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rottenmarquee · 1 year

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So i made a script. Meant to be an audio so uh idk if it can work as text bcs it instructs you to close your eyes. Unfortunately, honestly just not a big fan of the concept and i dont want to record it. Its not bad, ig. Just i don't feel like it'd be fun to record, idk why.

Here it is. Yall are free to record or upload or whatever, i kinda just abandoned it. Is a less kinky one, just possession ig. I will try to make nsfw in the future but difficult to record due to living situations

Content and warnings : fear, possession, hypnosis, being pursued, restricted breathing/hyperventalating

Let's begin by feeling your own body weight sink down below you, weather it be into a mattress or couch cushions or otherwise. Feel your own body weight sinking down into it. With every passing second, your body feels a little heavier. And, so do your eyelids.

Feel your breathing slow down a bit as well, your body getting ready to go to sleep. And as your breathing slows, you find your eyelids starting to flutter open and shut. It is getting more and more difficult with each passing second to keep them open.

So you can let them close now, let them close and feel your mind sink down so deep as you do.

So deep, so gentle, an inky blackness overtaking your field of view.

And as i count from 10 to 1, you will relax more and more. And when I reach 1, you'll feel as if you have fallen asleep.

Sinking down

Dropping deep

Sinking so sleepily

More and more

Everything feeling so heavy

Halfway there

Feeling so pleasantly tired

Everything feels so exhausting

Almost there

Sleep for me

Sleep deep, deep, deep for me

Feel as if your mind is plummeting deep into darkness, tranquil and quiet darkness

And now, start to see a dim light

It gets closer and closer, taking up more and more of your surroundings until it engulfs everything

Everything is a little hard to see, a little blurry, but it soon it comes into focus

You are in a dimly lit hallway in a very old house.

The hallway seems to stretch on to infinity in either direction, and there are a countless doors lining either side. You smell the faint smell of old perfume and dust in the air, and the floorboards creak below your feet.

You walk for a few feet before turning to the door on your right and opening it. The door opens with a loud creak, and you enter a room. The room is too dark to see, and it is so cold inside this room that you start to shiver. You turn around to leave, and as you do, you feel two icy cold hands try to grab you.

Luckily for you, you are able to slip away at just the right time. You run out of the room and turn back. You could have sworn that you felt something grab you, but you do not see the ice cold arms that almost wrapped around your body.

It must have just been your imagination, there surely was nothing there. And yet, you can't shake the feeling that something is in the dark shadows of that room, watching you.

And as you stare deep into that dark room in anticipatation, you start to feel a lump in your throat and your eyes widen. You try to turn away, but you find yourself frozen in place. Your heart starts to thump so loud and so hard that you can feel it pounding. Your breathing starts to pick up in speed a bit as well.

And then, although you cannot see it, you feel a cold hand reach out from the shadows and touch your arm. Immediately, you start running. You run as fast as you possibly can, doing everything to get away from that room. You hear footsteps behind you and they seem to slowly be catching up to you.

You run and you run, your legs starting to go numb with exhausted and your breathing has gotten even faster. You soon find that this hallway has no turns or corners, that it simply continues on forever. If you want to lose your pursuer, you are going to have to go inside another room.

And so you take a sharp turn to your left and bolt towards the nearest door. You do not know exactly where your pursuer is in relation to you, but you hope that you have enough time to reach and open the door before you are caught. You grab the doorknob of the closest door to you and twist it.

The door is locked. You start to panic more, frantically looking around for another door to try. but before you can think, you feel those ice cold arms wrap around you, trapping you in place.

The arms feel frail, but somehow strong enough to keep you securely trapped. Your pursuer appears to be invisible, and their bony embrace starts to dig into you whenever you try to get away.

Then, you start to hear a your captor speak. It speaks softly, and you can feel its cold breath as it speaks.

"You have no reason to fear" they say, "you don't even need to think right now"

Your body involuntarily starts to relax. You do not have a choice, your body simply loosens. You stop hyperventilating, your breathing slowing.

It speaks again.

"Relax and give in for me. It is going to be okay. I am not going to hurt you. There is just something that I want from you"

You try to fight it, but you can't. Your facial muscles start to loosen, your eyelids start to feel heavy, and your resistance starts to melt away.

As this happens, you start to feel something enter your body in a way, as if your body is absorbing something. You feel some sort of energy flow into your body, something alien and unnatural. As it flows into you, you can feel as if you have less and less control of yourself. You are rapidly losing control, and all you can do is let it happen. The bony embrace keeping you in place starts fading inward, as if it is fusing with you. As this continues to happen, you feel yourself take a backseat in your own body. You feel as if you are finding a quiet space in your mind, a place to lie dormant as your body is possessed by a new soul.

You feel your arms and legs moving out of your control. You look at your hands and down at your feet before walking forward, walking down the long, dark hallway. All you can do is watch it happen, your body no longer under your control.

You feel fuzzy and relaxed, unable to really grasp the severity of your situation. You drift off, off into a peaceful slumber while your body acts out of your control.

And now, the dream is starting to end. You are now waking up, feeling your eyes open once again. And as i count from 1 to 5, youll wake from this dream, regaining control of your body.

1, feeling yourself drift towards wakefulness

2, feeling your body get less heavy

3, becoming aware of your surroundings

4, filling with energy

And 5, wake up and open your eyes, and have a nice rest of your day

#minors dni #hypnosis #hypnotized #hypnokink #mind control

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angelsinflight · 2 years

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Vanitas’s Story

[Copied from the Kingdom Hearts Character Files official release.] [Master Post here ] [Photo, Info, and Thoughts under the cut.]

“Vanish into the Blue”

Empty creature from Ventus riven. . . To you, the name Vanitas shall be given.

What do you think I am to you? Who do you think I am? I’m the darkness, and that’s why you can all exist as light. Isn’t that right? And I’m both you, and not you. Bet you never imagined you had darkness within you, huh? But darkness is everywhere. Look, it’s even right there at your feet. Your shadow. The stronger the light, the blacker its shadow becomes. And that shadow lurks at your feet.

Right after I separated from you, I was left standing alone in the Badlands. In that place near the Keyblade Graveyard, there were faint traces of a battle.

Right from the moment we separated, I knew how I came to exist. Because I was a mass of darkness from a heart– a vessel for negative emotions.

In the Badlands with its fiercely blowing wind, I clenched my fists and closed my eyes at that feeling resembling pain. Then a black shadow emerged from behind me. When I looked up, the shadow’s red eyes glowed, and it turned into a monster.

I stretched my hand toward it, and the monster pranced around me like a playful kitten. I swung my Keyblade down at the being– an Unversed– that had just been born and was like me. The Unversed vanished without a word.

Unversed– meaning ones who aren’t well versed in life. What the heck does that actually mean? Whether there’s a meaning to it or not has nothing to do with me. This monster was both me and not me. Hey, isn’t that like me and you? I don’t care which one is the real deal.

I wonder how much negative emotion there is in this world. If you think anger and hatred are the only negative emotions out there, you’re wrong. There’s sadness, loneliness, uneasiness, jealousy, anger. But they all feed into hatred.

Feel hat. Feel anger. Why not hate your own existence, too, while you’re at it? You experienced it too, didn’t you? You hated yourself. I hated you–Ventus. And I tried to absorb you and then disappeared for a while.

Was it you I hated? Or maybe it was me? It doesn’t matter anymore.

And I disappeared once, but now I’m back, being used by someone again. Seems like just forcing me to exist wasn’t enough for Xehanort. I hate Xehanort, I hate Ventus, I hate all the rest of you, I hate the world, and now I’m disappearing again. That’s how I chose to live.

I don’t need to know which is light and which is darkness. Not just light, not just darkness. We decide what we are. I lived on my own terms.

I came from the void and am returning to it.

What’s the void? It’s neither darkness nor light, more like an abyss. Good night, Ventus.

——————————————————————————————————– Just uploading scans of the character files pages is making it hard to read, so I’m trying to copy things over for my friends abroad who aren’t able to get ahold of the book, as well as hopefully making them more accessible to people who use screen readers.

HMMMMMMM.

Since it’s in this last photo:

Vanitas’s Keyblade

Name Unkown The sinister Keyblade Vanitas wields. The design of the incomplete gear accentuates the weapon’s ominousness. There’s another Keyblade with the same shape called Void Gear, but the name of this one is unknown. What could the eye decorations be glaring at?

WAIT? So this *isn’t* void gear??? I thought??? Idk what I thought really. I am confusion. . . .

#vanitas #kingdom hearts #character files #kh3 #ventus

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years

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νοσταλγία (Chapter 2)

(Gif credit to @dangerousvikings)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: As usual, mentions and descriptions of blood, death, torture, injury and people being burnt alive. Mentions or allusions to rape. If there’s anything else I didn’t mention, please let me know. Fair warning that the Reader Character may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but please give her a chance.

A/N: After this chapter is up I’m gonna wait to see if anyone actually reads this lol, and then jsut stick to weekly uploads (maybe twice a week? idk). I would love to hear back from you if you’re reading this or you like it. Even if you don’t, I’d love to know how I can get better! Thank you for reading, and hope you enjoy!

You can feel his eyes on your face as he watches you, and the weight of his stare makes a strange warmth, a strange familiarity, curl at your chest and stomach. To distract yourself from such thoughts, you try offering him a smile.

“Good news, you won’t lose your hand,” You joke weakly, “By grace of…Eir, is it?”

His eyebrows lift, the surprise evident before he schools his features, “You know of the Gods?”

“Hmm,” You reply as you tear a piece of cloth to bandage the now clean wound. “I know of your Gods, but I follow my own.”

“And what do your Gods do?”

You frown at the strange question, but regardless answer honestly, “There’s many Gods, I was…born into the cult of the Gods of the Dead.”

“Born?” He asks, a frown in his own face that speaks of the irreverence of wanting to question your beliefs, but you do not take offense. Being raised by a follower of Freyja does take away the bite of talking about the Gods like they are nothing but tales.

“My mother was a woman of the Gods, and when she was to have me, she had a dream I was to be born in Eleusis, a city tied to the Goddess of Spring. During my naming ceremony, the Elders of the city said I was fated to be her follower.”

“What does the Goddess of Spring have to do with the Dead?”

You relay the same answer you were given as a child, when you were innocent and wide-eyed and in your mind she was only a Goddess of flowers and warmth. That you now know the truth of who Persephone is and who you are to be different is only a detail.

“In my home spring is tied to rebirth. Death and return to life.”

“You hesitated,” He notes, eyes narrowed. You think you catch a silver of genuine curiosity behind his mask, behind the taunts. “What’s the truth?”

Silently damning his blue eyes for the way they see your bones beneath and call out when you fail to be the Anassa your people need, you sigh.

“She lives by two realms; she is Goddess of Spring and Queen of the Dead.” You explain finally, shrugging your shoulders.

“Why not say it, then?”

“She was tricked into becoming the wife of the God of the Dead, many elders in my homeland think it an affront to recognize that title.” You explain, the words leaving a bad taste in your mouth. You take a sip from the cup of milk by your table to dispel it.

“But do you believe that?” The King asks, no tease or mirth on his voice. You are surprised, stunned into silence, and it may show in your expression, for he adds, “Answer me.”

