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kinglazrus · 3 years

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Dead Man Walking

Phic Phight | AO3 | FFN

Submitted by @syrren: Instead of making him half-dead, the portal accident makes Danny unable to die. This....changes things.

(or: how canon changes if the accident leaves Danny with deadpool-style regeneration abilities to make for a horrifyingly self-sacrificing vigilante, or with some kind of reset ability every time he dies to equally horrifying implications)

Summary: The accident changes Danny in ways he never thought possible. Sam and Tucker watch him fall from the portal dead and burnt beyond recognition, but he doesn't stay dead for long. He never stays dead. Of all the things Danny expected to happen when he walked into that portal, getting unlimited regeneration wasn't one of them, but now that he has it, he's going to put it to good use. Deadpool AU.

Word count: 3606

The first time Danny dies, his friends bear witness. They will never forget the ominous whirr of the portal as it turned on, the warning crackle of electricity, the final throat-tearing scream of their best friend. There are other things, too, that burned into their minds that day. How his body hit the floor of the lab with a thud, burnt beyond recognition, burnt so bad there wasn't any blood. How it smelled, to their horror, not so different from charred barbecue.

They like to pretend that part never happened. It's easy when all they need to do is call his phone and hear his voice, unaffected by the savage electrical heat that brought him to ruin that day. When he doesn't stay dead, it's not hard to pretend he never died at all. It took minutes for his body to fix itself, blackened skin overtaken by fresh pink muscle, which then sprouted new skin, perfectly unblemished.

Even the scar he got when he was fell off his bike at six years old disappeared.

"I liked that scar," Danny says, pouting when he finally notices its absence three days later.

"I don't think that's the right thing to get hung up," Sam says.

"But it looked like a spaceship!"

"I always thought it looked like an upside-down nine," Tucker muses.

"Or six," Sam says.

"Upside down nine is more fun."

They proceed like this for three weeks, mentioning the accident only in the lightest of terms, joking about their new, shared trauma. They are content to move on with their lives, forget it happened, go on as normal high schoolers. Until Danny dies again.

—

"What do you mean you don't want to hunt ghosts?" Jack exclaims. He gapes down at the trio, wholeheartedly baffled by this confession.

"I'll stick with tech, thanks," Tucker says, holding up his phone.

"Ghosts just aren't cool anymore," Sam says.

"Can I go back upstairs now?" Danny asks. At his question, Sam and Tucker fall silent. None of them make eye contact, and neither do they look toward the portal innocently humming only a few feet away. Danny is very aware that this is his first time in the lab since the accident. The same thought runs through Sam and Tucker's minds.

Jack doesn't notice the sudden change in mood. "Nonsense, Danno! You love ghosts. Why, I remember when you were just a tyke, you wanted to be a ghost when you grew up." He clenches his fist. "It was unacceptable. But that's okay! You can hunt them instead!"

He turns his back on Danny and his friends, eagerly going over the array of tools laid out on the counter. Ghost detectors, ecto-guns, protective shield, and an empty space where a thermos should be. "I forgot the best part! Wait right here, kids." Jack charges upstairs, leaving the kids alone.

Danny glances at the portal, unable to suppress a shiver. "You think he'd notice if I snuck away?"

"Nuh-uh, if you go, we go, too," Tucker says.

No one gets to go. Two sets of slimy green tentacles poke through the portal, probing the empty air. Their soft bodies soon follow, revealing a pair of ghostly octopuses.

"Holy shit ghosts are real." That is all Tucker has time to say before the ghosts attack. They launch themselves forward, shrieking in excitement. One goes for Sam and the other charges Tucker. They try to jump out of the way, but the ghosts are faster. The ectopuses tentacles wrap around them, pinning their arms down.

"Danny!" Sam shouts.

In retrospect, a smarter person would have gone for the ecto-gun lying on the table, freshly loaded and ready for a demonstration. Or, they might have shouted for his father, a ghost hunter who has trained his entire life for this scenario. But Danny acts faster than he thinks. He dives toward Tucker, the closest of the two, and digs his fingers into the ghost's tentacles. It screams as Danny's nails dig into its flesh.

The ghost's body goes translucent. Tucker slips out of its grasp, dropping to the floor in a heap, but Danny's hold stays firm. The ectopus panics, thrashing and tugging, its flailing limbs cutting through Tucker over and over without harming him. No matter what the ectopus does, it can't shake Danny loose, and his nails are starting to cut.

"Dude, you're doing it!" Tucker says, too soon.

As it flails, one of the ectopus' tentacles smacks Danny in the face, making his head snap back. At that moment, he and the ghost have the same realization. If he can touch it, it can hurt him back. The ectopus gives another shriek and its remaining seven tentacles surge forward. They wrap around Danny's arms, his chest, curling so tight his bones ache. The last one closes around Danny's throat.

His throat, weak like the ghost's flesh, crumples in an instant. His air disappears. No sound leaves his mouth, not even a wheeze, and his eyes bulge as panic sets in.

"Danny!" Sam and Tucker scream. Sam struggles against her captor kicking and gnashing her teeth, but her boots can't reach its body. Tucker grabs Danny, tries to pull him away, to bat off the ghost’s grip, but it is no use. The ghost is too strong, and Tucker can't touch it in this state.

Danny loses focus of them, then. His brain goes fuzzy, everything blurring around him while his face grows hot. All he can feel is the burn, the ache, the need to breathe, breathe, breathe damn it! The haze of the ghost looming over him fills his vision, slowly overtaken by red, then black spots.

As everything goes dark, Danny's last thought is this:

I guess I'm dead after all.

—

He hears the sobbing first. It starts off quiet and distant, but quickly grows louder, great hiccupping coughs scattered between heart-wrenching cries.

"Mr. Fenton!" someone screams. It happens fast, after that. Thundering steps, a deep cry of shock and pain that cuts him to his core. A piercing whine followed by two quick blasts.

The ectopuses' retreating shriek cuts through Danny loud and clear. His eyes snap open and air rushes into his lungs, a hoarse, wheezing breath that he holds for a moment. Then he takes another, and another, and he's breathing again, and he's not anymore.

Sam and Tucker, kneeling at his side, cry out as one. They throw themselves on him, blubbering messes the both of them. Danny's father, facing the portal, turns disbelieving eyes on him.

Danny's gaze drops to his father's hand and the ecto-gun clutched in it. "Oh, right." The word scrapes against his throat. He swallows, twice, until speaking doesn't hurt and says, "I forgot we had the gun.

"Danny!" Jack dashes toward them, dropping to his knees beside Danny. Sam and Tucker scramble back, giving him room. "Are you alright? What happened? You looked..."

Dead.

Because he was. Again.

"I'm fine," Danny assures him. "Lost consciousness, that's all.

"Danny, your face was blu—" Tucker yelps when Sam punches him in the shoulder, cutting him off mid-sentence. He rubs the spot, shooting her an offended look, but Sam's eyes are only on Danny.

Danny nods, just enough that she can see, a silent thanks.

"I think you kids should go upstairs now." Jack's voice trembles. He raises his hand, about to run it through his hair, but stops when he sees the gun he's still holding. "I'll take care of things down here. Call your parents and all that."

For the first time, Danny notices the green splotches littering the floor and the wall. Probably from the ectopuses.

Sam loops an arm around Danny's shoulders, hoisting him up. He stumbles when he gets to his feet, bracing himself against her as the room spins. It settles after a few seconds, but he still feels a bit lightheaded. A side effect of choking, maybe?

Tucker helps from Danny's other side. They go up to Danny's room in silence, their steps thumping up the stairs. Only once they're safely behind his closed door, and Danny is lying on the bed, does Sam speak.

"You died again," she says.

Danny touches his throat. "Yeah." Pressing gently, he feels is no lingering pain. Just like before, he healed without a trace. "Can I just not die now?"

"More like you can't stay dead," Tucker says.

"Tucker!" Sam hisses.

"What? It's true! Sorry that I'm not handling seeing my friend die twice very well!"

"Be quiet!"

Danny cuts in before they can devolve into shouting. "Let's just leave it at two, okay?"

