She nodded her head in agreement anyway, not wanting to say anything to upset or hurt the other woman’s feelings. Don’t get her wrong, she was happy Tony was alive and well, as well as he could be anyway, but at least he was there.

After losing her parents in a supposedly car accident, which she knew was work of Hydra, Tony was the first person to support her 18 years old self, despite the fact that she didn’t need it. She had been trained by her parents her entire life the same way S.H.I.E.L.D agents were trained. She was fluent in seven foreign languages, including russian and arabic, she was very skilled in hand to hand combat, martial arts and had an impeccable mark in shooting.

She was in the car with her parents that fateful day, wanting to leave New York for a family vacation when a truck came out of nowhere and cut their way, resulting in the fatal crash that took the lives of both her parents. She was barely breathing by the time two Hydra agents dragged her out of the car and took her with them, curing her from her injuries but at the same time, conducting experiment after experiment in her body.

Almost four months later, she was able to escape from them. Not wanting to turn to S.H.I.E.L.D for help, fearing there were many corrupted agents secretly working for Hydra, she decided to go to Tony. He never asked her what happened, only welcomed her as if she was his own daughter.

She had worked with the Avengers for a while, then Nick Fury learned about her being alive and he personally asked for her help in several missions he couldn’t trust anyone else with.

The Avengers returned that very same day from their mission, their heads hanging low, pain evident in their faces, looks of disappointment and hurt shared with each other, until they all retreated each in their own room without so much of a word.

She understood immediately what that meant, but she still followed behind Steve like a lost puppy, not knowing what else to do.

He entered his room and left the door open for her to enter too and wordlessly sat on the edge of his bed, throwing his compass carelessly on the nightstand. Y/n stood silently on her feet in the middle of his room, until he picked his head up to look at her. “I’m so sorry.” Was all he said before he started crying in silence, hiding his face in his hands.

“Me too.” She replied simply and turned around to walk out of his room, closing the door with a loud thud behind her.

She ran to her room and locked the door before slamming her body on the bed, hot tears running to her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut, as if wanting to shut out her thoughts too.

Up until that day, she had been finding solace in sleep, at least the unconsciousness and blackness of dozing off was a somewhat consolation, a time off from her thoughts and feelings, but that changed too when she woke up screaming from a nightmare. She was sweating and panting hard, barely catching her breath as she opened her eyes, only to be met with the darkness of her room.

She could hear somebody knocking on her door, wanting to come in, but she couldn’t make out the words the person on the other side was saying, neither to whom belonged that voice. A few moments later she calmed down enough to really listen to the voice that was calling out to her. Steve.

She moved from her bed with slow steps and just as slowly turned the knob to open her door, finding Steve standing there with a panicked expression on his face. “You okay?” He asked and she could only shake her head in return, unable to form any words because of the lump in her throat.

He walked two short steps in her direction and wrapped his arms around her body in a secure hug and that was all it took for the dam to break free. Tears rushed out of her eyes and loud sobs left her mouth as she clung to him desperately.

“It’s okay, it’s over now.. It’s over.” He repeated as he softly stroke her hair but nothing could calm her down.

“Nothing is over Steve.” She spoke up between hiccups and sobs. “I thought I could escape the reality in my sleep, but now that is also evaded by nightmares of what happened. Nothing will ever be over. Nothing will ever be okay.”

He moved her to her bed and laid down next to her, holding her close to his body until he felt her breathing even and that was enough indication for him that she had fallen asleep again.

When she woke up in the morning, every part of her body was aching, her head was close to exploding as if she was reliving a bad hangover. Steve was nowhere to be found, despite the fact that she remembered vividly falling asleep in his arms after the last night’s nightmare. She got up from her bed with slow, unsteady steps and walked out of her room towards the kitchen, searching desperately for water and an aspirin.

As she slowly made her way to the kitchen, she could distinctively hear the voices of at least three different people speaking to each other. She paid no mind to what they were saying, wanting to just get in, get what she needed and get out, but when she heard her name, she stopped right in her tracks, straining her weary self to concentrate on the words they were saying.

“She has totally given up. She doesn’t even leave her bed anymore.” Natasha’s voice sounded distant, but the underlying worry was still evident in her tone. Y/n could only sigh at her words, she was right after all. She truly had given up, on herself, on the world, on life. What was the point in not giving up anyway? She had lost everyone she had ever loved. First her parents, now the love of her life. It seemed as if there was someone out there saying “No!” every time she prayed for happiness. Now who the hell was she to defy the greater powers than herself? No one, really.

She broke off the trance of her thoughts when she heard Tony’s voice this time speaking. “As long as she doesn’t leave her bed everything is fine, really.”

Natasha’s eyes widened at his words. What the hell was Tony talking about? But Steve seemed to understand the secret message lying underneath the spoken words of Stark.

“Tony’s right. As long as she doesn’t switch it off, there is still hope for her. We should give her time, she’s mourning the loss of Bucky, it’s only normal for her to stay hidden in her room all the time. It’s difficult for all of us, but we all know her condition. It is twice as hard for her.” Steve’s voice was compassionate as he spoke, almost soft with care and sympathy for her.

She decided she had heard enough of their talk and with careful steps walked backwards to her room again. She slammed the door closed harshly and sat down on her bed, thinking, rethinking her choices.