“I…no, I don’t see it as an insult. When I was…when I was the Priestess in charge of rituals, I honored her descent as much as her rising. It was…frowned upon by the others.”

“Well, lucky for you, they are probably all dead now.” The Viking states dryly, but his words still manage to startle a laugh out of you.

You cover your traitorous mouth with your hand, eyes widened and internally chastising yourself for mocking the dead. Still, for a fleeting moment, the small but proud smile he bears at making you laugh makes the guilt lessen.

You lower your eyes to your finished work, even if you still keep your hold on the Viking’s hand. You let your mind drift as you look down, and when you blink yourself into attention, you find your treacherous fingers absently tracing around the edges of the bandage in his palm.

“I saw you,” He says suddenly, and you raise startled eyes to catch sight of his tongue peeking at his lower lip. Leaning even closer, he looks into your eyes like he did on that battlefield, like he can ignore everything and see the chaos underneath your skin, “In the battlefield, I saw you.”

“I know,” You whisper back, enthralled by his eyes that burn like Greek Fire, “Is that why you are here?”

He smiles, lowering his head a bit and looking to the side, a gesture that, if you didn’t know who you were talking to, you would confuse as a display of bashfulness.

But when he returns his gaze to you, you realize you were right. A faint blush covers his sun-kissed cheeks, and you find yourself smiling back, your heart rushing to a fast pace.

“Can you blame me?” He looks down at his now bandaged hand, and you follow his gaze to watch his hand close in a loose fist and open again. “I had to-…”

“To what?” You press when he stops his words, but the King seems to shake himself out of his stupor, and with a small shake of his head he returns more centered eyes to you.

“I have to go soon.” He states, but doesn’t move to leave, and neither do you, even as you reply quietly,

“So do I.”

“What is your name?”

You shake your head with a small laugh, “I don’t give away my name easily, I’m afraid.”

The Viking frowns at your words, affronted and stubborn, “Why not?”

“Would you desist if I asked you to trust a witch’s words?” You ask, although you already know the answer.

Standing up, you smile when you hear his simple response.

“No.”

You walk to the cloak you kept by the door, and turn around to face the King, who still sits closer to the candle light.

“Well, you will have to.”

“But you know who I am, why can’t I know who you are?”

“You know who I am, I am a Priestess of the Attic Greeks. And you are a Viking King from Norway,” You reply quietly, without hesitation. After a few breaths of silence, where your eyes and his meet, you add, “Names complicate things, make them real. And real things are dangerous things.”

There’s a reluctant smile on his lips as he says, “You are a strange woman, Priestess.”

“I have been called worse.” You shrug, taking advantage of the movement to put the thin cloak over your shoulders.

Turning around, you find his head slightly bowed down and his mouth curved in a smile your foolish, foolish heart clings to.

Lifting his gaze to yours again, he nods a goodbye, “Priestess."

You return the gesture, a smile of your own, “Viking.”

____

The Varangians granted Stithulf permission to take his dead within the walls to perform the proper rites, and for once you choose not to question your luck.

Pointed to an area near the walls, you walk to the piles of corpses, and you feel something within you break at the sight. It is not the lifeless bodies being thrown like animals in a heap, nor the smell of rust and death, or the lifeless eyes still looking up at the Gods for salvation.

It’s the blood.

The blood that still flows, albeit sluggishly, viscously. The blood that taints the ground with pain and death. The blood that coats your hands, even if you have not yet touched a single body.

When your stomach turns and you stumble to a stop, emptying your guts on the cold ground that silently weeps with the blood of your people, you can only hope Vikings and Saxons alike confuse your tears of pain with tears of weakness of a priestess sick with the sight of blood, and not a woman witness of the death of her people.

Because even if your heart refuses to believe so, there’s countless Greeks forgotten in some field somewhere, ambushed and assaulted for the choices you made, for the mistakes you made. And they won’t ever have the drachmas pressed in their eyes or hands so that they may cross to the Underworld, they won’t have even a handful of dirt covering their body so that the Dread Lord may welcome them in his home.

“Move them, take them away from the Christians,” You motion for one of the meek girls that in another life would have become a Hiereia like you. “I’ll sooner bite into the fruit of the dead before I let my people’s bodies rest alongside Christians’.”

A couple of Greeks are assisting in the funeral rites of the Greeks that perished, and as you oversee their work, you catch sight of Leofric, Stithulf’s trusted man, looking at you with nothing short of disgust in his eyes.

You try to hold his gaze, but the strange shine in his eyes makes you uncomfortable, like an invisible hand runs over your skin, and you lower your eyes, feeling shame choke you.

It is late in the evening when you are done with the rites, and you sit before a hearth tending and storing dried lavender.

“You heard what Stithulf did to the survivors.” Sieghild states, not even a question as she takes a seat next to you.

You nod, wondering faintly how a gesture so simple is supposed to explain it all. Your failures, your hopes, your guilt, your pain.

“It wasn’t Stithulf’s axe still embedded in Alexios’ skull, mother.” You point out, because anger is easier than pain, because wrath is easier than grief. Your eyes go to your mother and the sight of the pendant with the Troll Cross etched on it makes your chest tighten.

“Don’t dismiss what the presence of the sons of Ragnar does for you here,” She corrects bluntly, the rough edge of the shieldmaiden that waded through pain and blood to survive, “Leofric had every intent of forcing your hand and making you bury them like Christians,” Her lip curls in disgust at the word, “But they fear them more than the wrath of their God, it seems.”

You allow yourself a small snort of what once would have been laughter, ignoring the silver of stupid curiosity and carelessness that makes you wish you could talk to the Viking again.

Instead of voicing such thoughts, you return your mind and your soul to the battle that passed, and asked what has plagued you for days now,

“Have they found Narses?”

“…No.”

“He loves you,” Sieghild states as she passes you the bowl of stew. You take a deep breath and pointedly look down, as if you search for answers in the flavored water. “I would kill that boy if I had a chance, but…he does believe in you, he does love you.”

“I know.” You offer weakly, biting down shame and regret.

“And he clings to every word that leaves your lips, little one. You know this too.”

After a deep breath, you feel brave enough to meet her green eyes, “I know how to fight Slavs, mother. Better than any Athenian I know how the raiders wage their wars.”

“And why not speak out, little one?”

“They won’t listen to me.”

“But Narses…” She leaves the words hanging between you, and you swallow thickly.

“They listen to him.”

“And you make him listen to you, promising love in return for subservience,” She finishes darkly. After a breath, the Varangian sighs, “This will only bring forth pain, little one.”

“The death of my people would bring a greater pain than a lie.”

And now you have witnessed both the death of your people and the end of your lie. The bonds of marriage and the bonds of lineage are cut and lay broken on the same place the last of the Attics have found their end.

“I never deserved to be their Anassa.” You croak out instead with a frail smile that is more of a grimace, unable to keep your eyes away from the fire, even if they burn with tears and light.

“Did you ever want to be?” The shieldmaiden scoffs, but after a few moments of silence her gruffness gives way for a compassionate hand on your knee. Her voice is quiet, her face turned to yours even if you still face ahead with guilt and shame, as she speaks, “Past deserving, past your legacy, past their hopes…do you want to be their queen, little one?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does,” She promises with the certainty of a woman with four decades on this earth, and yet with the comfort of the strange warrior that taught you to heal your own scrapes and bruises, and the steel of the shieldmaiden that traveled the world with nothing but faith in her Gods and herself. Her hand is rough when it cups your cheek, turning you to face her, “Do you want to be their Anassa?”

You offer your mother a small, sad, and ashamed smile, “I don’t know.”

“You do know, but…maybe you are not ready to make that choice.”

“For once, mother, I would love it if you gave me answers instead of more questions.” You grumble, hiding your face in your arms. You hear Sieghild laugh, warm and hearty as always, and you cannot keep the smile from your lips.

“I don’t have any answers, little one. I have been alive for quite a while, but there’s some things that are…at the hands of the Gods,” She remains silent for a while, and it is only after a small thoughtful hum leaves her lips that the shieldmaiden speaks again, “I will find some answers.”

“What are you talking about?”

You lift your head to face her, and find the familiar roots of Yggdrasil on her face and the determined green eyes of the woman that raised you.

“Nothing yet. But I will find answers soon, I…have some questions of my own.”

____

The next day you watch silently as the Varangians are once again brought to talk with Stithulf. You wonder what they are asking for, either of them, that makes this possible. Scarcely have you heard of Saxons and Vikings cooperating, it would be as strange as having Byzantines and Arabs discussing around a table.

Then again, you never heard of Greeks finding death on Scandinavia, so maybe Galla was right and the Gods are somewhere laughing at all this chaos.

A Greek spy takes a seat at your side on the outside of the small hut you have been…caged in for the majority of your time. The woman is not older than Sieghild, but carries the weight of years. Or maybe of loss, who knows.

“The Varangians make these Christians uncomfortable.”

“Considering the only reason we are here is because the Christians want revenge on the sons of Ragnar, I am not surprised,” You tell her, and after a moment of consideration, add, “When the Varangians take their leave back to Dublin, do you know if they will do so by sea or land?”

“My time as a spy is long over.”

You hear the meaning behind her words. With Galla dead, who worked as the leader of your spies and scouts, there’s not much guidance for her people to go on.

The absence of Galla weighs heavy on your heart, even heavier than Narses’. She was the most cunning and intelligent woman you have ever met, your friend, your confidante, your trusted advisor. She was at your side for so long that not seeing her form approaching from the shadows, not having her dark eyes meeting yours with a silent meaning in them, not hearing her laugh as she startles you after approaching quietly; it feels like an empty space growing somewhere within you.

With her in mind, you recall, “Someone I once knew told me once our eyes grow used to shadows, we cannot ignore their lure.”

You offer her a small smile, that she begrudgingly returns. The woman adjusts in her seat, resting her elbows on her knees and looking ahead at the distant center of the city.

“They will go by sea, Anassa. I have heard plans of having…ka-tte-gat’s navy return to their home soon, but not before stopping in Dublin.”

“Good. I want to take advantage of that,” At the question written in her eyes, you shrug, “I want you to talk to the remaining Greeks, we will leave by land the day the Varangians are to set sail.”

“Why? Where?”

You stand up from your seat, hugging the cloak tighter to your body and prepare to enter your cold and foreign little hut again, giving the brunette spy one last glance,

“My people may die at the hands of Christians, but never under their boot. We will return home, or as close to it as we can get.”

You enter your rooms and it is then that the pretend fortitude, the certainty you do not have, the failure and the hope, they all curl around your body like starving snakes, pressing the air out of your lungs and making you falter.

Your fingers close around the amulet your mother left for you. A gift from your father to her. The symbols in the back of it are familiar letter that bring up a sense of nostalgia in you, engraved in your mind before you even knew how to read them.

Bend to the Fates, but don’t let them break you.

_______

Hi, thank you for reading and getting to the end! Would love to hear back from you, especially bc I kinda need to know if anyone actually is interested in this to set up an upload schedule. Thank you so much, hope you enjoyed!

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #vikings imagine #vikings #νοσταλγία #νοσταλγία masterlist

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theonetheycallhannah · 4 years

Text

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 14: No Call No Show

Characters: Shane Benton (OFC), various other original supporting/secondary characters

Summary: We find out where Shane went Monday after work and exactly why she hasn’t been responding to any attempts at communication…and unfortunately, she’s not just taking some “me time.”

