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duskyashe · 1 year

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NaNoWriMo Day #2

[masterlist] [part two] [part three] [part four]

Prompt found here

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The thing about being the half-ghost protector of a small Midwestern city whose rogues gallery consists of both the inhabitants of a parallel dimension intrinsically linked to the "living" one as well as goons from the government, is that you tend to get a bit lonely. There's never any representation for him or others like him among the well known heroes of the world, he's really got no one to model how he should fight his city's crime. Sure, Superman has a lot of powers that are similar to his own, but he's a beloved alien not a hated eldritch entity. And sure, Danny loves knowing there's other sentient life out there, but when the government is one of his rogues, it's kinda hard to look up to government approved heroes.

Though Captain Marvel was pretty cool, not gonna lie.

But his point was, as far as Danny knew, he was the only eldritch being/cryptid to have taken up heroics, ever, and that… that hurts sometimes, that he was the only one out of a rather large cast of possible "other" beings in the world to decide that protecting others was worth more than his own potential safety. He was both the frontrunner and the sacrificial lamb. If he succeeded in changing the narrative, in convincing humanity that supernatural beings and entities couldn't be defined by a few really well known bad nuts, then others would publicly fly his banner, but if he didn't, if he failed, then, well, no ectoplasmic skin off their metaphorical noses, y'know? It was isolating.

Danny honestly expected the rest of his existence would be defined by that loneliness, by being the only hero to be of a supernatural flavor others were actively terrified of. Until, that is, Sam and Tucker nearly broke his bedroom door down one Sunday morning, breathless and beaming, which was so out of character for Sam that Danny was kinda expecting his ghost sense to go off signaling she was being overshadowed. But no, she wasn't. She was genuinely excited about something, enough to act like the daughter her parents wished she was, not the down-to-earth goth beauty they actually had.

"Woah, guys, what's up?" Danny asked, sitting up from his sprawled out position on his bed. Tuck shut and locked his door while Sam pulled her phone out and showed it to him. He stared at the screen in shock for a few minutes as his friends got their breathing under control. "Is… is that… is that what I think it is?"

Sam nodded, grinning like a loon. "Tuck double checked everything. There's multiple cases with enough correlation between them, buried deep enough in the web, that for it all to be one big hoax or just a huge coincidence would be functionally impossible. This is real, Danny. You're not alone anymore." On her phone was a website, which looked like a newspaper of some sort, with a headline reading, "The Cryptid Known as Batman Strikes Again! Twoface Back in Arkham!" It was posted just last week. Danny took Sam's phone and looked through the open tabs. There were articles and blog posts and Reddit pages and YouTube channels dedicated to what seemed to be a whole clan of cryptids who made Gotham City their home. All of them praised the elusive clan. Thanked them for protecting them. For saving them.

Danny started tearing up. He couldn't help it. Here was proof that what he was doing wasn't all for nothing. It was possible to be a hero loved by those he protected while being a member of the supernatural, part-time though his membership may be.

It was at that point that fourteen year old Danny "Phantom" Fenton decided the entity called "Batman" was his hero, his idol, the being he looked up to most of all. His method of fighting crime was a tad too violent for Danny, but his style was perfect. He couldn't change who or what he was, not without some serious side effects, but if "Batman" and their clan could turn the public's favor to their side despite being so obviously not human, something even literal aliens didn't attempt to do, then screw it, Danny was going to do the same thing. He would embrace his ghostliness as Phantom, instead of trying to pretend he was still human in that form. Maybe that was his problem, anyway? Could others tell he was pretending to still be human as Phantom? It didn't really matter at the moment, but it would be interesting to test that going forward…

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In the end, a year and a half is all it took for everything to completely fall apart. Danny would say he was surprised, but honestly, he'd seen this coming as far back as that incident with Pariah Dark, which ended with him ascending the ghostly throne. The way Amity Park reacted to that whole ordeal was rather telling. Although a number of the younger crowd had started shifting their views of Phantom, too many of the adults still saw him as a threat and vilified him, even after he saved all of reality.

Living in Amity Park had quickly become too dangerous for him and his team—Sam, Tucker, and Jazz—, but while Jazz was fairly easily able to get custody of Danny and get the two of them away from the boiling cauldron of tension, Sam and Tucker didn't have that option. His core protested leaving members of his fright behind in such a hazardous situation, but with no idea how things would go down where Jazz and Danny were running to, they had to leave them for the time being. If everything went to plan, then Jazz would call the rest of their fright to them.

Thankfully, with him being the ghost king now, his ghostly rogues had cut back on their attacks on his haunt during the past year, instead scheduling time with Jazz to teach him more about ghost culture, as well as other supernatural beings and their cultures. Due to these lessons, Danny, Sam, and Tucker would often debate what kind of beings Batman's clan had and how many beings the clan contained instead of finishing their homework.

Batman was obviously an entity loosely tied to shadows that had ascended to minor divinity over the past few years, while Robin had to be some sort of fey being, considering their eternally youthful appearance. This theory was backed by Robin's ability to mimic the voices of seemingly anyone. Raven, the next oldest member of Batman's clan, had to be eldritch in origin, though it was interesting that they claimed a name so closely related to death and prophecy. Danny and his friends couldn't quite agree on what kind of eldritch being Raven was, just that they were one.

Condor was an interesting being to debate, as the name also had strong ties with death, as well as rebirth. Sam thought that meant Condor was a Phoenix that wanted to stay on theme with the rest of the clan, while Tuck thought Condor was some kind of zombie. Jazz was actually the one to propose Condor may have been a lich, which honestly kind of made sense. Condor was known to have looser morals than the others in the clan, which fit with the general idea of how liches come into being, especially if those they killed came back as undead servants like some rumors claimed.

Around the same time Condor showed up, whisperings of a being named Oracle started showing up within the forums Tuck had hacked. While there was no confirmed record of appearance for her, there were multiple accounts of the other members of the bat clan sending words of thanks to her, so she might have been the actual spirit of the Oracle of Delphi, which would be so cool.

Ibis was definitely some sort of trickster spirit, possibly even a kitsune. With their tendency to dance around an opponent until victory was assured and their tenuous grasp on the humanoid form, they couldn't really be anything else. Black Bat had to be another entity loosely tied to shadows, though they seemed more eldritch than Batman was. Starling could literally only be a banshee, what with her death shrieks every time she attacked. Weirdly enough, Signal seemed to already have a supernatural theory attached to them, said theory being that they were the bat signal given sentience and humanoid form, though Danny thought they might be more of a vengeful spirit.

There were likely others, those not as well known or even ever seen. There always were. For Danny's fright, that was Ellie, who was constantly on the move, especially now that she'd mastered teleportation and portal making. While most of his former ghostly rogues knew of Ellie, the only humans that knew of her were members of his fright and Valerie.

At the time, spitballing ideas about the members of the bat clan in Gotham was just all fun and games, a way to practice the knowledge they were learning in a more practical and entertaining way than just bookwork. Now, though, Danny couldn't be more grateful they had spent so much time on those debates, countless nights they stayed up late trawling through the deep web to stay up to date on the latest on Gotham's guardian deity and his clan. Because they had such solid guesses on what beings made up the bat clan, they'd be able to appeal for sanctuary in a more appropriate manner than if they had no clue at all.

As his and Jazz's bus drew closer to Gotham on the horizon, Danny anxiously checked that the duffle with their offerings was still secured. He hoped the bats liked their gifts; they had barely any concrete info on any of the more public members, let alone the lesser known ones. He wasn't sure what they'd do if Batman refused their appeal; with the schematics to rebuild the Fenton portal within easy access of the GIW, they couldn't risk hiding out in the Infinite Realms for fear of drawing Danny's subjects into a fruitless war.

Please, he prayed to Gotham's guardian deity, please don't turn us away. You're our last hope.

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As Bruce was getting ready for patrol that night, he felt the creeping rise of anticipation. Something was going to happen tonight, something extraordinary. He just wasn't sure if it was going to be a good thing or not. Like usual.

For the past year and a half, Bruce had noticed an odd trend. Whenever something big was going to happen, something that would affect the entirety of his city, he'd feel antsy all day, right up until whatever was going to happen happened. It certainly helped cut down on the number of times they'd been caught with their metaphorical pants around their knees, but not being able to tell if the nebulous something was going to be good or not was annoying. Though, to be fair, there weren't a lot of good things that had happened since he started noticing his new sense.

"Listen up," he sighed as he stalked over to the conference table in the cave. "Something's going to happen tonight, something big. As usual, that's all the information I have, so you know the drill; if you see anything unusual, call it in." Bruce looked over his brood of children, most of them adults in their own right by now. Goodness, the years have flown by fast. "Try to stick relatively close to each other tonight, please. I want to be able to watch each other's backs in case whatever it is manages to get the drop on us."

Dick nodded with a grin. "You got it, B," he said, slinging an arm over Damian's shoulder. "C'mon, baby bird, let's run through our stretches one last time before heading out, yeah?"