Her time with Hydra had been like living a never ending hell she didn’t deserve and when she finally managed to escape their atrocities, she was able to finally breathe again. They had experimented on her during the entire time they had her, but she never understood what had happened with her, not noticing anything different in her body.

It was only almost a year after her escape, during a mission in Lebanon, where she was surrounded by enemy forces that she finally discovered the product of the experiments made on her. One moment she was surrounded by agents, guns pointed at her and despite her professionalism she couldn’t help the feeling of panic that bloomed in her chest from the situation, then the next, without even noticing she had stopped her heart from beating and shut her brain off, only the survival instinct active in her entire being.

She lunged towards one of the agents, without caring for the gun he was holding and moved his body in front of hers, using it as a human shield. In a few short moments, the rest of the agents were scattered around the floor, all dead.

At first she couldn’t comprehend what was going on, but then it dawned on her, as if flipping a switch, she had flipped her humanity off, living on only her primal instincts, survival and killing.

It was difficult to understand what was really happening with her, but after some times and some very thorough analysis in the lab with Bruce and Tony, they could finally find out that as a result of all the experiments of Hydra, she was able to switch her humanity off and go on a killing spree like a hound thirsty for blood. The only problem was switching it on again.

They were still talking to each other when they heard the slam of a door echo through the halls and they were startled by the noise of it.

“Fri?” Tony was the first to ask the A.I and it didn’t lose a second to respond.

“That was miss Y/n, sir.” She replied, and upon hearing her answer, the three of them ran towards Y/n’s room. Steve opened her door quickly but cautiously, surprised to see her sitting in the middle of her unmade bed.

“Y/n? Is everything okay?” He asked her carefully, not wanting to startle her.

“Yeah, everything is okay Cap.” She answered, surprisingly calm and that scared him. She hadn’t been calm in almost two months, now seeing her unmoving like that was freaking him out.

He tried to walk towards her, slowly moving towards her bed, but she held her hand up, signaling him to stop. She sucked in a deep breath before closing her eyes. “I’m sorry.” It was all she said, a single teardrop staining her otherwise porcelain-like skin.

Her eyes fluttered behind her eyelids for a brief second before she opened them again, this time void of every emotion. Void of life itself.

Natasha gasped in shock at what happened, not believing she would do this to herself and them too, but she didn’t dare speak.

“What did you do?” It was Steve who spoke, shocked and unable to comprehend her action.

Year 2014, Bucharest, Romania

She was running, like she was always doing lately. Running to save her life which she loved to put in danger so carelessly. It was as if she got off from the pain, she had become addicted to the adrenaline rushing in her veins. The only thing she could feel when she was switched off. Another mission, somewhat successful, but considering the big mess she had left behind for the police to find and the knife wound on her ribs, one wouldn’t be so sure about using the word “success” to describe it.

The sun had already set, leaving place to the darkness of the night, giving her the opportunity to run undetected through the different alleys of the city. Despite the fact that she was bleeding too much, nothing could stop her from running. She had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, only the instinct to make it through and survive this guiding her steps, but to no particular direction.

Her legs were almost failing her, when she turned around the corner of another alley to walk out on a somewhat lit but empty street and her body slammed against another person. A tall figure, big and strong, gripped her forearms tightly and held her at arms length, studying her face but also not letting her fall down.

“Aw, fuck.” She cursed under her breath as the man in front of her kept staring at her face, then his eyes trailed down her body, noticing the stain of blood in her black gear. He visibly stiffened at the sight of her and the english word she muttered, thinking he had missed it, but he didn’t say anything to let her know he had understood.

“Sunteţi bine?” He asked in fluent romanian, his voice a little unsure though, despite the fact that he tried to hide his growing nerves.

She only looked at him for a second, before nodding her head slowly in approval. “Da.” Was all she replied but that was enough for him to let go of her arms and move away from her and with a final look, he started walking again, away from her, moving with slow but sure steps in the other directions.

He would leave her behind, as he planned to do the second her body slammed to his, but before he could walk too far, he heard her let out a pained grunt and she fell to her knees at the corner of the street, unable to carry on anymore.

Bucky knew he would regret it and his actions would soon come back to bite him in the ass, but he couldn’t help the nagging feeling in his chest as he saw her figure, crunched down on her knees and pressing one of her hands on her side where she was still visibly bleeding. He turned around to walk in her direction again, and he knelt next to her, inspecting her wound with nimble fingers.

She had been in and out of consciousness for the last hour, losing sight of where he was taking her. It was unusual for her to let her guard down like this, but she was in no condition to be cautious.

When she opened her eyes again, she was sitting on a chair and the man from the street was still in front of her, crunched down on his knees. He had ripped off the top of her gear, leaving her upper body in a black sports bra as he inspected her wound.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was weak and small, but he heard it nonetheless.

“We should dress your wound before you bleed to death.” His reply was short, as if calculated while he took a bottle of vodka and offered it to her. “Drink.” He ordered and she only scoffed in return.

“I don’t need it.”

“Okay, have it your way.” He unscrewed the bottle and poured the alcoholic liquid on her open wound. Except a small hiss, no other noise left her lips as he settled the bottle on the floor and picked up a small needle with a thread, sewing her flesh closed.