Want to reminisce about when this was just a happy little fluffy romance? Return to chapters past, or look at my other smutty drabbles here!

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: SHANE FIGHTS BACK, BUT DEFINITELY GETS HER ASS KICKED, SO FAIR WARNING, IT’S VIOLENT. Language, mature themes, emotional abuse, mention of narcotics (morphine), vomiting, foreshadowing and mention of potential future violent/non-con/dub-con activities, but if those acts occur, they will not be portrayed on the page, but rather between chapter or section breaks, so don’t worry. Also, I use the “R” word, but not to discuss non-con, but rather to add an educational note about why one should yell “fire” when one is being assaulted. Basically no Sy material whatsoever, but he’s mentioned, so I’m tagging it as such! Shane being somewhat blasé about her mortality. I really don’t want to trigger anyone, so please read with caution or wait until you emotionally are ready to deal with our girl going through the shit.

Author’s Note: Really REALLY nervous about this one. This is not the resolution you are looking for, my friends. In fact, it’s not a resolution, at all. Lol. I foresee many people disliking this chapter for some reason or another. That’s actually okay. It’s not a chapter you’re meant to “like” per se. I don’t “like” it. I’m prepared for it to get very few notes, and I’m positioning it anyway. I think it’s some of my better writing, but I hated putting Shane through the ringer like this. It’s just one of those chapters you “get through.” And honestly, if you truly didn’t like it please give me feedback so I can improve and tweak. {For reasons other than “My beebeeeeee!” or “never mention anything less than consensual ever again kthxbye” because a) of all, MY beebee too, and b) of all, that’s what warnings are for and why they should be read.} That being said, I hope it at least tides you over until the next chapter. At least you know where she is…not that THAT’S a big relief under the circumstances! Lol!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland (apparently deactivated, idk what’s up with that)

@speakerforthedead0

@tumblnewby

@suavechops

@radkesgirl83

@wheretheriversrunintothesea

@heartfelt-pen

@auds24

@geekycanuck

@lunarstarknight

@wilma-g

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

Previously, in Virginia…

"Shane left work Monday and hasn't been back since. No one has seen her. Apart from you, I presume. "

"I haven't seen her in about a week and a half. I'm training out of state for a job. I've been away from my phone since Monday, and I just got back to it now."

"She isn't…with you? I assumed…"

"Well, you know what they say, Susan. I'm coming back early if I can manage it. See if I can do something to help find her."

Three days earlier, in Missouri…

Shane blinked her eyes open to little avail. She couldn't tell where she was, other than what seemed to be the back seat of a fairly new-model large vehicle, like a Suburban or a Tahoe. She thought it was new because the new car smell was still overpowering the nicotine and tobacco odor of at least one of its occupants. She could also smell the sickly sweet stench of artificial cherry permeating the cabin. The source must be very close to her nose as she lay there helplessly restrained while the vehicle jostled down the road. The smell reminded her of the horrible liquid pain reliever her mother would give her as a child when she had a fever or leg pains. She had taken enough of it then to make her averse to most cherry flavorings as an adult. She wanted to retch.

She could also make out the faint glow of a dashboard lit with LED lights, brighter and softer than those of older models. But she soon had to shut her eyes again. Her head was throbbing and her memories were fuzzy. She remembered very little of Monday…was it still Monday? But she was trying to think, despite the pounding of many drums in her cranium where a brain should be.

She remembered staying at work late to finish notes. She remembered heading home…and she remembered forgetting her phone at her desk and deciding to turn around to get it…when suddenly she was surrounded by vehicles and unable to move without having an accident. Had she known the circumstances then, she would have tried to muscle through. The horrific events came flooding back in traumatic flashes like lightning, or the pulse of passing streetlights in an unfamiliar city.

She remembered…

The glass by her left ear shattered. A hooded, hulking figure reached in through the new opening, fumbling for the handle to open the door. She'd had the presence of mind to fight back there. To punch at the probing extremity. But the extremity hit back, landing a solid smack against her left cheek, stunning her for long enough that the cruel apparition found the unlock button, pressed it, and opened the door. She didn't go quietly. She fought like the hellcat her mother always told her to be. Her foot found the odd solar plexus and groin before enough dark nemeses arrived to overpower her. They dragged her away from her car and out onto the pavement of the church parking lot she'd used to turn around. She did not make it easy for them. She kicked and punched and tried to twist out of their grips like vices. She yelled "fire" as she was taught as a young woman, not knowing the men's intentions, but certain they weren't kind, and knowing that yelling "rape" was not always effective at summoning help. Either way, it didn't matter. She could have shouted anything. No one was near enough, or cared enough, to come to her aid. As soon as her soft hands hit the gritty pavement, though, the violence intensified. She lost count of how many times she got kicked in the back, stomach, ribs. One asshole even kicked her in the tit. She'd find out who that was and he'd find himself in a special brand of pain…if she ever got out of this alive. She heard them calling her awful names that she was sure she hadn't earned, and especially not from these guys. About six of them, she thought. She hardly knew six guys. She certainly didn't know six guys that would want her roughed up like this. She heard one of the men start to say "Come on, guys, we better save some for--" and with that, she blacked out to the tune of the distinct "thunk" of a wooden baseball bat making contact with the back of her head.

She wanted to forget…for it to be a terrible nightmare…to wake up.

But she was awake. This was a waking nightmare. The cold leather on her cheek was made colder by the harsh air conditioning blowing toward her from above and below. She shivered from the chill and from the terror she was trying to suppress. Where were they taking her? For what purpose? And for whom were they leaving parts un-bruised…though it didn't feel like it.

She finally felt them slowing, heard a turn signal clicking, the courtesy of which she applauded despite her position in the active abduction taking place, and felt the gentle displacement of her body toward the driver side, knocking her head into the door. A right turn. Not that it would matter too much, but at least when she escaped, and she made herself think "when" and not "if," she would know which direction to turn to get back to town.

The blow to the head had left her sensitive to light and sound. As she was yanked from the back seat, all she could see was the glow of a dusk to dawn light above them. Normally a soft, guiding light, this one just as well have been the sun itself the way it stung her tender eyes. She squinted against it, thankful as she never would have thought to be, when a shroud was placed over her throbbing head. She could still hear the power coursing through the bulb and fixture, though. Normally a dull hum, in the state she was in, it was as loud as accidentally switching your TV to the snow channel at full volume.

"Bring 'er inside." She heard an unfamiliar male voice say.

Two strong, ruthless hands grabbed her by the armpits, causing her to cry out in pain. Such a tender place to bear weight, and why even big strong Sy hated crutches…Sy. Would she ever see him again?

"Shut up, bitch, or we'll knock you out again." She believed them, and being fairly certain she had at least a mild concussion, she wasn't sure what a second blow of an indeterminate velocity might do to her brain. She dealt with the stabbing pain as the men dragged her across what sounded like gravel, then grass, then something hard and smooth, maybe the slabs of an old, sunken, and somewhat uneven footpath. Soon, she felt the pain of her knees hitting what she assumed were porch steps. One, two, three of them. She was trying to concentrate through the fog now setting in, and maintain consciousness. Paying attention to the sensations, she told herself, was not only helpful for that task, it might help her escape. Remember the scents, too, she reminded herself. She tried to shake off the nauseating cherry and cigarette stench from her olfactory glands and take note of the bouquet around her.

Burnt leaves…gasoline…engine grease…the tang of sappy, just cut firewood…straw…manure…this seemed to be a farm. With a barn nearby…perhaps with horses. She loved horses. If she could find a gentle horse in the night…escape might be easier than she'd anticipated.

Entering the house was a noisy affair. There was a metallic keening from the spring of an aluminum screen door. She imagined it had one of those big swirly cross beams like her grandma's used to have that she always though was supposed to resemble a butterfly. A heavier, wooden door creaked open as the three figures muddled their way in, and the floorboards protested, as well, at the weight of her captors. So, she thought, not only a farm house, but an old farm house.

"Where do you want her?" the man on her left asked into what she only knew as the void, so far.

"Take her to the cellar. I've got things set up down there." a familiar voice chuckled and growled. How did she know the voice? Was he a patient? She couldn't think of anyone she'd treated that would want her abducted and brutalized.

"You got it, E." Ugh, for some reason it bothered her when guys referred to each other by their first initials. Girls, no big deal. But bros…there was something so thoroughly douchey and…familiar about it all…

"Hold on." the man called "E" said, and she heard footfalls approaching her. As he got closer, she smelled…patchouli and incense…and the sea…and it brought back a rush of pain from past trauma followed by literal pain from his punch to her gut. She hadn't been expecting it. Obviously. The wind had been taken out of her. Literally and figuratively. She did know this man…all too well.

"We've got some catching up to do, sweetheart." the pet name dripped like venomous honey from the tongue of the snake before her.

"Elliot." it wasn't a question. She coughed the name out like a pill that had gone down sideways.

Her escorts continued their transportation of her prone body to its destination…she didn't want to think FINAL destination, but the more she learned about her situation, the more she worried that she wouldn't make it out alive.

They had to get creative in carrying her down the narrow staircase to the cellar. They argued for a moment about who would take the top half and who would go backwards.

"How about the one who takes my top half goes forward and the bottom half goes backward?" These idiots. Where did Elliott find clowns like this who needed to be told by their prisoner the best way to sort out their domestic dispute.

She thought she felt them shrug, and silently take her advice as she felt herself being lowered down the stairs, feet first, panic threatening to overtake her restrained limbs.

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, they stood her up to remove her shroud, and cut the zip ties from around her ankles and wrists. She then noticed a small cell that reminded her of the ones in the sheriff's offices in some westerns she'd seen. She started to freak out, anticipating her future in that horrid place.

"Guys, please. No. Please don't do this. I don't know what Elliott's told you about me, but I'm a good person. I don't deserve this. I have a job and friends and a family who will worry sick about me. I am begging you to let me go. Please!"

"You're wasting your breath, lady." one of the men said, gruffly.

