#programmed cell death | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

archaeopter-ace · 8 months

Text

Don't Listen to Kafka: summary of what would have happened next

So my laptop’s harddrive got wiped for the second time within a year. And while I do have a lot of DLtK notes and writing backed up, the truth is that between the first wipe circa October 2022 and the second time I fucked up my computer at the end of July, I didn’t touch DLtK at all. At this point I don’t even know if I could figure out how much I lost the first time.

The name of the game is perseverance; I don’t want these incidents to kill all my WIPs, I don’t want to give up. But. I don’t think I have it in me to try to salvage all the WIPs I’d been working on, and Tales of Arcadia hasn’t been my hyperfixation for a while now. I keep waiting for the wheels of my fandom interest to turn in that direction again… but they haven’t, and there’s nothing I can do to make that happen on purpose.

So I’m going to share what I had planned for this series, because I still love it dearly, and this wonderful fandom, and if you want to comment or ask questions I welcome them! I am going to be writing this summary from memory, because tracking down and going through my story notes just depresses me.

First things first, I need to address the fact that Claire does not know that Enrique is trapped in the Darklands. It was on Jim’s mind in Metamorphosis, and he decides to enlist NotEnrique’s help in introducing Claire to the idea of changelings (Incidentally, NotEnrique hasn’t had a moment to cement his loyalty to Team Trollhunter, since the battle at the bridge didn’t happen the way it did in canon. So at one point I thought about writing a sort of prologue, in which Nomura drops by to talk to him - she’s not trapped in the Darklands, but she’s gonna nope right out of Arcadia now that the Janus Order is in disarray with Strickler’s defection. Because I am nothing if not preoccupied with typing up any and every possible loose end ;P And I wanted to address whether RealEnrique would be in danger, since in this AU the babies in the nursery are hostages for the changeling’s loyalty and good behavior. So if NotEnrique defects, that would put Enrique in danger - unless the Janus Order’s ability to convey kill orders to the Darklands was stopped. And since I never said how they do that, I think the Fetch will do very nicely. Better keep a tight hold on that, Team Trollhunter)

Right, so Jim tells Claire who does not take it well (oh, and there’s a whole thing about what does Barbara know, because like hell would she not tell Ophelia and Javier that their kid was kidnapped, so does that mean Jim is keeping secrets? I think I found a solution I could work with but I can’t remember what it was). Claire doesn’t take it well, and it affects rehearsals for the school play - I found some lines Juliet could deliver with scathing sarcasm. The romance is dead, and Ms. Janeth despairs.

Jim is in a serious funk, because some of the insults Claire threw his way unknowingly hit some seriously sore spots. He wants to come mask-off clean to Claire as part of his apology efforts, because Claire put it into his head that Not Telling her things is exactly equivalent to Lying, and he doesn’t want a repeat of her anger if he waits to tell her too long about being part changeling. Toby is not a fan of this idea, and goes to confront Claire about the fact that Jim is planning to be extremely vulnerable to her and she had better take that seriously, just because Jim hurt her by not telling her about NotEnrique does mean she is entitled to all his secrets, he’s going through a rough time and she’d better not hurt him back Or Else.

I… can’t remember what leads Jim and Claire to reconciling. I know that they do manage it in time to save the school play, huzzah! Around the same time as opening night, Jim’s horns finally break through, and this is something of a momentous coming-of-age moment in a young troll’s life. There’s a whole ceremony, and Claire is invited, cementing her inclusion in Team Trollhunter. (The ceremony involves digging a hole in the ground in a shady spot and burying Jim in it up to his neck for a day. It’s a test of courage, and to show that he’s ready to come to the surface on his own. Mostly Jim thinks it’s a test of his patience)

And that concludes the first act!

Next, the effort to rescue Enrique begin in earnest. See, the thing is, unlike in canon they do not have access to a complete Killahead Bridge; Otto absconded with the keystone before the bridge was recovered. So they will need to find a different way into the Darklands. Now for a bit of worldbuilding. Because Killahead Bridge is an example of Sealed Evil In a Can, right? (Keep in mind that this was drafted before Season 2 of 3Below had aired, let alone Wizards) I asked why wouldn’t you obliterate the bridge more thoroughly than just breaking it into pieces, if you really wanted to keep Gunmar in the Darklands? And the answer I came up with is that Killahead Bridge functions as lock on Gunmar, so that it is the only way for him to leave the Darklands. If you pulverized the bridge, it wouldn’t trap him; it would release him, because then he would be free to seek out another passage out of the Darklands.

That being said, there aren’t oodles of ways in and out. Besides the Fetch, the only way that rumors tell of is Morgana’s secret entrance. But no one knows how to find it, because secret map is in two pieces, and one has been in Trollmarket in Blinky’s library and the other has been with the changelings for centuries. But! This time around Team Trollhunter have the evil book they got from Strickler. (Dangit I’m blanking on the name - not grimorum arcanorum, that’s Gargoyles. Not Darkhold either.) The map points them not to the Darklands, but to Morgana’s lair where the key is hidden. Yay Baba Yaga house with chickenfeet!

But before we get to that: you’ve heard of Hybrid Vigor, now get ready for Outbreeding Depression! This is when hybrid crosses are disfavored by natural selection. Like if offspring are infertile, or two subspecies are bred together to try to preserve an endangered species, and instead it makes a muddle of local regional adaptations. Or maybe the offspring only have one copy of a gene that they really need two of to do well. Or the animal lives in an environment where there are a lot of dark surfaces and a lot of light-colored surfaces, so being dark-colored or light-colored provides good camouflage, but being gray just means you show up at least a bit on both surfaces.

All this means is that I am totally justified in putting Jim through the wringer >:) As his human blood cells are replaced with changeling blood cells, their ability to bind oxygen decreases. Oh, time for more worldbuilding: changeling blood edition. I could be wrong, but I don’t think we ever see any full-blooded trolls bleed? This despite Draal losing an entire arm. Tattoos are chiseled into them, and there’s the line about treating wounds with molten metal, so I feel confident in saying that, in this story at least, trolls don’t have blood. No blood, no circulatory system. But wait, I hear you cry, trolls can drown! And they are seen to breathe. How do I explain that?

I decided that the thing being circulated is not oxygen, but rather magic. The same kind exuded by the Heartstone (magic: it’s both a particle and a wave!) Hence troll society being built around magic-dense Heartstones. And water acts as a neutralizing agent, it smothers magic. Changelings live primarily on the surface, and do not have access to Heartstone magic. They also do bleed, unlike regular trolls. I’ve made these two facts related; changelings supplement their magic energy intake with an oxygen-using metabolism. They have hemerythrin as the binding pigment in their blood instead of hemoglobin, which is not as good at binding oxygen (this is true irl) but is capable of binding ambient particle of magic in the air (this has fascinating implications for certain species of marine worm with purple blood!)

What’s happening with Jim is that his mixed blood is getting increasingly bad at binding oxygen, but not yet good enough at binding ambient magic. So he gets out of breath easily; it presents a lot like altitude sickness, being in thin air for a prolonged time. Solution: needs more close proximity to the Heartstone, where magic is denser. He’s out of commission for a couple weeks while his organs rearrange themselves. (I wrote bits of a scene where Barbara and Jim go to a changeling doctor that Strickler puts them in contact with, I can’t remember where in the timeline that was supposed to go).

Oh, speaking of Strickler, he’s doing occupational therapy to adjust to being an amputee. Barbara is helping out, but is extremely firm that she “can’t be his Florence Nightingale.” He’s a good resource when it comes to changeling Jim things. Like when Jim becomes lethargic and Barbara can’t tell if it’s depression or something else.

To summarize the summary so far: there are two parallel plot lines, one in which Team Trollhunter, sans Jim who is convalescing, follow some clues to get to Baba Yaga’s house to find a secret way into the Darklands to rescue NotEnrique. And the other plot line is Jim dealing with continuing changes to his body.

To get Barbara to sign off on Claire putting herself into danger by going a-questing, Claire steals Jim’s glamour mask and poses as her own mother. (What could possibly go wrong!) When they get to the house with chicken feet, it’s not sturdy enough for Blinky and Aaarrrgh to climb up, so Claire and Toby are on their own. Gotta give them their power-ups!

Claire sticks her hand in a box and it gets impaled - yikes! But it’s magic, so the wound heals right up, and, she will later discover, she now has telekinesis. The drawback: she is now claustrophobic. Basing this on how in some Vathara’s fics describe ki-sense as like a fish’s lateral line sense, ‘touch at a distance.’ Basically, I figure that if you’re going to be picking stuff up with your mind, your mind has to be able to ‘feel’ the object. Thus, an awareness of the things around her, including walls. She can *feel* how big or small a room is. Even her own bedroom feels too small, too close; she can’t sleep unless her windows and door are open.

Toby, meanwhile, gets a magical pet bonded to him! In a manner of speaking. I wanted to give him something that would let him fly like his warhammer did, and reached into Norse mythology. No, it’s not mjollnir, though it, too, was made by the dwarves Eitri and Brokkr. It’s Boary McBoarface, Gullinbursti! From the Prose Edda: "It could run through air and water better than any horse, and it could never become so dark with night or gloom of the Murky Regions that there should not be sufficient light where he went, such was the glow from its mane and bristles." Toby is able to ride on its back and charge Gullinbursti into battle against his opponents. Drawback: if he uses it too long, a bloodlust rises in him, and he becomes a proper berserkr, full of rage. Good thing he has a wingman who knows a thing or two about anger management!

Who do they need to use these newfound skills to fight? I’d always planned for Otto to become the main Big Bad, a foil for Jim as a fellow polymorph. Wasn’t entirely sure what that would look like; reviving Angor Rot was Strickler’s plot, would Otto think to do the same?

