colorfuldare said:I love the Magisterium series. Could you release any type of clips or information??? Thanks ❤️
yoursmile-myghost said:Hi Cassie! I just wanted to ask how things are going with The Silver Mask. I’m so excited for it to come out!!
Things are great! Silver Mask is coming October 10th and Holly and I are geared up and excited. A snippet:
That night, though, Call didn’t dream, and when he woke up, there was a guard outside his cell, holding his tray of breakfast. “You’ve got another visitor,” the guard said, looking at Call sideways. He was pretty sure all the guards were still waiting for him to slay them with that charisma. Call sat up. “Who is it?” The guard shrugged. “Some student from your school.” Call’s heart began to pound. It was Tamara. It had to be Tamara. Who else would visit him? He barely noticed the guard sliding the breakfast tray through the narrow opening at the bottom of the door. He was too busy sitting up straight and running his fingers through his tangled hair, trying to calm it and figure out what to say to Tamara when she came in. Hey, how are you doing, sorry I let our best friend get killed … The door opened and his visitor came through, walking between two guards. It was a Magisterium student — that was true. But it wasn’t Tamara…
What Happens When You Imprison an Old Timey Strongman,
Born in 1888 in Lithuania, then part of the Russian Empire, Alexander Zass was an old time strongman circus performer who is now known as the “Father of Modern Isometrics”. Zass taught that the key to superhuman strength was not just weightlifting, but by strengthening the hands, wrists, and arms through isometric exercise. Zass was very strong. VERY STRONG. Just how strong was he? Working as a circus performer as “The Great Samson”, he would bend iron bars around his legs, neck, and teeth, break chains with his chest, tie bars into knots, he would appear on stage carrying two lions, or suspend a piano from his teeth. One time he even carried on his shoulder a piano compete with pianist and a dancer.
When World War I broke out in 1914, Zass was conscripted into the Russian Army in order to fight the Germans and Austro-Hungarians. In the midst of battle he was captured by the Austrian Army. While a prisoner of war, he quickly gained a reputation as an escape artist, making three escape attempts. On his fourth and successful attempt, the guards locked him in a cell, then shackled him to the floor by his arms and legs for good measure. One day, when the guards checked his cell, they were astounded to discover that he had broken his shackles, bent the iron bars of his cell window, and climbed to his escape.
Imagine Loki in an Asgard prison cell, either the one in the movie that allows some use of magic or the one you imagine. He’s minding his own business (none) and thinking his grand thoughts (bored) when he is (finally) delivered his dinner. In my headcanon, Loki doesn’t have to eat to live ever, but he is much healthier & happier when he does - and the guards are permitted to punish him accordingly by withholding real food if they want.
Today his meal consists of simple peasant fare - beneath a prince, but certainly better than Thanos ever provided him. Also a small hot cup of whatever passes for coffee in his realm, including a small stirring stick. Nothing more than a twig really.
Funny little twig. It seems to tremble in the air, and putting it in the “coffee” and slowly swirling it around in the warmth settles it down a bit. He’s getting a definite vibe of something (magic?) but it puzzles him (not magic). As the drink cools, the stick (wand?) resumes its slight quake (shivering).
He holds it in his hand, examining it, pondering the vague feeling that inches through him (cold worry curiosity). It still looks like a twig, maybe with a small knot (bud) at the end. He tucks it gently into the inside fold of his shirt, and senses a swift change from the wood (warmth gratitude curiosity). Loki smiles. He wonders where this gift originated, and who might have seen it so carefully placed with his meagre meal.
‘The Fake AH Crew has been captured and is in police custody,’ says Sergeant Burns. They were caught when an attempted robbery failed due the train they hijacked being deliberately diverted manually by off-duty officer Miles Luna, who has since been promoted. This brings an end to the 5-year reign of the infamous….
“Alright Ramsey, that’s enough. Hand back the newspaper.” The guard steps into Geoff's cell to take away the newspaper he had asked for.
“I’ve barely started reading it,”
“You’ve seen enough.” The guard hands the newspaper to one of his fellow officers after shutting and locking the cell door. It clangs loudly, the noise irritating Geoff. The guard smirks at the grimace on Geoff’s face.
“Better get used to that sound Ramsey, you’re going to be hearing it a lot more in your future.”
“That’s what you think,” Geoff whispers to himself, as he turns away from the door, huddling closer to the wall. In his hands, he holds a pencil, knicked from the man’s shirt pocket.
“Let me out!” Michael is unsurprisingly yelling at the two guards still standing at his cell door. The third one had to leave after the first 20 minutes when the sound grew too much and caused a migraine. The two left had long since forgotten the rules and put in earbuds, blasting any kind of music they had to drown out the Jones boy’s voice.
“Hey Bitches!! Pay attention to me. Fucking look at me. Come on, I’m BORED!” And finally one of the officers snaps.
“Shut the Fuck UP!”
The guard opened the cell door and marches in, gun in hand. He aims it at Michael’s head.
“Shoot me.” With that, Michael grabs the guards hands, wrapping them in his own.
“Miss Patillo, if you cooperate with us, it could really reduce your prison sentence. Is it really worth throwing so much of your life away for these men?” The psychologist looks Jack in the eyes with her own tired ones. She smiles but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. They look sad. Jack’s face mimics hers.
‘They saved my life.” Jack utters it quietly, looking down at her lap before turning her face to the side, losing interest in the conversation. “Besides, I don’t know anything. I’m just the driver.” Jack leans back in her seat and refuses to make eye contact.
The psychologist leans marginally closer to Jack, and whispers. “Do they really care about you?”
Jacks eyes widen, and she glares at the psychologist. They stare at each other for an eternity, then Jack leans, reaching out and grabbing the psychologists shirt. “You don’t know.” She rips the top button off and the psychologist gasps. Jack leans back again in her chair as officers rush into the room. The button slips into her bra as she crosses her arms.
“I’m bored Lil J,”
“Yeah, me too Gav.”
“Wanna play Patty Cake?”
“What are you, eight?”
“Got a better idea?”
The pair shuffles from their position of leaning against each others backs to sitting cross-legged in front of each other on the bed.
“This is dumb.”
“Just play along. Ready? Patty Cake, Patty Cake, Bakers Man.”
“Bake me a cake as fast as you can.” A guard turns and stares at the two known criminals playing with each other like children.
“What are you doing.” The guard steps closer to the cell because surely this is some devious plan, and they must be hiding something because no way would two grown men be playing pattycake of all things while locked in a cell.
“Playing. It’s boring in here.” Gavin smiles sweetly to the officer.
“Are we annoying you? Sorry, that really wasn’t the intention.’ The guard falters at the innocent smile on Gavin’s face, and the almost shy way the other hides behind him.
“It’s okay, I guess.” The guard turns away, missing how Gavin’s smile changes, into something more devious.
“Why don’t we play a different game?” The pair stands. “Bet I can run into that wall before you can!”
“It’s on.” The pair grin at the guard as he turns to stop them.
“We’ve got you all Vagabond. Even if you escape, there’s no one left for you.”
The officers turned it into a game, to see who could rile up the vagabond more. It’s not as if there’d be any repercussions. The man’s been tied down for hours in the interrogation room. The door has been left open so everyone passing can see the infamous vagabond tied down like a dog, incapable of fighting back.
“You’re no threat. You’re nothing. You can’t do a single thing. The vagabond who’s killed more people than slept with caught by the police, along with his entire pathetic crew.” The officer taking his turn on the Vagabond is a thin and mildly pathetic thing. The highlight of his year is this moment. Ryan thinks he’ll kill him slow.
He becomes distracted however when he sees Jack being dragged past the open door. Her head is down, her red hair covering her face. Someone hurt her. Ryan thinks he’s let the guards have enough fun; he needs to get back to his crew.
Ryan feels around behind him with his hands. The cuffs are simple. The Vagabond knows everything there is to keeping someone captive, usually for torture and over the years he’s learnt you can escape cuffs. The cuffs slip off and he catches them before they clatter to the ground. Then he stands. The wooden chair legs break when he kicks his legs apart. Cuffs hung from his ankles and one wrist.
The entire room’s mood changes in an instant. Every single officer has a weapon in their hands within seconds, pointed directly at Ryan.
“A single step and we will shoot.”
Ryan grins and takes a step.
“Oi, Geoff, wake up.” There’s a pat on his cheek, and he opens his eyes. The rest of the crew stands around him. Jack is patting down Jeremy, ensuring he’s healed properly, while Ryan talks with Michael. Gavin is looking down at him.
“Is everyone all good?’ Geoff asks after climbing off the metal table.
“Yeah. It’s about 8 o’clock. Caleb brought us some clothes.” At the mention of his name, Caleb came forwards carrying Geoff’s suit. Looking around, Geoff noticed he was the last awake.