"PLEASE!" she appealed, desperate to get through. "Don't you guys have wives or girlfriends? Mothers, sisters, aunts, or female cousins? What if a woman you cared about was in this situ---" and before she could finish the question, one of the men punched her for what felt like the thousandth time tonight. She fell to her knees, vomiting. And the world went black again.

~~~~~~~

There were no windows. There was no clock. There was just a small twin mattress in one corner of the cell, and a bedside commode in the other. As accommodations went, it was hardly a Hilton, but it could have been worse. It was all lit by a 60-watt bulb in one of those hanging fixtures her dad had always called a trouble light situated on a hook on the side of one of the exposed joists outside the cell. He'd had a similar one for the longest time. He and mom will be worried sick before long, if they aren't already, she thought. The light was aptly named for these circumstances she was in. Trouble. A heap of it. And no idea of how to get out of it.

And honestly, no idea why Elliott would want her here. How he could do such a monstrous thing as having her kidnapped. How he came to live in this place when he never worked a day in his life. She was so confused. She hoped at the very least, he'd give her answers before he murdered her, if that was his plan.

She had woken up on her side, almost her stomach, with her right cheek on the scratchy surface of the bare mattress. Whoever put her to bed had been wise to position her like this given the likelihood that she might puke again. She noticed a small bucket, presumably for that purpose, next to the mattress. There was a caseless pillow next to her head, but she hadn't found that comfort during her nap of…she couldn't tell how long. Not that it mattered. The more she slept, the less time she'd have to process this horror movie she was currently living out.

She heard the door open at the top of the stairs and Elliott shout at one of his flunkies, "What do you MEAN you didn't get her phone?" a pause while indistinct words came from said flunky across the room, or maybe the house. "Well, find it. Tear that piece of shit Explorer apart if you have to. I want that phone." She took exception to her sweet little Norah getting called a piece of shit. That was her Millennium Falcon. And yes, she'd gotten flack for naming her Norah the Explorer, but she didn't care.

Elliott stomped down the stairs, grinning the most infuriatingly happy grin she'd ever seen on him. She wanted to maul him. To tear those stupid eyes out of their sockets with her own fingernails. But she controlled her anger and resisted even acknowledging his greeting of "Hey, sweetheart."

She ignored him.

"It's good to see you."

Silence.

"I missed you."

She stared right through him.

"I heard you and that meat head soldier broke up."

She scowled at him.

"There she is. There's my girl."

"I'm not your girl, Elliott, and I haven't been in years. Why am I here?" She broke. She couldn't take it.

"We'll get to that why soon enough. First, let's talk about why you and Cap'n Crunch are no longer breakfasting together? Soggy cereal? Limp toast? Was he letting you leave the table unsatisfied?"

"As if you ever satisfied me when we were together." She spat back, calling Elliott out on his notorious selfishness in all aspects of life and relationships.

"I've changed."

"Bullshit." she rolled her eyes.

"It's true!" he insisted. "I can give you references."

"I honestly don't give a shit. We're not together. Sy and I are. Happily. And you better let me go soon. He was expecting me at his place after work. He's probably out looking for me right now." she lied. It was worth a shot.

"Now it's my turn to call bullshit, because I know that isn't true." He looked at her with that patronizing stare he had.

"You don't know shit, Elliott."

"I know that your boy took off over a week ago for Virginia and hasn't come back, at least not the way he left. I believe he's supposed to be gone at least a few weeks. Maybe a couple of months. He wasn't sure at last report."

She was literally willing him to burst into flames before her. Her gaze revealed her hand.

"Told ya. You think you're the only one with connections at the fort? I've got me a sweet little sergeant who works in ATC over there. She can out-squat anyone else on base…and let me tell you, it shows." he lifted his eyebrow, lasciviously.

"You disgust me."

"Why? You never seemed to mind my…sexy imagination." he winked at her.

"No, I'm happy that you're getting it good on the regular from an ass that won't quit. But come on. You clearly only got with this girl because you thought it would give you the upper hand against me."

"Well, that's very self-absorbed thinking."

"Really, Elliott? Do you see where we are right now?" they looked around at the dank cellar and he shrugged, unable to deny or rebut. "And this woman. Does she know about this little scheme?"

He gave her one of his more evil grins. "Who do you think kicked you in the tit?" Okay…she was new levels of pissed off now.

"Why…the actual FUCK am I here, Elliott!?"

"Well, Shane, you embarrassed me with that little stunt at the bar a few weeks ago. You thought you were hot shit, parading your sasquatch of a boyfriend around in front of me, in my town, humiliating me as all of my friends watched. And then that dickhead sucker punched me in the parking lot. I shoulda pressed charges. But him being a veteran, I knew how that woulda gone in this town. I didn't have a snowball's chance. So I waited. And I planned. And I was patient. And I watched for my moment. And it finally came. I've been watching you leave work every night for the past week, and you're always with someone, or headed somewhere else, or going straight home. Last night…last night I knew was the night when you didn't leave until after 7. You were the last one out, and I knew that it had to be then. The plan, not that you need to know, is to plaster your social media with humiliating photos, piss off everyone that you love, including your precious Sy, and alienate everyone you've ever cared about until you're miserable and alone."

Shane was crying now. She thought she might be sick again. She reached for the bucket. The delusion of this man thinking that anyone in that bar besides maybe the ones that were there with him that night gave a shit about him. Thinking that the town was his. He was a nobody there. He hadn't grown up there, he didn't work there, he didn't participate in community events. He was kidding himself if he thought anyone cared enough about him that he should feel shame over her relationship with Sy, especially five years after their relationship with each other had ended.

"How's that for a 'why,' sweetheart?" he boasted.

"It's making my ask myself a lot of questions. Like why I ever agreed to go out with you all those years ago. Why I didn't see the signs that you were a psychopath sooner. And why I put up with your terrorism for so long thinking you'd ever really change. I can't believe I ever slept with you, you absolute barbarian." and she heaved into the bucket, non-productively. She hadn't eaten since lunch, and that had to be well over twelve hours ago.

"Well, ya did. And ya can't change the past. But I'm about to take your future into my hands. As soon as we find your phone, we're gonna have us a ball, little girl."

"You honestly think I'll cooperate with any of that?"

"You won't have a choice." he held up a little glass vial. "Morphine. A tiny dose of this stuff, and you'll do anything I tell ya."

"Please. Just let me go now, and I won't press charges. I won't go to the cops, at all. I'll call in to work with a headache, or something and you can live your life with Sergeant Squats and we can leave each other alone."

"A good offer, but I need to get something out of this. I need my pride back."

"And you're gonna get that by dragging me through the mud online from my own Facebook account? Is that really the way you wanna do this? When you could just show me what a great life you've built for yourself. This is a great place here, it seems, I mean, I only smelled it, and felt how big it was while I was getting dragged around the place. But, Elliott, if you had just told me about all this, I would have been happy for you!"

"This place is Sasha's."

"Oh." she grasped for something, anything to make him see how insane he was being without saying the words. "Well, I'd still have been happy for you finding an established woman with a great job. Why couldn't you have just written me a letter telling me that? An email! Something."

"This is how it's getting done, Shane. Because this is the only way that truly ruins your life in the process. Because at the end of all of this, the backlash is going to be too much for you, and you're not going to be able to handle this life anymore…"

"No. Elliott, no."

"Yes. You're gonna take one last hit of the morphine and drive that shitty Ford right into the lake."

"You used to care about art. About beauty. You used to be sensitive. You used to have a soul. What happened, Elliott? What happened to your humanity?" Shane asked, crying, in mourning for the man he used to be. The one that she used to care for.

"I fell in love. And she broke my heart. And nothing has been the same."

"Elliott, I didn't mean to…"

"Oh, fuck, not you, don't be stupid. No, Kara. I met her right after you kicked me out, and SHE broke my heart." he turned and started up the stairs, pausing to look over his shoulder and say, "I'll be back when I have your phone. And I'll bring friends." before he ascended, shutting the door firmly behind him.

She had never been so relieved to NOT have her phone in her life. Hopefully, her coworkers had it safe and sound, and locked up at work.

Up Next: Chapter 15-Recon

#netflix sand castle #Sand Castle #captain syverson #Captain Syverson x OFC #captain syverson fanfic #sigh for sy #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x ofc #this is either a bit angsty or it will give you angst it is hard to say

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runningwitches · 4 years

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An Unlikely Pair (Kiba Inuzuka x Reader) pt.1

Summary: Kiba secretly likes the reader, which isn’t great because they can’t stand him and definitely do not like him back. No seriously guys there’s definitely no way the reader likes him back that’s absurd.

A/N: okay so i got this idea because of that tiktok dog that REALLY wants to be friends with the cat (idk if yall have seen it but PLEASE i think its @/ariesandlyra on tiktok). this is my first time writing anything nonfiction in YEARS and my first time writing for naruto in ever AND i haven’t finished my naruto rewatch yet so please be nice. this will be a three part series and it should all be uploaded by the end of i hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1.3k

You wake up early in the morning to prepare for your training that day. your jōunin, along with your two teammates, were supposed to meet you at dawn at your normal training grounds. You ended up doing what you tend to do before early training sessions: waking up late. Of course that wasn't your intention but it happened anyways, and at this point nobody expected anything less. You ate breakfast as quick as you could, got dressed, brushed your teeth and ran out the door of your apartment, your pet cat Akemi following closely behind. And in your haste you don't notice the two figures that appear in front of you until you collide with them. You pick yourself up and brush yourself off as you start to apologize.

“Oh my goodness I'm so sorry I must have-” you cut yourself off when you notice who is standing in front of you. “You?” you asked incredulously. “Come on! You need to start paying more attention to what you're doing, dog boy.” You laugh and he glares down at you while his dog growls. You pick up your own pet as you continue with your verbal beratement. “Who do you think you are? You really need to watch where you're going! I can't believe how rude it is and you haven’t even apologized!”

He continues to glare at you until a pause in your words and then he speaks up on his own. "You've got to be kidding me right? You're the one who ran into me! If anyone here needs to be paying more attention to where they're going it's you.”

Your eyes narrow into an even more extreme glare. "Don't you blame this on me! You're the one that showed up out of nowhere in the way of my route to the training grounds. If you could just watch where you were going none of this would have happened!” you scoff. "And I'm already running late. You really are annoying!" you remark as you rush away from the scene, Akemi in arm.

"You know we saw that right?" one of your teammates, Haruki, stated.

“Saw what?”

“You and your little boyfriend,” his twin sister, and your other teammate, Hanae, teased.

“Ugh! We're not dating.”

“Well that sure looked like flirting to me.” You glare at your teammates as they laugh at your expense.

“I wasn't flirting. I can hardly stand that kid as it is, I wouldn't even flirt with him if he was the last person on Earth!” They look at you knowingly as you continue your rant. “He's always in the way, he never shuts up, and that dog of his loves to chase Akemi in their free time! It's the most annoying thing, like why can't they just leave us alone?” You sigh once again as your jōunin, Tanji, walks up.

“Hey kids, are you ready for training today?”