He could listen to her labored breaths, but she never complained while the needle pierced her wounded flesh precisely and that surprised Bucky to no end. Who was this woman, wounded and so weak, but yet so strong? Even he wasn’t that indifferent to such pain.

He put a gauze over her wound and with a small sigh got up to stand on his feet in front of her. “That will do.”

She nodded her head in response and moved to get up from the chair, legs still unsteady but she was determined to leave. “Thank you.” She said before picking up her torn off top and walking towards the front door. However she couldn’t make it too far as her knees failed her once more and this time she lost consciousness, totally blacking out.

Bucky picked her up carefully and laid her down on his mattress, it was the closest thing he had to a bed in his new house. He covered her body with the thin comforter and sat himself too at the end of the mattress, his back pressed on the wall. That night he didn’t get a single minute of sleep, only watching her chest rise and fall with every breath she took while she had occupied most of his mattress in her sleep.

The sun was already out when she woke up with a groan, surprisingly loud for someone of her measure. She squinted her eyes to get familiar with her surroundings and as soon as her brain clicked in place and she was reminded of the events of last night, she visibly panicked and scrambled against the comforter to get up and leave.

She heard the noise from behind her before she saw him. He was standing near the stove, apparently waiting for the water of the coffeepot to boil.

“Who are you?” She finally found her voice to ask and he was surprised at how different her voice sounded from last night. How panicked and… Soft? He turned to face her, turning off the stove before picking up the coffeepot and filling two mugs.

Her hair was disheveled, her skin pale and her lips were chapped, but he thought that despite everything, she was very beautiful, probably the most beautiful woman he had seen in a very long time. “I’m nobody,” He replied unsure. “I just happened to be there when you passed out and I helped you with your wound.”

His explanation seemed to please her because she simply nodded her head and walked to him, picking up one of the mugs with shaky hands and taking a sip from the hot beverage. “Thank you.” She said after a while. “For helping me.” A small pause. “And for the coffee.” She swore she could see a ghost of a smile making a very short appearance on his lips, but it left so quick she was afraid that maybe she had imagined it.

“What happened to you?” He asked her cautiously, not wanting to strike any nerve or make her feel uncomfortable. However she seemed quite relaxed in his presence, unaware of who he really was. To her, he was only a random man who had helped her from bleeding out on the street, and Bucky was content to keep it that way.

“Job gone wrong.” Her voice was calm as she answered to him and he didn’t dare ask anything else. But curiosity got the best of him, and he had to ask her some more, otherwise he would burst from the edge of not knowing. So after a couple of minutes sitting in silence and quietly sipping each on their own cup of coffee, he finally decided to speak again.

“Last night you were…” He began, unsure of how to end that sentence, and for the lack of a better word, he finally managed to finish. “…different.”

She met his eye for a brief second before taking a sip on her coffee again, as if trying to gain some time to think of an answer for him. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” She replied to him just as calmly as before.

He stared at her face, wanting to understand her more. To him she was an enigma, a mystery, and he wanted nothing more than to unravel her. He waited in silence for her to speak more, having absolutely nothing else more important to do.

It was somewhat strange, if he dared say so himself. As if the woman standing in front of him now wasn’t the same woman he met last night. Before, her eyes were void and vacant of any emotion, while now it seemed as if a storm of feelings were brewing behind her irises. He couldn’t understand what was going on with her, but he wanted to.

Y/n thought about his words for a moment, contemplating on what she could respond to him, but then she guessed nothing would happen even if she told the truth. After all, this man had saved her life. He had had every opportunity to harm her or kill her, but he hadn’t done it. Instead he had sewn her wound and had taken care of her.

“I don’t know how much will it make sense for you what I’m about to tell you, but I guess you deserve to know the truth.” She finally spoke up after a moment that stretched for far too long. So she told him everything. She told him about her life before her parents were dead, she told him about the accident that changed her life, about the experiments Hydra conducted on her, mercilessly. She told him about her condition, how she could just flip off her humanity as if with a switch, how she became a ruthless killer when she wasn’t “human” anymore. How it was difficult for her every time to flip it back on.

Bucky was captivated by her story, hanging tight to her every word, taking in everything she shared with him, not daring to interrupt her once since she began speaking. When she had mentioned Hydra he had visibly flinched, but she hadn’t noticed, too engrossed in her own story, too lost in her head to pay attention to him.

“I can flip it off voluntarily, but flipping it back on is the real problem.” She explained softly. “My friends have tried to find a solution, but apparently nothing but a black out works.”

“Well, you could go to sleep and the next morning it will be on again.” He said nonchalantly and she couldn’t help but let out a short laugh at his words. Bucky loved the sound.

“I wish it worked like that. But sleep is not the solution. It has to be a black out. Sort of like a blow in my head.” She repeated again. “Like last night. If I hadn’t lost consciousness I wouldn’t have my humanity flipped on right now.”

His eyes widened at her words, not fully understanding the extend of her condition, but eager to learn more. He was fascinated by her. “So what is it like? When you flip it off then back on?” He asked, genuinely interested.