Sam and Tucker share a glance over Danny's prone form and nod. The weight of that action is lost on Danny, whose only thought is that he wants to sleep for a very long time.

—

The knives don't kill him. They hurt like hell, but they don't kill him. He sees them flying toward him and leaps out of the way. Something strikes him in the gut, a solid punch that blows the air from his lungs and knocks him back into the walls. He thinks one of the frozen steaks got him, but when he looks down, he sees the handle of a kitchen knife sticking out of his stomach.

He stares at it, stunned, not feeling anything at first. Then, his body jolts, like a shock of electricity is running through him, and his nerves scream, heat building, until every little twitch sends a jolt of pain so deep coursing through him that he can hardly breathe.

"Danny, look out!" Tucker, or Sam, he can't tell which, so lost in his pain, cry out a warning. Danny doesn't move in time and two more knives bury themselves in his body, another in his stomach, and the other through his chest. The Lunch Lady cackles with glee as Danny gurgles. The last knife got his lung, and he can feel it slowly filling.

The pound of Sam's boots on the tiles reaches his ears. She shouts something, but he doesn't hear it. Trembling, Danny grips the handle of the knife in his lungs. In first-aid, they tell you to leave whatever object stabbing you in. It keeps the wound plugged, stops you from bleeding out. But Danny's instincts cry out against everything he was ever taught.

Take them out! Take them out!

He braces himself, then yanks. It hurts so much worse coming out, now that he's aware of the pain, the sharp edge searing as it rips the wound wider. He drops the knife and goes for the next one. All three fall to the floor beside him with a clatter, their blades shiny and red. Danny can't breathe, can barely think through the pain. He presses a hand against his chest, feeling the wound beneath his shirt.

It stitches itself together beneath his fingers. The searing pain retreats, replaced by a dull ache. By the time Sam reaches him and rips his shirt open to see his wound, his chest is healed.

"Technically, I didn't die," Danny croaks.

Sam sobs, covering her mouth with her hand. There's relief in her eyes, beneath the horror, and she makes a noise that might be a laugh, choked and garbled as it is.

Danny dives back into the fight with renewed vigour. Twenty minutes and one Fenton Thermos later, the ghost is gone, but not before half the student body saw some bloody idiot fighting it bare-handed.

"Did you see who it was?" Dash whispers to his friends.

Danny, clean of blood and wearing his gym t-shirt, slumps against the wall nearby, listening. Someone called the police when meat started flying through the hallways, and they apparently called Danny's parents. Ghosts are real and everyone knows it now, but Danny doesn't care about that at the moment.

"No, man. I wasn't close enough," Kwan answers Dash.

"Whoever that was, he totally just saved us all," Paulina says. She clasps her hands together and leans against Star. "He's such a hero."

Hero. The word resonates with Danny. He can't explain it, but it pulls at him. A hero. The school is in chaos, the yard covered in raw meat, the hallways hacked and slashed, but everyone is safe and unharmed thanks to Danny.

"More like a dumbass," Sam mutters from Danny's left.

"Semantics," Tucker says.

Between them, Danny only grins.

—

Jack paces in front of the portal, a tub of fudge cradled in the crook of his arm. Every few steps, he grabs a square and pops it in his mouth, chewing furiously. Between bites, he mutters.

"I'm telling you, Mads. He must have been some kind of ghost," he says.

"I don't know, Jack." Maddie, staring at the computer screen, tilts her head. They managed to grab a few stills from the school's security footage of the figure who fought off the ghost, but they didn't come out right. The surroundings are a little grainy, but no more than a standard security camera, so they know there's nothing wrong with the film itself. The ghost, who called herself the Lunch Lady if Maddie remembers correctly, is little more than a green haze in the image. They expected this. Ghosts don't interact with most technology well, not unless it is designed to interact with them.

But the smaller figure is distorted, a twisted shadow obscuring their form. Not ghostly, but not human either.

She clicks to the next image, getting the same results.

"Are you saying it's a human?" Jack asks without breaking stride.

"It's humanoid, but I don't think it's human, either. Yet it bled, so it's not a ghost. And look at this." She closes the files, revealing a folder full of pictures, all of them taken over the past couple of weeks as ghost sightings increased. "They show up at most fights and leave lots of bodily fluids behind." Jiggling the mouse, she circles a series of four images with the courser, all pictures of significant blood splatters. "But the samples..."

As one, she and Jack turn to the sample tray sitting on the far counter. Where the blood is deep red in the pictures, the samples they took have slowly turned to a dark, murky brown, like thick mud. The oldest sample from the first sighting is black.

Jack grabs a handful of fudge and shoves it in his mouth. "Not to mention," he speaks around the chewy squares, "what does it do with the ghosts?"

The lab door squeaks as it opens. Maddie and Jack fall silent, gazes turning toward the stairs. A pair of red sneakers appears on the top step, creeping down, until the wearer slowly reveals themself. Their son, Danny, with what looks like a thermos clutched in his hand.

"Sweetie, are you only just getting home?" Maddie asks.

Danny yelps in surprise. He jerks the thermos behind his back and swivels to face his parents, freezing on the step. "Oh, hey. I didn't think you guys would be here..."

Maddie narrows her eyes. "What did you do, young man? You were supposed to be home from school an hour ago."

"Nothing! I just got held up." Danny tugs the collar of his jacket.

That's odd. Maddie doesn't remember him leaving with a jacket this morning. The sleeves drape over his hands, down to his knuckles, and he has the collar turned up to cover his neck. It must be cold outside, even though September is only just ending. "What held you up?"

"Uh, that's kind of why I thought you guys wouldn't be here? There was another ghost fight. It got pretty bad." He shifts, pressing his arm against his side. Is his jacket darker there, against his ribs?

"Another ghost?" Jack exclaims. He slaps the fudge down on the closest surface, rattling the test tube samples. "Mads, we gotta go! There might still be some evidence!"

Maddie's eyes widen. "Oh, shoot. You're right! We need fresh samples." They race to grab their equipment, snatching up sample gathering packs from their desks, and charge up the stairs.

Danny presses himself against the wall, offering them a nervous smile as they go. "Stay safe!" he calls. The front door slams as Maddie and Jack make their exit, leaving the house in silence. Still, Danny doesn't relax until he hears the rev of the Fenton RV and the familiar squeal of its tires against the pavement. His shoulders slump and he breathes a sigh of relief.

"That was close." Taking his hand out from behind his back, he looks down at the Fenton Thermos. "Now let's get you taken care of."

As he empties the thermos back into the Ghost Zone, his gaze wanders to the computer screen, still open to the photo evidence. Danny reads the title of the folder. "Challenger?" He snorts. "That's lame." As he skims the photos, a couple jump out at him. In most, he can barely make out the shape of his own body—something he tries not to think about—but in one or two, he can recognize the colours of his clothes beneath the distorting shadow.

Danny slaps the cap back onto the empty thermos before moving closer to the computer, frowning at the screen. "That might be a problem."

—

Danny stands in front of his friends, fists resting on his hips, and shows off his new look. "Well? What do you think?"

Tucker looks him up and down, body shaking as he suppresses his laughter. "Is that a paper superhero mask? Did you spray paint your hair white?"

Danny's hands rise to his head. "It's a spray-on dye! I thought it was cool!"

"Ten bucks says it's super crispy."

"Don't be mean," Sam admonishes Tucker. "I think he looks pretty good. For a discount Jack Frost."

Tucker snaps his fingers. "Emo Jack Frost! The real one would never wear this much black."

"We are no longer friends," Danny says, turning away from them.

"Come on, don’t be a spoilsport."

"Nope, too late. I'm already dead to you."

Sam and Tucker share a confused glance. "Don't you mean we're dead to—" Before Sam can finish the sentence, Danny turns and throws himself out his bedroom window. "Danny!" They scramble after him, falling against the sill as they lean outside, peering down to the alley below.

Danny lies face-first on the pavement.

"Are you dead?" Tucker asks.

Danny raises his arm and gives them a thumbs up.