You smile at the excuse to stop thinking about Kiba and listen excitedly as your sensei explains today's plans. You throw yourself into training for the rest of the day, effectively forgetting about the encounter you had. By the end of training you're exhausted so you head straight home and go to bed with plans of meeting up for training again the next day.

Today the meeting was a bit later in the day, so you wake up feeling refreshed and take your time getting ready, strolling leisurely to the meetup spot when the time comes. However, as soon as the area is in sight you regret getting out of bed at all. Standing there you find your team, which is to be expected. But chatting with them is Team 8, the two jōunin standing to the side discussing something.

You squint your eyes as you walk up, hoping to possibly catch some of your sensei’s conversation with Kurenai, though you aren’t able to make out a single word. Huffing you make your way to the twins’ side, saying a brief hello to Hinata and Shino, but ignoring Kiba and Akamaru completely, Akemi hopping onto your shoulder to avoid being prodded at by the dog. Hanae shoots you a look, her eyes pleading for you to play nice, while Haruki just smirks at your behavior, before returning to his conversation with Shino. You see, the rest of your team got along perfectly fine with Team 8. And you would too if it weren’t for the boy and his dog always getting on your nerves. You sigh and lean into Hanae’s side a bit, a physical comfort you could always indulge in after months of being by her side, and start up a chat with the two girls. Hinata, shy as always and sensing the tension between you and Kiba, nervously plays with her fingers while you laugh at a dumb joke Hanae makes in an attempt to relieve the tension. The boy left out of the conversations goes unnoticed as he stares at your turned back. His dog may be yipping at the cat on your shoulder, but the longer he stares at you a faint blush slowly grows on his cheeks, only to disappear as the six of you (or eight, if you count the pets) turn your heads to the approaching jōunins.

“Alright kiddos,” your sensei begins. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, it’s not just one team today.” His gaze settles on you, eyes pleading in a similar way to how Hanae’s were just moments before. Unbeknownst to you, Kurenai’s eyes settle on Kiba’s in a similar manner. “Kurenai and I have decided that you kids need to learn how to work with people outside of your team. When you start getting more missions there’s no guarantee that you’ll be working with your usual teammates, and though it’s not always preferable,” the gaze returns, firmer and more demanding this time, “you have to be able to work with your fellow shinobi. No matter the situation.”

The cross of your arms, the clenching of your jaw, and the narrowing of your eyes does not go unnoticed by the two jōunin in front of you. You were on to them, and you didn’t like where this was going one bit. “Alright, alright, get on with it,” you mutter. Akemi, sensing your frustration puffs up a bit, but nuzzles against your face in an attempt to comfort the both of you.

Kurenai now speaks up, her eyes softening as she makes eye contact with you. “So for today we’ll split you up into teams of two, one from each team, and you must stick with your partner the entirety of the training exercise, no matter what happens.” You close your eyes, muttering to Akemi under your breath. You already know who your partner is going to be, and you’re going to have to think of some way to avoid being stuck with him for the rest of the day.

After she lists off the pairs you look at Kurenai with wide eyes, play with your fingers, and even turn your toes inwards a bit in an attempt to look innocent. Tanji wouldn’t fall for it, but it wouldn’t hurt to try on someone who doesn’t know you quite as well. “Kurenai-Sensei, I mean no disrespect, but both Kiba and I have teammates already. I don’t think it would be fair for the two of us to work together. It’s basically a four person team.”

She sighs, “Unfortunately, we drew the teams at random and agreed that we wouldn’t change them. Besides, I’m sure it would be great training for Akemi and Akamaru to learn to work together as well.”

“Random my ass,” you mutter, the innocent look drops from your face immediately, wide eyes instantly narrowing into a glare. You huff as Akemi lets out a short hiss at the dog now at your feet. Kiba and Akamaru don’t look disappointed at all, however, the boy simply looks towards the ground hiding a shy smile, while his dog yips happily at the cat on your shoulder.

#midnight writes #kiba x reader #kiba inuzuka x reader #kiba #kiba inuzuka #akamaru #akamaru inuzuka #gender neutral reader #naruto reader insert #naruto

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creativeskullcreations · 4 years

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HTaHHQ Episode 1: First Meetings(part 3)

In all seriousness, I'm really sorry it took so long to update anything. I had a sudden loss of motivation to do anything productive. I think it was caused by stress and burnout. So I'm gonna try and work on schedule, and hopefully that will help a bit.

Basically, one fic will be updated every Monday! Which fic will it be and Monday? Idk, it's a surprise! But actually it'll be Outside next week, and hopefully for at least a few weeks after that. And then I've got video uploads on Fridays and live-streams on... Idk yet. Just whenever for now I guess.

"What do you mean she's missing?!" Came a shout as Mary stormed out of her office. "How long has it been since anyone's seen her?!" "Mrs. Stein, please!" Johnny, the poor assistant that had been sent to tell the head writer about what happened struggled to keep up. He found himself having to jog to keep pace with the tall woman. "We're looking for her now. Nobody saw her leave the building, so she's got to be here somewhere...!" Mary turned, giving the poor guy a death glare. "That's not what I asked." She ground out. He gulped. "U-uh, t-two hours, ma'am. A-a-and it was Riley and Nick who saw her last!" 'Please don't kill me!' He thought as he looked everywhere but at her. 'I have a family of shrimp to feed!' "Two. Hours." She repeated calmly. "And those two didn't think to tell anyone between then and now." She turned, stalking down the hall at an even faster pace. "They'll be sawdust by the time I'm through with them." Johnny watched her go, then turned and sprinted down the hall in the opposite direction. He'd done his job, and there was no reason to stick around to see the fallout. In Mortimer's office, the Puppets were gathered. While Mortimer himself was at his desk, Daisy was pacing in front of him. Riley and Nick were glaring at each other from opposite sides of the small room. While neither said anything, it was clear to the other two that they blamed each other fro what had happened. "Oh, that poor girl!" Daisy fretted, twisting her apron in her fists. "I do hope she's okay." "Oh please, what danger could possibly be in here?" Nick said, finally pulled away from his glaring match. "She's probably raiding the kitchen or something like the others like to do. I'm sure she's fine, and this whole fuss will be for nothing." "The kitchen has been searched and she was not found there! Who knows what secrets she could see or hear!" Riley scolded. She rubbed at her temples, look pained. "This whole day has been a disaster! Thank god it's almost over!" "Riley, please calm down." Mortimer told her, trying to head off any possible arguments.. "Nick is right, there's no reason to worry or frown." "I-I apologize, of course you're right." She sighed. "The contract she signed is surely air tight." "Er..." Oh how would he explain this. His hesitance was noticed, and Nick and Daisy both turned to look at him the longer he took to agree with Riley. "She did sign the non disclosure, right Morty?" Daisy asked. Everyone was looking at him, and he found himself clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Technically, I cannot force anyone to sign. Even for me, that would be crossing a line." He told them firmly. Instantly their faces turned to looks of shock, and anger in the case of Riley. "She didn't sign?!" Riley exploded, slamming her hands on his desk. Mortimer resisted the urge to flinch back and nodded. "We're doomed!" Nick bemoaned, clutching his head. "Our show is over, canceled, caput!" Mortimer went to scold the artist for pessimistic thinking, but was cut off by the door swinging open. "Would you two shut up!" Mary hissed as she entered the room. She carefully closed the door behind her, then turned to face the room. "Now, would one of you kindly explain how you managed to lose my stepdaughter!" "It wasn't our fault!" Nick was quick to jump in. "Riley and I were simply trying to get Scout, when your daughter had some sort of attack and ran off!" "Indeed, it was really quite strange." Riley agreed. "It was almost like she was afraid..." Mary almost scoffed at the idea. "Stacy, afraid? Please, she's only doing this to be a nuisance." She refocused on the two Puppets. "Where were you when this happened?" "By the cafeteria." Nick told her. "Just outside it in the dead end." "Then we'll start there, and work our way through." Mortimer told them. "And yes, you'll be helping out too." "Fine." Riley spat, wheeling out of the room. Nick Nack followed her, as did Mary. Only Daisy and Mortimer stayed behind, with him catching her as she went to leave. "Ah, Daisy my dear, a moment if you please. Might I have a word, before you as well leave?" He asked. She stopped and turned back, wheeling back to the desk. "Of course, Morty! What's wrong?" She asked, gripping her apron. It's about Stacy, and how you're the best to help her. You know this place best, both under and over." Mortimer said. Daisy nodded, slightly confused. "Well, yes. But I don't see-" "Since she's a child, and a frightened one at that, I expect you to search the hiding places of your brats." Daisy blinked and almost protested(Hand Puppets or not, they were still her children, and he shouldn't call them brats just to make a rhyme), but then stopped to think about it. "You know sugarplum, you might actually be on to something there." She said, missing Mortimer's approving look as she turned. racing out of the room. "And I think I know exactly where I should look." Half and hour later, and Daisy had steadily worked her way through all of the Hand Puppets' hiding spots. While they technically had hundreds, she had managed to shrink the list to just a fraction by eliminating the places Stacy wouldn't be able to fit in. She'd shrunk it even further by getting rid of the options that neither the girl or Scout would know about. The end result was a very small list of possible locations for a human child to hide. She had searched all of them and Stacy was nowhere. As of now she was out of ideas, and had decided to search the by now very empty Sound Stage. Most everyone having already gone home. She knew Lydia was still around, but other than her, a few senior assistants, and Mary and her son, the studio was devoid of any humans. Daisy really hoped Stacy hadn't noticed this, as she didn't want the girl panicking over it. Based on what Riley and Nick had described, the poor dear was probably terrified out of her mind by now. That thought is what kept the homemaker from giving up, determined to find her before one of her "siblings" did. She loved them, she really did, but neither of them were really all that... good, with the kids, and she worried what might happen if either of them found Stacy first. So she worked her way through the Sound Stage, checking inside each set and looking in each door to make sure she didn't miss anything. However, as she made it to the prop closet that specifically held her props, she heard a noise from inside. She pressed her ear against the door, and felt her heart sink when she heard a quiet sniffling from within. "Stacy? Honey, are you in there?" She called out, only to be met with complete silence. "Sugar I know you're in there. You've got everybody awful worried about you." No reply, but she did hear something shifting around inside. Boxes being moved, fabric rubbing against itself. It sounded like she was coming out of hiding, and Daisy couldn't help the small smugness she felt at accomplishing that. "Stacy, you have to come out of there. Everybody's awful worried about you. Your mother-" "She's not my mom." Stacy interrupted, throwing the Puppet off with how angry she sounded. "Step-mother then." She corrected herself. "Please, sugar, Mary's worried about you too." "She doesn't care. Not really." "Oh now, don't say that. I'm sure she cares a lot." Daisy tried to assure her, grabbing the door knob, pausing when Stacy answered. "If she really cared, I wouldn't be here." A pause. "I definitely don't want to be here..." "What do you mean by that?" Wouldn't be here? According to Mary, Stacy loved the show, and watched the new episodes every week with her brother. Why wouldn't such a loyal fan of the show not want to be here? "I don't know what she told you, but this job is supposed to be a punishment." Her voice was quiet, but Daisy could tell she was on the verge of tears again. "What?!" Daisy felt faint. Surely Mary wouldn't...? She yanked open the door, finding Stacy hidden behind a stack of several boxes. Her face was tear stained, and her eyes were red and puffy. "Oh, sweetheart..." She sighed, then backed away from the door. "Come on sugar. Let's go tell the others you're alright..." Stacy came out of the closet, following Daisy as she wheeled back to Mortimer's office. She paused at the door, unlatching it carefully before backing up and charging through it. "Mary Stein, what is wrong with you?!" Everyone in