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Jim’s uncle is concerned that Barbara says the two of them aren’t coming to Thanksgiving without giving a reason why (the reason being, Jim is bed-ridden and unable to pass for human). Uncle Mark remembers how Barbara similarly withdrew when she was with the emotionally abusive James Sr., and recalls that she mentioned a potential new beau last time they talked on the phone, so he’s going to come investigate. Just to keep throwing wrenches into the works. For some reason I really really wanted this to overlap with Blinky being turned into a human, but if they aren’t planning on *fighting* Gunmar with their sneek-through-the-backdoor plan, then they don’t really need the Triumbric Stones, do they? Do any of those quests even happen?

Act II ends with Claire and Toby getting power-ups, and Jim finally completing his transformation into a changeling. Yay! Now if he can just figure out this shape-shifting thing…

The first time Jim changes into someone other than himself, it’s after a stressful night worrying about an upcoming Spanish test, and he wakes up looking like Senor Uhl. He gradually gets more skilled and confident in his ability to change shape, and then he gets the bright idea to sneak into the Darklands through the Fetch by turning into a goblin. (Hand-wavy answer about ‘why aren’t they using the method acquired from visiting Morgana’s lair’ now that they have it. Can’t remember why.)

Jim has clearly never read Animorphs, or he would know why shapeshifting into a hivemind creature is a Bad Idea. Waka chakka!

Yeah things get a little silly at this point, but they have to be if I’m going to bring the Creepslayerz in (which, given how this whole subplot is just a tangent that could conceivably be cut without impacting the plot, I’m not 100% committed to bringing Eli and Steve into the mix. However, as I said at the beginning, I love tying up every conceivable plot-hole, and Goblin Adventure answers the question, ‘If you have the fetch and shapeshifting powers, why *wouldn’t* you shrink yourself down to get through that way?’) Toby, in a moment of foresight, writes ‘JIM’ on Jim with a sharpie, so if he escapes their watch, they can find him again. (Creepslayerz, reading it upside-down: “Hi, Wif!”) I can’t remember what’s in my notes for how they finally get Jim changed back, but if I had to guess, it had something to do with Barbara.

Yeah, Act III is where things start to break down for me, in terms of having a clear idea of what I wanted to happen. Partly to make things easier for myself and partly because I think Jim might be slightly more sympathetic to the plight of the changelings, only Enrique is getting rescued. The rest of the babies are just going to stay there for the time being. Gunmar can only be defeated with the Triumbric stones, but is it written that the Trollhunter has to be the one to use them? Can we give them to Angor Rot and unleash him to have his revenge on Gunmar? Does Jim *actually* have to fight Gunmar to achieve his objective? I kind of think things have changed enough that he doesn’t have to, and Morgana doesn’t rise again, and Merlin stays asleep, and Douxie keeps on trucking. Yeah, figuring out endings is hard. Mostly I figured I’d need to write the rest of the story first, to even know what the right ending should be. A lot can change between drafting an outline and writing a story…

So there you have it! Everything I remember (and don’t remember) off the top of my head about where I was planning on going with Don’t Listen to Kafka. Gosh I just, I appreciate so much all the love that this fic series has received over the years, and I didn’t want to leave you all hanging indefinitely.

#my writing #don't listen to kafka #trollhunters #tales of arcadia #the working title of the next installment was 'Apoptosis' (programmed cell death) but I didn't actually want to use that #bc I myself have gotten that mixed up with 'Autoeponym' in my notes. polysyllabic jargon words beginning with A for the win!#I'm releasing this into the world knowing full well that it could satisfy my need to share this story so well that #i will never again feel the urge to write it out. and i think i need make my peace with that

11 notes · View notes

tsuchinokoroyale · 10 months

Note

You can absolutely become a Jojo, I've seen it happen before. If you really think you'll never be one........ Skill issue idk what else to say

I’m sorry I have bones and ligaments and non-flexible meat 😔😔😔 but also I’m not taking shade from someone who’s only seen it themselves… anon, you currently have the credibility of having an uncle who works for Nintendo. Become a jojo yourself and then I’ll be like oh wig u right, skill issue 😩

#I’m not talking about cosplay either I’ve worked anime convention(s) I’ve seen it all #I want someone to walk into work wearing a red Swiss cheese suit who exclusively speaks in tangential monologues #“morning tsuchi how did the experiment go?”#“the… experiment? right there. you just said… the experiment?”#“hmph… in 1858 German scientist Rudolf Virchow described a cellular process… 「Death」”#“like all things in life some cells just 「Decayed」 over time but others… spontaneously 「Died」”#“「Apoptosis」 it’s called. 「Apoptosis」… programmed cell death…”#“… so it didn’t work?”#*I grit my teeth as tears streak my face before I’m kicked out of the building by OSHA for the gaping holes in my clothes*#asked and answered babey!

4 notes · View notes

schizomalkavian · 2 years

Text

banging on the bars of my enclosure. the art gallery archives are conveniently missing the year this one specific exhibition happened. im going to start attacking

#/file/text #/c:/programs/notepad.exe #if any of you convieniently have images of newton harrisons the slow birth and death of a lily cell hand them over.

3 notes · View notes

medchemexpressinhibitor-blog · 1 year

Text

Science | Cuproptosis，copper-induced programmed cell death

Cell death is an important process in the body as it promotes the removal of unwanted cells. Several types of regulated programmed cell death include apoptosis, pyroptosis, necroptosis, and ferroptosis. Dixon et al. revealed that ferroptosis is a form of programmed cell death involving a series of morphological and biochemical features, including mitochondrial shrinkage and the accumulation of ROS. This article will cover a novel cell death form-

Cuproptosis

.Besides apoptosis, pyroptosis, necroptosis and ferroptosis, a new form of programmed cell death was discovered and reported as cuproptosis, copper-induced cell death. As a cofactor for essential enzymes, copper is an indispensable trace metal to maintain protein functions. Intracellular copper concentration remains low under homeostatic control. Excess copper buildup and copper concentrations above the threshold maintained by homeostasis can be cytotoxic, but the mechanism of cell death triggered by copper remains elusive. A recent study “Copper induced cell death by targeting lipoylated TCA cycle protein” by Tsvetkov et al. published in

Science

proposed and demonstrated a copper-induced programmed cell death mechanism, in which copper induced cell death through targeting lipoylated TCA cycle proteins

[1]

.A brief mechanism of copper death

Briefly, initiated by the excessive accumulation of copper through ionophores and transporters, copper directly binds to lipoylated DLAT in cells that are dependent on mitochondrial respiration, subsequently induces aberrant oligomerization of DLAT and the formation of DLAT foci. The resulted increase of insoluble DLAT level leads to proteotoxicity and cell death [Fig. 1].

Ferrodoxin-1 (FDX1), a substrate of elesclomol, is an upstream regulator of protein lipoylation and is required for DLAT lipoylation. Additionally, as a reductase, FDX1 is known to reduce Cu (II) ions to the more toxic Cu(I) ions, subsequently leading to the inhibition of Fe-S cluster synthesis and reduction of Fe-S cluster proteins.

Copper homeostasis dysregulation

Copper homeostasis is mainly regulated by copper importer SLC31A1 and the copper exporters ATP7A and ATP7B.

In the copper dysregulation syndromes Menke’s disease and Wilson’s disease, the genes encoding these transporters are mutated. In the steady state of copper, ATP7A and ATP7B play essential roles in copper homeostasis, including intracellular copper delivery for inclusion in metalloproteins, membrane trafficking, and export of excess copper from cells. Cell death caused by dysregulation of copper homeostasis is comparable to cytotoxic effect caused by copper shuttling into the cell via copper ionophores (the copper-binding small molecules).

Fig. 1. The schematic model of cuprotosis

[2]

Copper ionophores induce cell death

In this study, the cytotoxic effects of 1,448 copper ionophores with distinct structures were evaluated in 489 different cell lines [Fig. 2A]. As a highly lipophilic Cu (II) carrier, Elesclomol alone does not affect cell growth. But adding copper significantly increases sensitivity to Elesclomol, while supplementation with other metals, including iron, cobalt, zinc, and nickel, did not increase cell death [Fig 2B]. Notably, the addition of the copper chelator TTM abolished the cell growth inhibition activity by combination of Elesclomol and copper [Fig. 2C], confirming that copper ionophore-induced cell death is mainly dependent on the accumulation of intracellular copper. Treatment of cells with other copper ionophores such as NSC-319726 and Disulfiram showed the same results as elesclomol [Fig 3D-E].

Figure 2. Copper ionophore induced cell death is copper dependent

[1]

The cell death induced by copper ionophore is non-apoptotic

No cleavage or activation of caspase 3 activity was observed in elesclomol induced-cell death. [Fig. 3D] When key effectors of apoptosis BAX and BAK1 were knocked out or when cells were co-treated with pan-caspase inhibitors (Z-VAD-FMK and Boc-D-FMK), the inhibition activity of elecsclomol remained intact, [Fig. 3E], suggesting that the copper-induced cell death is not through the apoptotic pathway. Moreover, pre-treatments with inhibitors of ferroptosis (Ferrostatin-1), Necroptosis (Necrostatin-1), and oxidative stress (N-acetyl cysteine) did not affect copper ionophore-induced cell death, [Fig 3C (Fig 1G from the original article)], indicating the existence of a distinct cell death pathway.

Figure 3. Copper ionophore induced cell death is a distinct programmed cell death pathwayMitochondrial respiration regulates copper ionophore–induced cell death

Cells that rely on mitochondrial respiration are more sensitive to copper ionophores than cells undergoing glycolysis [Fig. 4A]. In cell viability assays, cells pretreated with the ferroptosis inducer ML162 responded differently to variouis agents affecting mitochondrial functions compared to copper ionophores [Fig 4B].