—

Valerie holds back a startled shout when the metal suit crashes onto the sidewalk next to her. She is not scared, but anyone would be surprised if two tons of metal suddenly fell from the sky. A scream, rapidly increasing in volume, drawings her gaze upwards just in time for a black-clad figure to plummet inches from her nose and land with a sharp crack on top of the suit.

This time Valerie cries out because holy shit, is he dead? Her panic sputters out when she peeks at the possible corpse and gets a good look at exactly who, or what, came falling after. A human figure dressed in all black with poorly coloured hair. It looks crispy as hell.

Valerie sneers. What kind of cheap dye did they use?

She recognizes the Challenger on sight. By now, more than half of Amity Park can, although Valerie can't account for the sudden style change. Maybe they realized how lame their regular t-shirt and jeans are and decided to switch things up. This isn't much better, though. Black hoodie, black pants, black boots, no style.

No one knows their name, but the moniker the Fentons gave them seems to have stuck. Valerie thinks it's a little on the nose, though.

Something wriggles in the corner of her eye and she looks to the Challenger's fist. It clutches a bright green blob, with stubby limbs and a wide mouth.

"Let go of me!" The blob beats its penny-sized fists against the Challenger's thumb. "You are my prey!"

The Challenger groans. "Can you shut up for a second? I think my neck broke." They squeeze the blob until it squeaks.

"Hey. Watch where you're throwing this stuff around." Valerie kicks the arm of the metal suit. "You nearly crushed me!"

The Challenger jolts. Their head whips up, accompanied by a loud crack, and they lurch to their feet. A mask covers their eyes—cheap like the hair dye, probably from a costume stored—but judging by the way their eyebrows shoot up, they look at Valerie with wide eyes.

"Uh, hey, Va—citizen." Their voice drops a solid octave. "Sorry about that! I'll watch out next time." They are about to say something else when a loud squeal interrupts up, the signature sound of the Fentons' approach. The Challenger pales. "Sorry, gotta go!"

They dash into the nearest alley before Valerie can get another word in, leaving her with the empty metal husk and the sound of the Fentons from two streets away. She gapes after them, unsure what to make of the brief exchange.

"Actually, wait a second." The Challenger pops back around the corner, leaping over the ghost's suit to reach Valerie. They grab her shoulders in a cold grip. "Are people really using that dumb name for me?"

At a loss for words, Valerie nods.

"Ugh." The Challenger groans and lets her go in favour of rubbing a hand down their face. "Stop that. It's so boring. Just call me... Phantom. Okay? See ya!" They spin away, too fast, and trip over the metal suit.

Wow, Valerie thinks as Phantom scrambles around the corner once more. We have the lamest superhero ever.

#phic phight #phic phight 2021 #phanfic #phicc #dp fanfiction #danny phantom #danny fenton #deadpool au #danny phantom fanfiction #humour #tumblroneshot

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multi--kpop--fanfics · 3 years

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There’s Blood On The Crown

prince!Xiaojun x queen!reader

genre: angst, horror, royalty!AU

warnings: heavy dark themes (blood, major character death, betrayal)

Part of THE CROWN - a collab call by @earth-to-that-asian

Word count: ~1.7k

Author’s note: The fic was beta read by @jaemotel and @intokook , who also made the header (thanxx bby💕). Inspired by the song Intro: Crown by Purple Kiss

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What do you say,

What if I ruled the world?

“Now, you may rise, Your Majesty, Queen Y/N”, the priest announces and you rise from your knees, the diamond crown resting proud but heavy on your head. You walk towards the balcony of the castle and look down, where the rest of the civilians awaited for you. You were their Queen now, the one who would guide them through thick and thin, especially after your beloved husband’s death, the late King Kun.

“All hail the Queen!”, the crowd chants as you raise your hand and wave, the beaming smile on your face acting as a facade, masking your true feelings - uncertainty, sorrow and most importantly, fear.

Fear, because you trusted no one in the council. They never liked you in the first place, not only because you were the late King’s wife, but because you were also a very skilled fighter, one of your most valuable assets, hence why you were the Grand General of your kingdom before getting married to Kun.

These weasels hated seeing a woman in power, simply because they wanted that power for themselves. But none of them had the guts to step up and claim the crown. They only knew how to scheme, bribe and conduct murders without ever getting blood on their hands.

There was only one person you could trust, the only one who truly recognized your strength and dedication to the crown - Prince Xiaojun, Kun’s brother and your brother-in-law. He was the only one who welcomed you with a warm smile and would always be respectful towards you. Everyone in the kingdom knew of his gentle nature and the civilians were always delighted to see the two of you take walks through the town. He treated you like family. And family is always there for you, just like Xiaojun today. You turn your head back and smile at him, an equal smile spreading across his handsome face. However, by the time you have turned your head back, his smile is instantly replaced by a clenched jaw and a stern gaze, burning with hatred and jealousy.

Nobody knows

It means nothing to me

Xiaojun enters the throne room, fully-armored, his sword sheathed on his back and his hunting knives strapped on his sides. You were seated in the throne, your white cape falling gracefully around you, the diamond crown and your silver chest armor shining from the sunlight that is creeping through the colored glass windows. Your image is a sheer contrast to Xiaojun’s, his armor being pitch-black, almost resembling an angel of Death.

“Ah, Xiaojun, what a delight to see you!” you state, smiling to him. “I haven’t seen you wear this armor in a long time. May I ask what’s the occasion?” you ask with curiosity. “I have decided to go hunting” he replies nonchalantly and you smile even wider, unaware of the true meaning behind his words. “That’s wonderful! Perhaps I could join you? I’ve been dying to leave the castle gates and get my blood boiling through some action” you slightly pout, albeitly tired from sitting around and letting your armor and sword get rusty.

He chuckles at your reaction and he unsheathes one of the daggers from his arm and traces his finger along the edge of the blade. “I will not have to leave the castle to go hunting… In fact, my prey is right in this very castle” he states and takes slow yet steady steps towards your direction. “I-I don’t think I follow..” you stutter, fear starting to take over your senses. “What I am trying to say, dear Y/N, is that my true prey is not just within this castle - It’s right in front of me”. The realization then hits you.

It’s invisible but you know it’s mine

So where do you see yourself?

“You want the throne?”, you ask in shock, not wanting to believe that the one person you trusted ever since you stepped your foot in the castle was the one who wanted your fall. “I don’t want just the throne. I want the power that comes along with it”, Xiaojun admits, his ominous gaze fixated on you. The imminent danger awakes you and you yell with all your power towards the throne door.

“GUARDS!” and within seconds, your two strongest guards barge through the throne room, clad in heavy armor. “Prince Xiaojun has attempted murder against the Queen and is hereby guilty of commiting betrayal to the Crown. Seize him at once!” you yell and the guards point their weapons towards Xiaojun, who has seemingly raised his arms in surrender. “The accusations Her Majesty has made against me are completely false!”, he bites back, “Besides, I haven’t attempted murder..”, he adds and silently pulls out another dagger from his sleeve, “..Yet”.

In a split second, he throws the daggers towards the guards and he hits them both in the blind spot of their armor, their cloth-covered necks, the sharp blades of the dagger cutting through the flesh. The guards are now flat on the marble floor, their lives slowly slipping away from their bodies that lay in blood. After recovering his daggers from the dead bodies, Xiaojun hears the familiar sound of a blade being unsheathed. He turns to you and he sees you holding your sword, your cape discarded on the floor, standing a few meters away from him.

“Finally, the queen has stepped down from her throne!” he spits, his voice dripping venom. "The Queen has a crown and she will do everything to protect it. Even if it means killing the prince", you prepare yourself and get into a fighting stance. "How ironic, to share the same goal at a moment like this", Xiaojun points out and unsheathes the sword from his back, "It's a shame you won't be alive to witness my success".

I am running for the crown

I keep breathing when you drown

You charge at Xiaojun with full speed, your sword in a secure hold. He throws a dagger at you to cut off your advance, but you duck down in the last second and you avoid it, closing the distance between you in the meantime. You fling your sword upwards, in an attempt to cut through his waist armor, but he is fast enough to parry your attack with his own sword. "You're fast, I'll give you that. But not fast enough", he mocks and pulls another dagger from his thigh, landing a deep cut on your forearm, making you cry out in pain.