the office jumped, and she too notice that the other Puppets were there. Ignoring them for now, she extended her stand to get into the human woman's face, putting on her best Daisy Danger Death Glare. "How dare you use us to punish your step-daughter!" "Punish?" Nick questioned from behind, but the baker ignored him. "I don't know what you're talking abo-" Mary said, but Daisy pushed on. "Really? Because Stacy told me everything. And now, I want you to tell me what ever possessed you to use fear to punish a child? And you had better have a really good answer." Whatever Mary was going to say was never to be heard, as she was cut off with another question from behind. "She's afraid of us?" Riley asked in a small voice. She looked more upset than Daisy had seen her be in a long time, and Nick, standing beside, had a similar expression. For a moment, "Of course not!" Mary insisted. "She watches your show all the time with Danny. She wouldn't do that if she was scared of you!" "Or maybe she would, if she cared what her brother thought of her." Mortimer pointed out. "The siblings are quite close, you've said so yourself many times before." "Yes, well-" Mortimer cut her off again. "You told me before that her working here was to keep her out of trouble, give her a fun Summer. Had I known that to be a lie, I'd never have agreed to hire her." Mortimer sounded genuinely mad for the first time in years. Mary went to protest, but the Puppet held up a hand to stop her. "I will allow her to continue to work here." He told her. "On the condition that us, she doesn't have to go near. There are plenty of other jobs for her to do. Sound control, editing, writing too." He said to the room at large. "I'll talk to Lydia and have her choose where she can stay. In the mean time, take her and Danny home, you've all had quite a day." "Of course." Mary said, turning to leave, but was stopped by Mortimer. "Oh, and one more thing." He waited until she'd turned back around. "If you ever pull something like this again, your time here with us will come to an end." His tone remained calm, but even Mary could tell his was still angry. So she simply nodded and hurried out of his office, closing the door behind her. Stacy was sitting beside the door, arms on her knees as she stared quietly at the wall. If she had been listening or not, Mary honestly couldn't tell. She thought about saying something, anything, about what had happened. The words "I'm sorry" came to her mind, but she couldn't figure out what to be sorry for. In the end, she simply sighed and gestured towards where the door was. "Come on Stacy. Let's go get your brother and you guys' stuff. We'll talk about this when we get home." She told her. The girl didn't answer, but did stand up and follow her step-mother down the hall. Her hands were shoved in her shorts pockets, and her head was down, but at least she was moving.. 'Tomorrow will be better.' Mary assured herself as they picked Danny up from Lydia. 'I know better now, and Stacy won't have to be around the Puppets. We'll have a nice talk about everything when we get home, and things will be fine. They have to be.'

#hello puppets #htahhq #fanfiction #happy times at handeemen hq #stacy stein #mortimer handee #daisy danger #riley ruckus #nick nack #mary stein

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bucky-is-a-hero-fightme · 5 years

Text

Royals (4/8)

ROYALS MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Bucky/Reader

Universe: Mobsters!1940′s!AU

Timeline: Early 1940′s, but I’m gonna gloss over the war, I’m sorry, I just can’t see a Steve that wouldn’t want to join the fight, so…I’m glossing over it.

Word Count: 5000 approx.

Summary: When someone from your past you weren't expecting comes back, too many of the Siren’s words become lies, but so do Y/N’s

Warnings: Mentions of violence and misogyny if you squint, mentions of drinking (not alcohol abuse). Lemme know if there’s anything else you would like tagged

A/N: Okay, after a long break I’m back, but I can’t promise when or if I will come back. I know I write for myself, but I fell out of love with Marvel a lil bit and I feel a little alone lately when I post my writing. Idk, also, the summary sucks, i’m sorry. I’m sorry for taking so long to upload.

Would love hearing from you, and thank you for reading.

Taglist (If you wanna be added or removed, lemme know): @amandamartinez3568 @champagnejoker @aunty-peggy @itsbuckysworld @mooniightbucky @whimsicalatbest @catvader1o1

You open the door after sprinting clumsily to it, your free hand still attaching the end of your earring in place.

A sharply dressed man is waiting on the other side. He smiles your way politely,

“Miss Carter is waiting for you, ma’am.”

You tell him it will only take a few moments, going back to the guest room in your apartment you took as a temporary closet and fetching your shoes. On your way out, the phone starts ringing, though, so you make another stop.

“Good morning.” You greet cautiously, well aware your apartment’s number is not known publicly.

“Hello, sweetcheeks.”

Even through the line, even despite the distance, a part of you hardens, and you straighten your back and make sure to keep your emotions out of your expression and your tone.

“Brock.”

“Miss me?” He drawls out, a hint of the influence of alcohol in his voice, but not enough for you to think you can thread without care.

“You know Manhattan will always be my home.” You answer instead, ensuring you sweeten your tone even as you evade his question.

“Are you sure? ‘Cause you seemed pretty at home running with Barnes’ people these last few weeks.” He states simply, making ice run down your spine.

“You have people on Brooklyn?” You ask before you can think twice about it, giving away the truth behind his accusations and giving him an opening to think that you have anything to hide.

Which you don’t. A smarter, more battle-worn part of you wishes you did, wishes you had spent your time gathering information about Bucky’s intentions, about the real power of his people in Brooklyn, about how much of that power could translate into a war with Manhattan.

A colder part of you, a part of you that sings men to their dooms, wishes you would move again to try and seduce Bucky back into compliance, wishes you could ignore the painful beat of your heart after the night you spent together and try and get him on your sheets, if not your side.

You have ignored those parts of you, though. You have ignored what makes you the Siren and focused on getting to know what makes you Y/N again.

Lunch dates with Peggy and Steve, visits to the diner of your teenage years. You get to know the soldiers forged in the wake of your departure, they try to learn to trust the Siren that danced with their sworn, although secret, enemy.

Brock doesn’t ask why you got so defensive though, and instead laughs mockingly.

“I made it clear you are not indispensable, baby.”

“And here I thought you loved me.” You state dryly in response, sitting down on the armrest of your couch.

“And here I thought you were on my side.” He spites back, startling you at the hidden rage in his voice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The hiss in your voice is not lost to either of you, but this is the most controlled you can muster. The words ‘I was never on your side’ try clawing their way out of your heart, but you don’t let them.

Not yet. Not until your empire is yours again, and you hold the barrel of your father’s gun against his head.

“If you weren’t so busy rolling around with Barnes, sweetcheeks, you would be aware I know everything you do in that city of his.”

Clenching your jaw so tight you fear for the state of your teeth after this, you force the seductive yet emotionless mask of the Siren back in place.

Your voice is a purr when you state, “You knew when you hired me what I am willing to do for the Bratva.”

The threat, the controlled power Brock Rumlow holds in his clenched fist is not lost on you as he dangles his temporary superiority over your head when he says, “I hope that doesn’t include betraying us, Siren.”

But your response is measured, calculated. A risk you are willing to take, because the day you swear your allegiance to Brock, however fake it would be, is the day you give away the last piece of resistance your family has left.

“You haven’t given me a reason to.”

Oh, but he has, and he knows it very well.

A few moments of silence, and you hear the faint sound of ice clinking on a glass as Brock presumably drains the rest of his drink.

“I want reports on my desk come tomorrow morning, then.” He orders simply.

“Reports of what?”

“Of whatever you got Barnes to confide you with, of course,” Brock replies, “Am I to assume you have spent time with him for something other than power, girl?”

“Because I love him.” You reply easily, but the boy forced be a man in front of you scoffs, dismissing your answer.

“He can’t offer you what I can,” He drawls out, smirk on his lips. “Nothing but a shuk-”

Your hand makes contact with his cheek before the word is done leaving his lips, a faint trail of blood left behind on his cheekbone from the scratch of your mother’s ring.

“Bucky is twice the man you are, Brock.” You spit back, turning your back to him and readying your heart to harden in order to handle the party still happening outside the room.

He grabs your forearm before you can move far, though, and forces you to stay still. Although, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of turning around to face him.

“You won’t want to do that again, sweetcheeks.”

“You won’t want me against you, Rumlow. I suggest you get your hand off me.” You spit back, and after a second, he releases you. His words make a shiver run down your spine as they follow you out of the room:

“I’ll have you begging for scraps, Y/N. Mark my words.”

“Of course not.” You answer through the phone, and you hear rustling on the other side, as if Brock is getting comfortable.

“Then you better get working on those reports, sugar.”

The door to your apartment opens slightly, forcing you to hide a wince when you see Peggy peeking through and finding you on the couch.

Keeping your eyes on hers, and begging whoever is willing to listen that she can forgive you for this, you concede,

“It will be done.”

____

You are walking down the street towards some diner with Peggy and Steve when a shriek of your name puts you all three in high alert.

You have barely a second o recognize the schoolgirl running towards you is not a threat before she is wrapping her arms around your midcriff, brown hair mussed against your face and fast-paced babbles reaching your ears.

"I heard the rumors you were back, but you know, people gossip about-..."She interrupts herself, seemingly catching another train of thought and deciding to run with it, "But then I saw Bucky when he took me out for lunch and I knew, ya' know? My brother is only that miserable or happy when it comes to you and-..."

"Rebecca!?" You finally gasp, taking her in. Long gone is the eight year old child, and now she stands in front of you in highschool outfit and heeled shoes.

"Well, duh," One of her friends call out to her, and she turns to them before looking back at you, "Can we catch up? Maybe come to a family dinner? For old times sake?"

You want to say no, you want to sever ties and run back to your family’s estate, you want to start over, you want to run.

But that is not what is useful, you remind yourself. That is not what the Siren needs, that is not what you must. What you want cowers under the weight of the responsibility of being the head of your family.

You learned that over eight years ago.

You agree with vacant eyes and plastic smile, trying to ignore the tug at your heart when the girl hugs you tightly and whispers how she is glad you are back before scurrying off to her friends.

A family dinner, that is all there is, you tell yourself. A few Captains, more than enough Bratov to keep the Captains on edge; a few mandatory ceremonies during the night, but just enough to keep Bucky from noticing you. You will get some intel, forward some useless bits of it to Brock and keep him off your back.

It has to be this way.

“It has to be this way.” Your mother admits, her eyes on yours when a lesser woman would have lowered her gaze.

You swallow back your tears, your anger, your pain.

The youngest of the Rumlow’s offers you his hand, and you ignore the way your friends, the people you grew up with, watch you take it with the eyes of someone that doesn’t know you at all.

You try to ignore your childish heart breaking for the boy with grey eyes and charming smile, that watches dejectedly as another man leads you on the dance floor.

You walk the plank, and the sailors bury you at sea.

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” Steve asks, making you jump at his comforting touch on your shoulder. You nod swiftly, not even trying to make eye contact as you propose silently the three of you keep walking.

Peggy calls you back, though,

“That girl really cares for you.”

“I know, Peg.”

“You better not…”

“Not what?” You interrupt, turning to her with a cold stare. Peggy doesn’t back down, though, and raises her chin as she finishes,

“Disappoint her again.”

Giving in, you sigh, and pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and index finger, you say,

“You know Bucky doesn’t want me there, Peggy.”

“Well, it ain’t just his home,” Steve states simply, arm around your shoulders and a gentle squeeze in his hug before continuing, “It’ll be fun. We’ll pick you up, be with you the whole night, and get blind drunk with ya’ if you want.”