“Well, to flip it off is easy.” She started speaking again. “It’s like a switch in my brain that I am able to control, to turn it off. It’s like nothing matters except my need to kill. There are only two reflexes, or whatever you want to call them, kill and not get killed. I guess that’s what makes me really good at my job.” She scoffed sarcastically at her own words, having grown already tired of what she did for a living. “That’s easy though. The difficult part comes the next time I open my eyes and my head hurts and it is as if every feeling I had shut out when my humanity was flipped off, crashes within me with full force, it is so intensive it hurts.”

She spent the rest of the day with him, talking, sharing her entire life with this stranger. In a way it helped with the intensity of having her humanity flipped on after so long, his presence was calming, as if comforting, but soon she had to leave seeing as it was time for her to go back to New York.

“Thank you for everything.” She said to him before leaving and he nodded his head, unable to say something else. She walked out of his door, a couple of steps away from him, then turned back and walked to him, quickly wrapping both of her arms around his torso in a short hug. At the action, Bucky’s breath hitched but he relaxed before she removed herself from him. “Goodbye.” Were her last words before she walked out, this time for good.

Year 2023, Mexico

All around her, dead bodies were scattered on the ground, yet she didn’t care at all about them. After all, it was what they deserved. Five years ago, she had chosen a very similar path to Clint, going after every bad guy she could get her hands on. After flipping her humanity off right in front of Steve she had slowly walked away from him, taking nothing with her when she left the compound.

Nobody had followed behind her, knowing very well neither one of them could make her change her mind. They had let her walk away without so much of a fight, all too tired to go after her.

“She’ll come back.” Tony had stated simply. “Whenever she’s ready.”

Now, five years and too many killings to count later, she still wasn’t planning to go back. Still not satisfied with all the blood she had in her hands. But she reasoned there was not enough blood in the world to make up for the life of Bucky. There were not enough lives, to make up for his death.

She threw her weapon on the floor, next to the dead bodies, and turned around to walk away as if everything was fine. This was her normal now. She was walking towards her bike, which she had parked at least a hundred feet away from the warehouse she had just destroyed, when she finally noticed him. As tall as she remembered him. As lean as always, broad shoulders and muscly arms rippling through the navy shirt he was wearing.

She stopped in her tracks, surprised to see him there after all this time. She knew the Avengers kept tabs on her location every time she moved, but up until now, none of them had come for her. And she was glad to keep it that way. But now, seeing Steve leaning on her bike so casually, she couldn’t help but wonder why he was there.

“Fancy seeing you here, Captain.” She spoke sarcastically, as if his presence there didn’t even bother her just a little.

“Time to come back home Y/n.” He said to her simply, as if he didn’t hear her sassy remark.

“I don’t have a home.” She replied just as nonchalantly as he spoke, and at that Steve couldn’t help but let out a dejected sigh.

“We can bring him back Y/n.” He finally said and she whipped her head up in his direction so fast she became dizzy. “We can bring Bucky and everyone back.” Despite the fact that she couldn’t feel anything, the mention of his name stirred something deep within her and she couldn’t speak another word anymore, lost in the moment, suddenly every memory she had with him rushing in her head.

Year 2015, Bucharest

It was 10 months later when she returned to Romania for the second time. After spending many months with the Avengers, working and living with them at the Tower, they had become some sort of a family to her. Weird and dysfunctional, but a family nonetheless. Wanda was one of her closest friends, their Hydra experiences something they could bond over, relating with each other more than with anybody else in the team. Other than her, Steve became a good friend, his quiet and polite self making way in her life slowly but surely.

After a long time talking with Steve about his past and his life before the war, Y/n finally gathered all the information she gave him and connected the dots in her head. The mysterious man from last year that had saved her life was none other than Bucky Barnes, Steve’s oldest friend. Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier. She didn’t dare say anything about it to Steve, but she decided to go back in Romania, hoping to find him again.

She thought about her mysterious hero whenever she would change her clothes and touch the puckered skin on her ribs that he had sewed. She often wondered how was he doing, what was going on with him, but never dared to go back to the place they had met.

Now, almost a year later and after learning who he really was, she had no other choice but to try and find him again. She knew it was a long shot trying to find him again after all this time, almost sure she would not find him in Bucharest anymore, but when she knocked on the door of his apartment she was surprised to find him there.

“Cine e?” He asked from the other side of the door and only when he heard her voice say her name, did he dare to unlock the door and open it, coming face to face with the woman he had seen too long ago for his liking. Despite the time that had passed, she looked still the same, her eyes still as kind and full of emotion as he remembered. “Y/n.” He breathed out her name. “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer right away, walking inside his apartment uninvited. If it bothered him, he didn’t say anything, he only closed the door behind her and locked it again.

She was looking around the place, almost everything was the same as the last time she had been there. His mattress was still on the corner of the room, a pillow and the same old comforter on it. After a few minutes of inspecting the place, she turned to face him, and finally managed to speak. “You’re Bucky Barnes.” She said matter-of-factly and his eyes widened at her words.

Here comes the bite in my ass, he thought to himself as she looked at him in a way he couldn’t quite decipher.

He stiffened as her eyes were glued on his face and as if she could read his thoughts, she spoke up again. “Don’t worry, nobody knows about you.”

“How did you find out?” He asked, visibly uncomfortable with the fact that she knew his identity.