"Tt, it is Todd who needs those stretches most, was he not the one to strain his knee last week?"

"You listen here, you little—"

"He's not wrong, Jay. You sure you don't want my stretch routine? It'd do you wonders, y'know."

"You mean your torture routine, Replacement? How you can get your body into some of those shapes and still call it stretching, I'll never know—"

Bruce shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. He wasn't quite sure when that change had happened, but he'd be forever grateful it had. It pained him when his sons fought each other.

A small hand came to rest on his shoulder, drawing him out of his thoughts. He glanced down at his daughter and smiled at her look of concern. "I'm alright," he reassured her, "just thinking."

Cass looked at him thoughtfully before nodding. "It will be alright. Tonight will be good. We will stay safe. You stay safe, too?"

Bruce was nodding before she finished speaking. "Of course. We should head out, any longer and Stephanie will try banshee striking the first shady person she sees," he said, an amused glint in his eye as Steph cried out in indignation from over by the batmobile.

An hour into patrol, and Bruce's anticipation skyrocketed. Whatever was happening tonight was happening soon. "Everyone, check-in."

"Raven here, checking in, all clear here." Dick.

"This is Condor, everything's normal on my end." Jason.

"Robin, checking in, nothing is out of place." Damian.

"Starling here! Just some run-of-the-mill muggers, currently crying for daddy!" Steph.

"Black Bat. Clear." Cass.

Where's—? "Ibis here. B, I think I found the source of your feeling. Sending Oracle my coordinates now." Tim.

"Understood. En route now. Do not engage without backup, understood?" Bruce demanded, taking off toward the beacon indicating Tim's location.

"I'll try, B, but I get the impression they know I'm here."

The anticipation rose again. Whoever Tim was watching definitely knew he was there. "We'll hurry."

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Tim clung to the gargoyle overlooking one of the many rooftop shrines to the Bats and the Birds. There, sitting cross-legged about a foot in the air next to the shrine, was a glowing teenaged boy with snow bright hair and Lazarus Pit green eyes. He was wearing a black and silver armored suit, similar to the suits he and his siblings wore, with a flowing cape that blended into the night hung from his shoulders and a greenish black crown floating just above his head. In his lap was a black, gray, and green duffle bag that looked to be rather full, and in his hand was a beat up looking photograph. He couldn't make out what it was a photo of from this angle, but he'd recognize a well-loved photograph anywhere.

"In position, IIbis, you may initiate contact." Bruce said over comms. Tim didn't bother acknowledging he heard and instead carefully unwound himself from his hiding place in the shadows. Carefully, he danced down the side of the building he was on, contorting himself into inhuman looking positions as he went, until he could silently drop onto the roof with the shrine. He slowly slunk forward, keeping low and accentuating his curiosity. That was the key, here, he really was curious about this kid. That was what sold IIbis as something other, something not human.

Tim was about five feet from the shrine when wide, glowing green eyes suddenly found his own, covered though they might be. Tim froze, holding the slightly exaggerated pose he'd found himself in, crouched and arched in a way that screamed wary curiosity. Cautiously, he rolled his head to the side and chirped slightly.

"You really do exist," the kid breathed in awe before he shook himself and straightened, grabbing the duffle from his lap before letting his feet meet the rooftop. "Hi, um, I was wondering if I could possibly meet with your clan leader, Batman?"

Tim stared at the kid for a long moment as Bruce silently made his way to the shadows of the shrine. At Bruce's signal, a soft tap on the comm, Tim shifted and rolled and contorted until he was standing in a much more human-like fashion, then purposefully turned only his head to look directly where Bruce's beacon said he was. The kid whipped his head around right as Bruce seemingly melted out of the shadows, his size and sheer presence seemingly dwarfing the kid, who sucked in a surprised breath but barely moved an inch. Impressive.

"Yes?" Bruce growled softly, not the unpleasant, gravelly growl reserved for criminals, but the warm, gentle rumble reserved for kids and victims.

The kid's awe only grew more pronounced, but somehow he still managed to pull himself together enough to speak. "H-hi, my name's Phantom, I'm not sure if you've heard of me or not. I'd like to ask for sanctuary for myself and my fright-mates. Our previous haunt has become rather hostile towards us, and I'm not strong enough to keep them safe. Um, I've got some gifts for you and your clan, I wasn't sure how large your clan was, so I'm sorry if I offend you or anything with the lack of gifts for everyone. M-may I pull them out?" He asked, lifting the duffle slightly to indicate what he meant.

Bruce was silent as he waited for the rest of the bats and birds to form a loose circle around Phantom, stances mostly non-threatening, and stepped forward into the glow coming from the kid. At this point, the kid's awe was nearly palpable, glancing at as many of them as he could but always facing Bruce and not moving more than his eyes.

After a further moment, Bruce tilted his head slightly and nodded, causing the kid to outright beam.

"Right! Well, first, for yourself, I have a set of ghost steel batarangs, enchanted to return to their case once they leave a hundred yard radius. They're tied specifically to the case, so you can lend them to someone else, but it's recommended you be the only one to use them for the first ten uses in live combat. Next, for Black Bat, a cloak made by the best undead tailors this side of eternity. Made from the shadows themselves, whoever wears it becomes functionally invisible in low light conditions and beyond. I was also told it grants slight shadow manipulation, as well. For Robin, a shape shifting sword from the fey realms themselves, fitting for a changeling child. All curses and tricks were totally removed, as we weren't certain you wouldn't share it with some of your clan mates, and we didn't want to accidently cause any problems that could have been averted—" Phantom kept going, pulling something from the bag, naming who it was for, and explaining a little about it, before putting it back in the bag and moving on. But what drew Tim's attention, time and time again, was the fact that Phantom seemed to be under the impression they were actually members of the supernatural—he all but called Tim a kitsune, and definitely implied Damian was a changeling! It was both amusing the kid honestly thought they were members of the supernatural, and rather concerning at the same time. They were all human, weren't they? They were method acting every time they suited up, heck, Tim was nothing more than a self trained contortionist that could mimic a few bird calls and knew a bit of self defense. Why did this kid, who was possibly an actual ghost, think they were supernaturally inclined? Were they really that good at method acting? Or was there something more to it than that?

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Hey, guys! I literally stayed up working on this until midnight, so already in pushing my self proclaimed boundaries (⁠；⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠）I had so much help from my friends on the @batpham-discord-highlights discord server, I'll look into tagging everyone that helped in the morning when I'm not struggling to stay awake (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠) I hope you enjoyed this long fic, guys, cuz I was NOT expecting to write 3,266 words today! Good night, good morning, good day!

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call-sign-shark · 9 months

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Hey Bunny pt. 2 || Yandere!Arthur Shelby x Reader

Summary: You try to escape. Arthur is clearly unhappy with that: don't you understand that you're made for each other?

Words: 5k

TW: Drugs use, unreliable narrator, unrequited love, graphic depictions of violence, blood, domestic violence, allusions to non-consensual sex, stalking, depiction of obsessive behavior, horror, psychological manipulation, — this is dark, experimental, and out of character.

Notes: Italicized+bold are quotes from the show said by Arthur.

PART 1. || Masterlist

How many days went by since Arthur Shelby brought you home?

Such information was impossible for you to tell, especially because of the throbbing headache that was still hammering your skull. What you knew though was that you could not help feeling exhausted and slightly ill. The sensation was quite hard to describe, but it mainly manifested itself with a general weakness; to the extent you had trouble standing for too long, on top of being the unlucky owner of a constant dizziness that left you disoriented. Gathering all your feeble strength, you tried to open the bedroom window for more air but nothing happened when you pulled its handle. You frowned, confused, but you hadn’t enough energy to insist nor to investigate further — your legs were threatening to give up at any moment. It was with drawling steps that you came back to bed, your flickering frame collapsing on the mattress. Then, you sunk your face into the pillow and whined.

“How’s me little Bunny doing today?”

You raised your face from the comfortable pillow at the sound of Arthur’s hoarse and low voice, looking at him above your shoulder. His tall silhouette was standing in front of the door, holding a plate: he came to bring your dinner. “I still feel exhausted, Arthur. It’s really unpleasant…” You replied with a little voice, for even speaking seemed to require too much effort. At this point, your fatigue was becoming a real nuisance — which was odd considering how full of energy you usually were. You rolled on the bed to lie on your back, your beautiful but so-tired eyes looking at the ceiling with tears dawning at their corner, “I don’t think it’s normal. Maybe we should call a doctor?” You suggested, bringing your trembling hands to your forehead to wipe the thin layer of sweat that was covering it. Arthur remained silent and stared at you for a little while, his steel blue eyes slightly squinted as if he was actively thinking about his answer. Finally, he let out a little sigh and walked to the bed, first putting the plate he had in his hands on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed. Once he did so, he gently grazed your cheek with his fingertips as if he had been afraid to break you with his simple touch. The physical contact with the leather of his gloves had the immediate effect to make you relax. Surprisingly enough, the infamous Arthur Shelby had been a real sweetheart with you these past few days. Indeed, the man was at your bedside, constantly spoiling you with care, good food, and company. The moments you appreciated the most were certainly when he held you in his long arms and fondled your hair, telling you about his favorite childhood memories or the many mischiefs he did with his little brothers. The more you talked, the more the emotional facet of Arthur you discovered, and the more your tiny soft spot for him grew. During this loving moment, you’d always end up dozing off, lulled by the warmth of his gravel voice. Such kindness definitely unsettled you though, when thinking about the Hell you’ve been through for months because of him. But when you thought about that it seemed too anchored in the past for you to really hate him. Moreover, people changed — or at least that was what you liked to believe.