The blood is staining your pristine blouse, but you don't care - you only want to stay alive in order to defeat Xiaojun. You kick his knee with full force and he groans, falling on his knees. "You know better than underestimating my skills, Xiaojun", you hatefully spit back and get up. You switch your blade to your intact arm and swing it towards his face, but he raises his arm and catches the blade mid-air. "I don't - I'm just reminding you how inferior your skills are compared to mine" he replies and holds the blade still, his fist now bleeding from the sharp edge. "You haven't even landed a proper cut on me, yet your arm is still bleeding from a mere dagger", he continues and stands on his feet, twisting his arm and the blade as well.

You grit your teeth as you fight back the pain from your own arm being twisted and you lift your leg to kick him in the face, but alas, he's fast enough to swing his sword again and land another cut on you, this time on your leg. You feel the muscle joints being ripped apart and you scream once again, the blood gushing from the fresh wound. Xiaojun takes advantage of your vulnerable state and pulls the sword out of your grasp and throws it at the other side of the throne room. He then kicks you on the chest and you fall flat on your back, the diamond crown falling from your head. You try to stand your ground, but Xiaojun immobilizes you with his own body.

"It's truly a pity, Y/N. We could have been the most powerful and loved royals in the world… But you just had to fall in love with the fool of my late brother, didn't you?", he asks and caresses your cheek, the pretentious affection making you scrunch your face with disgust. "You will never be like Kun, you monster" you grit your teeth with anger, "Do you know why? Because he was always faithful to the people. Because the people are the true crown-"

You never get to finish your sentence, as a dagger is piercing your throat, ridding you incapable of breathing. The stream of blood starts pooling around your spasming body, staining the marble floor, your clothes and the diamond crown that lays next to your head.

I believe myself no doubt

Xiaojun watches your last moments with a blank expression on his face, still on top of you. "Ironic, isn't it? The King and his Queen, dying by the same hand, clad in the same armor. Truly, the most perfect of tragic endings". You are unable to answer, the last of his words dealing the finishing blow to your form. You have stopped moving and a single tear falls from his face. "Even in death, you are still the most beautiful woman I've seen in my whole life, Y/N" he whispers and leans in to kiss your now lifeless lips. "Worry not, my love, you may meet your beloved husband now. The crown is in good hands".

He stands up and takes the blood-stained crown in his hands. He places it on top of his head, the blood dripping on his soft blonde locks. He slowly walks towards the throne, the edge of his sword scraping the marble floor and creating a line from the blood on it - your blood. He looks at the painting that rests above the throne, a painting of you and King Kun smiling fondly, wearing the same crown that now rests on Xiaojun's head.

"You know, both of you were wrong. I never betrayed the crown. In fact, I was the only one who did everything to protect it", he speaks as he sits down on the throne, "And I succeeded, my beloved family. All thanks to you. You may now rest in peace", Xiaojun says with a soft smile on his face, making him look like an angel.

An angel of Death.

My Lord

How come I never lost my faith?

#xiaojun angst #wayv xiaojun #xiao dejun #royalty au #wayv angst #horror #the crown: a collab call #wayv fanfics

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cosmopoliturtle · 4 years

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The Forest Mother

A series I did inspired by “Elden Ring”, Fromsoft’s enigmatic next title, believed to carry on the Soulsborne legacy. The entire family tree from Demon’s Soul to Sekiro are easily among my favourite titles in the entire medium, and have inspired my own work intensely.

The bear and the woman are part of a 2-phase boss concept I submitted to VaatiVidya’s art contest to design a fake boss for Elden Ring. The first piece is the enemies I imagined would reside in the area the boss inhabits, but are not part of entry itself.

I was inspired by bear worship throughout European culture, descending back to Palaeolithic times. The crux of my design is focused primarily on the pagan worship of bears in ancient Finland.

The Journey:

You, a lone rider, braves the haunting wastes of a world left broken after a great war. Your only source of companionship is a horse you’ve ridden with for what feels like an eternity, though despite countless hardships, has remained a stalwart friend. The land you roam together has been claimed by beasts who hunt upon old battlegrounds, and husks of lost souls left to sleep in beds of soot and ash in forgotten ruins. Howling, frigid winds echo between creaking trees, and combined with the beat of hooves, provides a dull but eerie rhythm to the empty roads you travel. What almost looks like a dream phasing into reality is a far-off forest bathed in rays from the Sun, where the clouds allow for dappled light instead of an intense shroud above. As you approach, the trees slowly become more vibrant and lush, the flora sparkling with an emerald sheen as dew drops and a constant, light rain provide them with an ethereal lustre.

The deeper you venture, you begin to find surprising signs of life. Tents of animal hide, wooden totems, and clean cut stone altars create a makeshift village within the dells of the forest. Aside from the occasional fresh deer kill laying upon tables and animal skulls hanging from trees, there are few signs of anything insidious happening. The people who live here sing, pray, and dance together, or hold processions led by a wise-woman, who guides them around the forest. They are all dressed from head to toe in simple, white garments with a few accents of bright colour. They look nothing like the depraved wild men or the harrowed warriors you have battled with before, and they are somewhat ghostly and meek in appearance, most of them stopping what they are doing to shrink away or cower at the sight of you. Some lunge out unceremoniously with knives or spears, trying to get you to turn back, but they are easily felled, their cloth garments not meant for battle. The greatest threats here are the crowds led by the wise-women, who are emboldened by her presence and arcane words. Among the feeble worshippers are occasionally hulking guards, covered in bandages and adorned with animal hides, who wield tools like cleavers, saws, and hammers as weapons. The further you travel, the more resistant the forest folk become to your presence, and despite death after death at the hands of the frenzied mob, you persist forward, as you have before.

Finally, at the heart of the forest, there is a wide glade which has been blessed by a gentle breeze. Compared to the tight alleyways made by the forest folk’s tents and the natural overgrowth, this woodland prairie feels like a welcome place for your horse to stretch their legs and enjoy the soft wind, but it is also feels like a vulnerable place, where one may be caught in the open. As the centre of this field is reached, the ground quakes and the trees rattle as a gigantic, haggard bear emerges from the darkness of the deep woods. The ridge along her back still gleams in the sunlight, but her mane gives way to spots of mange and old scars, transitioning into what looks like hardened, scale-like calluses. She eyes you up and down sternly before she braces her legs and roars. Her bellowing cry is so loud it feels as if your chest is about to explode and the world around you will be shattered into dust. The rain stops, a ring of mist forms around the trees of the valley to halt any idea of escape, and the sun shines down upon your duel with the Forest Mother.

The Battle:

Despite her worn look and heavy frame, the Forest Mother makes it apparently clear how fast she can chase you down, charging and lunging at you with unnatural speed. Her movements will completely control how you fight if you choose to combat her on foot, but you can match her better on horseback, turning the battle into a deadly jousting match. She attacks using her entire body: swiping from either side with her claws, pouncing towards you with her full weight, rearing up to slam her column-like limbs down on you, or simply using her entire front half to ram you into submission. Some of her strikes dig into the ground, and fling dirt, grass, and rain water into the air, these attacks having more of a wind up but easily being fatal if they land against you. Any attacks behind her often result in a quick turnaround sweep of her claws, but she can also let the full weight of her massive body simply fall upon you as she disrespectfully crashes her backside atop your head.

You strike her again and again, whittling her down bit by bit. Eventually, she will slow down to stand on her back legs, only going on all fours to either crash her limbs downwards or to quickly leap and readjust her positioning. Her attacks become somewhat more predictable as she slashes at you, but are still incredibly powerful. This short phase seems like a desperate reprieve from the whirlwind you had to face moments ago, but the Forest Mother is using this time to test you, as you shockingly have managed to last as long as you have. As the battle reaches its midpoint, the Forest Mother’s proud stance begins to hunch, and she starts writhing and shifting in odd, unsettling ways. Her convulsions cease when the blade of an axe splits open her throat from the inside and tears down her gut. From the slit a giant, woman-like figure forces her way out of the bear’s hide, but keeps it sitting upon her like a cloak. She readies her axe and lets loose a passionate but monstrous battle cry, causing the breeze to pick up tremendously and the trees around you to burst into autumn colours. The fight with the Forest Mother resumes with red and gold leaves flourishing each gust of wind.