“How’d everyone get out?” He asked while pulling on his pants.
“Well, Jeremy and I ran head first, full speed into the cell wall. Broke our necks. Apparently, the officer who was watching us quit an hour later. Weak stomach. Probably good he’s not a cop anymore.” Gavin was smiling at Lil J, who giggled a bit. It was a surprising sound in the quiet of the room, but it made Geoff smile none the less.
“I got the cop to shoot me in the head. Made him angry enough he came into the cell and put his gun on me, so a grabbed his hands and made him pull the trigger. Dude’s probably fired.” Michael was grinning from his perch on another of the cold metal work benches. “Not as impressive as Ryan though.”
Geoff raised an eyebrow at Ryan who grinned sheepishly. “The had me in an interrogation room, me and about 12 cops. They all shot me when I escaped the handcuffs.” Ryan sounded embarrassed but Geoff beamed at him.
“Good job buddy. What did you do Jack?”
“Nothing amazing. I stole the psychologist’s shirt button and choked on it. Wasn’t the best way to go. They tried to give me the Heimlich.” Jack was blushing a bit. “What did you do Geoffrey?”
“Slammed my head down on the pencil I stole. Took a few tries though.”
“That sounds gross.” Gavin had wrinkled up his nose in distaste. Jack looked a little alarmed.
“Yeah, It’s not an experience I want to repeat. Come on, let’s go let the city know we’re back. I’m sure they missed us.”
AN: Here we go again! This Easter I am bringing some updates to all your favorite stories! And some new starts, starting with part one of Damian’s soul-mark series. I hope you enjoy it!
Prompt that inspired this: Older!Damian imagine!(Like 18-20) Reader is a princess from a made up country and her dad is close w Bruce so WE hosts a huge celebration for her bday.But the party gets attacked or something and she’s forced to go into hiding w the Waynes and her parents are sent somewhere else. During her stay she & Dami really connect.W fluff and a beautiful bday gown the whole 9 yards! Im sorry this is so long but I’ve been thinking about it for a while(Maybe even a series or even the parents as ex-heroes?
“Enjoying the party, princess?”
Your eyes slide to the man next to you. He’s taller than you, and a carbon copy of his father. He’s all dark hair, blue eyes, and olive skin. Three women had already swooned in his presence, but not you. You know better, you know exactly how dangerous it is to fall for the man in front of you. To do so would cost you everything; your kingdom, your people, and your family.
As you stare at him, you can’t help but wonder how different things would have been, had you been normal. If you’d had a say over your own life. You do your best to not entertain the thought.
“Want to dance?”
You eyes narrow, “Not with you Damian Wayne. Not now, not ever.”
The smirk never leaves his face, even as he watches you walk away. You slip away from the party and into the bathroom. You struggle for breath, as you lock the door and pull at the strings on the back of the dress. You want it off!
When you can’t get it after several minutes, you slide to the floor, and try to catch your breath. Your life had been so different three months ago, you’d been set in your determination. You had known exactly what you were doing with your life, and exactly what was needed.
You had been in the states for a royal tour, and you’d been in Gotham for a Wayne Enterprises Gala. Things had been going swimmingly, right up until it had been attacked, and you had been kidnapped.
You were the heir to the Kaznia throne, your mother was Queen Audrey. You were an only child, and if someone were to remove you, then the throne would be open to the next in line, Count Vertigo.
The man was a snake, of that you were sure. He was slimy and manipulative, and he was determined to get his hands on the throne, and your people. Your mother was still young and healthy, but a series of accidents over the last several months had put you on alert.
There was little you could do to remove him from court, at the moment, but you were working on a more permanent solution. Then you had been kidnapped. It had happened in a storm of men dressed in black, with guns. You’d been whisked out of the theatre, before anyone could do anything.
You’d been held in a dark, dank cell for several days. You’d refused any food offered, and only drank a necessary amount of water. On the fourth day, things had taken a turn, for the better or worse you still weren’t sure, but your life had changed forever that day.
He’d appeared dressed in red and black, like a demon out of hell. He’d taken down the men guarding your cell, and picked the lock before you could understand what was happening. And then he’d said the twelve words you knew by heart, the words tattooed across your right hip, “If you’d follow me your highness, I’ll get you out of here.”
You’d spent hours staring at those words, from the moment they’d first appeared on your skin. You’d fantasized about the man who would say them, and more than once you’d gotten caught up in the daydream.
You’d dreamed about a young handsome man who’d whisk you away from a party. You’d stroll through a garden, he’d smile, and you’d blush. It would be like a story from a fairy tale. Instead, you’d gone four days without a shower, were dressed in a ripped ball gown, and you were being held against your will.
So, you say the only thing you can think of, “Why does it have to be a Robin?”
1 of my issues with DBS/ Resurrection F. Remember when a completely OFF-GUARD 12 year old Kid Goku tanked a bullet from a sniper rifle?
Dragon Ball Super sure doesn’t!
How about when he tanked an RPG to the face?
I guess Goku was super, DUPER off-guard in Resurrection F! But heres my Problem
Because Even if he suppressed his ENERGY, he still had enough Ki to maintain his Blue form, which again is stronger than a little blaster that most likely out puts less power than King Piccolo who could Busted cities
It’s like what happened between krillin and perfect cell back in the cell saga. Cell just transformed, payed zero attention to anything, had his guard completely down, Didn’t even flex his Ki what so ever
Even Trunks got in on Whaling on Cell but he was completely relaxed and off guard.
but even while he was suppressing his new unknown power, the power he was out putting in his perfect form even while suppressed completely eclipsed krillins, thus his attacks did nothing even while cells guard was non-existent.
Theres that FILLER JOKE scene of Goku bein Hit with a Rock off Guard. But you can clearly tell it wasnt for the plot. It was just a one off joke
Its like when Saitama got scratched by a Cat. Its NOTHING Serious just a 1 off joke
We know he tanks worse on a daily basis and is fine
I know that the purpose is Goku needs to stay focused but at this point Goku’s Bod should be able to tank any light stuff since Kid Goku got shot in the head with bullets off guard and he’s conditioned himself in Gravity Training and just by transforming. I know they powered him down to base in Super’s episode
Ehhh just something I thought was some Buuulshittt.
But its Fiction so I guess you really cant take it too seriously
Summary: Anon asked:
can you do a reid x reader where the reader has a son from when she was raped and her and spence have been dating a while and the biological father is dead and she asks spencer what to tell her son when he starts asking about who his dad is and spencer sees it as the perfect time to propose since he was planning on it anyway and the next day, emily sees the ring and freaks out with joy and tells garcia and jj and the rest of the team?
You curled your knees up to your chest, hugging yourself tight. You had just gotten off the phone with Hotch, and he broke the news that Daniel Gunther, the father of your child, was dead. He died that evening in his prison cell, and although you were relieved that your rapist was gone for good, you couldn’t help but wonder what this meant for Charlie, your son. He was the moon, stars, and sun in your eyes and you didn’t know what you were ever going to tell him when he asked who his father was.
Although he wasn’t old enough to understand much about it yet, you knew he would eventually ask who his real father was, since you met Spencer well after he was born. He was bound to know that he wasn’t his real dad.
Sighing, you turned the TV on in Spencer’s bedroom. You had moved there with Charlie a few months back since you’ve been dating for a while. To your relief, both of the men in your life loved each other immensely, and that just gave you a truly warm feeling in your heart anytime you thought about either of them. Spencer may not be his dad, but he was the perfect father, and that is all you could ask for.
You uncurled your legs and stretched them out in front of you on the bed, focusing your attention back to the TV.
“He’s finally asleep,” you heard a soft voice say from the door. You looked over to see Spencer entering the room and your heart skipped a beat, the love you had for the man evident every time you saw him. “That kid has got so much energy.”
“I know. It’s a miracle when you get him to bed any earlier than midnight,” you said. Your voice was softer than it usually was, and Spencer could tell.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, sitting on the bed next to you.
You shook your head and turned off the TV. “I just got a call from Hotch. Daniel’s dead.”
Spencer’s eyes widened slightly at the news. “When?”
“This evening. They found him dead in his cell. The guards think it was a suicide,” you replied, looking down at your hands folded in your lap.
“Wow,” was all he said. After a few moments of silence, he grabbed your hands and you looked up at him. “What’s the problem?” he asked gently.
“Charlie. His dad is dead. What do I tell him?” you asked.
“Well, you don’t have to tell him anything right now.”