“S’alright, love.” He whispered in a tone so soft, so loving, that you could not help but offer him a tiny and genuine smile; which made the gangster’s heart flutter — he bit the inside of his cheek. Fuck, you were so cute, lying in his bed, depending on him. Arthur stopped his caresses only to lay down next to you. He uplifted his body with one arm to lean over your frame, “The doctor came when ye were asleep eh. ‘Told me you caught a little something but it’s nothing serious. All ye need is rest and someone to take care of ye. Which is exactly what your Arthur does hmm.” He almost purred. The gangster had brought his face closer — so close that his nose was grazing your ear and his lips, hungry for you, were ghosting over your jaw. A deep shiver ran down your body at the caress of his scorching breath against your freezing skin. Despite his care and the comfort he gave you these last few days, you still turned your head to the other side to deny him access to your mouth. It did not seem to bother him though. His feverish sigh brushed the sensitive skin of your neck. “I brought ye dinner. It’s me Aunt who cooked it, yer going to like it. It’s yer favorite meal…” He let his sentence hang for his lips and pressed a delicate kiss right on your throat— A surge of electricity crossed through your body and died between your legs, leaving you a bit confused. Your brows slightly furrowed in response as one of his calloused hands languidly ran down your ribs, right above the fabric of the shirt he had lent you, “Me clothes suit you well, y’know.” The sight of you wearing nothing but your lace panties and one of his far-too-large shirts gave his stomach butterflies.

Something wasn’t coherent. How could a doctor came and diagnosed you without you even noticed it? Even asleep, you’d have heard something.

“Arthur— please…” You called him, your weak little hands trying to gently push him away, “Can you— can you tell me what happened again? I’m trying so hard to remember but everything is foggy. I feel like my mind has erased everything of this awful party…” Which was ultimately true. At your request, Arthur hummed and pulled his face back from your neck only to lock you in an intense stare, the proximity between you small enough for your noses to still touch.

“Of course, love.” The fingers of his free hands stopped fondling your body and reached your face in order to trap your chin between his thumb and his index, “Ye were partying at the Garrison when a bastard bothered you. Ye spent a bit of time with him outside, wearing light clothes. The doc’ said it was prolly why you caught somethin’ eh.” Listening attentively, you swallowed the lump in your throat. Arthur was clingy, so clingy that it stirred conflicting feelings In you. A part of you tensed at the thought of this criminal you barely knew being so lovey-dovey with you, with his hands and lips roaming freely on your frail body. The other part, lost and tired, was looking for any kind of comfort it could find, and the comfort of his arms outmatched everything you had ever experienced. “At some point, I checked if everything was okay but I overheard your conversation and he wanted to bring ye home. I heard you yelling so… I beat the shit out of this cunt and brought ye here safe.”

“You did?” Your voice was merely an exhausted meowing as you offered him another smile; He nodded in reply. Very timidly, you put your hand on the back of his head and pressed your forehead against his at the realization that he probably saved you from getting abused.

Something is wrong, that was what your instinct whispered to your ear.

Yet, your lonely heart was tamed by his softness. Could it be possible that you’ve misjudged him? Sure, what he did to Gaspard was unforgivable and he had sincerely creeped you out, but… Maybe he didn’t mean to do harm? After all, he protected you, so he could not be that bad right? Stuck in this suspended moment of utter tenderness, you observed the very details of his face as if it was the first time you saw him. Your heart missed a very small beat at his adorable freckles and the way his dark lashes fluttered when your breath melted with his — the oldest Shelby brother was definitely good-looking and charming. A kind of wild and raw charm.

Arthur could have stayed like this forever, lost in the beauty of your gaze and locked up in this room with you, but unfortunately, Tommy wanted to see him tonight and he could not say no to Shelby’s business. His lips parted and the words left his mouth reluctantly. “I’ll have to go right? Eat your dinner. Drink your nightly glass of milk and try to sleep hmm.” He hummed against the corner of your mouth . The vibration of his voice combined with the sensation of his facial hair melted your core and sent a wave of warmth in your belly. Finally, he kissed you there one last time before forcing himself to get up. This was at the moment he was about to leave the bed that Arthur felt the feeble grip of your little fingers closing on the fabric of his vest’s sleeve, trying to hold him back.

“Stay with me, please.” You sniffed, for his presence and the devoted way he took care of you made you feel safe. Something you hadn’t experienced in years. Your hazel eyes, whose color reminded him of sunlight going through a pool of honey, shone with a beseeching look, “Art’… Pretty please.”

“Oh… Bunny.” Arthur clenched his jaws — he felt his heart’s pace quicken in his chest at your intoxicating words and at the submissive way you were looking at him. At this very moment, keeping the thought of ruining you out of his mind was the most difficult struggle he had always faced. War in France was nothing compared to the restless battle that was happening in his soul. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek harder until the metallic taste of blood flooded his tastebuds and soothed his violent desire. His whole being had lit up with such an indescribable euphoria that you almost saw the flames dancing in the frozen desert of his eyes, “I’ll be back soon and stay with ye forever,” He let out a long and shaky exhale from his nostrils in an attempt to keep his brutal emotions in line. For sure he didn’t want to burst into hysterical laughter in front of you and scare you away. Not after everything he did, everything he sacrificed to make this moment happen. Once he managed to alleviate his inner turmoil, the gangster gently took your little hand in his and kissed each of your knuckles with indescribable tenderness. “Sleep tight and wait for me, I’ll come back soon, slip under your bedsheet and keep ye warm eh.”

You did not wait long after Arthur left the house to eat what he had brought. Despite your poor health condition, you surprisingly felt like you were starving. Eating the last slice of bread, your lips stretched in a faint smile: he didn’t lie when he said you were going to love it. His aunt truly cooked like a chief, and you mentally noted down that you’d had to compliment her for her cooking skills the day you’ll meet her. Following this pleasant meal, your general fatigue caught up with you and you decided to go back to sleep rather quickly. A little yawn escaped from your lips — never mind the glass of milk. You left it on the nightstand, untouched, because you were already dozing off. Ready to sleep, you snuggled in the good-smelling sheet, made yourself comfortable in the large bed, and even found the best position… But Morpheus didn’t want you anymore. Worst than not sleeping, you emerged from your torpor only twenty minutes later, with an insufferable aching feeling that twisted your stomach. The pain had been so sudden, so vivid, that you sat up straight on the mattress, your eyes wide-opened and cold sweat running down your spine. The room started to spin around you for what seemed to be an eternity — and it spin so bad your nails dug into the bedsheet in a desperate attempt not to faint. Your heart was beating so fast that you could feel it pulsing in your throat, ready to be thrown up and run away by itself. But despite these sudden symptoms, all the indescribable and odd fatigue you went through for the last couple of days had entirely vanished, leaving you well-awake. The only reminder of your weak condition was the bitter taste that remained on your tongue.

“Hell…” You exhaled slowly, the heavy nausea and dizziness you just experienced finally decreasing, but the relief was short. Indeed, it was at the very moment you started to feel better than the musky and masculine perfume that was floating in the room struck you. To these peculiar fragrances, your body reacted with another fit of panic: you could recognize this cologne among thousands of others, for its owner had been the bane of your existence since the night you met at the Garrison. Arthur Shelby’s scent was all around you. It impregnated the bedsheets and stuck to your own body and hair so strongly you even wondered if he hadn’t crawled under your skin in your sleep. With renewed energy, you jumped from the bed like a cat that had just touched water, and looked all around you with quick and erratic movements: this was not your bedroom.

“No, no…” You repeated, slipping one moist palm in your fire hair, and slicking it back, all the while your mind began swirling in a whirlwind of utter panic. However, you knew you had to stay the calmest you could if you wanted to understand what was happening and if you wanted to find a solution. Hence, you focused on the cold sensation of the wooden floor to keep track of reality. After wiggling your toes a few times, the realization that you were almost naked slowly crept into your mind, “No…” A gasp escaped from your lips when you looked down and discovered that you were only dressed in your panties and a man’s shirt that was running too large for you. The same shirt you saw Arthur wore sometimes. That damn white shirt with thin dark stripes. Panic settled in your bones again, making your breath hitched and your throat tightened as if an invisible hand was trying to choke you, “Calm down Y/N, calm down!” You scolded yourself. In an ultimate attempt to remain stoic, you focused on your shaking hands — as your mother had taught you before your very first day of school. However, it wasn’t the way your fingers shook that grabbed your attention but rather the burns and scars of ropes that were engraved in your wrists. The marks, still a bit reddened, showed how harsh Arthur had been. You took a few steps back as if you had just been stricken, and wobbled under the violence of the chaotic flashbacks that suddenly assaulted your mind.