Copper toxicity to the cells remained unchanged when cells were pretreated with the mitochondrial uncoupler FCCP, indicating that mitochondrial respiration is required for copper-induced cell death [Fig. 4C]. Although copper toxicity declined under hypoxic conditions, addition of the HIF prolyl hydroxylase inhibitor FG-4592 showed no effect on copper ionophore induced-cell death under normoxic conditions [Fig 4D] . It was observed that copper ionophores significantly reduced the spare capacity of respiration [Fig 4E]. These results support that copper ionophore induced-cell death is regulated by mitochondrial respiration.

Fig 4. Mitochondira respiration regulates copper ionophore-induced cell deathFDX1 and protein lipoylation are the key regulators of copper ionophore–induced cell death

Using a genome-wide CRISPR-Cas9 positive selection screening, seven key genes were identified that play a role in copper-induced cell death, including FDX1 (encoding a direct target of elesclomol), and LIPT1, LIAS, DLD (three genes encoding lipoic acid pathway), or DLAT, PDHA1, and PDHB (encoding protein targets of lipoylation) [Fig 5A-C]. Individual gene knockout studies further confirmed that FDX1 and protein lipoylation are key regulators of copper ionophore-induced cell death [Fig.5D-E]. Therefore, Tsvetkov et al. thought that FDX1 was hypothesized to be an upstream regulator of protein thioctyl modification.

Figure 5. FDX1 and lipoic acid genes are critical mediators of copper ionophore-induced cell death.

Correlation analysis of gene dependencies from the Cancer Dependency Map indicated that the FDX1 and components of the lipoic acid pathways were highly correlated across the panel of cell lines [Fig. 6A]. Immunohistochemistry staining results further confirmed this significant correlation [Fig. 6B-6C]. FDX1 knockout abolished protein lipoylation and resulted in a significant decrease in cellular respiration [Fig. 6D-E]. Furthermore, accumulation of pyruvate and α-ketoglutarate and depletion of succinate were observed followed deletion of FDX1 [Fig. 6F]. These results suggest that FDX1 is an upstream regulator of protein lipoylation.

Fig 6. FDX1 is an upstream regulator of protein lipoylationCopper directly binds and induces the oligomerization of lipoylated DLAT

Some studies have reported that the dissociation constants of copper ions and free fatty acids are 10-17, which indicates that copper ions may bind directly to thiocylated proteins. DLAT and DLST proteins purified from cell lysates bound to copper-charged resin but not to cobalt or nickel resins [Fig. 7A]. FDX1 knockout abolished protein lipoylation and the resulted naked DLAT and DLST no longer bound copper [Fig. 7B-C], lipoylation is thus a prerequisite for copper binding. Immunofluorescence imaging results support that copper binding leads to the toxic aggregation of lipoylated DLAT [Fig 7D]. These results also suggested that the toxicity of thioacylated proteins after copper ionophore treatment is mediated by their abnormal oligomerization.

Proteomic analysis of control and elesclomol treatment showed the downregulation of Fe-S cluster genes [Fig 7E] and loss of Fe-S cluster proteins by copper ionophore treatment (Data not shown). These findings indicate that copper can destabilize Fe-S-containing proteins.

Figure 7. Copper directly binds to lipoylated DLAT and induces its oligomerizationCopper-induced death mechanisms are shared by genetic models of copper homeostasis dysregulation

The copper importer SLC31A1 (CTR1) and copper exporters ATP7A and ATP78 regulate homeostatic state of copper and normally keep intracellular copper concentration low. Overexpression of SLC1A1 in HEK293T and ABC1 cells was found to significantly increase sensitivity to physiological copper concentrations. [Fig 8B] Treatment of SLC31A1 overexpressed cells with copper resulted in the reduction of protein lipoylation and Fe-S cluster protein level, as well as increase of HSP70 [Fig. 8C].

The use of ferrodeath, necrotizing apoptosis, and inhibitors of apoptosis in cells overexpressing SLC31A1 did not affect copper-induced cell death, but copper chelators alleviated the cell-killing effect produced by copper ionophore. Whereas copper chelators, FDX1 KO and LIAS KO each partially rescued cells from copper-induced cell death [Fig 8D-E]. Tsvetkov et al. demonstrated this same mechanism of copper-induced cell death in vivo. In Menke’s disease-associated Atpb7b−/− mice, it showed that the Fe-S cluster and lipoylated proteins were significantly reduced and Hsp70 protein was significantly increased compared with those in wild-type mice, further illustrating that excessive intracellular copper accumulation leads to cell death in vivo.These animal model results are in line with the copper ionophore induced cellular effects.

Figure 8. Common mechanisms between chemically and genetically induced Copper-dependent cell death

[2]

Conclusion:In this study, a novel type of programmed cell death, cuproptosis, was proposed and demonstrated. In this pathway, excess copper triggers abnormal aggregation of lipoylated proteins in TCA cycle and clearance of Fe-S cluster proteins, which is associated with upstream regulation by FDX1, ultimately leading to cell death.

Related products

ML162

ML162 is a covalent glutathione peroxidase 4 (GPX4) inhibitor. ML162 has a selective lethal effect on mutant RAS oncogene-expressing cell lines

Ferrostatin-1

Ferrostatin-1, a selective ferroptosis inhibitor, suppresses Erastin-induced ferroptosis.

FCCP

FCCP is an uncoupler of oxidative phosphorylation (OXPHOS) in mitochondria.

DL-Buthionine-(S,R)-sulfoximine

DL-Buthionine-(S,R)-sulfoximine is a potent inhibitor of glutamylcysteine synthetase biosynthesis.

DPQ

DPQ is a potent PARP-1 inhibitor, which can reduce the N-methyl-d-aspartate (NMDA)-induced PARP activation.

Elesclomol

Elesclomol (STA-4783) is an oxidative stress inducer that can induce apoptosis in cancer cells. Elesclomol is also a highly lipophilic Cu2+ -binding molecule that can be used in the study of Menkes and hereditary copper deficiency related diseases.

Zinc Pyrithione

Zinc Pyrithione is an antifungal and antibacterial agent disrupting membrane transport by blocking the proton pump. Zinc Pyrithione is also a copper ionophore that delivers copper into cells and is a useful tool for studying cuproptosis.

Boc-D-FMK

Boc-D-FMK is a cell-permeable, irreversible and broad spectrum caspase inhibitor. Boc-D-FMK inhibits apoptosis stimulated by TNF-α.

Roxadustat

Roxadustat (FG-4592) is a hypoxia-inducible factor prolyl hydroxylase (HIF-PHI) inhibitor.

Etoposide

Etoposide inhibits topoisomerase II (topoisomerase-II), induces cell cycle arrest, induces apoptosis and autophagy.

UK-5099

UK-5099 (PF-1005023) is a potent inhibitor of mitochondrial pyruvate transporter (MPC), inhibiting pyruvate-dependent O2 consumption.

Necrostatin-1

Necrostatin-1 (Nec-1) is a potent necroptosis inhibitor.

Z-VAD-FMK

Z-VAD-FMK is a pan-caspase (Caspase) inhibitor.

NSC319726

NSC319726 is a mutant p53R175 reactivator that inhibits the proliferation of p53R175-expressing fibroblasts, but not wild-type p53 cells.

8-Hydroxyquinoline

8-Hydroxyquinoline (8-HQ) is a monoprotic bidentate chelating agent that acts as a preservative, disinfectant and insecticide, as a transcription inhibitor.

References

[1]. Tsvetkov P, Coy S, Petrova B, et al. Copper induces cell death by targeting lipoylated TCA cycle proteins. Science. 2022;375(6586):1254-1261.

[2]. Yongqiang Wang, Long Zhang, Fangfang Zhou. Cuproptosis: a new form of programmed cell death. Cell Mol Immunol. 2022 Apr 22.

[3]. Li SR, Bu LL, Cai L. Cuproptosis: lipoylated TCA cycle proteins-mediated novel cell death pathway. Signal Transduct Target Ther. 2022;7(1):158.

[4]. Tang D, Chen X, Kroemer G. Cuproptosis: a copper-triggered modality of mitochondrial cell death. Cell Res. 2022;32(5):417-418.

#Cuproptosis，copper-induced programmed cell death

0 notes

spookebich · 1 year

Text

Thank you to Saintseneca for romanticizing apoptosis. Someone had to do it.

#apoptosis: programmed cell death #one of my fav lil science words and having a song that uses it for the theme is mwah #falling off by Saintseneca

1 note · View note

throwaway-yandere · 5 months

Text

𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]

a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.

Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?

CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.

Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.

The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.

"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"

You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.

"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."

Zandik smiled.

"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"

Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.

Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.

All except his.

"I think… "

The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.

But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.

"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."

His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.

"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.

You continued.

"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."

You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.

But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.

".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."

"I know."

Zandik laughed.

"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."

You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"

"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."

He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.

"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"

You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.

"I… I think so."

Zandik smiled.

It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.

"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."

You nodded to cue that you were still listening.

"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."

You nodded again.

"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"

You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.

"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.

His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting.

"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."

He had to be teasing you.

"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"

You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.

"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."

You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."

He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.

"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."

Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.

The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.

She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.

"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"

"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."

"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."

Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."

You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.

Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.

"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"

Her gentle smile resurfaced.

"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."

You blinked.

Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.

"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"

You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.

"Yes? I guess?"

Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."

Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…

But… that doesn't seem right either.

"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"

"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.

Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."

"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.

"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."

"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"

Columbina looked at you once more.

"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"

Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.

"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"

"I insist."

Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.

You had no other choice.

"O… Okay."

The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.

But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.

"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."

The blonde man approached you with a smile.

"You're #9805, right?"

Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.

Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."

The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."

You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.

And a white tulip…

"Um…"

"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"

"Trickster?"

"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."

So, did Lady Columbina plan this?

You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"

"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."

You blinked.

"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"

He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."

"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.

"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"

"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.

He didn't expect your voice to crack.

"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"

…

You took a deep breath.