“You can’t get drunk, Steven.” His fiancé mutters, rolling her eyes.

“You are right, doll. But ya’ can, and it is fun as all hell to watch.” Steve teases back, easy smile on his lips as he watches her give a reluctant smile his way.

Trying to ignore the pang of nostalgia, the pang of pain and jealousy and regret, you shake off his arm gently and agree to the diner with a somewhat sincere smile.

___

Once Peggy and Steve drop you off in your family’s estate, you force yourself to gain back the control running into Rebecca took away from you. The girl’s warmth and innocence, the obvious way she was so different from the eight-year-old you left behind but also so much like her, like the girl that teased her brother and called him ‘sunbeam’ because that was in her opinion his expression when someone mentioned you; she rattled you to the core, made you realize how much of who you remain to be is jagged pieces, masks and moves in the Game.

You take a shower, and face your bare face in the mirror. Without the make-up, with the tiredness and stress of the last few weeks clear on your face, without the edge of the Siren or the nostalgic joy of the girl that came back from the depths of the cold sea; you can’t help but see a certain emptiness.

Or maybe emptiness isn’t the right word. Maybe something like hesitance, like a space in between life and death, where you don’t exist on one plane or the other.

You wonder if it is a destiny somehow worse than death.

A chorus, a mix of angry spats, of short acknowledgements, of awed greetings greet your ears.

Nayada.

Siren.

And she is called forth, with the rage of a thousand women buried at sea; so you take a deep breath, and ready yourself for the diner at the Barnes’ estate.

You sharpen your claws,

“Green does look good on ya’, doll.” Bucky mutters, leaning back on his elbows as he sits on the bed, eyes following the trail of your stockings as they go back up your thighs.

You smile, “I’ll keep it in mind, Barnes.”

The dark green fabric falls over your curves like satin. You have to avoid your own eyes in the mirror, but you can see the allure of the Siren in the way your body moves.

And you bare your teeth,

The Carter Matriarch looks you up and down, a smirk growing on her worn face as she reaches your eyes with her own.

“You have fire within you, girl.” She states softly, but you cannot miss the steel underneath, the sheer strength and courage. It is with that same strength that she takes your chin between her fingers and orders, “Do not ever let them extinguish it.”

The lipstick paints your lips with the taint of the blood the words coming from them have had spilled. You still smile, and remind yourself of the stain of your father’s blood on your mother’s skin to relieve the guilt.

Something changes in Peggy’s open expression when she sees you take a seat next to her on the car, and you throw her an inquisitive glace, but she says nothing, signaling for the driver to speed off into Brooklyn’s night.

“You look good, Peg.” You mutter, shifting uncomfortably in your place.

The British woman turns to you for a second, then focuses her attention on the streets passing by you.

“You look like the Siren.”

You bit your tongue, and swallow your words, but they are still branded over your heart.

The Siren is what I have to be.

Your car moves expertly through Brooklyn’s streets, but you pay no mind to it, your mind focused on the dinner ahead of you.

Nerves churn at your stomach, tremors take over your hands, as you try and secure in place the mask of the Princess of Brooklyn, of the Siren, of the Bratva Captain, of the Matriarch bereft of her title.

You walk down the steps, the thousands of times practiced movements not swayed by the weakness in your muscles, the apprehension in your heart.

You smile despite the cold hate in their eyes, because it’s what they told you to. You swallow the bitter disgust as men older than your own father leer at you like a prize, because it’s what you are supposed to do.

But you are your mother’s daughter. So you take in their posture and their expression, because they are too arrogant to consider masking their weakness in front of a girl. And you watch the room for evidence of the words your mother placed in the right ears, because no action is taken within the Bratva without the Game.

A couple of hours later, sitting on one of the corners of your father’s ballroom, you have to clench your hands into fists to stop them from shaking, you have to close your eyes tightly to keep the tears at bay.

A cold glass is pressed into your hand, and you open your eyes to watch as your mother takes a seat next to you, nursing a glass of scotch just like the one she set in front of you.

She motions to your glass with her head.

“Bottoms up,” She advises, “You will need it.”

You search her eyes desperately, sure yours are as full of fear as they can be.

“I can’t do this, mom.”

She just smiles, something cold and dead in her eyes as she states, “You can, and you will.”

The car turns into a too-familiar street, stops in front of a too-familiar driveway. A thousand memories flash before your eyes, and you can only follow Peggy numbly as she gets out of the car.

Steve’s head peeks from the wide-open front door, a big smile settling on his lips as he spots Peggy’s car.

“Hi, baby.” He greets softly, an arm wrapping itself around her with ease. He turns to you and greets you with more kindness than you deserve.

“Y/N!” Rebecca yells, and you have barely a second before the lithe brunette has her arms wrapped around you in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you made it!”

Your lips curve into a smile without you meaning for them too, but you take a step back and regard the teen.

“Rebecca, you told me…”

“Yeah, mom sets up family dinners every week, you know that!” She scoffs, taking your hand with ease and tugging you into the house. Panic grips your heart.

Winifred’s reluctant smile as Bucky presses a kiss on her cheek. Rebecca’s loud complaints of his brother’s ‘sunbeam’ face. Steve’s drawings managing to find a home in every flat surface of the house.

The lovingly chaotic family dinners the Barnes’ household submitted itself to, even if only to share a piece of old bread.

You catch Peggy’s confused stare, and watch in real time as she realizes the kind of diner you were agreeing to join.

Her smile turns devious, “Hurry, Y/N. Winnie has been dying to see you.”

Rebecca tugs harder, and you switch your panicked eyes between her and Steve.

Your tone is final and terrified as you squeak, “She will kill me.”

“You are a Bratva Captain.”

“I am her baby boy’s ex, Margaret.” You reply with a hiss, prompting a snort to leave Peggy’s lips, her smiling face turning to hide in Steve’s chest as he regards you with a mix of guilt and amusement.

Apparently, Bucky is running late on some Bratva business, and the household busies itself arranging the dining room and porch for dinner and the aftermath outside on the cool Brooklyn night. You wish you didn’t hold that routine to heart, you wish it wasn’t something you missed dearly.

“She knows who I am, doesn’t she?” You ask, unconsciously resisting Bucky’s pull as he guides you to his house by the hand.

“She knows you’re my girl, yeah.” He answers, a small, proud smile curving his lips upwards. And for a moment, witnessing the light behind his eyes that ahs been there since the moment you both decided whatever was going on between you deserved a name and a promise, you forget your fear of walking through the door of the Barnes’ household.

“Can I help?” You ask meekly, standing near the kitchen but never entering it. Not eight years, not eighty, could erase from your head Winifred’s threats of bodily and mental harm upon those that enter her kitchen while she is cooking.

The woman scoffs, and doesn’t turn your way.

Rebecca rolls her eyes from where she is sitting on the island counter, peeling potatoes carefully, “Mom.”

Her mother heaves a sigh, and turns to face you for the first time since she regarded you with hatred as you walked through her front door. Her silver eyes take in your attire, going up and down your body in a clinical-like scrutiny.

“Stevie here says he trusts you.” She states.

“Not yet. I did say I love her.” He corrects from his place on the bench on the front porch, the open window giving him access to the conversation.

“Many have made that mistake.” Winifred hisses, but disregards whatever she was planning on saying next, and shoves some cutlery in your hands. “Set the table, girl.”

You say nothing more, and busy yourself in the dining room. There has been an iron grip on your stomach and heart ever since your car pulled up in the familiar driveway. You expected a Bratva dinner, full of poisoned smiles and siren songs.

You didn’t expect to be back in the house where some of your happiest memories were made.

You grumble to yourself as you search through the tablecloths stored in the lower cabinet of Winnie’s dinning room.

Too dark the green to match the napkins. The next one is too bright. The other one is a nice shade of yellow, but it wouldn’t match the curtains, even if it would the palette of the napkins.

“Need any help?” Bucky asks from the doorway behind you, startling you.

“Yes! Get in here!” You whisper, motioning wildly with your hand. “I can’t find a tablecloth.”

Bucky’s grey-blue eyes move carefully and slowly from your face to the armful of linens you hold in your hands. When his gaze returns to you, you catch a glimpse of mischief, even if he tries to hold back his smile for your sake.

“Doll…Imma need ya’ to talk me through this one.”

Gritting your teeth, you hiss, “They don’t match.”

“The tablecloths.”

“Yes.”

“With the…table?”

“The napkins, Buck!” You sigh, nervous hands soothing over non-existent wrinkles in the folded linens. “I want Winnie to like me, and I’m messing this up already.”

“Hey, that’s not true,” He says, hands folding over yours and soothing the nervousness in your system, if only for a second. “My Ma’ is a hard cookie to crack, but she likes ya’, alright?”

“How do you know that?”

“She only lets people she likes stay for dinner,” Bucky presses a kiss on your hair, and helps you to your feet, taking the linens from your hands as he does so. “C’mon, I’ll help you with the table.”

Shaking your head, you focus on the task at hand, ignoring how the ghost of the past guides you through the steps of readying the dinning room for the Barnes’ family dinner.

Suddenly the conversations in the other room end swiftly, and the hairs in the back of your neck stand stiffly to attention.

You are facing the small cabinet where you were tidying and decorating with a small tablecloth to match with the one in the dinner table, and you keep your back to the entrance as you hear Bucky’s fast and determined footsteps approaching the room.

“What are you doing here?” His words have never sounded more like a snarl than now. Understandable, though. The one thing he would do anything to protect, and you are standing in their dining room.

“Rebecca invited me over.” You reply without missing a beat, your back still to him as you straighten the tablecloth a few times before taking a deep breath.

Bucky doesn’t answer for a few beats, and the silence rings in your ears, despite the fact that somewhere in the back of your head you recognize Steve teasing Peggy about helping Winifred in the kitchen, to which the Barnes’ matriarch responds with a playful grumble of how not even Boulestin could teach that girl to cook.

Problem is, you can’t tell if it’s just a memory or if it is happening right now.

And you are not sure you want the answer.

You turn around, and the cold anger, the betrayal, swimming in Bucky’s grey eyes make something within you break.

Resting your hands on the table between you, you force a sigh.

“If I knew…I wouldn’t have-…” You let out a frustrated breath, “I was here on business, Bu-…Barnes.”

“Was?” He questions, his eyes betraying that something in him gives up the fight at the same time as you.

You shrug in response, “This…family has a way of growing on me.”

A shadow of what once would have been a smile crosses his lips, but his eyes are still distant, his voice guarded when he motions with his head to the backyard.

“Walk with me, Y/N.”

You straighten your back and lead the way out of the house.

You stifle a giggle against Bucky’s lips as he lifts you up against the dining room wall, ignoring your whispered protests.

You can taste the satisfied smile on his lips as you melt into the kiss, bringing your arms up around him and angling your head to deepen the embrace.

“Girl, woul-…James Buchanan!” Winifred bellows, making Bucky step away from you with a sheepish smile directed at his mother. She narrows her eyes, not giving in to his pleading eyes. “I swear, I raised barn animals.”

You laugh quietly at her exasperated words, but freeze when she sets her eyes on you.

“Y/N, you were supposed to be better than this, girl.”

You offer her a shrug, “Your son is very convincing, ma’am.”

Finally, a small smile cracks Winifred’s façade, and she rolls her eyes, ushering you two out of the room with grumbled words.

“Fine, we’ll take a walk before dinner.” Bucky agrees, arm wrapping around your waist with ease.

“Oh, no you won’t!” His mother is quick to respond. “You will be staying here and tidying up, and you Y/N, help me in the kitchen.”

The woman leads you with a hand on your back, more motherly than you have felt in your own home, and points to some uncooked yams sitting in the counter.

You set to washing and peeling them, while Winnie bussies herself on the slow cooker.