The bottle of whiskey shattering on the ground.

The ropes hanging from a gloved hand.

Arthur’s lanky body pressed against yours, trapping you against the wall. Oh Bunny… I won’t hurt ye.

Ropes biting on your skin?

In search of the truth, your eyes quickly traveled on any visible parts of your body. Then, you saw them: similar marks on your thighs and ankles. The sole sight of them triggered a stream of uncontrollable tears to overflow from your eyes, and helped you reconstitute what happened during your odd blackout: Arthur Shelby had kidnapped you. The disgusting epiphany made you feel sick in your stomach all of a sudden. Yet, many questions still remained, buzzing in your head like a hive of furious hornets: how did he manage to abduct you? Why couldn’t you remember anything? And why were you so docile these past few days? In truth, all these interrogations would have been left without answer if your gaze did not fall upon the still-full glass of milk that was on the nightstand. Water had beaded over the surface as the beverage warmed up due to the room temperature, trickling down the glass just like your crystal tears did down your cheeks.

“He drugged the fucking milk…” You whispered with a broken voice. It was all becoming clear. Yes, your excruciating fatigue and dizziness suddenly made sense. Arthur had purposefully drugged your daily glass of milk to keep you all nice and quiet, hence finding another use for the meds the doctor had prescribed him. Consequent to this last information, your self-control broke down — it was too much to handle.

“FUCKING SICK BASTARD!!!” You yelled, for your repressed panic exploded in a fit of anger and sadness. The feeling of betrayal was so excruciating and your hopelessness so crushing that all you could do was grabbed the glass of milk and smashed it against the floor. The white liquid splattered all over the parquet and filled the small space between each board. Then, not relieved by this violent gesture, you pulled your hair and screamed louder, eyes squeezed tight and lungs burning. Never in your life you had felt so close to losing your goddamn mind — and it was awfully One sole rational thought crossed your mind at that moment: you had to get the fuck out of here before he came back. Without further waiting, you rushed to the door like a chased rabbit and tried to open it — but of course, it was locked. What were you expecting? “SON OF A BITCH!!” You screamed, shaking the handle as fiercely as you could, but the door remained shut and only the only thing that replied to your desperate shrieks was the dull silence of an empty house.

Truth was, the most logical part of you knew that no matter what you attempted, it would not work. And this last conclusion killed the last bit of control that remained in your soul. Slipping into a temporary fit of fear-induced insanity, you slammed your tiny body against the heavy wooden door one first time. Your being shook at the collision with the hard surface but it didn’t stop you. Quite the contrary, adrenaline had numbed your nerves and you were more than ready to destroy your bones in bits if it was the price to pay for freedom. “OPEN IT!!” You roared, crashing yourself against the door a second time. A big thud resonated in the house. “FUCKING OPEN IT!” Another impact. And another. And another until all your strength left your body, exhausted by useless efforts. Silence fell again in Arthur’s bedroom: the only sound that could be heard was your erratic and whistling breath. You might as well face if: you were trapped for good, with no way out of this hell. All you did after your fit was to let your back slide along the door until you ended up sitting on the floor, hopeless. As your eyes aimlessly wandered around you, you noticed a sheet of paper floating in the puddle of milk. Curious, you frowned and tilted your head to the side to look at the drawing that was on it. The sketchy and dark lines were forming the shapes of a bunny, lying limp into the fangs-filled jaws of a creepy-looking wolf. You started crying again. And so did the bunny, for the milk had made the ink that composed the drawing run down the animal’s face in tar-black tears.

Arthur had been looking forwards to coming back home.

During the whole mission, his mind kept obsessing over the sight of you, peacefully sleeping in his bed with your doll face relaxed and your long fiery mane spread out on the immaculate white sheets. He had nervously moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue at the maddening memory of your feeble voice begging him to stay by your side — a sentence that was playing on repeat in his mind like a broken record. The way you had looked at him, with teary eyes and lips parted, got him on his knees. With spiraling thoughts all revolving around you, Arthur didn’t even reply to Tommy when the latter talked to him about the Epsom Derby and the Eden’s Club. All he did was stare blankly at the wall facing him, lost in the meanders of his own sick brain. The club, the races, the money, the pretty dancers, he didn’t care anymore. All that mattered was your frail arms around his body and the intoxicating way your lips grazed his burning skin when you nestled your face in the crook of his neck.

Tommy and John quickly glanced at each other after witnessing one too many of their older brother’s absences, but still, they did not ask any questions. Masculinity obliged. Moreover, it was not unusual for Arthur’s gaze to turn into the thousand-yard stare, especially after the war. Somehow he had never fully returned from France, like many other veterans. Like John and Tommy themselves — it was just more frequent in Arthur’s case. When Tommy told him they were done for tonight, Arthur simply mumbled a gruff “Alright, see ye brothers” before leaving with hastened steps, his tall silhouette disappearing in the dark veil of the nights with the walk of a preying wolf.

“Something’s wrong with Arthur lately.” Thomas Shelby’s husky and quiet voice stated as his mesmerizing turquoise eyes still remained fixed to the horizon, even after the darkness of Birmingham’s streets had swallowed his brother’s frame.

“Something’s always wrong with Arthur anyway.” John shrugged.

They never talked about it ever again.

As soon as he came home, the gangster hung up his long black coat stained with dried blood behind the door and threw his cap on the living room’s coffee table. Before heading upstairs, he stopped in front of the corridor’s mirror to slick his hair back, smooth his mustache and rearrange his bow tie: he had to be perfect for you. After a very short while of dolling himself up, Arthur finally grabbed the red carnation he had brought earlier and went up without wasting any more time. So late in the night you were certainly sleeping, but still, he had promised you to crawl in the bed, and, to be honest, he didn’t want to miss an opportunity to feel your dainty body against his. So strong, rough, and scarred. Stealthily, he walked to the bedroom, careful not to make any loud noise that would disturb your well-deserved rest. Yet, he stopped at the door and hesitated once he arrived – his heart went wild at the simple thought of seeing you. Arthur clenched his jaws, his mind spinning round and round to the point he had to grip the handle to keep himself from slipping into madness. That was because of this unpleasant feeling of being overwhelmed by his love that he took a blue little vial out of his trouser’s pocket and poured the white powder it contained on the back of his hand. Blocking one nostril with his index, Arthur snorted the cocaine line in one row, coughed a little bit, and then threw his head back, letting out a long and raspy moan. His lips parted as a sweet cocktail of euphoria and energy spread in him in a warm wave. Now he felt better, now he felt invincible. After that little boost, Arthur entered the room with a smile etched on his lips and closed the door behind him. What an unpleasant surprise it was for him when he saw you sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at him with your face distorted by both anger and disgust. His smirk soon vanished when he noticed your eyes, swollen and bloodshot from hours of crying.

“Bunny?” He asked with a tinge of worry in his voice.

“You’ve kidnapped me.” You replied, biting down your enraged sobs. The gangster opened his mouth to reply to your cutting remark, but no sound came out: you had taken him aback. Instead, his steel-blue eyes quickly searched for the glass of milk, which he found smashed on the floor. It didn’t take much more for him to understand what had happened.

“It’s not what ye think, love.” He tried to remain quiet but panic was already setting in him. The red carnation slipped from his fingertips and fell on the wooden floor.

“You’ve locked me up in your bloody bedroom, almost naked…” Even you barely believed the words you were speaking, for they sounded almost surreal. It surely was a nightmare. An awful, awful nightmare.

“Fuck me.” Arthur grunted when he noticed the damaged door handle, undeniable proof that you had done everything in your power to escape. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat… You had tried to escape. In a matter of seconds, Arthur’s heart rate increased, and his mouth dried at the escalating anger he was experiencing. Why? Why would you want to escape? The first flicker of irritation manifested itself with the way his body tensed and the long inhale he took.

“I—I want to leave.” You said as firmly as you could, standing up in front of the bed.

“Leave?” His forehead creased above his frowning brows, “Nah, you ain’t leaving.” He straight off replied. All the softness and the honey with which he usually talked to you had disappeared, handing over a corrosive hostility. You batted your eyes, not recognizing him anymore. But despite everything, Arthur did try his best not to let the destructive rage that was burning within overcome him. Gathering all his willpower, he gave a dismissive wave of his hand and went on “Yer going to come back to bed eh. And yer going to let me take care of you, right? We’ll talk about it after a good night of sleep ‘cause you’re not thinking straight at the moment.” He talked slowly, making several short pauses in between words for he was fighting against the urge to let the switch in his brain flip. But the way he handled the situation, dismissing the problem and ordering you to go back to bed as if everything was normal made you lose your temper.