… Why were you mad?

… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?

"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"

An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.

… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?

"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.

"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"

With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.

You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.

To distract yourself, you read through the article.

The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed

In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.

Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.

No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.

A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony

Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.

…

Safed… burned down their house?

No…

No, that's not how you remembered that.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.

Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.

… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?

A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence

Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.

…

Wait…

Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.

After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.

You saw their face.

You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.

But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white.

White…

Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?

Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.

…

The one… after you?

"Tut tut."

You trembled at the familiar sound.

You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.

"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.

And yet Zandik looks…

Sad.

And distressed.

He pressed his earpiece.

"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."

His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?"

Then Zandik did something unexpected.

He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.

To hug you.

"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."

"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"

He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.

"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."

The doctor laughed sadly.

"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, pecking your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.

You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.

Solitary.

Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.

There's no amnesty.

And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.

"... I forgive you."

You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.

"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"

You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.

Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.

You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man.

Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.

Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.

The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts.

But he's not content.

He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.

You were silenced. You were held.

You were loved.

"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."

And you will be disposed of.

"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.

But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.

Maybe…

Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.

The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.

You already have a white tulip in hand.

Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.

When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.

As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.

You looked to your left.

Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.

You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.

One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.

There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.

You think they might be dead.

You think "you" might've died more than once.

THUD!

You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.

Code #032.

They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.

Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.

They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.

#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.

They looked like death.

You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.

"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."

You laughed deprecatingly.

"We're not the scholar here. He is."

In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.

You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.

It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.

Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.

And now, here you are.

Seeing two "people" who do understand you.

And they share your face.

"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.

You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.

But your lungs were blistering.

Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.

His experiments worked.

You love him.

You love Zandik.

And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.

In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:

As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.

You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…

Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.

You are (Y/n) (L/n).

And you were not from Teyvat.

Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.

You can "clone" yourself.

Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.

"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"

He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.

Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.

Not dangerous.

"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species."

Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"

"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."

"But functioning?"

"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"

"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"

You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.

"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."

"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.

"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."

Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.

Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.

Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.

No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.

The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.

The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.

The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.

No one else can enter this room.

He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.

The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.

What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?

It is such a lonely concept…

You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.

"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.

He held your feet.

He held Test Subject #01's feet.

If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.

He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.

That's what he loved and hated about you.

You only gave and gave.

But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.

You're already a part of him.

Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.

Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.

"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"

In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.

He leaned his forehead against yours.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.

"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"

"No."

"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"

"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."

Zandik smirked.

"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."

You smiled.

"We'll see, we'll see."

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl

505 notes · View notes

reasonsforhope · 4 months

Text

"The New York City Council voted to ban most uses of solitary confinement in city jails Wednesday [December 20, 2023], passing the measure with enough votes to override a veto from Mayor Eric Adams.

The measure would ban the use of solitary confinement beyond four hours and during certain emergencies. That four hour period would be for "de-escalation" in situations where a detainee has caused someone else physical harm or risks doing so. The resolution would also require the city's jails to allow every person detained to spend at least 14 hours outside of their cells each day.

The bill, which had 38 co-sponsors, was passed 39 to 7. It will now go to the mayor, who can sign the bill or veto it within 30 days. If Mayor Adams vetoes the bill, it will get sent back to the council, which can override the veto with a vote from two-thirds of the members. The 39 votes for the bill today make up 76% of the 51-member council. At a press conference ahead of the vote today [December 20, 2023], Council speaker Adrienne Adams indicated the council would seek [a veto] override if necessary.

For his part, Mayor Adams has signaled he is indeed considering vetoing the bill...

The United Nations has said solitary confinement can amount to torture, and multiple studies suggest its use can have serious consequences on a person's physical and mental health, including an increased risk of PTSD, dying by suicide, and having high blood pressure.

One 2019 study found people who had spent time in solitary confinement in prison were more likely to die in the first year after their release than people who had not spent time in solitary confinement. They were especially likely to die from suicide, homicide and opioid overdose.

Black and Hispanic men have been found to be overrepresented among those placed in solitary confinement – as have gay, lesbian and bisexual people.

The resolution in New York comes amid scrutiny over deaths in the jail complex on Rikers Island. Last month, the federal government joined efforts to wrest control of the facility from the mayor, and give it to an outside authority.

In August 2021, 25-year-old Brandon Rodriguez died while in solitary confinement at Rikers. He had been in pre-trial detention at the jail for less than a week. His mother, Tamara Carter, says his death was ruled a suicide and that he was in a mental health crisis at the time of his confinement.

"I know for Brandon, he should have been put in the infirmary. He should have been seeing a psychiatrist. He should have been being watched," she said.

She says the passage of the bill feels like a form of justice for her.

"Brandon wasn't nothing. He was my son. He was an uncle. A brother. A grandson. And he's very, very missed," she told NPR. "I couldn't save my son. But if I joined this fight, maybe I could save somebody else's son." ...

New York City is not the first U.S. city to limit the use of solitary confinement in its jails, though it is the largest. In 2021, voters in Pennsylvania's Allegheny County, which includes Pittsburgh, passed a measure to restrict solitary confinement except in cases of lockdowns and emergencies. The sheriff in Illinois' Cook County, which includes Chicago, has said the Cook County jail – one of the country's largest – has also stopped using solitary confinement...

Naila Awan, the interim co-director of policy at the New York Civil Liberties Union, says that New York making this change could have larger influence across the country.

"As folks look at what New York has done, other larger jails that are not quite the size of Rikers will be able to say, 'If New York City is able to do this, then we too can implement similar programs here, that it's within our capacity and capabilities," Awan says. "And to the extent that we are able to get this implemented and folks see the success, I think we could see a real shift in the way that individuals are treated behind bars.""

-via NPR, December 20, 2023

436 notes · View notes

im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 10 months

Text

Okay so we've done "Lazarus water is ghost booze", "Lazarus water is rotting ectoplasm", and even "Lazarus pit as spooky swimming pool" but consider:

Danny getting dunked in the pit waters and being contaminated with constant pit rage. He's destroying everything around him and his friends + sister+ clone must work around/ sabotage the JL, JLD and GIW in order to save Danny from them and get close enough to try to filter out the Lazarus water from his body using one of the Fenton Parents inventions.

The GIW keep interfering with the JL and JLD, hilariously insisting they have authority here and trying in vain to chase the heros off. Sometimes even actually fighting them. Or well, trying to at least.

Phantom doesn't exactly have the greatest reputation. Between the media blackout over Amity and what little that does get through painting him in a bad light thats not really a saprise.

Still, not everyone is convinced Phantom is a villian. Superman thinks Phantom is being mind controlled while most of the bats think the teenager was drugged and is on a rampage because of it.

Jason swears up and down that he felt the pit in that kid and he was swallowed up in pit rage the likes he had never seen before. Jason is determined to help this kid because if he can save this kid then maybe there's some hope for himself. Tim offers his help as well, suspicious of how similar Phantoms eyes are to someone suffering from the effects of the pit and at least partially convinced Jason is right.

It all culminates into Team Phantom saving Danny with the Justice Leages help and slapping the GIW all the way to thier new jail cells. Danny, after emptying his stomach contents into the ground, gets asked some medical questions, like his name and what day it was.

Turns out Danny thought it was the day everything started and had no memory of anything that happened while he was rampaging, which his friends and family thank thier lucky stars for. The boy can't handle much more trauma. Anywho, Danny gets placed in the watchtower medbay while they filter out any lingering L water and he's placed on an iv drip to replenish all the vitamins and hydration he lost while he was out of it.

Batman, Superman and others have all had talks with him, comforting him and actually listening to what he had to say. Something not many adults in dannys life did. Hood swiftly became friends with the kid and they bonded over being "Death Buddies" and Danny eventually told them about Vlad and Freakshow and his parents and how they all need to be stopped. He begged for leniency for his parents as they were genuinely insane and needed help.

Danny and his team get placed in a witness protection program of sorts and is visited by a lot of heros from time to time.

#dp x dc #fanfiction prompts #prompts #danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #young justice #justice league dark #justice league #the justice league #jason might adopt him ngl #jason todd #red hood #does the loa get blamed at some point? probably.#does ras become slightly obsessed with danny? yea

921 notes · View notes

strangersmunsons · 29 days

Text

bloodletting

you're kind of dead. but so is Eddie, just in a different way.

"Oh, you were a vampire, and baby, I’m a walking dead."

Contains: Vampire!Eddie x Zombie!Reader, gn!zombie!reader, Eddie owns a record store, you’re newly (un)dead and still figuring it out. No use of y/n, no description of reader’s appearance, use of pet names but no gendered pronouns. Warnings: mentions of death and descriptions of anatomical parts, both of which may be a little gross. Allusions to murder, though nothing is shown. Eddie drinks blood. Word Count: ~5,000 Not sure if this has been done yet; I've seen vampire!eddie and zombie!eddie, but I don't think I've come across this particular x reader combo? so hopefully I'm not stepping on anyone's toes here. anyway - hope you enjoy!

The summer heat is miserable, suffocating; large swaths of shimmering air hover above the sticky tar pavement, beckoning you from a distance like a teasing portal to another dimension, always in sight but never in reach.

You plod down the crack-ridden sidewalk, eyes cast downward. Dregs of once-lush moss and sprays of weeds poke through the shattered valleys in the concrete, now brown and withered beneath the cruel sun.

You admire those tiny plants. How they survive. How they find a way to live, against all odds, in the most unlikeliest of places.

They remind you of yourself. Especially now, on the verge of their death.

You continue on, shuffling aimlessly. Each step is halting, just the tiniest bit broken. And there’s an odd grinding noise that emits from your left knee if you take too large of a stride. You suppose that it would probably hurt, if you could feel pain.

But such sensations tend to be lost on you these days.