“But he’ll start asking questions, Spence. He knows you aren’t his actual dad and he’ll want to know about him. I’ve tried to come up with a million lies to tell him about his dad, and I know that when the time comes, I won’t have the strength to lie to him,” you said. You surprisingly weren’t crying. Your voice was soft but rushed. He knew you were trying to be strong for your son. That you would do anything for him. And right now, in that moment, he knew he would do the same. Charlie was moon, sun, and stars in his eyes, too, and looking at you in that moment, with your hair unwashed and wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties, he knew you and Charlie were going to be a part of him for the rest of his life.
“Stay here for just a second,” he said to you, getting up and walking out the door. You had no clue what he was doing, but you watched him walk out the door and waited until he returned moments later, with a hand behind his back. You narrowed your eyes at him as he sat in front of you on the bed, cross legged, his crazy mismatched socks touching your own bare feet.
“I get that you’re scared about Charlie, but the truth is, he’s a really strong kid. There are plenty of things you can tell him about who his father was and what he did for a living, really the possibilities are endless. But why don’t we wait until he is old enough to truly understand? When he asks who his father is, just say it’s me. Because as of right now, it is, isn’t it? I mean you both live with me, and I love you both and I see us as a family, don’t you see us as a family?”
Tears were beginning to stream down your face as you nodded vigorously at him. You did see the three of you as a family.
“And I think the best way to secure that picture,” he said, bringing forward his hidden hand. He was holding a small red velvet box. “Is to ask you this question.” His voice was shaking, as was his hands as it opened the box to reveal the radiant cut diamond ring. You brought your hand to your mouth, hiding your shy smile. “Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N. Make me the luckiest and happiest man on earth by allowing me to be in you and your son’s lives for the rest of mine. Will you marry me?” Tears began to fall from his eyes, too. You looked at the ring, small and delicate, but bright and beautiful. All you could manage was more nodding and a choked out yes.
The smile on Spencer’s face was priceless. In a hurry, he took the ring out of its box and put it on your finger, holding onto your shaking hands with his.
“I love you so much, Spence,” you said through the happiest tears you’ve ever cried.
“I love you, too, y/n,” he replies in a croaky voice. He pulled you into his arms, enveloping your body in his. And that night, without the words, Spencer showed you just how much he loved you.
“Briefing in five,” JJ said, passing by your desk that Monday. You and Spencer kept quiet over the weekend, keeping the news of your engagement to yourselves and Charlie. Going into the bullpen that day, you managed to keep your left hand occupied as not to notify anyone of your news just yet.
“Hey, y/n. I heard about Daniel,” Prentiss said, coming up to your desk.
“Yeah,” is all you said. I mean, what could you say. Without thinking, you ran your hand through your hair, flashing your ring to a gaping Emily.
“Um, what is that?” she asked. You quickly hid your hand behind your head.
“What is what?” you asked nervously, pretending to scratch. For a profiler, you were bad at lying. Emily grabbed your hand and pulled it to her, eyes widening at the diamond upon your finger.
“Oh. My. God!” she yelled just as Garcia walked by.
“What are you screaming about that I am not included in?” she asked. Emily shoved your hand out to let Garcia get a good look at it. “Oh my god!” she said, grabbing your hand too.
“Guys, please,” you said grinning. “We need to get ready for the briefing.”
“When did this happen?” Emily asked with a smile.
“Friday night. He said he was going to do it later this month but he just couldn’t help it I guess,” you told them, grinning even bigger.
“Aww. My heart is so happy for you two,” Garcia said. Her eyes were still on your ring, probably calculating how much money it costed.
“Am I interrupting something little ladies?” Morgan said as he walked up to the group. Penelope grabbed your hand and stuck it out to him.
“Reid proposed Friday. You’re boy didn’t even tell you, did he?” she asked him with a smirk.
“Guys, we need to- oh my god,” JJ said. “Did Spence propose?”
“Well, I guess the cat is just totally out of the bag,” you said with a roll of your eyes.
“What are you guys talking about?” Everyone turned their heads to Spencer, sitting at his desk with a fresh cup of coffee, oblivious.
Gingerly, you hold up your hand to flash the ring to him. He pressed his lips together in obvious embarrassment. You shot him a look of apology as you knew he wanted to be the one to tell everyone.
“How did you propose to your girl without telling me?” Morgan asked, but he was still smiling.
“Guys,” you all heard Hotch from the briefing room. With that one word, everyone straightened up and made their way to the room where him and Rossi were waiting.
“JJ, mind telling me why all of you are late?” Hotch asked, handing out the files for her in frustration.
“Pretty boy asked y/n to marry him,” Morgan answered for her. That made Hotch look over at you and Spencer in surprise.
You shrugged and held up your hand once again to show David and Hotch the diamond.
“Well, I say that as soon as this investigation is closed, we celebrate with a few drinks and dinner,” Emily said taking a seat.
“Congrats,” is all Hotch said to you two, but you could see the hint of a smile on his lips.
“I’m buying,” Rossi added before turning to the board to listen to JJ for the briefing. You looked over at Spencer with a wide smile, and he smiled back at you, grabbing your hand across the table to hold.
Word Count: 943 Author’s Note: This started as a ficlet and then got away on me and turned into an imagine. Enjoy ;)
You leaned your head back against the hard wall, the ache at the small of your back pinching worse than usual. Even the slow, even breaths you were forcing yourself to draw in and out weren’t helping this time. As a doctor, you knew the continued deterioration of your vertebrae had the potential to be permanent if you weren’t treated soon. As a patient, you were nervous and uncomfortable.
You sighed and tried to get more comfortable, eventually giving up and pushing yourself to your feet and pacing around the small cell.
It had been six months since you’d been kidnapped from your medical outpost, and brought to the Klingon prison planet as the sole medic for the Federation prisoners being held. When you resisted, you’d been beaten, and the rudimentary tools they’d given you to manage the health of the other prisoners had obviously been salvaged from one of the first ships to leave Earth, it was so ancient. There was no way for you to treat your back, and very few injuries worse than the most basic that you were able to manage.
“Doctor.” One of the Klingon guards approached your cell. “You are needed to assess new prisoners.” He opened your cell and gestured for you to follow him. You nodded.
“I’m moving slowly today, Krell,” you explained as you trailed behind him. He grunted indifferently but slowed his pace. He led you to an area of the prison that you’d never seen before, and to a brightly lit cell. On the floor of the cell lay a man, his gold uniform in tatters. His back was oozing blood slowly, and from where you stood on the opposite side of the cell glass, you thought he may have been whipped. It wouldn’t surprise you. If he’d had any fight in him, he would have been beaten just as you had.
Krell pushed you into the cell and you moved, haltingly, to the man. You knelt beside him and he barely moved when your hand touched his forehead.
“Don’t -” he started, but you hushed him, taking in the rank at his wrist.
“Captain, please,” you murmured. “Allow me to treat your wounds.” He groaned again and turned his head to the side. One eye opened and you were shocked by the blue of it.
“You’re human,” he managed. You nodded.
“Please let me treat you,” you pleaded. “This kit is, well, practically medieval, but I can patch you up.”
“You sound like Bones,” he laughed. “Do your worst.” You smiled and set to work cleaning his wounds.
He said his name was Jim. He didn’t tell you anything else, just that you could call him Jim. Given the state of his back, he’d been laying in the damp cell for at least a few days when you’d been called upon to treat him. Infection was already setting in, which complicated his recovery, and forced the Klingons to allow you to stay in his cell.
“Tell me your story, doctor.” Jim demanded. You sighed.
“I was in the humanitarian division, and was on a mission doing routine vaccination and immunizations when the Klingons attacked. When they realized I was a doctor, they decided I had more value alive. I think they often ransom prisoners, or something,” you explained.
“Bones says only the bleeding hearts and incompetents work humanitarian missions,” he laughed. “I guess you’re a bleeding heart?” You couldn’t help yourself, you laughed.
“Your wounds are slowly healing, I hope that’s a sign of competence.”
A loud noise startled you and phaser fire crossed through the cell, causing Jim to push you to the floor and cover you with his body.
“The captain!” You heard. “Scotty, we’ve found him!”
“I can’t get a reading! Get out of there!” The response came, obviously from a communicator. Jim was pulling you to your feet and tugging you after him, suddenly full of energy. Your back screamed against the movement, but you forced yourself to keep up. As Jim dragged you to the surface of the planet, the gold light that indicated the transporter suddenly wrapped around you both and you found yourself reappearing on the transporter pad of a ship.
“Jim!” A man clad in science blue strode forward. Jim deflected him to you.
“She’s got something wrong with her back, she’s the priority, Bones,” Jim headed to the door. “You’ll find me on the bridge when she’s stable.”
You were laying in a regen unit, bored to tears, staring at the ceiling because there was nowhere else to look. The pain in your back was decreasing, and you finally felt safe and comfortable enough to close your eyes.