With her new form, the fight has become an entirely new affair. In a silent frenzy she charges forward, easily keeping up with you on horseback if you choose to remain mounted. Her axe sweeps across the ground and is brought down in a mighty overhead strike. Her strength is so overwhelming that some of her strikes bite into the earth, and the heaving motion of dislodging the axe deals heavy damage and creates a blinding geyser of dirt. After frenzied lashes and heavy strikes, the force of her axe moving through the air creates slicing winds that stampede towards you, able cut into you from a distance. Despite her massive frame and equally large weapon crashing against you, she will also inject quick hits with hand strikes and kicks to try and catch you off guard and throw you off balance. If she wishes to try and fell you in a single hit, she will dig her axe into the ground and charge towards you, ending with a massive upwards sweep, or in a rare moment of stillness, she will let the winds whir around her and plant her axe into the ground, resulting in a phenomenal tornado of razor winds and burning, scarlet leaves. Fighting the Forest Mother on foot or horseback is viable, and it takes an incredibly keen eye to find the right moment to parry any of her colossal attacks. Despite her connection to the forest, she is resilient to fire magics, but ice or raw arcana can pierce through her hide now and again. The Forest Mother is enduring and belligerent, with few counter measures to truly turn the tides. It is a true battle, one that requires a mastery of both ferocity and patience.

Once her frenzy is finally quelled, she falls to her knees, clinging to her axe to keep her from collapsing entirely. Despite her best efforts to stand up again, she crumbles and withers into ash. Falling into a heap, the wind dies, and the forest quickly begins shedding all of its foliage and colour. You have absorbed her essence, and gotten what brought you here in the first place.

The Aftermath:

Below the Forest Mother’s remains, a frost has spread through the ground and into the now barren trees. This place has become as desolate as the rest of the world. What forest folk remain in their village are now either huddled against the cold earth or are praying at their altars, sobbing and shaking violently, too overwhelmed to bother noticing you. The patrolling assemblages lay cut down by the larger forest folk, who now feed on their remains. They are the only ones left to challenge you, discarding their tools and fighting with bare hands in a rage. If not eating their former neighbours, they can be found on the fringes of the woods, skirmishing with wild boars and packs of dire wolves that have encroached into the forest. The empty edges of this place that once bewildered you with its idyllic glow and the gentle pitter-patter of rain on full-blooming trees has been replaced with barren twigs and stagnant air filled with the howls of hungry animals and the cries of demented brutes, joining the dismal state of everything it sought to hide from. You have found what you were looking for, and with the power of the Forest Mother seeped into your soul, you ride onwards. You are much stronger for coming here, though whether it was an essential step on your quest eludes you. There is a greater toiling in this world that you must become a part of, and whatever must be sacrificed to reach those ends will be. You persist forward, as you have before.

#elden ring #soulsborne #dark souls #bloodborne #demon's souls #fromsoft #fromsoftware #fan art #full works #cosmopoliturtle

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ibtk · 3 years

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Book Review: THE ANIMALS IN THAT COUNTRY by Laura Jean McKay (2020)

(Full disclosure: I received a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review through Edelweiss and Library Thing's Early Reviewers program. Content warning for violence, including that against animals. Caution: this review contains a spoiler in the form of an excerpt.)

'Well, I’ve got a secret for you, Miss Kimberly Russo.' She digs her sharp little nails into my skin. ‘What is it?’ ‘This flu means people can talk to animals.’ Her head shoots up. ‘I want the flu, Granny. Don’t you?’ ‘Grown-ups don’t wish they had diseases, and neither should you.’ ‘But don’t you?’ Outside, Wallamina and Princess Pie are nose and beak to the sliding door, trying to press their way through. Eyes shining. ‘Course I bloody do.’

I can see the wild in her. She looks and acts like any dog. Plays, wags, stares into my eyes with her baby browns; does chasey, catch, begs for biscuits. Then the dusk comes and she lifts her neck and howls the saddest song in all the world, and there’s that wild. Dingo, owl, night thing — that sound is a warning. Loneliest you’ll hear. Wraps around your face, your sleep, your dreams. She’s saying: ‘Hey, hey. There’s something coming.’ The rangers here are always telling me, don’t talk like that. They say how dingoes are just establishing territory, checking on their pack. Dingo admin. But stand on the hot road that runs from the gift shop to the enclosures, and listen to the dingo in her cage call out to the packs on the other side of the fence. Tell me that’s not special. Tell me she doesn’t know something about the world that you and me haven’t ever thought of.

Jean Bennett isn't you're typical grandma - unless you're picturing Gemma Teller Morrow, that is. Jean drinks, smokes, swears, and sleeps around, usually all at the same time, and occasionally with her gay and committed coworker, Andy. She's got a tiger tattooed on her boob, and a dingo named Sue imprinted on her heart.

A lowly guide who dreams of becoming a ranger, Jean works at an Australian wildlife park, run by her son's ex-girlfriend Angela and owned by Angela's father. Jean and her husband Graham landed there years ago, after bouncing around the world for a while. Eventually Graham left Jean to shack up with another woman; their only child, Lee, jumped ship too, but not before hooking up with - and impregnating - Angela. Now Ange mostly keeps Jean around for the free child care (and maybe also because Ange feels sorry for her).

As for Jean, she stays stuck in this weird, awkward morass for her granddaughter Kimberley - one of the few people she can tolerate, let alone love. Jean prefers animals of the nonhuman variety, and the Park's residents/captives are her found family. She has a special place in her cockles for Sue, a dingo mix who she helped rescue as a wee little pup.

Jean's precarious life is already teetering on the edge of chaos when THE FLU arrives - first in southern Australia, then at the Park's gates, thanks to none other than an infected Lee, as charming as he is irresponsible.

Zoanthropathy (from Greek: zóo, “animal”, anthroponis, “human”, pathy, “disorder”), aka zooflu, otherwise known as "the talking animal disease," allow humans to understand and communicate with other animals:

'The strain known as zoanthropathy affects cognition in humans, and it is believed that enhanced communication between humans and nonhuman animals is possible. Zoanthropathy is hosted and spread by humans. [...] The disease is very high in morbidity and very low in mortality. Infected humans appear able to communicate (encode) and translate (decode) previously unrecognisable non-verbal communications via major senses such as sight, smell, taste, touch, and sound with nonhuman animals.'

When Lee runs off with Kimberley - to commune with the whales on the southern coast - Jean embarks on a cross-country road trip to find them. Riding shotgun is Sue, whose keen nose points the way to Tomorrow (Tomorrow being Sue's conceptualization of Kimberley. Jean is Yesterday, and Lee is Never There. Scathing, yet accurate.)

As with most potentially animal-friendly tales, I was equally nervous and excited to dive into THE ANIMALS IN THAT COUNTRY. As it is, the book both thrilled and disappointed me; I almost feel like it deserves two separate ratings, one for the idea and actualization of the dystopian zooflu future - which is breathtaking - and another for the human-centered plot that propels the audience's journey into this world - which is decidedly less so.

Let's start with the zooflu. It seems like it would be awesome to be able to talk to animals, right? Think again. I mean, really turn the idea over in your head, sit with the superpower, and try to envision what this might entail. Given that most of the nonhumans we encounter on the daily are exploited, oppressed, or otherwise negatively impacted by humans -

be it the 25 million farmed animals we create, torture, and kill for food every year in the US alone; the "wildlife" (read: free-living animals) we displace, starve, and kill through habitat loss; the dogs and cats we buy, neglect, and then abandon at shelters; or the animals we unintentionally hit with our cars (or the bugs we trod on just walking down the street); etc. x infinity

- we are weapons of mass destruction. To most of our nonhuman kin (and sometimes our fellow humans, too). Instead of words of wisdom and messages of hope, we'd be more likely to hear cries of terror. Confusion. Pain and agony. Hellfire, everywhere. Created and fueled by us and our own.