“Are you fucking serious? You think I’m going to obey and go back to bed? So what, Arthur? Do you want me to spread my legs for you and then thank you for fucking abducting me?” Now you were yelling, fear temporarily replaced by a blinding hatred you had never felt in your whole life, “You’re a maniac, a fucking sick bastard!” Tears flooded your vision as you spoke, "You've been ruining my life for months!"

“Stop it.” He said, as calmly as he could, his eyes flickering between you and his boots. Blood was boiling in his veins.

“The fuck is wrong with you ey?! You’ve tied me with ropes… You kept drugging me to use me as your puppet and satisfy your fucking twisted urges… Christ, Arthur!” Your voice boomed in the room. Carried on by your hatred, confidence grew in you and you approached him step by step, " Wake the fuck up!"

“Stop it.” Arthur had trouble breathing, his anger nearly suffocating him as seconds passed. He clenched his fist until his scarred knuckles whitened – God knew he didn’t want to hurt you, but a vortex of rage swirled inside him, and he knew he was about to reach his breaking point in a minute or another. Trying hard to suppress his caustic wrath, he slowly broke the distance between you and brushed your hips with his trembling fingers in a seemingly soft gesture, “Stop it, Bunny.”

But his touch felt like he had stabbed you with a knife.

“STOP CALLING ME BUNNY! MY NAME’S Y/N FOR FUCK’ SAKE. I’m not your bloody bunny! I’m nothing, and so you are!” You almost choked with your screams, pushing him with a surprising strength – At least, it had been enough to make him take a few steps back. “Get fucked, Arthur Shelby.” That being said, you pushed him again and rushed to the door in an attempt to run away from him. But Arthur’s reflexes were sharp, enhanced by cocaine, and he managed to catch you by the arm before you could reach the exit. Surely you didn't mean it, you were just a bit... Confused. But soon you'd understand that you loved him too.

“Y/N.” He scolded but you weren’t listening anymore. You didn’t want to listen, you wanted to leave this damn place and you wanted it now. Guided by panic, you threw a nasty punch right at his chin -- your knuckles aching from the shock with his jawbone. When you realized what you had just done, it was already too late. Arthur’s face turned to the side at the violence of your blow, making him bite his tongue so hard he felt the metallic taste of blood exploding in his mouth. Then, silence fell in the room. The threatening and chilling silence which follows the blast of a bomb, right before the screams and cries start to echo. “What the hell did ye…” He muttered, bringing his trembling free hand to his bleeding mouth. The other was still firmly holding your arm, keeping you from escaping so firmly that he almost broke your bone. His fair eyes, adorned with pretty lashes and charming crow feet, suddenly darkened like a predator that had just smelt the distress of a wounded prey.

“Let me go!” You whined, pulling on your arm as fiercely as you can and clawing his hand with your nails to try to break from his grip.

“ALRIGHT THEN!” He burst out, definitely losing control. With brutal movements, Arthur pounced on you with the strength of a rabid wolf, and trapped your wrists with one of his hands before pushing you against the nearby wall to pin them above your head, “Al-fucking-right! Are we hitting each other now? That’s what ye want?!” He barked loudly with blood dripping from his mouth, only a few inches away from your face. “Did I laid a fookin’ finger on you? Nah, so the least you can do is be FOOKIN’ civilized!” A cry of pain escaped from your lips as he shoved you a second time against the wall, the collision between it and your frail body making all your bones shake.

“You’re hurting me!” You lamented, wriggling under his grip. The gangster was holding your wrists so tight that your fingertips were starting to tingle.

“Am I?” He replied in a low growl – Arthur’s lips stretched into a carnivorous smile, showcasing blood-stained teeth whose canines were pointy. His face was red, his rage highlighted with the pumping vein on his forehead, “Listen to me. I don’t bloody know what the hell yer implying, but I didn’t satisfy my urges, as you said. If it had been the case, you would have woken up every day with cum dripping down yer tight pussy.” All you could see now was the white of his eyes. “I would have ruined ye until ye could not walk anymore, filled every fookin’ hole of your body,” He pressed you harder against the wall, his words stirring desire in him, “Marked every inch of your skin,” He licked the blood off his lips with the tip of his tongue, the taste only arousing his more, "Made you fookin' choke on my cock ‘til you’d look at me with teary eyes and drool running down your bratty mouth." The sparkle that lit up his steel-blue eyes betrayed how he enjoyed keeping you restrained -- and probably how the darkest side of his obsessive love would love to make such things to you, "So don’t make me fookin’ regret being a gentleman with ye.”

“Please Arthur, stop! I—I wanna go home please…” You begged him, despair and terror overcoming you.

“Now ye say please, ey! Now you ain’t callin’ me a maniac anymore, are ye?!” He let out a hoarse and menacing chuckle, spitting a few droplets of blood at your face as he did, “That’s not how ye should talk to your bloody man, sweetheart.” With ragged breath and bare teeth, you knew Arthur was at the very edge of going for your throat.

Yet, you looked at him straight in the eyes through your tears and spat at his face, disgusted by all he had said. “You’re not my man and you’ll never be!”

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” Trembling with rage, and fury shining in his eyes, Arthur grabbed you fiercely and threw you on the floor, right where the glass shards were scattered. You had barely understood what had just happened when the piercing and excruciating sensation of the glass cutting your flesh awoke in your body. You yelled in pain, your voice so loud that it did not seem human anymore – you sounded like prey screaming with agony. Terrified and in utter panic, you wanted to move but didn’t, for the sight of your own blood suddenly made you feel sick. You were bleeding. Fucking bleeding.

“Oh God, oh God…” You sobbed.

“Why don’t ye understand that I fookin’ love you eh?!” Arthur brawled even louder, standing in front of you and towering over you with all his height as you were crying in crimson stains of fresh blood and shattered glass, “We're made for each other, Bunny. I know it. I knew it from the moment ye smiled at me at the Garrison: you wanted me to come for you... And here I am, love! All fookin' yours!" He said, opening up his arms and tilting his head slightly to the side, his lips stretched in a blood-stained and frightening grin. As your eyes watched him with horror, you understood the extent of his madness. Then, Arthur leaned over you and grabbed you by the neck to bring you closer again. In a reflex, you shut your eyes tight at the sensation of his calloused hand tightening around your throat, “I won’t let you leave me, hm?” He groaned. His breath – erratic and panting – crashed on your face, “I’ll tell you…” He started with his low and gruff voice, whose gravel tones broke the last will of fighting that remained in you, “All you’re gonna do now is be a good fuckin’ wife,” He breathed heavily, while his free hand roamed over your face in a soft caress. In the violence of your fight, some strands of his hair had come loose and were now hanging down his sharp face, “Yeah, like the perfect couple. We’ll go in the bathroom hm.” Arthur strangle you a tiny bit harder to feel your heartbeat against his palm, which resulted in you moaning in pain. “ We’ll go in the bathroom. We’ll get you all clean yeah.” His lips crashed against yours without searching for your consent, stealing a few pecks from your plump lips before his voice turned into a whisper, “Yeah. We’ll make love, hmm?” He kissed you again and again until his light pecks weren't enough for him and he decided to let his tongue force its way into your mouth. The taste of whisky and blood overwhelmed you. Desperate, you tried to move away, for you were suffocating as he moaned softly and low in your mouth, but he was too strong.

“Please…” You begged against his lips, sobbing — but he remained unmoved by your cries. The room was spinning all around you as you realized how stupid you had been thinking you could have escaped. How suicidal it was to underestimate his obsession with you.

With trembling fingers, you cautiously touched the back of the hand that was choking you. Despite your thoughts crashing into each other in your skull and the despair that was beating you down, you still managed to understand one essential thing: you had to calm him down. You had to do it if you didn’t want him to kill you out of anger – especially since his brutal and crazy fit was enhanced by the fact he was high. Yes, you definitely had to find a way to lure him into a more stable mood…Because you just knew that if he couldn’t have you, no one else would. With everything it implied. Gathering your courage, you looked up and hold his gaze even though pure terror shone in your hazel iris, “I’m… I’m sorry Arthur…” You gritted your teeth, black dots dancing in front of your eyes. Air. You needed some air.

“Hmm?” He replied, his lips still grazing yours. Nevertheless, the tender sensation of your skin against his made him loosen his grip around your neck.

“You’re—You’re right. We’ll do that.”

“Are we?” He groaned, rubbing his cheek against yours like a wildcat. If he could have purred at this moment, he would have certainly do so.

You forced a smile, but tears still ran down uncontrollably from your honey eyes, “Yes Arthur.” You finally said, letting his void swallow you whole. Why would you fight? Your fate was sealed, and you just knew you would never leave. Your future was to be with him and nothing would ever change that. Even if you managed to escape one day, you knew he would track you down until you were either his or dead and cold. All you could do now was just do your best not to get yourself killed.

A few days ago you were Y/N. A young and joyful student, whose excellent grades and good nature made your mother proud. Now you were just Bunny. Fucked up and enslaved Bunny. And Bunny belonged to Arthur Shelby.