“Y/N.” A voice roused you. You looked over at the captain and smiled.
“You didn’t mention you were the notorious Captain Kirk,” you chastised. He smiled, both blue eyes bright, his skin finally free of bruising. “But here I am, on the Enterprise. Under the care of the equally famed Doctor McCoy?”
“Notorious?” He laughed. “Not famous?”
“I’m class of ‘60, Just Jim. The word is notorious,” you countered.
“And here I was, coming to ask you to dinner,” he smirked. Doctor McCoy interrupted, looking up from his PADD.
“Jim, do you remember me telling you about the cadet who threw away everything after the Narada in order to volunteer on New Vulcan?”
“The one you said would give me a run for the money because of the trail of broken hearts and torn undergarments?” Jim replied. McCoy smirked.
“Meet Doctor Y/N Y/L/N. I’m pretty sure you’ve now met your match,” McCoy winked. “Enjoy your dinner date.”
Not that we needed it, but if we did need more evidence that Kara deserves better than Mon-El, we got it tonight.
A few weeks ago, Kara ended up powerless on another planet. There, despite her lack of powers, she did everything she could to protect to people she’d gone to save, and was hurt multiple times by the cell guards in order to stop the people she’d gone to help from being taken.
Whilst this was happening, despite going there to apparently help her, Mon-El just watched in silence.
Tonight Kara went to save Lena and try stop Lillian Luthor. Whilst there she was temporarily incapacitated after one of Lex Luthor’s weapons was used against her.
As this happened, Lena leaped forward with “don’t hurt her!” despite being restrained by Hank Henshaw, and she was then thrown to the ground and knocked out.
Mon-El knew Kara was completely powerless there, yet chose to do nothing.
Kara was down temporarily and Lena’s a human, so fragile compared to those she was with at the time, yet still Lena tried.
Mon-El did nothing when Kara had no powers and she was being electrocuted repetitively. Lena tried to do something when Kara was temporarily down but certainly not out and still had her powers.
Stop trying to insist on this bullshit love story of Kara and Mon-El when he only ever does things for her that aren’t a serious risk to him whilst still making him look good. Don’t you dare insist on this being some great new romance for both of them when he doesn’t deserve anything from her, despite how many times she’s gone out of her way to help him no matter how horribly he treated her. The fact he’s less awful now isn’t much of an improvement, and he should be grateful she’s tolerating him, and we should all know she deserves someone who can be her true partner, her equal, someone who helps her be better and stronger instead of dragging her down to their level.
Kara is, in the wise words of Cat Grant, smart and talented and astonishing. She is strong and brave and always tries to see the best in people and help people as much as she can. Don’t lessen this incredible woman to try and justify the existence of this new character. It’s an insult to Kara, and it’s an insult to everything this show is supposed to represent.
“So how come you left the Evil Dark Lord business, Harry?” said Cohen. “Werl, you know how it is these days,” said Evil Harry Dread. The Horde nodded. They knew how it was these days. “People these days, when they’re attacking your Dark Evil Tower, the first thing they do is block up your escape tunnel,” said Evil Harry. “Bastards!” said Cohen. “You’ve got to let the Dark Lord escape. Everyone knows that.” “That’s right,” said Caleb. “Got to leave yourself some work for tomorrow.” “And it wasn’t as if I didn’t play fair,” said Evil Harry. “I mean, I always left a secret back entrance to my Mountain of Dread, I employed really stupid people as cell guards–” “Dat’s me,” said the enormous troll proudly. “–that was you, right, and I always made sure all my henchmen had the kind of helmets that covered the whole face, so an enterprising hero could disguise himself in one, and those come damn expensive, let me tell you.”
– on being a dark lord |
Terry Pratchett, The Last Hero
A Nessian Greek Mythology based fic and a darker twist to this ship. There will be this Aeonian series (Nessian) and an Antiscians series (Elorcan).
“Well, aren’t you a little ray of pitch black?”
“Poor Nesta,” Ianthe chided. “No longer a virgin.”
Nesta’s fingers wrapped around her fork, tightly gripping the cold metal.
“No God would want a deflowered woman,” the blond crooned. “Especially one who thinks she does know her place.”
The brown-haired woman stabbed at a piece of salad, and shoved it into her mouth. Chewing slowly on the hard leaves, she quelled the chaotic waves surging within her. She refused to give into her anger—to allow Tomas to have the last hold on her.
“You always talked about not wanting a God.” The other female smiled, sharp as a blade. “I guess Tomas Mandray really did you a favor.”
That was the last straw for Nesta. Yes, no God would want to claim a non-virgin—which was perfectly fine with her, especially after all Feyre had been accounted for, still missing to this day—but for Ianthe to dare—have the audacity to—rub assault in her face, even from the dark times of three years ago—
The eldest Archeron sister twirled the fork in her fingers, staring hard at the dried, yellow leaves and mottled, squished fruit in front of her. It was against the law to attack a priestess, but an even greater sin to murder the village’s Head Priestess.
But no one said anything against accidents.
With a flick of her wrist, Nesta sent the fork flying out her hands and at Ianthe’s right eye.
A perfect execution. A warning that a line had been crossed. A sign that they would never see eye to eye—that Nesta’s gaze would never waver, unblinking, and unflinching.
A loud gasp escaped from Nesta’s mouth, and she lunged forward, knocking Ianthe to the floor. The High Priestess’s shrill pierced the air, and Nesta moved quickly, digging the edge of the fork deeper, twisting the metal. Even through the metal, she could feel the edges grinding against the root, white and pink liquid swirling.
“I’m so sorry!” Nesta cried, slipping on a mask of horror, climbing over the other female. “I can’t pull it out.” Her hair fell across her face, a shadowed curtain—and she allowed Ianthe to see the dark smile cutting across hers face, sharper and deeper than any mortal blade.
For three years, the darkness’ isolation had cultivated into something icier and harsher—a ghost of a phantom whirling within her. She’d shown Ianthe just a pinch.
As the High Priestess shrieked, bodyguards stormed into the diner, clad in plates of metal, faces shadowed by a thick, black masks. Nesta allowed the memories of three years ago to consume her, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Loosening her grip on the fork, she curled into herself, rocking on her heels.
The nearest guard grabbed her elbows and set her roughly onto her feet.
“What the hell happened?” he gruffly ordered, shaking her shoulders.
Ianthe let out a hiss, but Nesta’s contempt was a gaping abyss full of raw will.
The eldest Archeron sister harshly rubbed away stray tears seeping down her cheeks, and forced down the sick smile threatening to erupt across her face. “The High Priestess came out of nowhere—” Nesta hiccuped “—my reflexes spun out of control—”
When the guard reached out for her, Nesta collapsed onto her knees, and laid her palms against the Priestess’s heart. “Forgive me,” she loudly cried. “I meant no malice.”
She leaned in closer to Ianthe’s face, as if she were to kiss her cheeks, the fallen woman sobbing and shuddering. Nesta brushed a finger against the golden-haired woman’s forehead as an almost tender caress, and wrapped her hand around the emblem pinned to Ianthe’s robes. Pressing her lips against the High Priestess’ ear, Nesta whispered, “Now you can see darkness.”
Ianthe kicked upwards. Nesta rolled off of the blue-robed woman.
Ianthe’s trembling fingers grasped the hilt of the fork. Nesta twisted her fingers into her pocket, and hunched her shoulders, the image of a thoroughly fearful woman.
Ianthe’s throat elicited squeaks of gagging and gurgling noises, but her right eye pinned on Nesta’s form. Her mouth pinched, then hissed out, “Put her in an empty cell!”
The guard trapped Nesta’s wrists, tugging her away from the High Priestess. Two more went at her sides, caging her in. Little did they know cornering a wildcat, bred from the savageness only the true seers of society saw, would end in detrimental dysfunction.
Nesta schooled her features into a blank, empty face, struggling within the solid grip. She spared a glance towards the blue-robed woman. “The only cells missing are those in your eye.”
Stepping over the boots and knocking herself forward as she were tripping, Nesta twisted herself out of the guard’s grasp, using the falling momentum to bring him down on his back.
Plates of metal lumbered towards her, and Nesta tore out the the diner, blocking the sounds of Ianthe’s feeble cries of my eye, my eye, my eye over and over again.
Fixing her sleeve, a darker and sharper smile shot over Nesta’s face.
She didn’t even have to pay for that shit excuse of a meal.
Nesta stole through the night and into the forest. Here, the darkness draped over her already black-clad frame. She knew this path at the back of her mind, weaving through thick tree trunks and sailing over high-branched roots. Slowly, the heavy clanging sounds of armor receded from her ears, but Nesta picked up her pace.