You glance skyward, the sun a winking yellow coin directly overhead. You’re not sure how it may affect your strange flesh — you haven’t quite worked out all the particulars of your condition yet. Some parts of you are lost, utterly lifeless; and yet, your sentience, amongst other random physiological capabilities, remain. You imagine your trillions of cells to be stuck in some kind of purgatory, hovering on the equatorial line between life and death.

Can the sun hurt you? Have your cells gone far enough down the path of their programmed death so as to be rendered impervious to the ultraviolet rays, or are the thymine dimers still forming, creating mutinous clumps in your DNA? Or, would you react like a corpse left to rot in the desert, internal gasses bubbling up through your gut that will make you bloat and split, ripping you open like a spoiled piece of overripe fruit?

You’d rather not find out.

The strip mall you’re treading through is mostly deserted. You suppose that everyone is at home, waiting out the heat within the cool confines of air-conditioned houses. Only you, to whom the temperature changes barely register, are out and about.

You duck into the nearest shop without checking to see what store it is. You just need to kill some time, wait for some cloud cover before venturing back out. There’s a cheerful tinkling of bells when you push the door open, an inviting sound to welcome you inside.

Hovering at the entrance, you stare unblinkingly around at your new surroundings — a record store.

Here, it’s dark and cool. The walls are painted black, and only just visible beneath the hundreds of posters plastered overtop of them. There are rows and rows of vinyl records and cassette tapes on display, and one corner is sectioned off for t-shirts and band merchandise, along with a table offering a small selection of horror novels and VHS tapes. No one seems to around, though you figure at least one employee must be lurking somewhere. An unknown song crackles through the speakers, some band with a wailing guitar and an even louder singer. It’s not bad.

You take a deep breath, although you’re not sure what the action does for you, exactly, and move down an aisle to start browsing in. Your fingers pop at the knuckles when you stretch your hands out to file through the records, and you frown when you notice one of your fingernails has broken off.

Is that gonna grow back, or…?

“Help you find somethin’?”

You look up, careful not to move your head too quickly, lest it snap right off of your neck.

The store employee — Eddie, by the title on his nametag — is standing very close to you, much closer than you would expect him to be, considering that you hadn’t seen or heard anyone approaching at all. Your eyes rake over his figure.

He has dark, tangled curls that hang all the way down to his chest, and his eyes are so brown they’re nearly black. He’s wearing a denim vest over a black W.A.S.P. shirt with the sleeves cut off, exposing thick, tattooed arms. He gives you a serene, close-mouthed smile that dimples his cheeks, full lips stretching widely across his pale face. If you could still flush, you probably would, but blood flow seems to be at a very minimum, if it’s even happening at all. He’s hot.

Well. Interesting to note that that part of you hasn’t changed.

You cough. “J-just looking.” Your voice is dry, raspy; you sound like a sixty-year-old chainsmoker. But if it surprises Eddie, it doesn’t show.

He points at the album you’ve paused at. “You like The Cramps?”

You nod carefully, not trusting your rusty larynx.

He hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the merch section. “We got some cool shirts of theirs over there, too, if you wanna take a look.”

“O-okay.”

There’s a mild shift in his expression, a slight shadow crossing over that customer-service smile, causing it to fade from his pretty face. He stares at you curiously; you swear you see his nostrils flaring.

You take a cautious step back.

“Well…if you need anything, just holler,” he tells you, disgruntled. As he turns and walks away, back to the register, he casts a backward glance at you, brow furrowed. If you weren’t so nervous, you might have marveled at how silent his footfalls are.

With shaky hands, you continue perusing the selection before you, though all you can really focus on is the feeling of Eddie’s eyes glued to your back from across the store.

Some of your senses might have been dulled, but you still know when you’re being watched.

Would it be too suspicious if you just dropped everything and made a break for it? You haven’t technically done anything wrong. Your only crime is being dead. And really, what can he — or anyone — even do to you?

Kill me?

You snicker.

Then, to your horror, in between Smell of Female and Off the Bone, your left pinkie finger falls off.

Immediately you lurch forward to hide the offending digit from Eddie’s prying eyes, hunching over the display rack. The damn thing has been threatening to come loose for days, kept in its place with the help of a little surgical tape and some superglue — but you’d hoped that the remaining ligaments would be strong enough to prevent this from happening.

Desperately, you plunge further into the display box, jamming your lifeless hands down between the records, groping blindly for the missing finger. You glance back at Eddie, who’s staring at you unabashedly, face a mask of blank confusion. He rises from his seat behind the checkout counter.

Finally, your hand closes around the lost pinkie, and you pull it back out of the display box, keeping it hidden within the confines of your fist. You just manage to spin around with your hands clasped behind your back by the time Eddie manages to make his way over to you again.

He stands with his feet firmly planted on the ground before you, his hands on his hips. “Everything alright over here?” he asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Yessir,” you chuckle drily.

He’s unconvinced. “Whatcha got back there?”

Panic bolts through your ruined insides. “N-nothing,” you rasp.

His dark eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “No? Prove it.”

He waits expectantly. You try to moisten your lips with your tongue, but the muscle feels like a dehydrated slug in your mouth. Reluctantly, you move the finger so it’s in just one of your fists, and then hold your other hand out to him, flat so he can see your empty palm, smiling weakly.

It’s stupid, but it’s all you’ve got.

Eddie rolls his eyes and scoffs, but before he can say anything, your body betrays you once again. Your grip is none too strong anymore, and the missing digit slips through the web of your other, still-intact fingers, dropping to the floor with a tiny thunk.

Both you and Eddie stare down at the freestanding pinkie, sitting in the center of a white tile near your feet, mottled and sickly-looking. Neither of you say anything.

Suddenly his dark eyes are boring into yours again.

“Uh…I can explain.”

“I knew you smelled wrong,” is the first thing he tells you in the back office of the shop, as he rifles determinedly through the desk drawers.

“Wrong?” you ask, alarmed.

He shoots you a look, a reassuring smile on his lips. “Not bad — just different. Like…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Like green. Earthy, I guess.”

You wonder if it’s worth mentioning that you crawled out of the ground a week ago.

“It’s not how people usually smell,” he says casually, face turning triumphant when he finally finds what he’s searching for. Eddie holds up a pocket-sized sewing kit in a plastic case. “I keep this around in case one of my patches falls off. I gotta say, emergency finger-reattachment surgery is a first for me.”

You’re still stuck on his previous statement. “H-how do people usually smell?” your voice quivers, and you wonder how he can act so nonchalant despite your decidedly-undead condition.

“Oh, like lots of different things,” he muses, selecting a needle from the kit. “Some people are flowery, some are fruity.” He wrinkles his nose. “Some people have harsher smells, like…crude oil, or something. And then there’s some that are so sweet it actually burns my nose.”

Eddie holds the case out so you can peer inside at the contents. “Here. Pick a color for your stitches.”

You opt for a tiny spool of dark green thread.

He gestures towards the rolling chair behind the desk. “Have a seat.”

You do as you’re told, plopping unceremoniously down onto the cushion. The chair moves several inches back across the floor from the force of your graceless fall.

Eddie snips the thread, and pops the end in his mouth to wet the frayed fibers, smoothing them into one even strand. Then he threads the needle quickly with an expert hand, tying it off with a knot when he has a decent amount of string to work with.

He kneels down before you, gently taking your pinkie-less hand in his. “Lemme see…do you think you can hold it in place for me?”

You hold the missing pinkie to the spot it was ripped from, lining up the torn edges as best you can. The whitish bone poking out at the ends slips greasily against the stumpy flesh of your knuckle. Frustrated, you try to hold it still so that the phalange and the metacarpal bones are aligned at least somewhat evenly, but you don’t quite have the stability.

Eddie purses his lips, but amusement flickers in his dark eyes. He takes the finger back from you. “I’ve got it, I think,” he says kindly. “Just, ah, help keep it steady, okay?”

Tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, Eddie presses the needle lightly against your skin. His eyes flit up to yours. “Does that hurt?”

“No,” you admit.

“Didn’t think so,” he says smugly.

He pushes the needle in deeper, piercing the skin, maneuvering the slim point beneath the flesh of your knuckle and into the lost finger, connecting the two, then pulling it back out. He does it again and again, looping the thread through your skin until the first few knobbly stitches are formed.

He checks in again, just in case. “Still doesn’t hurt?”

You shake your head.

Eddie chuckles under his breath, then resumes his progress. For the next ten minutes, he weaves the needle in and out of your skin, until there are stitches going the whole way around your finger. He carefully ties the last one off, trimming the excess thread with a pair of tiny scissors.

You hold your now-intact hand out, admiring his handiwork. It’s not perfect, but it’s certainly miles better than anything you could have done yourself.

“Thank you.” You’re touched by his kindness, but still completely boggled by his non-reaction to a customer losing an entire finger. “I h-have,” you hack out a cough, “a question.”

“Shoot.”

“You’re very calm. How is that?”

Eddie, still kneeling on the floor, looks up at you, puzzled. Then it dawns on him. “Oh, honey. You don’t realize?” But he doesn’t wait for you to reply, maybe anticipating that your throaty, stuttering speech will take too long. Instead, his face scrunches, mouth twisting as though he’s running his tongue across his gums, and then his lips pull back, baring his teeth at you, and —

Shiny, lethal-looking fangs slide out through some hidden, gummy pockets right above his canines. They’re sharp, sharper than any needle he might string through you, gleaming menacingly even in the dim fluorescent light.

You let out a noise that might have been a squeal, in a past life. Clumsily, your feet push at the floor, sending you careening backwards on the rolling chair in an effort to get away from him.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on! It’s alright!”

Eddie stands and moves a few paces back, giving you some space. He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m not gonna hurt you, babe. Pretty sure you don’t got what I need, anyway.”

Your body sags in the chair, which is pressed all the way up against the office’s back wall. You eye him warily, although you suppose you’re being a little hypocritical.

