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father-time-and-baby-new-year · 3 years

Note

I love bully shiggy, but i love shiggy angst more, so could you write some bully shiggy angst where reader goes to live somewere else or just...dies or something? I need the bully to suffer of a broken heart hehehehe thank you!

your wish is my command. TW: death, violence, slight mentions of past noncon and past dubcon, angst, drugs

Most, if not all throughout his life, Shigaraki has always gotten what he wanted. Rich parents helped. His absurd talent for computer science helped, and when his parents were being especially annoying and threatening to cut him off-well thank god his crypto is going to the moon.

No, he couldn't say he was happy. But he wasn't sad either. Objectively, he knew he had a good life. Happiness is foreign to him, but thrills aren't. Mindless enjoyment isn't. He smokes skinny Korean cigarettes, snorts cocaine off glass tables, places acid tabs under his tongue, and fucks girls when he's high, sober, coming up, or coming down.

You were happy though. You were the kind of girl to be very grateful to live, the kind of girl who walked through life like the sun was shining on her, the kind of girl he hated and wanted to crush under his thumb.

No, that's a lie. He's never hated you. He could never hate his favorite toy no matter how many times she misbehaves.

So when you fucking died, of course, he didn’t believe it. Not at first. Not fucking possible. Not until he saw your fucking body, all twisted into grotesque angles because you were trying to save a stupid kid who was on the road when he shouldn’t have been. Fuck, out of everyone, at least you deserved a peaceful death.

And it’s so like you to throw yourself into oncoming traffic, trying to save other people. Always other people. The complete and utter opposite of him. He wasn’t even aware he had a heart, the metaphorical one that felt emotions because his real beating heart was a jumbled-up mess of pounding and vessels.

But all that adrenaline is gone now and there’s a hole where his heart is. A you-shaped absence imprinted on his body and mind. He was already so so numb but the flashes of feelings, the memories hurt. He smells your perfume in the scent of wildflowers and it drives him insane.

His drug habit had gotten exponentially worse. Days and nights blurred into frenzied chaos. How could he sleep when your voice on discord wasn’t the last thing he could hear before shutting his eyes? The cocaine has probably burned off the inside of his nose, and acid flashbacks wouldn’t be so bad if the patterns didn’t spell out your name.

How dare you leave him alone? How dare you? You were supposed to die whenever he dies. Your existence was meant to be alongside his.

His last straw is when he finally shows up to school and everyone looks at him with eyes of sympathy. It doesn't click until a reassuring hand is over his shoulder, “It’s okay, Shigaraki. We know you were good friends.”

He can’t stop laughing. Laughing and laughing until his jaw is going to unhinge itself. Everyone looks uncomfortable, perplexed by the sudden onslaught of never-ending laughter. A know-it-all voice chirps in the background, “...normal traumatic response.”

He excuses himself to the bathroom much to the relief of his classmates because they were not used to a manic Shigaraki, the boy who was usually cold and aloof. He grips the porcelain sink, laughing. He wonders why there are water drops falling into the basin. He wonders why he’s crying. And once the first few drops fall, the dam breaks. He’s sobbing.

How brain dead does everyone have to be to think you guys were friends. Yeah, Shigaraki was a great friend to you as he forced you to jerk him off. He was a great friend when he threatened revenge porn if you didn’t break up with your doofus boyfriend. And he definitely was a great friend, when he stumbled into your house high as balls, fully knowing you’d be alone that night and fucked you until you bled on your sheets. Victory tasted like your virginity on his dick that seemed like it would never soften.

Was everyone that blind to what you were going through? How much he hurt you? He wondered what you’d say if you here right now. You’d probably laugh too, wouldn’t you? Laughed until you cried and couldn’t stop crying.

Dabi and Hawks tried. They did. But they weren’t friends who sat around talking about their respective traumas despite being well too aware of how fucked up each other’s home lives were. But Shigaraki’s grief was different. Dabi tried to put himself in his blue-haired friend’s shoes. If Natsuo or Fuyumi died, he probably wouldn’t take it so well either. Still, he couldn’t fathom why Shigaraki would be so sad over some pussy, however tight it may be. Hawks especially could not understand, girls being replaceable him too like model cars—infinitely less valuable of course. The golden-haired boy had no frame of reference, but he did crash his Audi R8 which was his favorite car. Maybe that’s what Shigaraki is feeling, the loss of something very precious. (Maybe Hawks wasn’t too far off. Shigaraki did treat you like a possession.)

He visits your grave often, every day if he can. It’s beautiful, encased in obsidian and marble, gold lettering announcing the tragedy of your short life. He never learned what your favorite flowers were so he returns with a different bouquet each time. Today’s were pink carnations.