This was the seventh village Elain and Nesta had taken refuge in—ever since Feyre had been taken three years ago and Tomas had yanked her into a barn, both Archeron sisters turned into wanderers, fleeing with the wind. Trust was reduced to bread crumbs, and even they could barely afford for the tiniest slice.
What God had taken Feyre—Nesta had no idea, but had her suspicions. It had been any other morning, Nesta serving buttermilk pancakes while Elain had went up to fetch Feyre from the drawing room. Rather than seeing their middle sister painting with her hair twisted up into a messy bun, the stench of alcohol and grapes had permeated the room.
Elain had screamed. Nesta came up running with a knife in her hand.
Feyre’s hunting clothes had been strewn all over the floor, a purplish-green scrap of fabric littering across a canvas. It was as if the their middle sister had given them a warning and a signal that she’d been claimed—by a God.
Nesta knew the rules. When Gods claimed humans, they dressed them in their ornamental colors and symbols. Yet green and purple were common colors, even found among the varying masses of minor Gods.
It was then Nesta banished all hope of desiring to be claimed by a God. She’d once dreamed, among the others, to be one with another force, to see through another set of eyes, and to ascend the mortal limits.
She’d once set apples and pears along the mantle of Athena, the one God she’d revered the most. Three years ago, she’d pray to the God of Wisdom, asking for guidance. Now all she did was pray to the minor Gods of vengeance and fear, demanding divine retribution for those who had wronged her—because it hadn’t just been her who’d been afflicted and twisted.
Nesta had watched Elain spiral into the coldness as well. The youngest Archeron no longer made honeyed offerings to Demeter, the goddess of the Earth. She instead grew darker roses and pricked her fingers as if lines of blood served as her penance.
It was as if the darkness of the demons had descended upon the Archeron sisters.
No happiness, no protection, no understanding.
A branch snagged the sleeve of her arm, and Nesta hissed. Despite this village’s soldiers pursuing her and having to move to another village, she felt oddly safe and warm, a blanket of false security.
Perhaps it was because she’d stolen the golden emblem from the High Priestess, the coin tucked securely under her sleeve. The price would last them another to journey to another village.
The moon casted swirls of strange colors of white against the darkness and the green of the forest. She slowed to a walk, taking in her surroundings. The branches reached low, stroking hunched, estranged shadows that curved and murmured unspoken cacophonies the human ear tuned out. Nesta slowly angled her body and slid through a cluster of vines.
The myths had become reality a long time ago, the Gods deciding to end their supposed boredom in waiting. The beginnings of their reappearance into society was often bloody, jealously in both claiming humans rampant and in being desired to be claimed.
Their father had worshiped Hermes, the messenger God, and named the Archeron fortune in his name. Nesta had considered it justice when a business company across the sea had sunk their father’s ship, and had stolen every commodity on board.
Their father had never returned the sail back, a merchant following the God of Thieves, saw the end, robbed of life and fortune.
The obsession with the Gods had seen the decline in family values, many children left alone or pitted against each other. Their father had been no exception, travelling to Athens, Greece, in hope of appeasing the Gods.
Death had been his answer.
While Nesta believed it to be foolish to devote a lifetime in praying for Gods, the higher beings indeed chose humans. Those taken under their wing received immortality. It could be eons before Feyre would be brought back to them willingly and unwillingly, and there was a high chance Nesta and Elain would be six feet under in a coffin or reduced to ashes by that time.
It had taken Feyre’s kidnapping for Nesta to realize that being trapped in a powerful body with no regard for lesser creatures and their emotions and past was something she did not want.
So she stopped praying and stopped her offerings.
Elain had followed suit.
Both sisters had been shunned from the original village in consequence.
Now that Nesta harmed Ianthe, it looked like they’d have to move again. Whisperings of rumors and fault had followed the Archeron sisters as they traveled, and it never seemed the words would never cease.
Yet solace stirred within her, and Nesta scowled at the feeling akin to comfort’s cost crawling within her.
Elain would be beyond worried by now. Nesta knocked away the thin branches and ducked under a canopy of large ivies she knew would reveal a large clearing only a couple of meters away from their temporary home. Soon, she’d be running in the veil of the night, holding Elain’s thin hands again.
Her head rammed into steely hardness.
She rubbed her nose and slowly backed up.
Seething, Nesta untucked a dagger hidden under her sleeve, and pushed the wall forward with her other hand.
It didn’t move.
Squinting through the darkness, Nesta realized that streaks of dark, dried red pooled down silver plates, sheer power exuding from the figure.
The amount of blood could only mean a dead man.
But if a soldier was here, then the chances of Elain’s safety was very low. She had to get out of here, quickly and quietly.
Cursing under her breath, she turned around back under the canopy, but a gloved hand with a huge, red jewel pulsating at the center lashed out and captured her wrist.
It was a solid grasp, almost crushing her bones.
This was not the ordinary soldier’s strength. And it was a very much alive man.
She dropped the dagger into her other hand and sliced it vertically towards the hand.
Her blade merely bounced off, falling to the ground.
With a yank, the hand jerked her back against a chest of steel and coldness. Yet Nesta felt warmth pour over every vein and crevice in her body.
The male towered over her, dark, hazel eyes cramming into her own soul, sheer strength emanating from him, broad shoulders with muscles roping around an enormous form.
A purebred, dangerous warrior.
Those piercing orbs raked over her, starting from the bottoms of her torn boots to over her clothes and under the slope of her breasts, up to her collarbone and into her own stormy eyes. Black boots, black pants, black sleeves—and if he looked close enough, he’d see a black painted heart.
A brow flicked up. “Whose funeral?”
Nesta shuddered at the low, husky voice that shot down her spine. She refused to be weak again—the last time she was in a male’s embrace three years ago. She would not be fooled again.
“Get off me,” she hissed instead, and squirmed fruitlessly in his grasp.
His dark inked hair and ruggedly shaven face rang a bell, but Nesta didn’t care, not when Elain had been alone far too alone. The predatory glint in the male’s face heightened memories of three years ago, but her body remained strangely calm and soothed.
“That’s no way to treat a God.”
Nesta realized the blood seeping from the armor was not from the male’s, but a head hanging from the canopy above, a thin river of red raining down.
Nesta arched her own brow. “I’d suggest planning his funeral soon.” She could see the outlines of the dead body strung along vines and branches, gutted and torn apart.
The male shrugged. “If you want to plan a murdering liar’s funeral, then be my guest.” The arm around her waist hitched up to rub circles across her back, almost daring her to string the body back to pieces.
Nesta didn’t find the action disturbing, but rather reassuring. Perhaps he was a minor god in infatuation or magic along those lines. The gaze no longer seemed of predatory possessiveness, but of amused affection.
A dangerous smile appeared on those rough-hewn features, as those seemingly pulsing eyes studied her. “I like women who can handle blood.”
“I like men who can respect boundaries.” Nesta damned her cover and swore if he didn’t let her go, she’d scream—even if it meant drawing the village’s soldiers here.
The male seemed to read her thoughts. “You think humans are match for a God?”
Nesta didn’t reply, and cursed her own traitorous body sinking into the comfort and warmth the male seemed to offer.
He leaned in closer, a hand stroking her hair. “A match for the God of War?”
Nesta’s eyes widened. “You lie.”
“Now why would I lie, sweetheart?” The God leaned down and brushed his mouth against her ear. “Especially to one I want to claim?”
Another last straw for Nesta. She lashed out, but the God easily cupped her knee cap with one hand—just hovering over the V of his hips—and the other hand flattening a palm against her back.
“A cheap shot.” A grin.
Nesta went up on her toes, her hands cupping the God’s cheek. His skin was warm and sent delicious trills down her. The God leaned down as well, his eyes darkening, a low growl erupting from his throat, hands folding around her waist. Just before his lips closed on hers, Nesta’s knee collided with her aim.
It was a pity his armor covered his torso, but the God still doubled over in pain, a foul curse leaving his mouth.
Nesta didn’t wait before she sprinted around the clearing and to the house where Elain was waiting. Running past the locked front door, she hurdled over a bush into the back.
Slipping through the window and into their shared room, Nesta grabbed her bag, stuffing the nearest clothes into the brown material.
A frail figure rose from the tiny bed, and Elain rubbed her eyes. “Nesta?” she whispered, a sigh of relief escaping her chapped lips.
“Pack,” Nesta ordered. “We’ve got to move again.”
Elain immediately hauled herself out of the bed, rapidly opening all the tiny cupboards and sweeping the contents into bags. “What was it this time?”
“Ianthe, soldiers, and a God.” Nesta folded all the blankets and stuffed the pillows.
“The High Priestess?” Elain said, heading to the bathroom. When she emerged, all the toiletries had been zipped into bags and stuffed into a larger sack. “What God?”
A God of War.