Heck, I'm not even sure it would be beneficial to always know exactly what our beloved, nonhuman family members are thinking. I have a fifteen-year-old dog named Finn who's going deaf and blind and battling dementia. More often than not, I suspect that being privy to his innermost thoughts would freak me the fuck out. Not to mention break my damn heart.

And then there's the mode of communication: not just just verbal, as we're used to, but all-encompassing: "sight, smell, taste, touch, and sound." Think pheromones, sound waves, scratches and ticks. The beating of countless tiny wings, all bombarding your brain and trying to tell you something. That kind of thing, coming at you uninvited and from all directions, is apt to drive a person mad. And it does, as evidenced by zooflu sufferers who stuff their orifices with whatever's handy to block incoming stimuli - or, at the more extreme end, the pseudo-religious trepanners who invite strangers to drill holes in their skulls in a misguided attempt to relieve the pressure.

Talking to animals sounds like the stuff of dreams - but in McKay's hands, it's a nightmare.

And a pretty trippy one, at that: fittingly, the incoming messages that Jean's left to decode aren't quite what you'd call straightforward. There's a lot of translation required, and Google hasn't yet caught up:

I’m reading her body like some language I barely remember from a high school textbook. Bonjour madame, connaissez-vous le chemin de la gare? Let’s go to the station. Or, where the hell is the supermarket? I can parrot the words, but the meaning is in scraps.

Copies of this book should be sold with a sheet of acid, or maybe some edibles. I kid, but also not.

If, like me, you assumed that increased understanding and compassion would surely spring forth from this newfound ability to communicate with nonhuman animals, you'd be wrong. While some people do indeed embrace the flu, many others lash out: animal-free zones are established, and hungry citizens start hunting former pets, since they make for easy prey (apparently they've never heard of fruits and veggies?).

There's one especially excruciating scene that I don't think I'll ever be able to forget. Jean takes refuge in a makeshift church, only to catch a glimpse of how the missionaries make their sausage (stew):

A small fluffy dog has pelted out a kitchen door, thin bit of twine tangled around its legs, body blonde fire, screaming, Hello. Please. Please bite its soft. Quick. Help me. I jump up, calling the poor little bugger, but the parishioners shriek louder, climbing on their chairs like that dog is the snake from the garden of Eden. The woman rushes for her daughter and hauls her by an arm out of the room. It’s funny, for a second, until the laugh dies in my throat. The little dog, too tangled in the twine to move, slumps panting in the aisle. It’s not just m e. Where’s other me. She’s still — The god-botherers are faster than me. They grab that dog with WWF wrestling passion, using real lumps of wood, real knives. The little dog has enough time to issue a thick whiff of terror from its undercarriage, Help her, before they’ve slit it ear to ear right there in the pulpit. There was no blood with Lee. He didn’t even look that drowned. He might have come alive any moment. He might be alive right now in his grave. This little dog, though, is bleeding out on the beige carpet. The door to the kitchen is open. Matthew the soup cook leans on the jamb, then turns back. A fluffy tail on a chopping board. The steaming pots. Pain like a stab to my guts — he stirs a soup very much like the one he was serving up in the park.

Of course, this scene is so repulsive to most of us - Jean included - only because the animal being killed and consumed is designated for "companionship" instead of "food," at least in this particular culture. Chances are you've known and loved a dog or two yourself - and so the doomed beast transforms from a something to a someone. Not an unfeeling object to be used and discarded at will, but a sentient creature with her own feelings, desires, and loved ones. Had it been a chicken or pig, the result wouldn't be quite so horrifying; Jean herself eats meat, and justifies doing so, on several occasions.

Yet an earlier scene - in which Jean comes upon an abandoned tractor trailer truck packed with pigs destined for slaughter - will hopefully challenge readers to expand their circle of compassion:

I’ve seen battery hogs before — of course I have. But not out and about. Not staggering around and trying to walk, calling to whatever they think is ‘more’. Glazed eyes that strain like they’ve never seen sunlight. Skin stretched over bodies fed to the point of bursting — something between swine and meat. Saw some animal liberationists on the street in the city one time, saying factory farms were the same as Nazi camps. I called them bloody racists too. The pigs clatter past me down the ramp, fucked-up eyes on the road ahead, calling, Hello is it more. Those animal nutters were wrong, but not in the way I thought. It’s not the same as the Nazis: that was us doing to us. What’s this? [...] A hurt sow sits on her haunches, then lies down on the verge, panting unevenly under the slathering sun. Another weaves blindly over the asphalt toward her, flies spinning around her head. They push their noses into each other. Send me a postcard, the sick one says. Postcard, indeed. What the fuck. I watch more closely. The meaning bright off that tight skin. All the little bits saying, Leave me, and, I’ll hear about it, and, Don’t you see it. Move on. There’s more. The ones that can walk stretch their legs, for, More, more, more. I stand at the top of the truck ramp watching them break into a group trot toward the next paddock. Skin rippling. Hooves carolling. Know that heart-in-your-mouth run. Know exactly what ‘more’ is. I’ve seen it in Lee and I’ve had it too, at times. These pigs are half dead, they’re stumbling around, blind, mad, and fucking hopeful.

Even if many of the characters in this book resist the humanity clearly evident in nonhuman animals, I hope that readers will hold these passages close - especially at the dinner table.

Sue, our main nonhuman protagonist, is a fascinating character; like many of the semi-domesticated animals in the park, McKay paints her as a series of conflicting impulses: safety or freedom. Hunger or satiation. Dingoes or humans. She is fiercely loyal, much to her own detriment. She has wants and needs of her own, and she's often satisfied to set them aside for the good of her (adopted) pack.

And I guess that brings me to the second half of this review: the humans, most of whom are awful. Jean, exponentially so.

Initially I thought that Jean would be my people: she's a hard-drinking, mold-breaking badass broad who gets on better with animals than people. She has a mini-rescue in her backyard where she keeps some of the park's doomed relinquishments. (The public treats the park like a rehab facility when in fact it's in the business of entertainment - old, sick, injured, and "common" animals are routinely killed.) She and Kimberley spend their afternoons together designing the animal rescue they hope to build one day.

But Jean is kind of a terrible person. To call her a misanthrope is half the story: she's also senselessly mean and cruel, especially when drunk, hungover, or frustrated (in other words, 90% of the time). I don't fault Jean for her substance abuse problem - alcoholism is a mental health issue and should be treated as such - but nor is it an excuse for being such an asshole. (There's even a scene where she trolls people discussing the zooflu online, like a fucking American redhat.) She's shit to everyone around her, except for Kimberley and Lee (Lee, who could use a good ass-kicking).

And then there's Sue: Sue, who followed Jean across the damn country when she should have been settling into a dingo pack of her own. Sue, who found Kimberley and saved Jean's life. Sue, who is nothing but good and true and trustworthy. Sue, who Jean assaults on multiple occasions: kicking her in the ribs, binding her with rope to prevent her escape, and even trying to shoot her (with a gun that's thankfully empty of bullets). At one point, she "forgives" Sue for saving her life - as if Sue's the one who needs forgiveness!

Despite the abuse, Sue continues to stick by Jean's side, which galled me endlessly. Towards the end of the story, following the attempted murder, Sue gets revenge of a sort, dominating a delirious Jean and forcing her subservience. However, the book ends shortly thereafter, cutting any sense of satisfaction far too short.

I really felt cheated with Jean: I thought she might be my avatar in this world - but she's just another terrible human who doesn't deserve the company of animals.

Likewise, the whole subplot involving Kimberley's parentage is way over the top dramatic and unnecessary; it seemed like we were being plucked from a dystopia and dropped into a soap opera for a minute there. Just, gross. So yeah, there are definitely some aspects of the book that I appreciated more than others. THE ANIMALS IN THAT COUNTRY may be imperfect - but I'd still wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone looking to explore our relationship to nonhuman animals in a dystopian setting.

#books #reviews #book reviews #fiction #science fiction #dystopia #nonhuman animals #Laura Jean McKay #the animals in that country

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starkeristheendgame · 5 years

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Honestly, I don’t even know. I watched Teen Wolf again and got inspired. Enjoy.