“Steve. He talked so much about you and I connected the dots.” She explained. “It makes sense, you know. Why you don’t want to be found.” He only nodded his head at her, not knowing what else to say. He wasn’t sure if he could even believe her.

“Why are you here?”

“Honestly, I didn’t think I would find you here again, I was really surprised when you answered the door.” She let out a small breath before she began speaking again. “I have thought of you often during the last 10 months, but after talking to Steve and realizing who you were, I had to come back and see you again.” She confessed. It was noticeable it wasn’t easy for her to speak up those words, but the way she spoke them, with a sincerity in her tone, Bucky had no doubt in his mind anymore. He closed the distance with her in three short strides and placed his hand under her chin, tilting her head up to meet his eyes.

“Why?” He asked again.

Her eyes moved from his eyes to his lips, and she swallowed visibly. She wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable under his gaze, but it was somewhat intense. “I don’t know..” She started explaining, having a hard time finding the right words. “I guess, I just..”

He didn’t let her finish speaking, but slowly, allowing her the time to retreat if she wanted to, leaned his head down to meet their lips in a short and chaste kiss. He broke the contact too soon for her liking, and after another second of looking at each other’s eyes, she snaked her hand behind his neck and kissed his lips again, this time more determined.

All too soon, not even having the time to think of what was really happening, they found themselves rolling naked on the mattress on his floor, consumed by the passion in their bodies.

Her head was laying on his chest, bodies covered in a thin layer of sweat, but neither one caring about it. Their bodies and souls finally sated and satisfied, they laid next to each other, his metal fingers running delicately through her hair.

“Now what?” She asked after a long time in silence, not bearing to listen the thrum of her own heart anymore.

“I don’t know.” He answered sincerely, and she agreed with him. She didn’t know either. But that was okay.

Year 2023, New York

Returning with Steve was the best decision she could make. Her humanity was still flipped off when she arrived at the compound after all those years and she didn’t really feel anything when she met her friends, Tony, Rhodey, Natasha but she hugged them as if she had missed them. She guessed, underneath all of the hard exterior of this whole non-humanity thing, she truly had missed them. She had missed being in their presence, she had missed having them in her life, she just couldn’t feel it.

She had gone back in time at the battle of New York with Steve’s team, working with a very confused Scott to retrieve the mind stone. Steve sent her back to the compound with Scott, while he and Tony had to make another jump in time after failing with the Tesseract.

“So you’re like a soulless witch?” He had asked her at some point and Y/n only laughed at his question, not answering at all. Scott was a weird character, she concluded, but he meant well. She had met him briefly during the Civil War between the Avengers, at the airport in Germany, but at that time she was too busy thinking about getting Bucky to safety, rather than focusing on Scott or anyone else.

After that second time she had gone to Bucharest, her visits became more frequent, until she would stay several weeks with him, hidden away from the rest of the world. Every time she returned to him, she felt herself falling deeper in love with the man, and she could finally begin to control her switching-on. Her humanity was connected with her love for Bucky and now instead of a black out, it only took the touch of his hand, or the sound of his voice, for her to get back in touch with her emotions, flipping her humanity on again.

Bucky was the only person to bring her back to her senses, to bring back her feelings, her emotions, her human self. After the events of the Civil War, when he could finally live a calm life in Wakanda, he had asked her to stay there with him and she had happily agreed, knowing no other place as home but a place next to him. And they had lived a calm and happy life until Thanos happened, and he took her happiness away, he took her love, her life away.

“I still don’t feel well Bucky.” She said unsure, her head resting on his shoulder. Something had been nagging her the entire day and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. Her emotions never deceiving her. They had been living together in Wakanda for almost two years, happy to spend the time away from everyone else, away from the fights and the aliens, away from the rushed life of the big cities. They were happy to live near the forest, with a beautiful lake so close to them they could run up to it and bathe together.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe your emotions are acting up after that last mission.” He tried to reassure her that everything was alright, that they were safe. “Come on, let’s go feed the goats.” He nuzzled her nose with his and pecked her lips before getting up and out of the hut they both shared, knowing she would follow behind him.

He was moving the hay around when T'Challa came with his guards, and a box containing his new vibranium arm. Y/n’s breath hitched when she saw it, the blood leaving her body in horror. She knew what was coming for them. They both knew.

“Where’s the fight?” Was all Bucky said and she couldn’t help but shiver at how calm he sounded.

Now, as she stood beside Steve, ready to face the army of aliens one last time, she couldn’t help but be amazed at the sight of people coming out of the magical portals of Doctor Strange. She saw King T'Challa with Shuri and Okoye come out from the first portal, with the entire Wakandan army behind them. From another portal came out Doctor Strange, The Guardians, Peter Parker. She was looking around frantically, waiting for the moment she’d see him, and when her eyes met his figure, her breath hitched.

“Steve…” She whispered to the Captain in a small voice and he only rested his hand on her shoulder, still stunned from what was happening.

The fighting was long and it seemed as if it wouldn’t end, until Tony snapped his own fingers, making Thanos and his entire army vanish. However, there was no time to be happy, because at that same time, they lost Tony. Everyone knelt in front of him, as a sign of respect for his ultimate sacrifice.