One that made her feel alive instead of merely existing.
Instead, Nesta said, “Just a minor one.” She beckoned Elain to head to the kitchen so pack their last rations, the cold air seeping into their skin. She gave the guards about another hour before they found their refuge.
Locking the window shut, Nesta froze when Elain’s scream shattered the air. Bolting into the next room, she snarled when she saw Elain shivering and staring in shock at a large figure radiating the familiar sense of power—seating himself in the ragged and torn chair as if it were a throne fit for a king.
But that was what he was compared to them.
“Just a minor God?” the God tsked his tongue, staring at Nesta—as if Elain were invisible and as if he could consume Nesta right there and then.
“Get out of my house,” she seethed, and nudged Elain away.
Elain levelled Nesta with a clipped stare. “Really, Nesta? The God of War? Ares?”
The name sent shivers down her spine. It made the situation too real, too risky. By no means was this some minor God, as Elain had realized, trembling.
She supposed it was the small mercies—the God allowing Elain to bolt away—that mattered.
An eyebrow cocked towards her. “It’s won’t be your house much longer will it, Nesta?” When she didn’t answer—her veins on fire—he pushed further. “Guards are searching for you and closing in.”
“What do you want?”
The God rose from the chair, the darkness wavering around him. The red jewels on top of each of his gloves exuded another type of power. A set of dimples winked down on her and those deep, brown eyes stared unfathomably at her. “I want to claim you.”
Nesta swallowed. This was her last defense, her last barrier to remain free: “I’m not a virgin.”
With swiftness beyond reason, the God moved so he was in front of her. He studied her eyes and the pulse along her throat—the fury and the rage in her own eyes and the quicker, beating pulse in memory of three years ago. Seconds passed before his eyes narrowed, and he gutted out, “Who?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You resist my claim, and the guards will be here sooner than you think.”
Nesta shivered. “Then you’re just as bad as him.”
The male who had taken her away three years ago.
The God of War looked down at her, and gently reached out a hand, traced with scars and bruises. When she didn’t bat it away, his knuckles slowly caressed her cheek. “I can help you, sweetheart.”
She’d wasted enough time. “Help is just another word for control.”
“Who hurt you,” the God snarled, the red stones flaring. Lethal dark oozed from them.
A crash sounded from the other side, and Elain meekly peeked up from under the countertop. “I packed all the kitchenware.”
The God of War didn’t spare a glance in the other direction, determinedly staring into her soul—seeing the darkness. “I can help you and your sister. You’ll be safe. You won’t have to run again.”
“At what cost?”
He leaned down so that his forehead touched hers. Warmth shot through her at the contact, and in that moment, she felt safer than she’d even been in his life.
“I claim you,” he murmured, voice dark and dangerous, deep and deadly. “As mine.”
“And if I refuse?”
A glimmer of amusement in those hazel eyes. “I hear cells in this village are quite cold.”
“Threatening a mortal?”
“What can I say, sweetheart?” A cocky, dark grin, honed from insanity and lunacy in the battlefield. “All’s fair in love and war.”
i think i’ve mentioned it before, but sans and the guy in charge of guarding the holding cells at the police station actually get along pretty well all things considered. sans’s constant detentions have given the two ample time to bond over crosswords.
Plot: How about one where while Jerome is being revived,his cult is also busting the reader out of prison,since they worship them both cause they’re both crazy & then maybe she sees Dwight with J’s face,then kidnaps & kills him on TV,J then goes to her??😂
A guard darts toward the cell blocks, but a lanky boy dressed in skimpy clothes with bright makeup gets in the way, their dagger plunging into the guard’s back.
“Ho-ly crap!” Y/N exclaims.
The boy and Y/N both started to speak.
“Who are- “
“Are you- “
Neither of them finished.
The boy regained his composure. “You know, it was hard trying to break into this damn place and trying to find the right cell. I almost grabbed hold of some girl but I found out that she was slouching. You don’t slouch, do you?”
“Some days.” Then came her notorious maniacal laughter. She barks out the laugh until getting serious. “You here to break me out or?”
Summary: Hydra took you & turned you into their next asset, your abolities matching the Winter Soldiers. The soldier was assigned as your trainer, infront of others he was hard& cold to you ; but alone he let his walls down, you were eachothers only comfort. After the events Of DC, he disappeared.You were told he abandoned you, that he was on the other side now. It’s been years since you’ve seen him, but what happens when he comes bursting through the doors of your facility?
Memories are in Italics, bold is readers thoughts *
Pairing: Bucky x reader , reader x avengers
Warnings: swearing, angst,tiny fluff
* Its a short one guys! I swear the next one will be better
“ Let her go or I swear to God Ross, -”
“ Threats aren’t going to help your girlfriend, Sergeant Barnes. The fact that you all think keeping this criminal here is okay, proves my point. You think you are above the law. Just because Barnes was cleared of his history , doesn’t automatically mean every person that claims to be brainwashed is going to be too. We will make an example of Silver Storm, this government isn’t going to be run by a group of enhanced ‘heroes’ . Escort her out , boys.”
The guards currently holding you begin pushing you towards the doors, your body is completely frozen with fear.
What is happening? They cant take me away from him . You want to fight back, resist against the mens grip on you. But your instincts stop you , the fear of the punishment, of disobeying, overtake any other emotion and thought. This is what Hydra has done to you , made you deathly afraid of disobeying and being tortured for it . Comply & live or Resist & die or be tortured to the point of praying for death .
You look over your shoulder, catching Buckys livid snarl on his face.
“ Buck don’t make this worse, we’ll get her back.” you hear Steve say .
Wandas voice floats into your mind, startling you .
“ Why aren’t you fighting back y/n? Don’t let them take you !” her voice dripping with confusion and fear for you .
“ It’ll only make this worse. Tell him I love him, we both knew this day would come. ”
That was it, the last contact you had with any of your friends before you were being forced into a black van with Ross & his goons.
“ You’re surprisingly quiet, you’re much more cooperative than your friends were .” Ross says, a hint of humor in his voice. Fuck you .
“ You know the childs game, Simon Says?” You ask Ross, your voice completely calm.
“ Imagine playing that , but instead of just losing when you don’t follow Simons order, You either receive a bullet between your eyes or you’re beaten to the point you wish you would of taken the bullet. That is what I was put through , either obey or rebel & and be punished to the point I wish for death . I was beaten, robbed of my memories, of my life . There isnt a day I dont regret the things ive done, that i dont think about the lives i was forced to take. So tell me Secretary, what would you have done if you were me?”
The car goes quiet, your question never being answered.
You stay silent during the car ride, during the helicopter ride and even when bring you to a floating prison & strap the equivalent to a straight jacket on you before they throw you in a cell.
I always knew id end up somewhere like this.
“ What the fuck just happened!?” Bucky shouts, pointing his finger at Tony.“ Who the hell let him in here!”
“ Shut up Steve. Don’t you dare tell me to calm down .” I growl at him before he can continue.
“ Barnes I didn’t know-” Tony starts to defend himself
“ You didn’t know what Tony? You really didn’t think Ross would take her ! He’s still acting like a bitch because I was released ! You really didn’t consider that he’d jump at the chance to get his hands on someone else!? ” I can’t contain the anger bubbling over. How could this happen? How could I just let her be ripped away from me? The team was silent, knowing nothing they could say right now would solve this.
“ We will get her back, she has the same qualifications you had that got you off the hook. Ross said he just wanted to observe her , I didn’t think there was a reason for her to be taken !” Tony shouts back . He rubs his hand down his face, regret radiating off him.
“ Bucky I went into her mind as they took her.” Wanda hesitantly says, I whip my focus to her and wait for her to continue.
“ She said to tell you that she loves you , but you both knew this day would come. She was afraid to fight back, afraid it would make things worse. ” Her voice shakey. She’s probably just as upset as I am, they were just as close. I pull Wanda to me , hugging her tightly.
“ Thank you . ” I whisper into her hair.
“ She’s at the same place some of you were taken . Legally , they have to evaluate her & asses the just how much damage was done to her , and they have to have enough evidence that she was being coerced to do the things she did .” Tony says , placing a hand on my shoulder.
“ She was evaluated here, why do they have to do it again? ” I ask
“ They wont take our word on it , I’m flying out there in 10 minutes, bringing them copies of the videos from her handlers flash drive. I’m not leaving there without her ,Barnes.” Tony reassures me.
“ I’m going with . ”
“ Bucky I don’t think-”
“ She’s scared Tony . I’m the one that promised her she was safe here, this wasn’t suppose to happen. I’m going.”
He doesn’t argue with me anymore.
10 minutes later we are on his helicopter, on our way to Y/n.