For the best.

But particularly the worst.

Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

The image of the limo rabbit in the wolfs mouth was an idea of the talented @zablife

Tagging some of Arthur’s bunnies: @helen06dreamer @zablife @brummiereader @peakyltd @peakyswritings @dearshelby @raincoffeeandfandoms @kissforvoid @psychadelichues @shelbydelrey

Gif by Ria (@alicent-targaryen)

#peaky blinders #Arthur shelby #Peaky blinders imagine #Arthur shelby x reader #Peaky blinders x reader #arthur shelby x y/n #arthur shelby x ofc #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders fanfic #Tommy shelby #A little too much #dark fanfiction #yandere x reader #dark!arthur shelby

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otasunedaily · 9 months

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day 4!

#otasune every day #this one makes me laugh #a little too much #otasune #snotacon #otacon #solid snake #snavid #snake #mgs #metal gear solid #poison sandwich #hal emmerich

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jazstudios · 6 months

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Flower for Zoro! :D (aftermath under the cut)

Inserts slight Sanami in there

Okay! Anyways!

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myobsessionsspace · 5 months

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My ‘Coping’ Mechanisms: Jikook Edition

YouTube Videos:

Fetus Jikook:

youtube

Moments Compilations:

youtube

YouTube Channels

Twitter Accounts

🖤🤍

#when you miss Jikook #a little too much #recommendations #Jimin #Jungkook #Kookmin #Jikook

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rarestdoge · 7 months

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CAMERON REFERENCE IS FINALLY HERE

#LETSXFUCKING GO #I'VE LOST SEVERAL YEARS OF MY LIFESPAN MAKING THIS BUT THAT'S OKAY #BC I LOVE HIM #A LITTLE TOO MUCH #I'M GONNA GO HONK SHOO SO HARD IT'S UNREAL NOW BYE #/#cameron calvin #oc #oc reference #oc ref sheet #thsc #thsc oc #henry stickmin #the henry stickmin collection #tw gun #tw guns #tw smoking

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 7 months

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omg i just realized where my love for monster romance (specifically demon and werewolf) came from

hellboy and beauty and the beast

#two movies i watched a lot #as a kid #rip to me #now i like monsters #a little too much

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haydenigmatic · 3 months

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!!!!HUGE SPOILERS!!!!!

Alright look, they did it just one time, and Merindah had a lot going on, that when she found out that their regretful encounter had left her a little something called Drystan, she contemplated the repercussions this posed for her children and thus decided to make everything she could to distance herself from Branton, even suggested Bhaltair to appoint him as the commander of the city watch so he could not spend too much time with them. Now for dear uncle, he believes that to have occurred twice, let's say around the time the twins were conceived, like a couple of days after, he was drunk as a skunk so the fool thinks something did happened, and might foolishly think he fathered the twins.

But indeed the twins are actually closer to the throne than everyone else believes and their parentage in the future might be questioned.

#if game #interactive fiction #if wip #mc #tbotd #the blood of the dragon #tea spilled #a little too much

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bxckywrites · 9 months

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A Little Too Much // Part 6

Series Paring - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings - I'm not sure, I'll update this later

Other Characters - Steve

Word Count - 1,162 (not as long as I wanted my apologies)

Part Summary - After being brought back to the compound, Wanda waits for you to wake up.

gif is not mine

A/N - This part is long overdue, but I may be coming back to finish the series soon :)

Part 5

____

It’s been 2 weeks since the team found you in Romania and since that day you’ve been stuck in the hospital ward Stark built a few years prior. The doctors decided to put you into a medically induced coma in order to heal after the trauma and all of the surgeries you underwent. Through it all, Wanda never once left your bedside and had set up a place to sleep at night so that she could be there when you eventually woke up. There had been a few close calls over the last few weeks, but each time you managed to pull through.

“They should wake within the next couple of minutes,” Tony states. He sits on the makeshift bed and waits patiently for any signs of movement from either you or your “guard dog” as Natasha so kindly named her.

Your eyes begin to open and you wince as the light hits you. “Y/N you’re awake!”

Wanda struggles to contain her excitement as she grabs onto your arm as gently as she can in case it hurts. The look in her eyes screams relief as she begins to ramble about how much she missed you and how she’ll never forgive herself for your kidnapping. She doesn’t seem to notice your eyes darting across the room, trying to locate where her voice is coming from. You know in your heart that your best friend is the one speaking, but where is she and why can’t you see her?

“We almost lost you a few times but I knew you’d pull through. You’re the toughest person I know!” Her smile begins to falter as she finally looks into your eyes and realizes that you’re staring at the ceiling. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

Wanda begins frantically calling for anyone to help, worried about the unkown and terrified that she’s going to lose you.

Your gaze never moves from it’s place and you can’t understand why you are struggling to speak. It’s so frustrating. Why will the words not come out? You can’t remember what happened but you're sure they left your vocal cords alone as they don't feel different. There is rushing around the room but you can’t force yourself to move. Nothing hurts anymore but the thought of moving terrifies you. You can hear voices calling out to you, all worried, all afraid, but you can’t bring yourself to tell them that you're alright. Maybe some more sleep will help. Maybe you just woke up too early.

Peace begins to wash over you as you begin to drift into unconsciousness, letting sleep take over your body, you close your eyes and take a breath.

____

*Wanda’s POV*

“What’s going on?! Why are they not speaking?!”

I can’t breathe. They were awake, I saw their eyes. What happened? Did I do something?

My throat begins to close as I continue to scream at the doctors, begging them to help my dear friend. I can’t lose them like I’ve lost so many others. I will not lose them. Everyone turns their attention to me as fear flashes in the eyes of the doctors. What are they looking at?

“Wanda, maybe you should get some air and let the doctors help Y/N.”

My eyes snap towards Steve and I notice his hand is outstretched towards me as if he wants me to take it. I begin to understand the fear as I look down at my own hands and see the glowing red smoke bleeding through my fingers.

I take a deep breath and calmly walk out of the room, turning around for a brief moment to see the doctors swarm around you.

Trying to distract my mind I ended up in the training room, throwing magic everywhere as I destroy the targets one by one. It makes it easier to hit something when you think of it as someone you’d like to kill. I would kill Strucker in every universe if it meant you would wake up again. Another target morphs behind me and I hit it with enough force to take the head clean off, smiling at my work. Something about destroying things makes my brain feel better, almost helps me to forget why I am upset or hurt in the first place.

I remember the first time we trained together. I did most of the work, but your company was needed and the patience shown towards my fury made it hard to not feel safe around you.

Someone came into the room around 10 minutes ago but I haven’t cared enough to acknowledge them. I can feel them watching me as I take my anger out on the entire room but I do not care. It’s only when their hand grabs onto my shoulder that I finally look to see Steve.

Rogers has always been someone I can trust, even in my darkest moment he has fought for me and cared for me. “Sorry about the targets, do you think Tony will be mad?” Stark can afford new tech and more training targets but I still feel a little bad that I ruined over half of the room. His eyes light up as he lets out a short laugh, “I think he’ll be more worried about never making you mad.” The thought of Stark being scared of me hurts a little but I know Steve didn’t mean it in a bad way so I laugh a little at his “joke”. A sigh escapes me as I rest my head in my hands.

“I don’t know what to do Steve,” my eyes begin to burn as I feel them swell with tears. So many toughts race through my mind as I replay the moments between your eyes opening and closing again. I can’t figure out what went wrong.

Steve puts his arms around me as he hugs my shaking body to his. Moments like this remind me of why I fight so hard to do the right thing and yet, I can still feel the rage boiling in my stomach. “The doctors said that their vision must’ve been blurry when they woke up because of how long they were out,” Steven rubs my back as he talks, “you did nothing wrong Wanda. They were probably not ready yet and that's why they closed their eyes again.” My heart feels like someone ripped it out and burned it at the thought of you being overwhelmed by waking up and the rambling I chose to do most likely did not help. I know you’ll wake again, soon I hope, but I worry about your recovery. If the doctors were right and your eyes just couldn't adjust to reality and not your comatose state, will it be permanent? I can’t bare the thought of you going through that.

“C’mon,” Rogers offers me his hand again, “they’re awake and asking for you.”

I can feel my heart begin to race as I rush to the room.

____

Part 7

Feedback is always appreciated

Taglist: (forgot to add before posting sorry!)

@severepeanutartisanhands , @honey-sweet-hiraeth , @xxxtwilightaxelxxx , @diaryoflife

#wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel drabble #marvel one shot #wanda maximoff #a little too much #wanda maximoff one shot #wanda maximoff drabble #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x gender neutral reader #wanda maximoff x you #lizzy olsen #elizabeth olsen

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theatlasrealm · 2 years

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Pondering about how Kai has made his power a part of his identity so much that it’s become a point of complete toxicity to himself . Without his power, he spirals into an immense self destructive phase, undervaluing himself to a total zero.