WinterIronSpider.

TW: Kidnapping (non-explicit) | Accidental tape bondage | Tape burn?? |

There is a teenager in his bathtub.

A more accurate descriptor would be that said teenager is trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, his legs bound around the ankles, knees and thighs by thick rolls of duct-tape and his arms trapped to his body. A thick strip of black gleams at his mouth, reducing his panicked shrieks to high-pitched muffles.

The kid looked as surprised to see him as Tony was to see a taped up teen in his $2,000 Italian claw-foot, which, frankly, was ridiculous. Wide, tear-glassy doe eyes stared up at him and the kid squirmed, gazing at him with distrust.

Tony flicked the curtain back.

That was an issue for another day.

He was discarding his clothing when the bedroom door opened near silently. He’d have missed it, if it were not for the giant mirror that lined the left wall. Bucky looked suitably caught, freezing with a look remarkably not unlike the teen’s.

Speaking of.

“Did you know there’s a teenager in our bathtub?” He asked conversationally, turning to sit on the edge of his bed as he tugged at his tie, loosening it enough to draw it over his head. Bucky, predictably, wears an expression that clearly states he did.

He’s dressed in combative gear, the tactical kevlar lending him a formidable structure. The sheen of his metal arm was mollified by dark, rust-coloured blood and soot. His hair was a static mess, resting at his cheekbones like a horse mane. Tony sighed softly, and gestured towards the bathroom door pointedly.

“He saw me” Bucky rasped, looking non-plussed, as though he’d just stepped in a particularly fresh heap of shit. Tony lifted a brow steadily, meeting the iron gaze across the room.

“And that called for you to Mr. Grey him? Into our bathtub?” He asked sceptically. leaning back on his palms to eye his lover. Granted, Bucky was new to this whole...Functioning thing. But he’d thought they were past this. Whatever this actually was.

Barring a massive lawsuit and PR nightmare, of course.

“I didn’t...He’s not hurt” Bucky scowled back, the metal plates of his arm shifting and re-aligning as he flexed his hand. To anyone else, it was an impressive, rather terrifying display of strength. As it was, Tony rolled his eyes and stood, making his way back to the bathroom. He could sense more than actually hear Bucky following.

The kid jerked again when he swept the curtain aside. He wore what appeared to be a permanent mask of horror-confusion-surprise. It was rather endearing. Tony cocked his head, and then glanced over his shoulder at his lover, who lurked in the doorway with his trademark glower. The kid followed his gaze and - astoundingly - scowled straight back.

“And what, exactly, were you going to do with him after this?” Tony asked, gesturing to the immobilised form. The kid’s gaze jerked back up to him, horrified. As though he had just suggested they gut him there and then. Tony lifted a brow at the kid and gestured rather helplessly. “You can’t exactly stay here” he pointed out.

“You always told me to leave the ‘sorting out’ to you. I’m not allowed to sort out. My method of sorting out is ‘bad” Bucky quoted petulantly. Tony cast the child a can you believe this look and the kid shot back what sort of conveyed as I have no part in this.

“Usually, I’d agree. But what, my dearest, are we to actually do now, hm? We can’t kill him, because that goes against Moral Rule Number One. But you’ve also kidnapped him. Rather well, I might say. And that’s quite disagreeable, too. Because now we face a dilemma. Namely, because you kidnapped him”.

Bucky’s scowl got darker with each word, and the kid looked more and more like he was about to pass out. “I’m not allowed to kill them, I’m not allowed to torture them, now I’m not allowed to kidnap them” he muttered darkly. The kid made what could only be described as a desperate squeak.

“How about...Not getting caught in the first place, hm?” He suggested sardonically, folding his arms as he faced Bucky. The Solder narrowed his eyes at the form behind the billionaire.

“He’s not normal” he hissed, like an offended cat. Tony gave the man a pointed, deliberate once over. He had a vague impression of the look the kid would be giving them both, at this point.

“Arguably, I’d say he’s the most normal of everyone in this room, right now” Tony defended, glancing over his shoulder. The kid appeared to be stuck somewhere between confused and concerned. Nothing much new, then.

Bucky muttered something low and bitter in Russian and stalked forwards, the soft snick of a flip-blade audible in the room. The teenager immediately begun to struggle, a litany of angry, panicked sounds joining the force of his wide but blazing stare.

“If he breaks anything, you deserved it” Bucky announced, before he drove his arm down, sliding through the tape around the boy’s leg. When the boy recovered from what appeared to be heart-stopped fear, the effect was immediate. Bucky saw the kick coming a fraction before Tony did, only just managing to knock the kid by the ankle.

Unfortunately, it meant his $2,000 tub caught the kick. The lined porcelain gave a loud, ear-splitting crack and Tony watched in dismay as a chunk of it slid from the main body and crashed to the floor.

“That was a custom import” Tony informed the teen, who cast him a withering look in response from where he had twisted onto his side. Bucky had a firm hold of his leg, holding it aloft like the boy was some hunted fox. He looked as equally non-plussed as he did earlier, and Tony had the inkling that Bucky had been on the receiving end of such a kick earlier.

Perhaps that explained the excessive amount of tape.

“You know, that rather just adds to our issue” Tony pointed out. Unsettlingly, they gave him a simultaneous, withering stare.

As it turns out, the kid was remarkably, un-human-ly strong. Bucky had to sit on him to tape his legs back together, and the boy writhed and twisted like an angry snake at every second of it. By the time Bucky hauled himself back over the edge, he was suitably annoyed.

“So...What is he? Who is he?” Tony asked when Bucky had righted himself, both of them staring down at the teenager as though he were that invasive house spider that neither wanted to kick out.

“I don’t know. He was there when I was...Cleaning up. He almost put me through the window” Bucky huffed back, looking down at the flex of his arm. The kid was still scowling up at them, something defiant in the glimmer of his eyes. Tony wanted to laugh, really.

The infamous Winter Soldier, caught out by a child. But then...That left him with having to deal with this nonsense, and, really, that was less amusing. Tony let his arms fold as he sat on the edge of the tub and looked down at the kid.

“Obviously, we’re not going to kill you. But as you can imagine, this kind of awkward for us. Him especially, I would imagine” Tony begun, and he could feel more than see the absolutely obliterating glower that Bucky sent him. He had a feeling he would be making up for that later.

“Now, I’m a businessman. And I think we are at a stable place in terms of negotiations, y’know? I’m getting that vibe. So how about this; I’ll take the tape off your mouth, and we can see about making this...Go away, hm?” He asked, gesturing vaguely around the room.

The kid didn’t seem convinced, glancing between them almost pointedly. Tony supposed he could sympathise; it wasn’t every day you had a tall, dark and dangerous serial killer-cum-Avenger kidnap you and dump you in the local billionaire’s bathtub.

Then again.

“And, whilst we’re at it...Let’s throw a little non-violence rule in there. On both sides. You’ve got a mean swing. He’s got a meaner swing. And honestly? I’m too old for this sort of thing, these days. I’d rather not have to get all suited up to prove a point” he divulged. The kid was staring at him now, vaguely like he was the owner of three heads. But after a heavy, awkward pause, the kid nodded slowly.

“There we go, see? That’s how adults do this kind of thing. Presumably. I’m not an expert on underage kidnappings” Tony announced airily, twisting away from the kid to reach for Bucky’s hip, where he knew at least three knives were concealed. Bucky slapped his hand away and produced one from another magical compartment somewhere on hi opposite side.

The kid shrank away distrustfully, brows pulling and eyes widening as Tony came closer, but he held up his free hand placatingly. He supposed there wasn’t a whole lot he could do to make the kid feel safer. “Trust me, sweetheart. Of the two of us, I’m the one you want holding the knife” he soothed, and cut through the first wind of tape to the kid’s horrified expression.

Tony made quick work of it, deft flicks of the knife that had the kid’s legs falling apart and his arms shaking against his chest once they were free. Tony supposed they might be a little numb. He had, after all, no idea just how long the kid had been a bathroom ornament.