But you’re not the one packing fangs that rival a pit viper’s.

Eddie smiles at you, pointed teeth poking down over that full bottom lip of his. “What? Did you think you were the only thing that went bump in the night?” he jokes.

Yes. Admittedly.

His face softens. “You haven’t been like this very long, have you?”

Timidly, you shake your head no, the vertebrae in your cervical spine grinding from within your neck.

Lost in thought, Eddie runs his tongue over his teeth again — a seemingly-unconscious movement. “Right…do you need a place to stay tonight?” he asks suddenly, concern lining his features.

You’re not sure how to answer. You don’t seem to really need anything. “Uh…”

He crosses his arms across his chest, mouth quirking up in amusement. “Have you just been wandering around town like you’re in Night of the Living Dead?”

You snort, a dry puff of air whistling through your nostrils. “Kinda.”

“Sheesh. Y’know, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not as inconspicuous as you think you are. It’s a wonder no one’s shot you in the head yet.”

“I th-thought I was blending in pretty well.”

He laughs, a deep belly-laugh that reverberates around the tiny room. “To the untrained eye, maybe. But not to me.”

Eddie, as it turns out, owns the record store, Vicious Vinyl, and lives in the apartment above the shop. The small space is decorated similarly, so much so that it might be mistaken for a second level of the store as opposed to his home. But while Vicious Vinyl seems to offer a wide variety of music options for its patrons, Eddie’s tastes are made clear when you enter the apartment; he’s a heavy metal guy. Pictures of thrash bands, big names you recognize and obscure ones you don’t, hang on all the walls, and macabre-looking baubles lie on every flat surface. Music equipment is scattered throughout the room, guitars and amps filling the empty gaps between the dark furniture. And the windows are all covered by heavy black curtains — drawn tightly shut, of course, keeping the poisonous sunshine from leaching in.

“I have a cot that I’ll set up for you,” says Eddie, tossing his keys onto the kitchen table. You note that the cloth draped overtop of it is a deep crimson color.

Eddie pauses mid-step as something occurs to him. “Do you sleep?”

“Uh-uh. Do you?”

Eddie nods. “I do. Not in a coffin,” he adds, catching the way you peer around the room as though looking for a cobweb-ridden box. He nudges you playfully. “But you know where I do sleep?”

You imagine him hanging upside down from the ceiling like a bat. “Where?”

His eyes twinkle, like he’s about to divulge something juicy. “Under the bed.”

Your mouth falls open in surprise, and he laughs at your awestruck gaze. “Don’t know why, just feels right.”

“Weird.”

“Weirder than not sleeping at all?”

You shrug, unsteady frame rippling with the motion. Your cracked lips pull up at the corners, forming your first true smile of this odd existence. Eddie grins back.

“You’re pretty cute for a corpse, you know that?”

Your dead body fills with delight that you don’t quite know how to express — you hope that your condition excuses your lack of verbal response. But either way Eddie doesn’t seem to mind it; he simply turns and heads into the living room, motioning for you to follow.

You obey, shuffling along as quickly as you can, feet dragging noisily against the hardwood floor. When he gestures for you to do so, you sink unsteadily onto the plush leather couch.

“I have to get back down to the shop, but I’ll close early and come back up soon,” he says nonchalantly, adjusting the chain bracelet on his wrist. “In the meantime, you make yourself at home.”

“Thank you.”

He nods in acknowledgement and, with a smile, exits the apartment, leaving you alone.

The door clicks shut, and you settle back into the cushions, eyes wandering around as your tap your feet gently, impatiently, against the floor. You pick up the remote from the coffee table and flick the boxy television to life. You flip through channels for a while, letting each mindless program play for a minute before moving on to the next one, the muted colors on the bulbous screen and scratchy audio leaving little to no impression upon you. Boring. You turn it back off.

You purse your dry lips in thought. Truthfully, what you really want to do is snoop, but it’s rather gracious of Eddie to let you stay here, especially unattended…trusting, even. Would he be able to tell if you took a quick look around? And would he be angry with you if you did?

You decide you can probably risk it. He told you to make yourself at home, after all.

Rising once more, you peer around the room cautiously, scanning all the bookshelves and photographs and records, looking for anything out of the ordinary, or decidedly vampiric — whatever that should be. But the den seems to be pretty innocuous.

You make your way back into the kitchen. From here, a short stretch of hallway juts out of the room, with two more doors — one is already slightly ajar, offering a glimpse of Eddie’s bedroom, and the other turns out to be a tiny bathroom. You rest a hand on the bedroom door, ready to enter and unearth all of Eddie’s secrets, but hesitate, intuition flickering.

If Eddie’s in possession of any bloody contraband, there’s one certain place you suspect he might keep it, and it’s not in his room.

The refrigerator is humming innocently with life. There’s the crackling sound of ice being made. Its cool whiteness is smooth and clean. Your hand clasps around the handle, and you wrench the door open.

Jars rattle from the force of your pull. A burst of bright light floods the dark kitchen, illuminating your dead face in a nightmarish glow.

The interior shelves are smeared with crimson fingerprints, speckled with dried puddles of red crust. No doubt spillage from the plethora of bloody bottles crowded inside, all filled with that human lifestuff that they — and he — need so badly to survive. The dark, thick liquid gleams within the confines of the glass, some filled to the brim, others containing only mere dregs.

Fascinated, you pull one of the bottles off the shelf and give it an experimental shake, watching bubbles whir into existence on the surface, making a layer of soft pink foam. You twist off the cap, peering inside; almost nosing the lip of the opening, you give it a delicate sniff. You’re not sure if your olfactory nerves can actually detect the faint, rusty odor, or if it’s a phantom scent, pulled from your memory.

You quietly screw the cap back on, and stowe the bottle back in its place. The refrigerator door swings shut once more, closing the gory sight out of view.

Interesting.

Hours later, Eddie comes back to the apartment. You’re sitting at the kitchen table now, working on the crossword puzzle from yesterday’s newspaper, dry tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration.

“Hello,” he greets you easily, shrugging out of his vest and tossing it over the back of a chair. He comes to stand beside you, looking down at the paper from over your shoulder. “24 down is orc, by the way. O-R-C.”

You frown. “I’m not there yet.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. “Sorry.” He pulls the chair next to you away from the table and takes a seat.

You tap the end of your pencil against the table. “I w-would’ve gotten it.”

“I’m sure you would have,” he says indulgently, resting his head on his hand. “Is this what you’ve been doing all afternoon?”

You nod. Mostly, anyway.

He studies your face for a moment, then scrunches his nose.

You mimic his expression. “What?”

“Have you noticed that you don’t blink?”

“No.”

He pokes you in the shoulder. “It’s kinda spooky,” he chuckles playfully. “Which is fine! I’m kinda spooky, too.”

“I don’t think I n-need to.”

His head cocks to the side. “You are funny, aren’t you,” he murmurs.

That’s one way of putting it.

Eddie bites his lip — fangs hidden away again, retreated back in their gummy slits — and, hesitantly, extends one hand towards you. You flinch back automatically.

“Sorry,” he says, but doesn’t pull his hand back. “But do you mind if I just…try something?”

You nod cautiously, unsure of what he’s getting at.

Eddie — slowly, so as not to startle you — leans forward and presses his palm to your chest, right over where your heart lurks inside. He searches for a pulse that isn’t there, feeling nothing, no meaty organ throbbing and thumping against your ribcage, just placid hollowness, as though there were no chambered fist of tissue there at all.

A hush falls over the two of you, while he waits in vain.

You offer an apologetic smile.

Eddie simply hums, and removes his hand, settling back in his chair. “You and I aren’t so different, you know. Mine doesn’t beat, either, unless I…” he trails off, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “Well, you can probably guess.”

“Yes. I found your stash.”

Eddie sucks in a quick breath, face hardening. “Forgive me. I know it’s a little gruesome, but a man’s gotta survive somehow, doesn’t he?”

You nod, understanding. The shock of his vampirism has worn off quickly, now that you no longer believe him to be a threat. As he’s so dutifully pointed out, and proven again just now, you don’t have what he needs.

“Listen, I was thinking when I was down there, and I know I already said you could stay for the night, but —”

Dismay. He’s already kicking you out, and you’ve only been here for a few hours.

“— we can talk about a more long-term arrangement, if you want?”

Oh. Okay.

Eddie continues, oblivious to your inner turmoil, “I need some help around the shop. And I can’t trust myself to have too many employees hanging around, for obvious reasons,” he chuckles, gesturing helplessly towards his fridge, “so if you’re interested, I could give you a job. And I’d have you stay here with me, of course.”

“Really?” you whisper raggedly.

Eddie shrugs. “Yeah. And you don’t have to worry about rent or anything, either. Just a few hours of work a day, that’s all I ask.”

You nod eagerly, the motion exuberant enough that it makes your neck click.

Eddie’s eyes widen at the alarming sound, though he’s still grinning. “Okay! Be careful. Your head will be a lot harder to sew back on than a finger.”

The next few weeks are a bit of a learning curve, you and Eddie both adjusting to your presence in each other’s lives.

During the day, you get some basic retail training. Eddie handles the real business side of things, but teaches you how he likes to organize and stock new arrivals, and lets you try your hand at the register. You’re good at it, but he’s hesitant to let customers speak to you for too long, lest they notice anything…unusual about you.

It’s all good fun, the two of you together, even when business is slow. You spend one dull afternoon crowded at the counter together, working on a nametag — Eddie’s a good artist, and decorates the space around your name with green, swirling designs and miniature doodles of tombstones. He even lets you swipe a Cramps button from the merch table to pin onto your lanyard.

When the shop closes up, you both trudge back upstairs to the apartment, and pass the time playing cards, watching movies, listening to records; Eddie will sip on a cup of dark liquid, puffing on a cigarette or maybe a joint, while you sit with your hands folded neatly in your lap, no needs or vices to trouble you, just enjoying this newfound companionship. Sometimes he even reads aloud to you, or plays you song on his acoustic guitar.