Your head flies back from the punch one of guards just threw at you . You feel the blood trickling out of your nose. You cant even fight back , the jacket they had you locked in not allowing your arms any freedom. All you can do is take the beating, you know you deserve to be here, but not to be beaten like this.
“ A piece of shit like you doesn’t even deserve to be here, you should of been dropped in the middle of the damn ocean to drown.” The guard snarls, landing another blow to your eye . Your body gives out, collapsing fully onto the ground.
Ross’s voice comes over the intercom,
“ Alright that’s enough . We have visitors on the way.”
A sickening smirk falls onto the guards face, he pulls what you think is a muzzle off of his belt.
“ Cant have you chatting up a storm.” he says , harshly putting it on you . its painfully tight around your head.
I wonder who is coming.
When the guard leaves your cell, you lay down gently on the crappy bed that was supplied. Your body aches from the guards hits, making you groan as your body hits the bed, You close your eyes, letting the tears fall freely now.
A few hours later.
“ y/n?” Bucky?
You spring up as fast as your body lets you , and stand infront of the giant barred window . You watch as Bucky looks you over, anger taking over his face when he sees all the bruises on your face.
“ They did this to you?” He growls, all you can do is nod .
“ I’m getting you out of here , doll.” he promises , he walks away and you cry as he does.
Seeing Y/n strapped in that jacket and muzzle I was angry, then I saw the bruises scattering over her face & I was livid . I storm into the control room where Tony and Ross are watching the flash drive videos.
“ Get her out of the jacker and muzzle , NOW.” I growl at Ross.
He looks unimpressed, but still slightly afraid .
“ You put her in a jacket and muzzle? Seriously Ross? She went willingly, she didn’t even try to fight you.” Tony says
“ I’m not releasing her from the jacket, its to ensure the safety of our guards.”
“ Oh ,the guards that clearly beat her!? Her face is covered in bruises! It wasn’t a fucking request, take.them.off.NOW.” I Shout.
Ross looks over to the guard in the room ,nodding at him.
I follow after him ,not wanting to risk him putting his hands on y/n.
I watch from the window as he removes the muzzle, then the jacket. Y/n goes to stretch , but winces halfway through. They must have really gotten her. She walks to the window, a sad smile on her lips.
“ Hi Buck.” her voice was raspy, my heart breaking at the sound.
“ I’m not leaving you here. They have no reason-”
“ But they do . I should be punished for what Ive done. We both knew there was a chance this would happen. I -”
“ No y/n, you don’t deserve to be here. I’m not letting them do this to you , if they want to blame someone they can blame Hydra, not you.” I say . I feel a hand on my shoulder, then hear Tony .
“ Y/n, I didn’t know they were going to take you . Ross said -”
“ Its alright Tony, I know you wouldn’t of done this on purpose. ” she says . Of course shes not blaming him , shes not going to blame anyone but herself with is bullshit.
“ I managed to compromise with Ross, you can leave with us. But you have to wear an anklet until your evaluation is looked over again by a third party, its kind of like ones people on house arrest are given. You cant leave the tower at all, you cant even set foot on the jet, or one step outside of the door."Tony informs you.
Tears roll down your cheeks as Tony keeps listing off the restrictions of the anklet. But all you can focus on is being able to be home again.
A few minutes pass , a guard finally comes to unlock your door. The first thing you want to do is throw yourself into Buckys embrace, but you know this isn’t the place for that. You’re guided to the room where Ross is , entering you see the displeased look on his face.
You sit in an empty chair, the room silent while Ross locks the monitor on your ankle.
” If you take one step out of that tower, you will receive a shock to stop you .“ He tells you . You don’t reply, just stand and move next to Bucky.
” Lets get out of here . Ross, always a pleasure.“ Tony says sarcastically while he leads you and Bucky out .
As you pass a few guards on the way , one stands out to you . You haven’t seen him while you were here , but he looks familiar to you . You try to place your finger on where you’ve seen him , but you cant seem to figure it out. You lock eyes with him, and he sends you a wink, a creepy smile forming on his lips.
What a creep. You avert your gaze , looking anywhere but at the guard.
You’re finally on the helicopter, about to lift off to take you home .Bucky pulls your hand in his lap, lacing his fingers with yours and kissing your hand.You sigh in relief at the feeling of his lips against your hand Your eyes wonder out the window, & your gaze locks with the familiar looking guard, your stare flickers down to his lips. You watch as his lips twitch into a sickening smirk, & he mouths ,” Hail Hydra" .
Your eyes widen as you Finally recall where you know him . He was your handlers second in command , he was on a mission the day you Freed yourself From hydra . You can’t seem to find your voice as fear and anger flood through you.
I’m not going to let them ruin this, Not without a fight.
* I hope I got everyone! its really hard to keep up with tags
Prompt: “What a good mortal. I’m glad I decided to keep you.”
The thing with Nico di Angelo is that he tended to landed himself in situations that almost nobody could ever get into. Maybe it was because people saw him, a scrawny teenager with his headphones blasting Fall Out Boy, completely oblivious to the round around him. Maybe it was because he was a magnet, drawing trouble from the depths of the shadows where it lurked, repelling all things good like two south poles facing each other away.
So, really, when he heard a strange noise, like the fluttering of wings, and turned to find a bag thrown over his head, he wasn’t surprised. A sickly sweet smell filled his nostrils and before he could even shout, his brain clouded over with a foggy haze and the world swam into an inky blackness, thicker than sleep.
The twisted part about all of it that Nico actually felt peaceful for once. Sure maybe there was pain in his future and sure his sister would have a heart attack, but that didn’t seem to matter as warm fuzzy thoughts drifted through his head with a bright yellow glow. Some of them where memories of birthdays and happier times. Some flashed images of first crushes, and some were things he didn’t even recognize. Bright green pastures, blond curls, blue eyes. Something otherworldly, but at the same time, felt like home. With a gasp Nico woke up.
In a cage
Although technically speaking it was a really nice cage, if Nico was being honest with himself. It was weaved out of branches and vines, some looking like they were still growing before his eyes, playing on fast forward. There were bright flowers dotting the leaves, a variety of different colours. Beneath him was a bush which appeared to be a bed, and was surprisingly soft. Under his head was a pillow–no it was a chunk of moss, as well as the covers around him, but neither felt like so. Everything about it was off.
Nico turned as he heard something cackling and breaking, and he realized that it was the branches, shrinking to reveal a doorway. As they moved they seemed to get younger, until they were too young to exist anymore. They finally parted to reveal a boy who was…. all words and no words mixed into one.
He had blond curls piled on top of his head with a crown made of interlocking branches resting on top of them, a clear jewel resting in the center, seeming to flash rainbows whenever the light caught it a certain way. His ears were, oddly, pointed into tips at the dop, disappearing into his mane of hair. He was tall and willowy, everything about his graceful. He had on a plain tunic, the same breathtaking blue as his eyes, which almost seemed to glow in an eerie sort of way. And behind him there was a glimmer of something almost like…. wings.
Yeah that’s what they were. Wings. Almost transparent due to their translucent blue colour, but they were definitely there. Oh god what did Nico get himself into?
“Hullo mortal,” the boy said, his voice like the soft whistles of the wind lulling you into a peaceful slumber. Everything about it was wrong. Nico backed away.
“W-who are you? W-where am I?” The boy laughs, like his confusion is funny.
“I am Will, one of the fae.”
“The w-what?” Something about the name tickled at the corners of Nico’s consciousness, just out of reach. Something he read or learned at school…..
“The Fair Folk. Or Faeries, as some of your kind like to call us.”
“Fairies? Like Tinker Bell?” Will shakes his head sadly, smiling a little to himself.
“No. Far from that.”
“Do not speak, mortal. The queen wishes to see you.”
“T-the queen? What about my f-family?”
“All in due time.” For some reason, his calmness angered Nico.
“Take me back,” he growls.
“I’m not at liberty to–”
“Take. Me. Back,” Nico says again, this time close enough to Will that he can feel his hot breath on his face. Will, however, remains calm.
“I am sorry, mortal. I don’t have the power to do that.” Nico growls, punching the wall beside him. There’s a satisfying crunch as it breaks, but only to grow back again, this time stronger. Nico turns back to Will, his frustration rolling off of him in waves that Will could practically feel. It sent shivers down his spine.
“Take me back,” he says again as Will already starts to shake his head. Then, he whispers softly, “Please. They’re all I have.”
Something in Will changes then, something small. His heart seems to feel lighter than air, and he wants nothing more than to comfort the poor mortal, bringing him peace once again.
“It’s the only way….” Nico punches him. Hard. It almost knocks him off balance, but he catches himself, right as guards rush into the cell, grabbing him by his arms. He fights against them, but in the end the fae are too strong. They drag him out as he glares back at Will, ready to face whatever the queen would condemn him too. And Will stood staring after him, a hand held up to his broken nose.