Much to his surprise, there was a figure already standing there. Your father, he recognizes. “You come at a time when no one else does so it’s hard to get a hold of you.” That was on purpose of course. He didn’t want to complain to you with an audience.

“I’m sorry I don’t know who you are but the way you come here every day with flowers, spending hours at a time you must have loved my daughter very much.”

His throat closes. He doesn’t know what to say.

Shigaraki cries more when he goes home, an avalanche of memories saturating his brain. Memories of your smile, your sarcastic quips, how he could never shut you up when you were talking about your favorite manga.

There’s a revolver in his desk. He could do it. Shoot his own brains out. Be where you are. His hands are shaking. Is he this much of a coward? You don’t care right, you wanted him to die right? For all the shit he did to you? You told him you had nightmares, that when you closed your eyes, all you could see was him.

But you were a bleeding heart. You’d never wish that upon anyone. Shigaraki looks out the window, wondering that if he could do it all over again, whether he’d be kinder to you.

No, he wouldn’t be.

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cowardnthief · 3 years

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Alright, I am curious. Why is Jonny Cade queercoded and what queer subtext was there in their relationship with Ponyboys? 👀

TW: mentions of abuse, violence, death, murder

also spoilers for the outsiders!! (i mean it is a 60 year old book, but still)

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OOH OKAY OKAY

(In all honesty, I could probably do a whole essay on this, but I'll keep it brief-ish.)

Bit of background on The Outsiders: It's a book written in the early 60s that focuses on the class divide between the rich Socs (Socials) and the working-class greasers (like, "hoods", criminals), or rather the people within each of those groups who don't feel like they fit into the binary.

Ponyboy is the protagonist of the novel. He and Johnny are both greasers and part of a gang with a few others, including Ponyboy's two older brothers and three other boys.

Let's start with Johnny. Johnny is extremely queer-coded in his own right. He's described early on as timid, shy, weak and maybe a little feminine. He's seen as the gang's "pet" and the youngest, despite being sixteen to Ponyboy's fourteen. His friends are very fond and protective of him. A lot of this behaviour comes from his trauma, being abused by his parents as well as beaten nearly to death by a Soc named Bob. However, it also falls into an archetype of stereotypical queer characters. Writing male characters in this way is a way of subtly telling an audience that they are queer. This probably wasn't done intentionally, but should be kept in mind.

Johnny's character development involves him becoming more masculine, almost. The final important act he does in the book is save children from a burning building. Ponyboy comments on the fact that he seemed braver, louder etc in that moment, all traits associated with masculinity, which is 1) a strange reaction to the situation, especially for Johnny, and 2) exactly the kind of narrative standpoint one would take to show that femininity (or queerness) is bad.

Now for Ponyboy - his queer-coding is more subtle at times, and a little different. He isn't timid or shy or scared or feminine like Johnny. (However, he does once say that he "didn't care too much for girls yet", but that his brother said he would grow out of it. This is particularly strange, considering he is fourteen already.) Early on, it's established that he feels like an outsider within his own group. He doesn't really feel like a greaser, or act like one. He likes things that greasers don't like. He watches movies, he reads, he likes to see the sunset. He considers himself different, or "other", and he feels as if he can't talk about it. His friends just wouldn't get it.

A large part of the book, in my opinion, is Ponyboy finding other "outsiders", like Cherry and Johnny. (Cherry being a Soc while Johnny is another greaser.) All three of them talked once, while at a drive-in, Ponyboy finding a particular connection with Cherry despite her not being the only girl there. They all have the same sense of feeling “other”, and not being able to talk about it for fear of being judged.

Now for Johnny and Ponyboy’s relationship, which...oh boy. Some of it is just scenes like this, which feel very queer, outright:

“‘Guess I look okay now, huh, Johnny?’

He was studying me. ‘You know, you look an awful lot like Sodapop, the way you’ve got your hair and everything. I mean, except your eyes are green.’

‘They ain’t green, they’re gray,’ I said, reddening. ‘And I look about as much like Soda as you do.’ I got to my feet. ‘He’s good-looking.’

‘Shoot,’ Johnny said with a grin, ‘you are, too.’”

Not to mention the whole chapter they spend literally just acting like a domestic gay couple while they’re on the run, just the two of them, from the police. There’s also this conversation they have while watching the sunrise in this chapter (which I’ll talk more about later once I get to the symbolism), in which they talk about being outsiders. Here are a few quotes from that:

“‘You know,’ Johnny said slowly, ‘I never noticed colors and clouds and stuff until you kept reminding me about them. It seems like they were never there before.’”