They were paying the last respects to him at the lake house when she felt herself fall. After seeing Bucky’s face again, so close to her, almost touchable, her humanity had flipped back on and she hadn’t even notice, until she fell down on the ground, crippled by the unbearable weight of emotions. Five years worth of emotions and feelings rushing in her heart and body, making it impossible for her to breathe, almost suffocating her.

Steve was the first to run in her direction, scooping her up in his arms and moving her inside the cabin. Bucky could only look at her from the distance, not knowing how to act.

It was only the next day when she woke up, still weak and tired, but at least the color had returned to her cheeks and she was able to breathe normally. As soon as she opened her eyes she was met with Steve’s soft features staring down at her.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He asked her in a voice that was almost as soft as the way he was looking at her. She could only groan in pain, unable to answer. “It’s okay, you should take it easy.” He said after a moment.

“Where’s Bucky?” She asked a moment later, her voice strained and weak.

Steve looked behind his back and she moved her eyes to follow his line of sight too. When her eyes turned to the door of the room she was in, she could finally see him standing, almost leaning on the door frame, as if trying to make himself smaller. Her breath hitched at the sight of him and Steve turned his attention towards her again. “You need to calm down. Everything is okay now, but you need to calm down if you want to be able to meet him. You’re still weak and you shouldn’t overwhelm yourself with feelings.

He knew what he was asking her to do was impossible, for many reasons. One of them, it was Bucky who he was talking about, she couldn’t avoid feeling those emotions even if she wanted to. Another one being the fact that she had her humanity flipped off for too long, it would take her a long time to recover anyway.

"Please..” She could only breathe out, hoping Steve would understand what she wanted, and thankfully he did. Bucky walked towards her bed in short, unsure steps and moved to the other side of her, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed she was laying in. She moved to sit up, finally being able to snake her arms around his neck and hold him close to her body. Bucky moved up his own arms, wrapping them around her torso securely, breathing her in.

“O-oh God!” She choked on the words and she held him impossibly close to her, feeling her tears run freely down her cheeks, staining her skin and also the shirt he was wearing, but neither of them seemed to mind.

“It’s over.” He whispered in her ear, assuring her that he was really there. “It’s finally over baby doll. We’re okay.” He kept saying, petting her hair softly and keeping her close to his body.

She could feel her heart beat steadily in her chest, and she could feel his heart beat too, convincing her of his presence, and she could finally breathe. They could both finally breathe.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagines

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lilyrachelcassidy · 4 years

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Summer Nights (1)

A/N: Welcome to the first chapter of my new and long time awaited series - Summer Nights. Please read every necessary information in the INDEX of the story (warnings, summary). Do not forget that the fic is quite mature and might contain some obscene stuff (i.a. alcohol and sexual items). I’ll try to post each chapter regularly (like one per week?) however as it sometimes turns out - I can be unreliable in that matter ( ;

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: coarseness, poverty problems, swearing, alcohol and sexual items (or rather mentions of them?), reference to arranged marriage

Tags: @okaydraco @idkatee @paradigmax @winnsmills @war-sword

You turned your gaze away from a computer screen and looked yearningly out of the window on the chaotic streets of Paris.

At that time of day, the city seemed to teem with life, especially in the summer season when many tourists came over to visit the town. You could notice a variety of cultures among crowds of people. They gathered and filled in restaurants, eating and laughing, and chatting with each other.

So how, for God’s sake, did you deserve to be at work today?

The thought of scrumptious spaghetti and a glass of red wine made you feel frustrated. And cloudless, wonderful weather waiting for you outside did not make it any better. You imagined yourself laying in a bikini on the sandy beach with ‘Vogue’ magazine on your laps and Pina Colada in your hands. Or bathing in warm ocean water with sun rays smoothly tanning your skin.

These visions caused a dreamy smile to appear on your face.

However, as soon as you scooted over in a fantasy world, the poke in your shoulder brought you back to reality. You turned your head to the side to see your co-worker and best friend, Chloe. She was crouching next to your chair with her piercing gaze studying your face attentively.

Chloe was a gorgeous woman, and you could easily say that she could break more than one heart. She had big, blue eyes and long, blonde curls falling on her slim shoulders. She had full, pink lips with a Greek-type nose and prominent cheekbones that highlighted her beauty. Her figure was feminine and slender with ample bosom, flat belly, and long legs.

There had been many situations when groups of passing-by boys stopped her in the middle of the pavement, scanning her body up and down with boisterous whistles and comments of a sexual nature. Although you had always tried to stand up in her defense, she never really cared to bother much, just shrugging it off.

“Are you alright?” She narrowed her eyes doubtfully. “You look like a walking dead.”

“Thanks,” you chuckled amused, bitting your cheek. “No, I’m actually fine. Just a little bit dizzy, but don’t worry about it. ”

“For sure? You know, if you take a nap at work, I might be the first person to know about it.” both of you chortled slightly, and you rested your elbows on the armrest. Chloe’s phone started to buzz in her purse. She took it out, muted it down, and eyed you again.

“Anyways. Why are you leaving so early? It’s just four o’clock, and I thought you were ending your shift at eight.” You peeked at the watch on your hand and arched your eyebrow suspiciously at her. Now it was your turn to interrogate her.