We continuously see how highly he depends on his powers, titles (green ninja, fire maker, etc), people (wu, social followers) to determine his self worth. Not to mention his cocky and prideful persona in front of others is likely a ‘safety system’ he derived for himself so he is not taken advantage of, or left behind (credits to his childhood). After all, confidence and pride (to a certain extent, of course) are considered attractive qualities to look up to, admire, and not necessarily to mess with.

He’s constantly trying to do as much as he can in so many different things, trying to prove his worth. Because he does not know who he is without them. Without people. Without titles. Without powers. He believes that just truly being himself is not of any value to those around him, and that if he cannot be of service he is absolutely worthless.

#ninjago #lego ninjago #kai ninjago #kai smith #ninjago kai #I could go on and on and on #I rewatched episodes where Kai lost his powers and #yeah this happened #I wish we got more on who kai is as a person #yk #does he even know who he is??#I love thinking about kai #a little too much #atlasysis

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mayearies · 9 months

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@kombuuuu see now i wasnt gonna do this again tonight but ☹️

#i love his adams apple #a little too much

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call-sign-shark · 9 months

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Hey Bunny || Yandere!Arthur Shelby x Reader

Summary: At the bottom of madness and drug addiction, Arthur falls into a spiral of obsession with you after you reject him. But it's okay if you don't want him, he'll have his way with you anyway -- inspired by the song Saccharine by Jazmin Bean and Bunny from Baby Bugs. - MASTERLIST

Words: 3k.

TW: Drugs use, unreliable narrator, unrequited love, graphic depictions of violence, blood, allusions to non-consensual sex, stalking, depiction of obsessive behavior, horror, psychological manipulation — this is dark, experimental, and out of character.

Notes:

▸ Arthur's darling is nicknamed "Bunny" + Hints of physical descriptions

PART 2

It all started one rainy night of Birmingham’s bleak winter. You had entered the Garrison right before Arthur closed its doors, soaked to the bones and shivering to the core. In truth, you had barely stepped out of the university’s library when you got caught in the rain. At first, you thought you could make it home without trouble but what was supposed to be a few drops soon turned into floods of rain pouring down on you. Here you stood in the empty bar, your back against the closed door, panting as if you had just run for your life. Arthur looked at you with a confused gleam in his steel blue eyes, unable to tell if you were real or the most magnificent illusion the whiskey — or the drug — had ever created. You quickly apologized for bothering him so late and then told him you needed to call your mother to ask her to pick you up.

All he had been able to do was grunt, all flustered, and then pointed the room in which the phone was with his finger. Taken aback by your otherworldly beauty, Arthur could not stop looking at you from behind the bar while you’re talking to your mom through the phone. At first, you were so relieved by the sound of your mother's voice that you just smiled. But as time passed, you started to feel slightly uneasy, until you noticed it: the heavy weight of Arthur’s eyes staring at you. From the moment you met to the one you left the Garrison, he had not shifted his eyes from you one tiniest second. The way you moved, the traits of your doll face, your frail silhouette, how your thin fingers closed around the phone’s metallic body, and how your lips opened then closed as you spoke… He was obsessed with you. Obsessed with everything you did, everything you were.

When you hung up the phone, you closed your eyes for a few seconds, and tried to soothe the unpleasant feeling that was creeping under your skin.

“Can I —"

The bartender's gravel voice made you jump. In one swift movement, you turned around and looked at him with a bit of fear shining in your beautiful hazel eyes. Arthur's lips stretched in a faint smile as a reply to your little fright.

"Erm, do ye want a drink or something? I mean, ye don't have to go right away.” He stated, showing you the empty glass he had in his hand. The thing was, you weren't in the mood to drink with a stranger, trapped in a bar in the middle of the night. Not that you didn't trust people in general, but you didn't trust the Peaky Blinders; and that guy, that tall and lanky bartender with his perfect suit and perfectly trimmed mustache, was one of them. Worst, he was a Shelby. And your mother always told you to avoid these Shelby men like the plague.

“That’s very nice, Mr. Shelby," You started, carefully choosing the next words that were going to come out of your slightly quivering lips, "But I must decline your invitation. I must have caught something in the rain because I am not feeling well and drinking alcohol would certainly worsen my headache.” You said with the most polite smile you could do, afraid to offend him for you've heard of his violent nature.

"Ah, alright Bunny," He replied with a little chuckle, trying his best to be affable despite his reputation and the line of snow he had just snorted before your arrival, "That's going to be a glass of water for ye, eh."

"Bunny?"

"Yer notebook. You've drawn a bunny on the cover."

"Oh." You exclaimed, glancing quickly at the wet notebook that was sticking out of your bag, "Yes I did," You slowly exhaled through your nostrils, "Okay for the glass of water. Thank you so much."

And that was all that happened this evening. You sat on one of the bar's stools, sipped on your glass of water, and waited impatiently for your mother to come. Arthur and you exchanged a few words though. He even put his long dark coat on your shoulders to keep you warm. Surprised by such a nice gesture, you blessed him a genuine smile. Little you knew that it was more because he was distracted by the way your wet dress stuck to your body and highlighted the round shape of your perky nipples than anything else.

It was at the moment he was about to ask you out for dinner that a car stopped in front of the Garrison. You gave his coat back and, with one last thank you, you left the pub without turning back.

"See ye soon, little Bunny." He simply whispered in the empty bar, still standing in front of the door a few minutes after your departure.

The next day he looked for any information he could collect about you. And God knew how he managed to learn so much but he ultimately found both your address and the one of the school you were attending.

From then, you started to receive huge and magnificent bouquets of flowers every week.

He waited for you in front of your university, his tall and slim silhouette leaning against a wall as he gulped down a mouthful of whiskey from his flask. Even if he had learned the major you were studying, he did not manage to find out your precise schedule. Hence, he decided to wait patiently for you to come out of the building. When his steel-blue eyes caught sight of you exiting the university with one of your friends, a sparkle of excitement shone in his iris. He walked to you, his long coat floating behind him as he did. Your facial expression turned into a surprised one when you saw him.

"Hey, Bunny."

"Mr. Shelby? What are you doing here?" You questioned, skipping the polite greetings. You took a quick glance at your friend, whose face had contorted into a frightened expression at Arthur's presence. Of course she also knew who the Peaky Blinders were.

"Just wanted to check if ye were doin' better."

"I'm fine. Thanks." You straight off replied

"Listen I-- I should go. See you tomorrow Y/N." She quickly said, walking away, thus leaving you alone with Arthur Shelby -- to his greatest pleasure.

A little shaky sigh escaped from your lips as your eyes fell back on Arthur. This time, you noticed details you did not before: his hands were shaking, his movements were slightly erratic, and his pupils were dilated. For sure, he was completely high.

"I was wondering," His hoarse voice broke the silence, "Can I take ye out for dinner? I know a great restaurant." He finally said, and his words had the immediate effect to make you blush. Was Peaky Blinders really asking you out? You blinked several times, making sure you were not having some kind of weird hallucination before your lips parted.

"I really appreciate it, Mr. Shelby --"

"Arthur." He corrected, his heart pounding in his tight chest as he waited for your reply.

"Yeah, thank you for your invitation, Arthur. But I have a boyfriend." You said out of the blue. His smile broke in thousands of sharp bits, "And he's waiting for me so... " You did not finish your sentence. Instead, you simply gifts him an apologetic smile and turned around to walk away. But all of sudden, his large hand grabbed you fiercely, which caused a little yelp to fall your lips.

"Got a man, hm?" His gravel voice repeated, a bit more threateningly. You started to regret your stupid lie the moment you felt his fingers tightening around you until your wrist felt sore and your skin bruised, "Fook him and just say yes. I'll make you spend a fookin' great evening." He said through gritted teeth.

"S-Stop that! You're hurting me!" You rebelled. Panic kicked so violently that you could not help but claw the skin of his hand with your nails. In despair, you looked around you but no one was there. The only people who met your gaze simply walked away: no one wanted to have beef with Arthur Shelby. Blood stuck under your nails as you scratched his skin, but the pain did not seem to have any effect upon him, his nerves numbed by cocaine. Yet, it was enough for him to release you from his menacing grip. Arthur stepped back and his mood switched again. Now, he was rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed at the sight of your frighted eyes.

"Eh, sorry. I don't mean to scare but yer just so cute."

You looked at him, confused and scared. What the hell was he talking about? How were these two things correlated? And how did he find the university in which you were studying? All of these questions bumped into each other in your mind. "Listen, I should go. My boyfriend's waiting." You concluded and left, not wanting to stay with Arthur for another minute. All you wanted was to flee from his stressful presence.

"Oi!" He called you as you were straying away from him, "Did ye like the flowers?!"

Your heart missed a beat at the sudden realization: he was the one who sent them. Shivering with fear, you hastened your walk. Arthur took another sip of whisky, looking at the way your body was swaying at each of your steps. Every move you make, you were fucking sweeter than a cake. Like, he didn't know how you did that but you were literally making him go bonkers.