Tony leaned back, and the kid blinked at them for all of five seconds, mouth still taped, before one arm shot up, palm pressing flat against the tiles and then the kid just...Lifted. Kicking out of the tub with startling speed and agility. Tony yelled, knocked by a long, slender leg so that he twisted, tipping over and into the tub in an inelegant flail of limbs. He could just about catch a glimpse of Bucky streaking after the kid.

They stood side by side, arms folded and in a matching state of annoyed disbelief as they stared. Below them, the kid scowled up at them with ferocity. He’d made it all the way to the bedroom before Bucky had slammed him into the carpet, and he sported a dark, rosy rug burn across the left side of his face, the corner of his lip ever so slightly indented where he’d bitten it.

“Its not like I knew” Bucky begun, but Tony let his head loll to fix him with such a withering stare that the Winter Soldier stopped talking, turning to sullenly stare at their captive. His own right cheek was already blossoming with a nice, knee-shaped bruise, where the kid had got one back for the rug-face.

“I hope you realise that this Earth does not contain enough caffeine - nor prozac - for this” Tony informed them both tersely, reaching up to rub at his temples. As it appeared, Bucky had not only kidnapped a child, but an enhanced child. The little shit was worryingly strong, and quicker than either of them could’ve anticipated.

“How did you not notice this when you kidnapped him” he continued, pressing harder at the building headache. Bucky remained silent, in a clear sulk as he and the kid stared at each other with building venom.

They had collectively managed to wrestle the kid to the side of the bed, where Tony had shamelessly linked him up to the reinforced cuffs in the wall that they normally reserved for...Less...Well. This.

As it was, the kid huddles against the bed frame, mulishly eyeing them like an old, pissed off cat waiting to strike. His arms were up, draped across the top of the bed and pulled taught. Tony had taped his legs again. Heavily.

Christ. Pepper would have a fucking buffet with this.

“Alright, alright. I’m going to remove the tape on your mouth. And we can try this again, okay? Like people. Adults. I can’t let you go until I know you’re not gonna go spilling this at Boy Scouts, and I’d kind of like you to know neither of us are going to hurt you”.

He eyed the dark, angry pink.

“...More”.

“And if you bite me, so help me God. I’ll....Think of something” he finalised, approaching. He didn’t give the kid enough time to react as he reached out, fingertips pinching the corner of the tape and pulling hard to the side. It came away with a loud tearing sound, rivalled only by the high-pitched yelp of pain that the kid gave.

And...Well, fuck.

He was even cuter with a full face.

A wet, pink tongue parted his raw lips and laved over the lower one slowly as the kid tipped his head back, scowling at him from under a layer of thick lashes. His mouth was a dark pink, raw from the tape.

The kid’s jaw worked as he chewed at his tongue and leaned back, staring them both down defiantly. It took Tony almost a full minute to collect himself. Christ, the kid was, what, fourteen? Fifteen? And here he was, thinking of...

“So!” He announced suddenly, clapping his hands together. “Now that all of us are somewhat willing participants in this, lets get it settled. I, for one, want my bed. And a generous slug of whiskey, after this. Name the price of your silence, kiddo”.

The kid stared at him for several long, drawn out seconds. The expression on his face was one of distrust, of uncertainty. His tongue worked at his lower lip and his jaw flexed once more. Tony kept his gaze fixed to his eyes, for he knew he’d track the movement otherwise.

Of course, the kid could ask for his entire bank account. And...Tony would probably give it to him. It was nothing he wouldn’t make back in a matter of months - a year, at the most - but still. Or perhaps the kid would take ‘price’ as a non-numerical sum. Perhaps he would call in a favour, or an act.

The kid did neither of those. His dark, amber gaze slid past Tony, fixing on where Bucky lurked with a steely resolve.

“He kills people”.

Tony blinked. A voice that silken, that sweet, had no business existing. Especially not with such a pretty face. It was a killer combination, really. His voice was slightly rasped, slightly rough from lack of water and perhaps from screaming.

“Ah”. He clicked his tongue and looked over his shoulder, to where Bucky was standing. Closer than initially thought, but generally, that was nothing surprising. Bucky had a tendency to be looming over one shoulder or the other. To his credit, Bucky didn’t seem disturbed, merely staring back just as challengingly.

“Well, y’know. That’s kind of a...John Wick sort of thing. Or...I can’t think of any moves where they kill for good, so. Let’s just say he’s a morally encompassed John Wick. Although it does beg the question of why you were around the sort of person he was going after” Tony pointed out, arms folding.

“He was part of the team that....Did this to me” the kid whispered back, fingers flexing through the cuffs. Tony didn’t have to be a genius to figure out what he was referring to. There was no way anything about this kid was entirely human.

Especially if the footprint on Bucky’s jaw was anything to do by. Or the horrible, tragic death of his bathtub.

“Mm. That’s...Fair” he settled on, shuffling on the spot. Christ. That just made all of this...Worse. There was clearly some tragic backstory there, some awful storyline the kid had probably been seeking answers or vengeance to. At a glance, Bucky was clearly thinking the same thing, brows pinched and jaw working as he chewed his tongue.

Clearly, Bucky hadn’t known that.

The kid was back to staring with those wide, earnest eyes. Tony let out a groan and rubbed at his temples, before taking a seat on the edge of the bed, near the bottom. The kid tensed up, tucking back against the wall, and Tony found something in his heart cracking a little.

“Jesus, kid. This is messier than my PR after a night out” he sighed, and made a flippant gesture to Bucky. “Get him some water. And something to eat”. His gaze drifted down to the kid’s clothing. Messy. Torn. But changing him would mean uncuffing him.

Tony shifted, lifting his hips enough to drag the thick, faux-fur blanket from the bottom of the bed. It was the softest material money could buy, luxurious and a bitch to wash. He crouched to one knee, an arm from the kid, and held out the blanket. “I’m gonna put this on you, yeah? I’d appreciate if you didn’t kick my teeth out”.

The kid stared at him balefully, but didn’t move as Tony shuffled closer, folding the blanket over his tiny shoulders. Up close the kid smelt like blood and leather, like aftershave and something almost akin to perfume. He was small, up close, but the clothing could well be hiding lithe muscle.

Even Clint looked a little on the slender side, without those biceps bared to the world.

Tony moved away, and for a while they simply sat there, awaiting Bucky’s return. For the life of him, Tony couldn’t think of a perfect, immediate solution. On one hand, this kid was...Clearly enhanced. Clearly had the ability to be dangerous. Being kidnapped by Bucky was possibly not the worst thing to have ever happened to him.

Christ, this could be even bigger than just this. What if the kid wasn’t the only one? What if -

“I can hear you thinking” the kid stated with an unimpressed tone. When he looked up, the kid was staring at him, tucked down into the blanket for warmth. Tony snorted, but didn’t try to argue it. How could he not? He couldn’t walk away from this, now. Couldn’t in good conscious just toss the kid some bills and send him back out to whatever potential horrors awaited.

“He’s The Winter Soldier, isn’t he?” The kid asked after a moment, and Tony looked up in surprise. He was saved from answering by Bucky appearing in his peripheral, expression pinched and guarded. e held a large glass of water in one hand, and a small try on the other, filled with small portions of various foods.

“Yes” Bucky answered for him, approaching with silent steps and crouching at Tony’s feet, though he faced the kid. Tony automatically reached out, but remembered himself at the last moment and let the hand fall to his shoulder, not his hair. “You said they did this to you. Clarify” Bucky ordered, though gently, as he set the tray down.

He reached up then, past the kid to press his thumb to the scanner on the cuff of his right hand. It beeped and fell apart, releasing the kid’s wrist. He stared at it in disbelief and wariness, and Tony tensed, ready for him to try and fight his way out again. But then with a cautious glance at them both, he reached slowly for the water, and sniffed it, before sipping carefully.

“They used nuclear and molecular modification to weaponise and mutate the DNA of a spider species. I never found out which. They needed a test subject. I was walking home late, alone”. He sipped again, and Bucky glanced back at Tony, who sighed heavily.

Whelp. There officially goes the easy option of throwing a million at the kid and herding him out.

“Every time I plan a hot bath” he muttered, scowling as he double-tapped the arc reactor at his chest.

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