“Well, I took a day off,” she informed you. “I’m having a date with Louis today. We meet at six, and he takes me to some fancy restaurant. Of course, he didn’t want to tell me the exact location, mentioning something about ruining the surprise. You know him..” She rolled her eyeballs playfully with a meaningful sigh and an unambiguous smile plastered on her face.

Louis was Chloe’s boyfriend, but also one of your closest friends. You couldn’t say he was the easy-going type of person, and when you first met him, you had presumed his behavior to be a little bit too ‘self-centered’. However, after many years of acquaintance, you had learned that he was rather desperate to drag attention on himself and impress others, with you and Chloe included.

“Lucky. I’m stuck in here for a night shift,” you complained, leaning on the chair's backrest and letting a small groan out of your mouth. It was the third time this week you had to stay at your job for night time. And that wore you out.

“Again?” She frowned.

“Unfortunately...” You grimaced, glancing at your friend with a corner of your eye. “My father hasn’t paid the bills again. I’ve to earn some extra money…"

"Can I-"

"I know you want to help, but please, let's not think about it," you cut the conversation out. Your face started to get warmer, so you lowered your head as not to show your embarrassment. You trusted your friend with all of your soul but still more than felt awkward when it came up with family topics.

Chloe remained silent and smiled supportively, tightly gripping your palm. You appreciated her ability to understand people’s emotions and her tact of how to respond to them.

“I really have to go, Y/N. Call me if you needed any help.” Chloe stood up and went to the backroom of the reception. She put on her coat, wrapping her green bandana around her neck, and then slightly pecked your cheek. She walked over to the exit and, for the last time, turned towards you, waved in the bye, and left the hotel.

You gaped at the place where Chloe had just disappeared, slowly letting out your breath. After a while, you switched the laptop back on and decided to occupy yourself with reading. Clicking on the ‘iBooks’ application, you selected a book - ‘Bridget Jones’s Diary’. Maybe, at least that could help you take your mind off things and spend some of your time while visitors weren’t around. You opened the first chapter of the novel, but soon after, you heard someone entering the room again.

Lifting your head, you beheld an elegant woman with a younger boy by her side. You assumed them to be a family, considering their striking similarity in appearance. Also, they distinguish themselves from their surroundings with their peculiarly sophisticated garments and unnaturally pale skin.

The woman smiled at you kindly and approached the reception desk. You got up from the chair and reciprocated the gesture.

“Bonjour madame. Comment puis-je vous aider?” you asked and saw a confused expression painting on the woman’s face. She furrowed her eyebrows for a short moment and cleared her throat.

“Mm… Hello. Do you speak English?” she asked hesitantly with a language accent that informed you instantly of her origin. Many guests of the hotel usually arrived from different parts of the world, which had let you acquire the skill of guessing their probable nationalities.

“You’re British I see,” you noted, grinning. “Of course I do. Welcome to Paris! How can I help you?”

“We have a reservation under the name Malfoys.”

Nodding in understanding, your fingers swiftly started to tap the keyboard of the computer. You entered in the search engine of hotel’s guests with surname ‘MALFOYS’ and found a booking for two people.

“Could I check your ID cards first, ma’am?” you asked and saw her rummaging in the bag. Meanwhile, you started to prepare every necessary paper for her to fill out.

“Here it is,” she finally stated, and you reached over for the documents. You noticed the woman’s foot nervously tapping on the floor but decided to ignore it.

“Thank you,” you said while surveying everything. “Okay, so - Narcissa Malfoy, apartment number 354 - Presidential Suite. It’s on the fourth floor.” You laid the keys with ID cards on a counter top. “And Dra- Dra…”

“Draco. It’s Draco Malfoy,” the boy spoke up for the first time, and - by the tone of his voice - you could already judge that he wasn’t the friendliest type of a person, to say at least. You moved your gaze on his figure, and your eyes met with his stern glare, which sent unpleasant shivers down your spine. He was sitting on one of the lounge chairs located in the room, twisting a carved stick in his fingers. Quickly realizing that you stared at the object, he hid it in his pocket.

You giggled nervously and shook your head.

“Yes. Draco Malfoy. I’m sorry for my oversight.” You blushed profusely and tried your best to pretend that your pre-momentary blunder did not affect you anyhow. You took a second key from a shelf and placed it next to the first one. “Room number 355 - Royal Apartment. Although, it on the fifth floor, which means not located nearby your mom's one, sir."

“No problem for me.” Huffing, he got up from the armchair and walked over, grabbing the keys. His expression still evinced the arrogance, but now you had a chance to examine his appearance more closely and perceive his unparalleled attractiveness. His platinum hair suitably contrasted with grey irises, and the sharp jawline with his muscular body made your knees weak.

Just great...

“If there is anything you needed, please let me know,” you proffered and forced a smile, wishing it didn’t look so fake as it felt. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you,” said Narcissa, sauntering away with her son following shortly after. You took a last peek at Draco and saw him sending you an unpleasant look before leaving the lobby.

* * *

Narcissa with Draco entered her spacious hotel room. She began to look around the space, smacking her lips in delight. After that, she sat gingerly on her bed and discretely ran her fingers through the bedding set so as to verify its fabric. Draco knew and was accustomed to his mother’s atypical habit of checking the quality of things before using them.