“My boy cares about you, Y/N,” She states, a threat and a compliment all mixed in her blunt statement. With a deep breath she continues, “By the way he talked about ya’, I would think you hung the moon and the stars. Then he brought me to meet ya a few months ago, and I noticed the damn fool looks at you like you do.”

You hide your smile as you duck your head, busying yourself with the dinner. You could swear a smile curves Winnie’s lips upwards as she continues too.

You follow his guide to the small backyard, and sit next to Bucky on the wooden stairs that end the porch. Silence spreads over the air, a mix of calming and unnerving, like the breeze flowing around a cliff.

There’s something within you keeping you from being the one to break the silence, and you keep your gaze to the small backyard, trying to discern between memories, what if’s, and the cruel reality.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Bucky’s broad shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath.

“Why are you here? Really.”

Your answer is automatic, rehearsed, and it burns your tongue like acid as it comes out, “My family sti-…”

“The real reason.”

Breathing out a bitter laugh, you lean to the side, resting your back on the railing and facing the profile of Brooklyn’s Captain as you answer, with whatever truth you can manage,

“I spent so long lying to…everyone. Brock, Natasha, their guests, their enemies. There was always a new mask to be worn, a new lie to be told and I…I got tired of it.

Bucky turns to look at you, really look at you, for the first time in what feels like forever. So close to him to those grey-blue eyes that haunted you for eight years, you cannot help feeling closer to the girl you were, to the life you had, to the memories you made.

Your eyes remain locked on his, facing with your own uncertainty and pain the distrust and betrayal in his.

“I suppose…when you lie for so long about who you are, you forget to tell yourself the truth.” You finish in a breath, shrugging, and forcing your gaze back to the space ahead of you, and away from him.

Maybe because it is easier not to. Maybe because the sharp pain of the lie is better than the slow poison of the truth.

It takes a while before any of you speaks again, but the silence somehow feels less like an absence and more like the very real and notable presence of your past selves, like forgotten songs being brought back if only for a second, if only to remind you of what you had, of what you lost, of what you want.

“Y/N,” He starts, making you wonder for a second why it feels like this is the first time he has said your name since…since before. You turn to face Bucky, and his eyes find yours without pause, searching and searching and searching. “I need to know I can trust you.”

“We both know you don’t. And you won’t, no matter what I say.” You reply with ease, no trace of accusation in your tone, no anger, no resentment. Truth tastes your lips, for the first time in a while, and it unsettles you.

He huffs, running a hand through his hair in a gesture you remember with fondness. Knowing he is trying to gather his thoughts, you stay in silence, enjoying the simple sounds of your city at night.

“I have people I need to protect, doll.” He explains swiftly, the endearment nothing more than a compulsion, a result of the blurred lines of past and present in the never-ending night of Brooklyn.

You find his eyes when you answer, “So do I, Bucky.”

Bucky regards you for a few seconds, his eyes searching your own; and you cannot help but notice how close he is, and how you can notice the slight tinge of red in the tip of his angular nose at the cold of the night.

Finally, he takes a deep breath,

“Are you working with Rumlow, Princess?”

You find his steely eyes with ease, and for a second too long, you want to close your eyes and move with the liberating melody of having truthful words leave your lips, but the woman made out of the Princess forces your strings and makes you dance to a different song.

“No, I am not.”

___

I know, it sucks, I’m sorry. I just had to get back to it, and yeah, sorry.

Hope you stayed till the end, thank you for reading, please leave some feedback. Love ya.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mobster!bucky x reader #mobster au #mobster!bucky

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charliesshitposts · 5 years

Text

Supernatural omens (part 7?)

***Authors note***

This one wont have the usual beginning like all the others will have because I don’t remember how it goes. ^.^ I’ll remember next time. Also I’m not sure if it is part 7,but either way the missing part is here. :) Sorry it took forever. The actual final chapter will be uploaded later on in the week (if that changes i’ll be sure to let you all know.) Also if there are spelling errors i’ll correct them tomorrow.

word count: IDK but it’s short.

warnings: None. (: Feel free to read this in front of your family and pets.

_________________

Jack bolted down the dirt path of the forest like a gazelle running away from a lion. None of the five running after him could catch up. Except Sam. While the four stopped for a breath Sam took the lead. His long legs had given him the advantage.

He chased Jack until the nephilim stopped at a clearing.Unlike Sam,Jack wasn’t out of breath. As if the running hadn't affected him.Meters away from him sat three children with wearing terrified expressions.There eyes widened when they saw Jack and Sam. But neither of them were looking at the children. They were entirely focused on the one child floating above them,Adam. When he meet Jack’s stare Adam slowly floated downwards.

Sam rushed to aid the 3 children who were too petrified to move. Adam waked over towards Jack. When they were standing in front of one another Jack asked “Adam Young?” Adam looked completely normal. Like the average boy you’d find on the street walking with his parents or at the park playing with his friends.”Who wants to know?

“My name is Jack Kline. My friends and I were called to find you. To find you and stop you from starting the end of the world.”

“Who called you?”

Panting and the sound of feet shuffling suddenly filled the air. Crowley, Aziraphale, Dean and Castiel had finally caught up to them. They leaned against one another. Their legs were too wobbly to carry their weight. Gasping, Aziraphale answered Adam’s question for Jack.

“We did.”He said.”Myself and the demon Crowley sent for them. I’m Aziraphale.”

“You can’t go through with this Adam.”Chimed in Dean.Ask Jack,he’ll tell you. He knows more about this kind of dilemma better than anyone else.”

“I’m not following you.”Adam admitted.”What are all of you guys talking about?”

“You don’t know?” Crowley asked in surprise.

“No.” Said Adam.”All I know is that the four horseman are coming to meet with me. Pollution,War,Death and Famine. For what, i’m not sure.”

“They- they are here to get your permission. If you say yes to them they will unleash what they are all throughout the United Kingdom. Then Europe before finally making it spread across oceans and boarders. You can stop it all Adam. You just have to say no.”

“Guys!” Sam called out.”We need to get these kids to safety.”

“They all live here in Tadfield.”Said Adam.”You may take them home. We will all wait here. Then when you’re back, we can go to the U.S. airbase. That’s where the four horseman are going to want to meet.”

“Okay.Thanks. Um..Cas? Do you mind helping me out.”

Castiel and Sam walked back towards the village with Adam’s friends. All three of them were too scared to walk home by themselves. They had quietly asked Sam to take them, which was why Sam had opened his mouth in the first place. As he walked he felt it a bit odd that he had asked for permission to a child. But seeing what Adam was capable of doing he was glad he had done so. And all he wondered while walking with these children was what else Adam was capable of.

Suddenly Sam grew curious. He stopped the children at what he considered a safe distance. Cas looked at him oddly. The angels hands were pressed reassuringly against the upper back of Wensleydale,the one with glasses,and Brian,the one with stains on his shirt. Sam bent down to level his eyes with Pepper,the only girl of the group.

“Hi.” Sam said with a hint of a nervous chuckle.”Listen..I know this probably isn’t the best time to ask this but I need to know. What else can Adam do aside from float?”

Pepper was more talkative then he had given her credit for. “He can control anyone against their will. He can make them come forward,sit,stay. He can force one to stay quite.. The bottom line is he can pretty much do anything.”

“Anything?” Sam asked.

“Anything.” Cas echoed.

——————————————————-

Dean,Crowley,Aziraphale and Gabriel huddled to talk about their next move and to catch Gabe up on what has happened in the past hours. Meanwhile Jack talked to Adam as if they had known each other their whole life.

“So when did you realize you were the son of..?”

Adam shrugged.”This is all new. I came Into my full power a few hours ago. And-“ his voice lowered to a whisper.”between you and me..It’s getting harder every second to keep under control. Like right now I have the strong urge to lift my arm and-“ In that moment Adams mistake was to describe his urge whilst doing it. With a lift of his arm he sent Jack spinning through the air. The nephilims back collided with a tree. Jack let out a pain filled shriek.The impact snapped the tree in two.

Dean was quick to spring into action. He grabbed Adam fiercely by the collar to keep him from running. Crowley rushed to help Dean. They both held onto Adam,who growled while trying to get out of their grip. Gabe carried a fainted Jack to safety. Dean turned to glare at Adam. “This ends here.”

Crowley shook his head.”No. It end when we take the 4 horsemen down. The problem here is that Adam is being consumed by his new powers.

Quite literally. Adam was indeed being consumed by his powers. They were taking over every bit of him. He was trying all his best to fight back but as it seemed . Adam’s eyes suddenly turned bloodshot red. They startled everyone, including Crowley.

Gabriel gently laid Jack down by the cracked tree and sprinted towards Dean and Crowley. Aziraphale disappeared, he had gone to find Sam and Castiel.

“So what’s next?” Gabe asked.

Adam growled.

Crowley checked his watch.”We have a good hour and a half until we need to get to the airbase.So..I guess now all we have to do is hold him somewhere safe. Put Adam somewhere where he can’t get out.”

Dean smiled widely. He knew exactly what to do.”Crowley, do you know where we can get out hands on holy oil?”

_______________________________

It had taken them a while but they managed to get Adam into the trunk by tying his hands and feet together.He was biting too so they taped his mouth shut. Sam, with Crowley’s permission, spray painted an angel trap on the inside of the Bentleys trunk cap. It kept him still, not stuck, but still. They road towards the U.S. airbase. That was where they planned to use the holy oil. They figured if they had time to kill they might as well should wait where they needed to be. But getting into the airbase would be tricky. There was also one thing that none of the outsiders had taken into account. Angel traps only worked fully from where they were from. Although it kept Adam still,it didn't prevent him from using his powers. Which was why everyone began to panic when the inside of the car spontaneously began to catch fire.

It started with the steering wheel. Crowley jumped at how hot it had suddenly gotten. It only got worse.Bits of the leather covering the wheel started to fall off.”What the hell?” he muttered.Then the whole thing caught fire.”OH CRAP! O CRAP GUYS!” They would have reacted to the steering wheels spontaneous combustion, but then the Dashboard caught fire. Aziraphale gasped.

He reached down to grab a water bottle and maybe try to put it out but it was as though he had doused the already lit fire with gasoline. The other occupants of the car began to panic Sam and Dean tried all they could to open the doors but they were locked into place.Dean leaned his back into Castiel and began to slam his feet down against the window to try and break it, but it was no use. Gabriel rubbed his hands together,he was thinking of a way to get them out of this.

“So what?!?”Aziraphale said. The fumes of the fire entered their lungs. Everyone except Gabriel and Jack,who was still unconscious,began to cough. Gabe was in a mediative state.

The doors began to catch fire, then the windows. Cas began to choke. Aziraphale and Dean began to gasp for air. Crowley was unconscious behind the wheel. Sam had his flannel over his mouth. He looked over at Gabriel, silently imploring him to do something. Then it happened. Gabriel swiftly lifted an arm, snapped his finger, and suddenly-it began to rain inside the Bentley.

Crowley’s head shot upright. He gripped the wet wheel, breathing in loudly to get oxygen into his lungs. The other occupants did the same thing. They all looked like fishes out of water. From the trunk,Adam growled.

Gabe cracked his finger.”Piece of cake. Is everyone alright?”

Everyone mumbled answers. They were all still a little uneasy. It was visibly seen when Jack jolted upright. He had been passed out for half of the time, but the other half he had been seeing into what was to come. The battle that was about to go down between the four Horseman and them. But what he saw, he didn't know how to say. How could he know? It was now up to him to tell everyone that during battle, Cas would die.

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