Eventually it reaches that point in the day where the sun finally sinks out of sight, wherein Eddie yanks back the curtains and throws up the window, letting the cool night air seep in. You watch with fascination every time, transfixed by the way the moonlight hits his pale skin, shines across his dark curls…dances over his pearly teeth.

Later, Eddie will retire to bed, bidding you goodnight and crawling into the small space beneath his floor and his mattress to sleep, while you sit up on the couch or the cot he’s so needlessly set up for you, with the gentle hum of the television keeping you company in the slumberless dark.

But other times he leaves, disappearing into the night and not returning til it’s nearly dawn, spattered with blood, bits of gore clinging to his clothes. He practically lurches into the apartment, blood-drunk, dragging what’s left of his kill behind him in a cooler for safekeeping.

The bloodletting takes place outside. He never brings the body in.

The first time it happened, you simply watched, glassy eyes watching him from across the room. But the next time you were ready. When he finished stowing the fresh blood away in the fridge, you moved in, and gently tugged on the back of his shirt, prompting him to remove his clothing; when he was stripped down to his boxers, you brought the discarded, ruined garments to the sink, and ran them under cold water. He watched you treat his clothes silently, searching for any sign of fright or disgust, but found none. He rested his hands on your shoulders and squeezed, a nonverbal thank you, before leaving you to take a shower.

This becomes routine. Eddie feeds and brings home the leftovers, which will tide him over until he has to make another kill. This doesn’t bother you; with each passing day, you feel more and more disconnected from the humans around you, the true ones, the ones who live and breathe and pump blood through their veins. You aren’t one of them, and they aren’t one of you.

So you don’t ask who any of them are, or where he finds them, but you do wait patiently for your vampire to come home, with a damp cloth in hand, ready to wash the blood from his face.

Tonight is one such night; when he stumbles through the door and into the kitchen, you’re already seated at the table with a bowl of warm water and a rag. You rise unsteadily to greet him, and he unloads his haul, putting the fresh bottles away onto their cold shelves. When he turns to face you again, he leans in, letting you tenderly swipe the dried smears of red tissue from around his mouth. His lips pout slightly when you drag the cloth over them, like a small kiss barely felt through the fabric.

He seems different; charged and bristling, as opposed to his usual sated and sleepy state.

“Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he strokes a thumb across your cheekbone, a light, experimental touch. “You’re sort of perfect for me, you know that?”

You pause your ministrations, startled by the unprompted praise. You swallow drily, and try to continue cleaning his face, but he clasps a hand around your wrist, keeping it in place.

His other arm snakes around your waist. “I’m serious,” he insists in a whisper. “Where have you been all my life?”

A faint smile touches your lips. “Had to wait until mine was over, I s’pose.”

His eyelids flutter, and before you can react, his bloody mouth is on yours. His kisses are sloppy, all fangs and tongue, smearing your lips and chin with gore. You return them dazedly, brittle fingers knotting in his tangled hair, letting him take what he wants.

It’s not like you need to catch your breath.

When he finally pulls back, a string of red-tinged spit connects your mouths. He pants in your face, nose rubbing against yours, then dots bloody pecks all over your cheeks and forehead. You lean into him, letting him hold your dead body in his arms.

“My little love,” he whispers into your skin.

thank you for reading!! ❤️

btw did you know that the gaboon viper has the longest fangs of any venemous snake? this has nothing to do with the fic. just thought if you made it to the end, maybe you'd enjoy a fun snake fact I came across when looking something up for this story. their fangs can grow up to 2 inches long, and this species is in a genus called Bitis, so that's fucking hilarious.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #vampire!eddie munson #vampire!eddie #monster!eddie munson #monster!eddie #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic

180 notes · View notes

tenth-sentence · 11 months

Text

The cytological changes associated with tracheary element differentiation are illustrated in Figure 22.3A.

"Plant Physiology and Development" int'l 6e - Taiz, L., Zeiger, E., Møller, I.M., Murphy, A.

#book quote #plant physiology and development #nonfiction #textbook #cytology #tracheary elements #plant cells #cell differentiation #plastid #vacuole #nucleus #mitochondrion #apoptosis #pcd #programmed cell death

0 notes

obessedwithfictionalmen · 2 months

Text

Protect you

John Egan X Pilot!Reader

Summary: When a woman is thrown into Bucky's cabin. He feels the need to protect her.

Warning: Mention of rape/ touching without consent/ use if Y/n/ violence/ blood/ mention of death/ Swearing/ mention of concentration camps/ choking (not in a sexual way)/ guns/

Word count: 2.9k

A/n: I might be a little drunk writing this and tried, so if there's any mistake, sorry :)

The door opened violently, all the men stood from their chairs, confused of the situation. 4 German soldiers entered their shelter. ‘’She’s yours, have your fun with her, she’s your roommate!’’ One of them exclaimed as a woman was thrown on the floor. She moaned in pain as her body hit the wooden floor. ‘’Suck my dick’’ she said, with all the energy she had left. One of the youngest German took the comment personally, walked forward and kicked the injured woman in the stomach. She groaned in pain, but started to laugh, she was tired, in pain and found it funny that the soldier took her comment personally. Bucky was the first to react to the unnecessary beating of the woman, he looked at the Germans. ‘’Dumme Schlampe’’ One of the soldiers said in his mother tongue. He called the woman a stupid bitch as they left the cabin. The woman was agonizing on the floor, her face was full of blood, her lips were cut, her left eyebrow was open and severely bleeding. Her right cheek was open, the wound was about 6 centimeters, her hair was a total mess. They were stained with blood. Bucky looked at her body, her cloths were ripped, but not everywhere, mostly at her breast and her stomach, her pants were at her knees, showing that the soldiers did things he didn’t want to think about. The smell of blood filled the small cabin, Bucky saw bruises on her body, he saw them where her cloths were ripped and allowed him to see her skin, he didn’t want to imagine the state of the skin he couldn’t see. Her vision was blurry from all the hit she took, but she could see that men were coming towards her to help her. ‘’We’re going to take care of you, you’re safe’’ one of them said, but she couldn’t see who it was. Her breath was short and ragged, she probably had broken ribs.

She didn’t know what day it was, nor how many time she was out. The only thing she knew was that her head was hurting like a bitch. ‘’Welcome back’’ one man said. She sat on the bed, it was painful for her, but she wanted to sit. She touched her head and hissed when she touched one of her wounds. ‘’How long was I out?’’ she asked with a raspy voice, it was like that because her vocals cords were injured when an officer almost choked her to death. ‘’2 days, we cleaned your wounds the best we could’’ a blonde said. ‘’Thank you, I’m Major Y/n Hughes, 319th, WASP division’’ she introduced herself. Bucky was surprised to see a woman being a pilot and being the same rank as him. ‘’Wasp?’’ one of the guys said. ‘’Woman Airforce Service Pilot’’ Bucky and Y/n said at the same tine. He had heard of the program, he thought it was great and pretty badass. ‘’What did they do to you?’’ A man sitting at the end of the table asked. ‘’Isn’t it obvious?’’ she said sarcastically. ‘’Come on, Crank, you can’t ask that’’ the blonde said. ‘’I’m Major Gale Cleven, 100th, but you can call me Buck’’ the blonde introduce himself. ‘’Major John Egan, call me Bucky’’ the brunette said. The woman smirked. ‘’Your Buck, and he’s Bucky?’’ she stated, confused. ‘’It’s a long story’’ The guy named Crank said. Her hole body was hurting, every move she made was painful for her. ‘’Did they, y’a know, touch you’’ Buck gave a death stare to Hamilton. ‘’I don’t remember, it’s all a blur. My plane crashed in the middle of nowhere, but next thing I know, I’m surrounded by Germans, they must’ve hit me, because when I wake up, I’m in the cell. Then they take me to see a really annoying man. He asks me questions about my girls, if I’m married, what was our target.’’ The man nod, they all went through the same process. ‘’I do as I was told Name, rank, serial number. When they got enough of me, they threw me in this train with other soldiers. Then I come here, but when I walked, Germans punched me, a dog bit my pants, or my leg, can’t remember.’’ The next part was too painful for her to say out loud. She looks at her cloths, they’re not the same she had on when she came in. ‘’We gave you spare cloths, since yours were ripped’’ Buck explains. Y/n nods. ‘’Thank you for what you did’’ she smiles.