She patted a place next to her, encouraging him to take a seat. He just pressed his lips into a straight line and only shook his head.

“Draco, let’s talk,” she started, grunting.“I think you should - at least - consider being tolerant of those muggles. I know it is a tough period of our lives, after the war...” Narcissa shuddered at the reference of that event and her eyes filmed over a little. “But it is time to move on. Wizarding World is not going to be this same for many years. That’s why for this vacation, I wanted us to come to the place that could let you dispose of redundant memories and experien-”

“Dispose of memories?” Draco cut her off and huffed, leaning flippantly against the wall. His voice was very tight and harsh.“How do you think I could possibly get rid of them? Maybe Dark Mark on my forearm would help me solve that issue? Or Obliviate spell would be a solution?”

At once, the blood was boiling in his veins. He didn’t blame his mother for decisions of the past, but he could not stop himself from snapping. A recollection of tortures he had had to perform on others, of tortures he had had to bear himself, of incurred deaths he had seen… and committed. That wasn’t a fleeting thing to forget.

Narcissa took a deep breath and ignored her son’s snarky comment. She decided not to give up with the plan of their conversation for this evening. So and so, he had to finally hear the truth, right?

“I and your father with Greengrass family established that by the end of this year, you are going to propose to one of their daughters.” She gazed at him, partly expecting the next outburst of emotions. Although Draco’s ears began dangerously reddening, she assumed the silence was a non-verbal acquiescence for her to continue. “You do not have to worry about arrangements for the nuptials, nor about other wedding cases. Everything is going to be organized. And I deeply believe that marring one of those beautiful girls might bring a state of contentment in your life.”

Draco gulped down his saliva and fixed his eyes on the floor, his face expressing wrath.

“I’m sorry mother, but I’ve no idea how marrying a person who I’ve hardly ever talked to could make me any happier.”

“Dear, me and Lucius did not fall in love at first sight either. Nevertheless, we accepted the unusual plight that we were put in, and then we got accustomed to leading our new, joint lifestyle,” she explained, carefully choosing her words. “And I am aware that it must be hard for you. So and it was for me. But now, I could not imagine it to be any different.”

“Well then, if you felt this same way as I do right now, please tell me why are you expecting this same from me by imposing the marriage? Why can’t I choose someone to fall in love with?”

Good point.

Narcissa seemed to be momentarily speechless by his question because there was an awkward, uncomfortable pause for a long moment. Draco sniggered loudly and turned away to leave, but before doing so, his mom’s voice echoed in the room again.

“Love is only a matte-“ she took her last try to argue, her tone rather desperate.

“I don’t care!” he yawped, turning the knob and slamming the door behind him with a violent bang.

Draco headed over to search for a bar where he could abreact the minute-ago conversation. The tension of his body was unbearably upsetting, and his heart was pounding aggressively in his rib cage. His fists clutched tightly, knuckles becoming white and teeth clenched.

Fuck his parents.

Fuck them with their shitty ideas.

When would be a time for him to be able to determine his own opinions about matters in his life? Or rather, the doubt is - would there ever be that time?

Before he knew it, he found himself in this same lobby where he had been an hour ago. As he walked over to the recently encountered receptionist, he spotted her writing something vigorously on an odd, square box. As to not arise any suspicion, he decided to act casually and hide his enticing interest in this particular... object.

Soon enough, you noticed the blond-haired boy and realized it was the man from earlier. A bump formed in your throat, and you fought a sudden urge to run away. Instead, you just set your phone aside and lifted yourself up, all your muscles refusing to do this same activity for the thousandth time this day (‘Is this some kind of aerobic or what?!’).

“Is there something I could help with, sir?” you asked with a smile, trying to remain calm, which was an exceptionally intractable task in this boy’s presence. Maybe as an effect of tiredness, it was hard for you to compose, but you did not like it a bit.

“Yes, actually.” At least he took his best effort to be polite. Although a horrible exasperation, as if something pained him, still convulsed his features. “I wondered if there was a place where I could have some Firewhisky or so?”

‘Firewhisky?’ you thought. ‘Is it some kind of British dainty?’

“Well, for sure I haven’t heard of heating up Whisky before,” you joked, attempting to lighten things up. However, his glare gave you a hint he was definitely not put in a mood for such things.“But there is a pub where you could have a drink, sir. It’s on the opposite street, so all you need to do is to cross over a road.”

Draco nodded. "Oh, and one more thing." He reached over to the inner pocket of his sable jacket and took out an ornamental envelope with an old-fashioned red seal on the top of it. "If the woman who I was with before starts looking after me, hand her over this letter, could you?"

You didn't know where an uninvited rush of interest hailed from, but the mystery-insatiate part of your brain screamed out at you to play along with his cards to winkle out more information. "What if she asks me questions? Shoul-"

"Bend the truth. I only ask you to do one thing for me. Don't reveal to her where or when I went. I gave you the envelope and disappeared out of your sight. Understood, muggle?"

You didn't grasp the last part of his sentence; the one concerning --mugel? meagul? megull? -- but you could bet it meant to be an insult. Swallowing your suspicious hunch, you put on a sympathetic smile. "Sure can do, sir. Hope you have a good night out."

"Thanks. Later." And without any other word, he strode away.

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