A few days, or months later, Nico lost track of time, Nico was sitting in the throne room, the queen with her long curly red hair in front of him, on his knees. On the sides of the room where officials; ambassadors, princes, and princesses alike. Among them was Will, chewing his lip nervously. Nico proved to be… difficult these past few weeks, refusing their kindness and getting a few good punches at a few of the guards. He wouldn’t eat any of their food, making him weak and his skin start to hang off of his already bony frame. He almost never talked, making his voice hoarse in the few rare times he did, and now he was waiting to see what the queen would do to him. Either she’d heal his broken mind…. or give him a fate worse than they could possibly imagine.
Under normal circumstances, Will wouldn’t have minded any of it. Most of the people brought to the fae were trespassing on their territory or some other dreadful thing, but this was the first boy to pass through their control that Will actually got to know, and that’s what made his heart flutter with nervousness.
Because Will was the one who kept watch over him as he slept.
And Will was the one who heard him cry.
At first, he didn’t understand what the noise was, the groans and sniffling echoing through the cell. He never heard a sound quite like it. his curiosity getting the best of him, he went into the cell, not prepared for what he was about to see. It definitely wasn’t Nico staring up at him, his eyes filled with sadness, anger, and annoyance. It wasn’t tears streaming down his face as he wiped them on the sleeves of his shirt, attempting to stare Will in the eye intimidatingly, but failing dramatically. That night, Will left without a word.
It was three days before Will heard it again. This time it seemed more muffled as the poor boy tried to hide it, but Will still heard. He came in again, opening his mouth to say something, but Nico just shook his head.
“Don’t you even start,” Nico whispered. Will left again.
The third time it happened, Nico was shaking by the time Will came in. His tears wouldn’t stop no matter how hard he tried and he was so lost in his own grief that he didn’t even bother to wipe the tears away, or tell Will to leave. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, so he sat beside Nico silently, twiddling his thumbs, thinking of what to say as Nico whimpered. He decided to try and embrace him, but Nico soon pulled away, seeming horrified.
“Don’t,” he growled.
They continued the same dance almost every other night, Will trying his best to help, but Nico keeping his distance. But one night Will didn’t show up. He forgets the exact reason why, but Nico was almost disappointed when he realized it wasn’t Will standing outside his cell, and even though he wouldn’t admit it to himself, a small part of him missed him.
The next night, Will came into the cell, prompted by nothing other than the fact that he wanted to be there. Nico looked up, his mouth an “O” of surprise, and he stood up as Will stepped closer to him, an apology already on his lips.
“I’m sorry I had to–” But Will is cut off as Nico, for the first time ever, embraces him in a hug, tears starting to prickle his eyes as he buries his face in Will’s chest.
“Please don’t leave me again,” he whispers, softly. Hesitantly.
Will stayed with him for every night on.
“We are here to decide the fate of this boy before us,” the queen says. Nico growls.
“As you all know, there are two options for him, one filled with peace and prosperity, the other filled with a fare worse than death.” Will taps his fingers nervously on the side of his pants, everything about his posture tense and stiff.
“What do you propose, Nico di Angelo?” Nico snarls.
“Take me back to my family. Now.”
“But do you still have a family to go back to?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Have you ever considered that maybe, your family doesn’t exist anymore?” the queen says, a thoughtful smile on her lips. Dread twists inside him as he chokes out, “W-what?”
“Haven’t you been told? Time is different here in the Land of Fae. It could seem like only weeks have passed here, but in the real world it’s been centuries.”
“No–” Nico cries. The queen giggles a cruel laugh that causes Will to cringe.
“Yes mortal. You’re mother and sister are dead.” Nico crumples to the ground, his head in his hand as he chants the word “no” over and over, his body trembling. Will wanted nothing more to take him into his arms and tell him it would be alright.
“So my family’s gone,” Nico spats, his face seeming paler than before. The queen tilts her head, weighing her options.
“Almost? Almost? What is that supposed to mean?”
“Your father didn’t tell you, did he?”
“Tell me what?”
“Who he really is.”
“He’s my father.”
“No,” she says again. “He’s one of us.”
“N-no you’re l-lying.”
“Oh Nico, Nico, Nico. Haven’t you ever been taught that we fae can’t lie?”
“I-I don’t believe you.”
“Then how come your father, after two centuries, is alive and well, not aged a day with another daughter of his own?”
“Yes Nico. This is how we found you in the first place.” Nico was shaking again, but this time it was with anger.
“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!”
“You don’t have to. That doesn’t change your fate.”
“It has already been decided, Nico di Angelo. Send him into Exile with the other disgraces.” Will’s heart fell and his vision swam. There was nothing worse than Exile. Will has only been down there once, and the half-borns shrieks still haunted him to this day.
Stepping forward, his gaze narrowed on the trembling boy with dark locks, Will shouted, “No.”
Everyone turned to him.
“Will Solace. Well isn’t this a surprise.”
“Your Majesty I think that Nico could prove…. useful to us.”
“And how may I ask?” Will frantically tries to come up with an excuse, but his mind seems to come up empty. But maybe….
“What if he has magic? Powerful magic. It could help us with our enemies in the near future,” Will says, trying to seem cool and collected. Nico flashes him a look that says, “what have you got me into?” The queen wrestles with this idea for a second.
“I see your point, Solace. Very well. If the boy proves that he can wield magic, we will make an exception. Nico glares at Will, his hands shaking nervously.
“Share your gifts with us, if you wish to survive, Di Angelo.” Nico nods his head, not sure if he’ll be able to pull it off. He’s never done magic before, and there’s no way that he’ll be able to now. Will nods his head at him and Nico tries what he could only guess is how you perform magic. He closes his eyes, concentrating on finding something within him to spark a flame or something in his palm. There is gasp from those present in the room, and Nico opens his eyes to see, sure enough, a small fire.
“So the boy does have potential,” the queen whispers.
“Very well. Will, please escort this young man back to his cell.” Will nods his head, breathing out a sigh of relief as he takes Nico’s arm.
When they’re out of earshot, Nico stops, turning to Will.
“How did you know that would work?” Nico says.
“It didn’t,” Will says.
“It didn’t work, because I lied to them.”
“But… I thought faeries couldn’t lie?”
“If they’re pure blood.”
“What?” Will laughs, finding the whole situation funny.
“Nico, someday, with practice, you will be able to do that. But it takes mentoring and practice, like I have.”
“I still don’t understand…. faeries can’t lie.”
“What if I’m not faerie?” Nico gasps, putting his hands up to his mouth, shaking his head.
“B-but you look like them you have to be–”
“Looks can be deceiving,” Will says, starting to shimmer a little. Then, when the light stops, standing in front of Nico is a normal boy, just like him, still breathtakingly beautiful, but with the quirks of humans. Little traces of acne are spread around his face and freckles dot his skin in constellations. His ears look normal and he no longer has wings, but his eyes still seem bright, this time lit with something else. Nico finds himself gasping.
“Different, huh?” Will says, a big grin stretching across his face. If the glamour dropping away was supposed to make him uglier, it wasn’t working. Somehow, it mar him more beautiful than ever with the small quirks.
“I-I don’t know what to say.”
“Are you ready to go?” Will asks.
“To your new sister.”
“Don’t you think it’s time we see the mortal world?”
They stood out on the freezing street, a small little house in front of them, the world so much different from when they left it.
“No,” Nico admits. Will smiles.
“It’s going to be fine. Say hi to your dad.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll figure something out. Now go.” Nico stares at Will for a second, his mouth open to form words, but he just shakes his head. Then, after a daring moment, he stands up on the tips of his toes and presses a kiss to Will’s cheek, making both of their hearts leap.
“I’ll never forget you.”
“Nor will I.” They stand there for a moment longer, then Nico walks up to the door, knocking. A girl, probably a year or two younger than him answers it.
“Is your father home?” Nico asks shyly to the girl. She eyes him skeptically but nods her head, leaving to go get him.
When Nico’s dad shows up at the door, his eyes are brimming with tears as he hugs Nico tight, murmuring how much he missed him and questioning what happened to him. The girl who answered the door looks confused as she stands off to the side, but her and Nico are soon introduced to each other, and soon smiles are plastered on their faces. Will smiles sadly, knowing that this is where Nico belongs, and turns to walk away.
“Hey Will! Do you want to stay for dinner?” Nico calls. Will turns around, almost feeling like he was floating as a wide grin spread across his face, nodding. Nico walked down to him and took his hand leading him inside. Will leans into him and whispers, “What a good mortal. I’m glad I decided to keep you.“ Nico just shakes his head, happier than he’s been in a long time despite everything.