She’d just fallen asleep when the door got violently opened. German soldiers were shouting, Y/n’s eyes were half closed when one of the guars pulled her out of bed. ‘’Got her!’’ the men holding her yelled. Bucky woke up to the sound of a thud, when he opened his eyes, he saw Y/n being dragged on the ground by two soldiers. He quickly woke the others up; the sound of a siren came to his ears. Y/n was trying to wrestle the German guards, but one of them hit her, again. A message came through the camp’s speakers. ‘’All men round up! Right now!’’ they wanted them in their place, just like they inspected their room, but tonight they weren’t doing that. The snow on Y/n’s body was cold, she was being dragged in front of the man, the two men pulled her to her feet, she looked around her, two dogs were barking. She looked at Bucky and Buck, they were in the second row. ‘’Sorry for waking you up, gentleman, but we wanted to introduce you to this whore!’’ One of the Germans General said. ‘’I got a bad feeling about this, Buck’’ Bucky whispered to his friend. The hand of the General went on Y/n throat, slowly closing around it, preventing her from breathing normally. She started to choke. His other hand started to open the blouse she had on, exposing her chest. ‘’You see, she thinks she’s a pilot, but she can’t escape what she really is. A ball emptier. Just another hole for us to fill, a baby machine. She should’ve stayed in the kitchen. Look at her!’’ he exposed her fully. A tear rolled down her cheek. Bucky was fuming, he wanted to stop this madness, but if he moved, he would het shot. ‘’Stay calm, I’m as furious as you, but don’t do anything stupid’’ Buck whispered, sensing him friend’s anger. The American soldiers felt bad for the woman, some of them even fought with WASP at their side. Y/n tried to resist, but the grip the soldiers had on her was too strong for her. The General came closer to her face, trying to kiss her, but she decided to bite his lower lip as hard as she could. The taste of blood filled her mouth, but it wasn’t hers. He exclaimed in pain, the men that was holding her throat tighten is grip. Y/n was smirking at the General, he was holding his lip in pain. With fury, he slapped her face. ‘’Is that all you got?’’ Y/n pushed her tongue against her inner cheek as she looked up at the General. Bucky was proud of her for defending herself, but he was also scared of what was going to happen to her. ‘’You fucking bitch!’’ the General walked towards her, ready to beat her up, but an officer stopped him. Y/n took the time to hide her breast from the men, she closed her blouse and looked at the General. ‘’That’s enough, Rolf!’’ he warned the general. The General named Rolf didn’t care, he took Y/n and lift her on her feet. He gave her another punch, but this time, Y/n spitted the blood in her mouth on him. Before Rolf could hit her again, a soldier pushed her into the crowd. He thought the men were aroused by seeing her chest, but they weren’t, they were happy she got thrown at them, they were going to protect her. Bucky and Buck catches her, immediately putting an arm over her, as a sign of protection. Rolf was fuming, but the other Germans were telling him to calm down. ‘’It’s not a concentration camp, Rolf! You can’t do that here! You’re drunk, go to bed!’’ his superior yelled at him. Y/n smirked, seeing him getting yelled at made her chuckle. Bucky made sure she was okay, she was bleeding, but it wasn’t that bad, it was her neck that was worse. It was now dark purple; it was going to be bruised for a long time. ‘’Everyone back to your cabin! NOW!’’ the officers yelled. The two men supported her as they made their way back to their wooden prison.

‘’You got balls, I’ll give you that’’ Crank said as Y/n sat on a wooden chair. ‘’I wasn’t going to let him disrespect me like that’’ she chuckled, but her throat hurts her. She gently puts a hand on it, it’s warm and really sensitive. ‘’Are you okay?’’ Buck asked her, handing her a glass of water. She thanked him with a small nod. ‘’It’s not the first time he touched me like that, he did it when I came here, earlier, but yeah, I think I am’’ she said, taking a sip of water. ‘’That piece of shit touched you before?’’ Bucky asked, taking a seat in front of her. ‘’He did more than touching’’ she whispered. Bucky wanted to kill this man, he wanted to rip his head off and put it on a stick to plant in front of the camp. ‘’I’m heading to bed’’ Crank said, Buck and others following him. Bucky stayed with Y/n. The only light came from a candle. She took a deep breath and looked at the man in front of her. ‘’I’m sorry, I wanted to help you, but – ‘’ she cut him off. ‘’You could’ve been shot, I understand’’ she said, putting her hand on top of his. Bucky looked at their hands, then he looked at her face. Even though she had wounds, she was the most beautiful woman on the planet, and this rage that she had inside of her intrigued him, he wanted to see the full potential of it on a German soldier. ‘’You know, I, uh, we, uh, you could sleep next to, uh, me. If they come back, they’d have to het though me before they can hurt you again’’ Buck stuttered. Y/n blushed, even though it didn’t show from all the blood on her face. She smiled to the man and nodded. ‘’Thank you, Bucky.’’ She said, with a smile. ‘’It’s normal, I won’t let these guys hurt you again’’ he replied, smiling too. ‘’Let’s get to bed’’ he said, blowing on the candle. He led Y/n to his bed, letting her in first, then laying down next to her. ‘’Good night, Bucky’’ she gently said. ‘’Good night, Y/n’’ he replied. At that moment, he made a promise to himself, that he’ll protect her, at all costs.

It had been 2 months sine Y/n arrived at the camp, she grew closer to Bucky, he was charming and kept his promise, he never let anyone hurt her. The warm wind of June blew in her hair as she looked at Buck ordering the men to pull. They were doing a thing with a tree, and it was complicated. ‘’Guys! Who wants to play baseball?’’ Bucky asked as he walked towards the man. Y/n looked up at him, he lost weight, they all did. ‘’ Bucky, we’re a little busy’’ Buck replied. The brunette was annoyed, he was starting to lose his mind. Y/n started to develop feeling for the Major, after all, he was the nicest person around. Buck was nice to her too, but Bucky was just so caring; always making sure she’s okay, that no one messes with her and saving some of his food to give to her, because he doesn’t want her to starve. ‘’Ah come on, Buck, I’ll let you win!’’ he pleaded his case. ‘’I’ll play with you’’ Y/n offered. Bucky looked at the woman, she looked magnificent, her skin was a little tan, she spent a lot of time outside. ‘’Alright, but hey! Let’s go on a walk’’ he offered the woman his arms. ‘’Don’t get too close to the gates’’ Buck joked, but it was enough to send Bucky over the edge. ‘’Why the fuck would you say that?’’ he turned to look at his best friend. ‘’Bucky, it was just a joke’’ Buck said with a calm voice. Bucky walked towards his friend, but the fight he was about to start was stopped with the sound of a gun. Y/n flinched as she looked at the location where the sound came. Bucky instantly looked at the woman, making sure she was okay. ‘’They shot Henry!’’ other men yelled. Y/n put a hand in front of her mouth, she’d seen men getting shot before, but here, the Germans were merciless. They didn’t care who they shot, nor why they pulled the trigger. Bucky watched with horror as the body of Henry got carried away by two men. ‘’Everyone, in their cabin!’’ a SS yelled. Since Brits escaped, the security was more intense. ‘’Rain check on that walk’’ Y/n tried to smile while saying her sentence. Bucky nodded as they made their way back to their cabin.

She was going crazy, since the Germans broke their hand-made radio, she’s been determined to build another one. ‘’Shit! It doesn’t fucking work!’’ she slammed her hand against the table, it was the third time she tried to make another radio. ‘’I don’t understand what we’re doing wrong!’’ Buck exclaimed. He’d been helping her building it. ‘’It’s useless, if I can’t build a fucking radio, there’s no way I’m getting out of here!’’ she rested her elbows on the table, putting her head in her head. ‘’Don’t say that I’m getting you out of here, with or without a radio’’ Bucky stepped in. She looked at him as she let out a sign. She smiled to him and continue to work on the radio. Hamilton was scraping wood, to shape it as an airplane. Y/n got an idea. ‘’Give me that!’’ she got up and snatched the piece he used out of his hand. ‘’Something must be in the way of the wire, glue or something’’ she began to scrape the radio, then she brought the headphone to her ear. She heard something, it was in German, so changed the frequence. ‘’I got it, the BBC’’ she exclaimed as she passed the headphone to Buck. He confirmed what the woman said, making the men smile. ‘’You did it!’’ Bucky hugged her and spun her around the room. Buck was surprised of his best friend, but only chuckled. They both make eye contact; it’s filled with joy and hope. They go in the other room; they don’t want to make too much noise and stop Buck from hearing important information. ‘’You built another radio! That was amazing!’’ he whispers. Y/n blushes and smiles, Bucky’s compliments were always sweet. ‘’Thank you’’ she replies. They maintain eye contact, but another emotion joins the mix: attraction. Y/n breath are quicker, and her pupils are dilated. Bucky takes a step forward, being closer to the woman. ‘’Can I kiss you?’’ he breaths out. Y/n can only nod, next thing she know, their mouth come clashing together. His lips are soft and gentle, not like the rough kiss she was forced to get by the General. It was a quick kiss, but just enough to make them giggle after, like teenagers. ‘’I –‘’ he was cut off the by the sound of a gun sound outside. ‘’Rolf, come back here!’’ they heard the guard’s yell. The general was drunk again, which meant he was coming in their cabin. It was his habit, when he got drunk, he wanted to see Y/n, to try to do horrible things to her. When the boys understood, they quickly found a way to prevent him to come inside. This time, he had a gun in his hands. ‘’I’m going to kill that bitch’’ he yelled.

Even the German guards weren’t comfortable with the General’s doings. Buck told the men to bring the table in front of the door, to make obstacles. They held the table, that prevent the General from entering the cabin. Y/n looked at Bucky, fear was in her eyes. ‘’I’m not going to let him hurt you, not now’’ he smiled. That reassured Y/n a little bit. But when Buck failed to hold the door, Rolf came in the cabin, looking for Y/n, she was hiding behind Bucky, they were near the doorframe. ‘’Wo zum Teufel bist du, ich bringe dich um!‘‘ He was asking where she was, and he swore that he was going to kill her. Y/n was afraid, she didn’t want to die. ‘’Don’t worry, I have a plan’’ Bucky whispered. When Rolf came in the room, Bucky punched him in the jaw, instantly knocking him out. German officers came rushing in the cabin. ‘’Normally, you should be killed for this, but I’m going to close my eyes on this one, it’s the first and last time, understood?’’ said a German soldiers. He understood that Bucky only protected the woman, that’s why they didn’t shoot him. Rolf was removed from the cabin to Y/n relief. ‘’I can’t thank you enough, Bucky, from the beginning, you’ve protected me’’ she said. ‘’A kiss would be a nice reward’’ he smirked. The woman rolled her eyes and smiled. ‘’That would be one of the things I could do to thank you’’ she teased as she pressed her lips on Bucky’s. Her protector, her lover, her pilot. He was going to be a lot of things for her, he just didn’t knew it, yet…

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #john egan x reader #john egan x female reader #john bucky egan #major john egan #john egan #john egan imagine #master of the air imagine #master of the air #masters of the air #austin butler #gale cleven #gale buck cleven

192 notes · View notes