To the extent that he began following you in the streets the days that followed your rejection. His shadow was always lurking somewhere behind you, or in the darkest corner of a place. What started as a harmless crush turned into something that was terrorizing you on daily basis. Soon, you could not go one with your life without becoming paranoiac. Because you knew he was there. Every time, everywhere. Even when you could not see him. You could feel his petrifying presence following you outside...

But you didn't understand. You were getting him wrong. You were far too sweet for a damned city like Small Heath, so he had to make sure you were safe. And how could you be safe if he was not there to take care of you?

A feverish sigh escaped from his lips as the stars of pleasure that danced under his eyelids started to disappear. Arthur's backed up with a growl and extended one of his arms to grab his trousers and his shirt from the other side of the couch. He quickly put some clothes back on and slapped a banknote on the nightstand.

"Get the fook' out of here." He growled, slipping a cigarette between his lips. Still panting, sweat made the freckled skin of his bare chest glisten under the lights. With one trembling hand, he slicked his hair back while the prostitute he had just paid left the room half-naked, gathering all her remaining strength to leave the house as fast as she could. Arthur let out a cloud of smoke from his mouth and pinched the bridge of his nose as if he wanted to stop his dawning headache.

You know, he did it only because that whore looked a bit like you when he fucked her from behind like with the delicacy of an animal in heat. Yeah, she looked definitely a bit like you when he had wrapped her long ginger hair around his fist and pulled it while exploring the deepest parts of her.

But he made himself the promise to stop all this kind of shit and be a good husband when you would embrace his love. Because you would. You just needed a bit of time to realize it.

But first, he had to wipe the other bitches out, so it was only you and him.

One night he really fucked up though, but you had provoked him by talking to that young and handsome man. He was called Gaspard, and he was probably the boyfriend you had been talking about. Arthur had tried to keep his calm, but when his saw the way you laughed at his jokes and hugged his arm against your breasts it made his self-control slip. He could not let him ruin his chances and take you away from him — especially because Gaspard was far more attractive and younger than him, with his charming smirk, his perfect dumb-looking haircut, and his cunning grey eyes.

Arthur had waited for the night to come and, when the unfortunate young man crossed his path, he grabbed him and pulled him into a dark alley. He could not remember what happened in detail for his rage took possession of him, but he did recall the burning feeling of anger that boiled within. He had slashed his face with a razor blade before beating him to death. He went home right after, drinking and drugging himself until he passed out on the floor.

He might have reacted a bit too much but he needed to be the only one for you. He was pretty sure you'd understand.

Sometimes the love and inextinguishable desire he felt for you was so overwhelming that he ended up not knowing if he wanted to hug you tight or fuck you against a wall until you cried his name and beg for him to stop. Then he would hate both himself and the drugs for the wicked thought of ruining you that had crossed his mind. How could you make him feel like he did? Sometimes this shit was scaring him. He grew afraid of the power you had upon him, leading him to pull his own hair and scream with frustration, rolled in a ball on the floor of his living room. He could not get you out of his fucking head and it messed with his already eroded sanity.

But you were sweet. So sweet he was convinced his teeth would hurt from your saccharine taste the day his lips would kiss yours and his tongue would lick the love juice from your innocent little pussy.

What he'd do to have you sitting here next to him... From massacring the men who dare to be interested in you, to sabotaging your mother’s car the day you were supposed to leave Birmingham for a few months because you were genuinely traumatized by him, especially after Gaspard's gruesome death. But Arthur would rather die than live one day without seeing your face, even though it sometimes made him want to gouge out his eyes, for your cuteness submerged his senses each time he would look at you.

But he wanted some more.

So he knocked at your door one night when you were all alone in your house. In truth, he had carefully spied on your mother's phone calls, and he knew she was going to spend the night at your grandparent's home.

When you opened the door, you backed up in fear and looked at him with tears streaming down your face, your body reacting viscerally to him for he had haunted your life for months. He was here, towering you with all his height, holding an empty bottle of whisky in one hand, and ropes in the other. A whimper of fear escaped from your lips as he pushed you inside and closed the door behind him, forcing you to welcome him in your own house. Your heart drummed to the cacophony of your anxiety because his body crashed against yours when he pulled you in a forced hug, his nose brushing your cheek and his whiskey breath fanning over your skin as scorching as a dragon’s.

“Arthur, please” You sobbed.

“That's okay Bunny. I'm not gonna hurt you eh.” He let the ropes fall on the ground, as well as the empty bottle that crashed against the wooden floor and broke into pieces in a noise so sharp that you almost flinched.

"Please, you need to stop that!" You begged, but he wasn't listening. Quite the contrary, one of his gloved hands pinned yours above your head, while the other went up your skirt to grab your ass.

“Ye know, I think 'bout ye every day at least a hundred times or more.” He grunted, squeezing your butt cheek. The feeling of the leather against your naked skin made your eyes flee from his, ashamed.

"Let me go, please, let me go!" You tried to fight, but you couldn't move anymore. He was trapping you between his body and the wall. All you managed to do was exhaust yourself: the more your fought, the more you felt strangely weak. Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat, your words breaking down his core. They were spinning within, intoxicating him as you stopped struggling in his grip and finally let his hands conquer your body, defeated.

"Hey relax Bunny, I ain’t gonna fuck you if that's what yer afraid of. You ain't no whore eh, I wanna spoil you and treat you like the princess you are before we make love, eh." He whispered in your ear before leaving small bites along your neck, his mustache scratching your skin and his body lingering for more. A smile flattered his liquored lips for he could feel your heartbeat, right under your small breasts that were crushed against his chest. "I'll make ye fookin' happy. And when you will understand that you love me, you’ll spread your legs for me yourself. Like a big girl.”

"Arthur please, I don't... I don't feel well..." You suddenly said as you felt your head spin.

"I know, Bunny. Don't fight it."

Without understanding what was happening, your body collapsed and Arthur caught you in his arms, keeping you from falling on the floor.

"I'm here." He said with a soothing hoarse voice.

His soft smile was the last thing you saw before darkness fogged your brain. You closed your eyes, your body limp in Arthur's hands as you lose consciousness.

All of your little habits held no secrets for him. He knew your favorite place to go, your favorite type of clothes, and what you liked to read. He even knew that each night, you drank a glass of cold milk before going to bed. That was how he came up with the idea to drug the bottle the milkman brought you earlier.

You let out a little painful moan when you tried to open your eyes, the blinding light fueling the throbbing headache you suffered from since you woke up. Your mouth was as dry as a desert and your head as painful as if someone was smashing your skull constantly with a hammer. In truth, you didn't even remember what happened -- All you knew was that the masculine perfume you smell on the bedsheet and on your own skin wasn't familiar. Forcing yourself to keep your eyes open, you groaned and slowly looked around you, each movement demanding an indescribable effort for your body still felt heavy because of the drug.

This was not your bedroom.

That sole information was enough to send a surge of adrenaline in your brain, and you managed to sit on the edge of the bed, panicking despite the cotton-like haze that was still numbing your brain. You wanted to get off the bed and rushed to the door. You wanted to scream, to burst into anger, but you remained still, petrified in your own body. That was until you caught sigh of someone at the corner of your eyes.

"Ar-Arthur?" You called with a weak voice.

"Mornin' little Bunny." He replied, standing from his chair and putting his half-empty bottle of whisky on the nightstand next to you. Then, his slim body smoothly moved to the edge of the bed, on which he sat. You backed up a little bit in reflex.

"My head hurts..." You lamented, crystal tears beading at the corner of your honey-like eyes. Arthur replied to your complaint by gently pressing his large and warm hand on your forehead to alleviate the pain. Surprisingly enough, the sensation was pleasant.

"I know, love. You've drunk a bit too much and that guy wanted to take advantage of ye. So I intervened and brought ye here. Don’t worry, you're going to be fine.” He whispered, his words as soft as a feather's caress, "All ye need is a well-deserved rest, and when you'll wake up I'll be there and I'll take care of ye, eh." He states, gently forcing you to lie on the bed. Your body fell limp on the mattress and as it did, Arthur leaned over you. Some strands of his hair fell on each side of his face as he brought it closer to yours until his lips crashed against your cheek to lay a tender kiss on it. You squeezed your eyelids shut when the tip of his nose gently bumped against your skin. Somehow, it felt as good as confusing.

"Yeah, I'll take care of ye." He repeated, the gravel in his voice making your whole body shiver. Something was definitely wrong with this situation, you thought. Were you at a party yesterday? You could not remember. But you were confused, in pain, and tired. So tired you rolled on your side and snuggled against the only person that had been here for you: him.

“Well— thanks I guess,” You whispered before falling asleep a second time, unknowing of the fact you’ll never leave this house ever again.

Arthur smiled.

Somehow he knew it was wrong but it wasn't his fault. He just loved you a little too much.

Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

tagging: @brummiereader because you told me you needed a Yandere!Arthur in your life, babe! also tagging @raincoffeeandfandoms because I don't remember if ya wanted to be tagged on all my works or just Heaven in Your Eyes??

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