“‘Well, Soda kinda looks like your mother did, but he acts just exactly like your father. And Darry is the spittin' image of your father, but he ain't wild and laughing all the time like he was. He acts like your mother. And you [Ponyboy] don't act like either one.’”

“‘You [Johnny] ain't like any of the gang. I mean, I couldn't tell Two-Bit or Steve or even Darry about the sunrise and clouds and stuff. I couldn't even remember that poem around them. I mean, they just don't dig. Just you and Sodapop. And maybe Cherry Valance.’

Johnny shrugged. ‘Yeah,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I guess we're different.’

‘Shoot,’ I said, blowing a perfect smoke ring, ‘maybe they are.’”

(Honestly, can my whole argument just be that one quote? “I guess we’re different.” // “Shoot. Maybe they are.” Queer stuff, huh?)

Later in the book, when Johnny is in the hospital, Ponyboy stresses again and again that he can’t think about him dying, that he can’t fathom a life without him. Everyone in the group is fond of Johnny, but Ponyboy acts like Johnny’s death would destroy him.

When Johnny is dying, he asks to see Ponyboy. His last words are to Ponyboy, despite Dally also being in the room. One of the other last things he does is write a letter to Ponyboy.

Johnny is also the first person Ponyboy runs to when his older brother hits him early in the book.

When Johnny dies, Ponyboy falls into denial, pretending and convincing himself that Johnny isn’t dead, because he couldn’t handle the grief. He says the reason that he doesn’t go insane with it, like Dally does, is because Johnny isn’t the only thing he loves.

This isn’t nearly all of it, but this post is already long as fuck, and I want to talk about some of the metaphors and symbols too.

Symbol #1: The hair

The is a more obvious one, as the author clearly intended it to be a metaphor, although probably not for something queer. When Johnny and Ponyboy go on the run after Johnny killed a Soc in self-defence, the two of them have to cut off their hair. This is obviously a big deal to them, especially Ponyboy, because they’re proud of their hair - it’s a symbol of the greasers, of rebellion, and it’s one of the last things they have that tie them with their gang back in the city. However, having Johnny and Ponyboy specifically cut off their hair feels like more of a symbol of them severing their ties to the greasers. They feel like outsiders within their own group already, and this is a way of showing that they’re leaving it behind, or starting to. (Shedding symbols of comphet, you know.)

Symbol #2: Sunrises and sunsets

Johnny, Cherry and Ponyboy, three characters who are outsiders within their own community, all spend time watching sunrises or sunsets. It’s one of the things that Ponyboy and Cherry bond over and talk about. Johnny and Ponyboy also watch a sunrise while they’re on the run. It’s a small thing that unites the three of them and becomes almost a symbol of their “otherness”, and thus, queercoding enters the chat. Also, the sunrise that Ponyboy and Johnny watch can symbolise the “beginning” of their relationship, as they start to see each other in a different light.

Symbol #3: Gone with the Wind

When Johnny and Ponyboy are on the run, Ponyboy buys the book Gone with the Wind from a corner store. They read it together. The book is an idealised story of the southern, free, country life. Johnny makes comments about how the men in the book are charming and gallant and he admires them. The book symbolises both what Ponyboy and Johnny wish they could be, like happy and free and rich (and straight and masculine), and what they are, or what they’re starting to find with each other while in the countryside. When Johnny is in the hospital, he asks for a copy of the book to read. It’s one of his last requests. In my opinion, he asked for it both to remember Ponyboy and to escape to a reality where he wasn’t young and dying, to one where he was still with Ponyboy on the run, or one like in the book where none of this happened at all. The book is integral to their relationship.

Symbol #4: The poem

When Ponyboy and Johnny are watching the sunrise in the church, Ponyboy recites a poem by Robert Frost:

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold,

Her early leaf’s a flower,

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf,

And Eden sank to grief.

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

At the time, the two of them both say that they don’t understand the poem. When Johnny dies later in the book, his last words to Ponyboy are to “stay gold”. In the letter he wrote for Ponyboy, which Ponyboy reads later, he says that he now understands the poem.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and that poem, that guy that wrote it, he meant you’re gold when you’re a kid, like green. When you’re a kid, everything’s new, dawn. It’s just when you get used to everything that it’s day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That’s gold. Keep that way, it’s a good way to be.”

Oh boy, there’s a lot to say about this poem.

First of all, the poem symbolises what Ponyboy gave Johnny - a new outlook on life. A lens with which to see more beautiful things. Johnny said that he hadn’t really appreciated sunsets or clouds before Ponyboy pointed them out to him.

Secondly, the meaning of the poem. When you consider Johnny’s interpretation, also taking into account what sunsets and sunrises etc. mean in this book, it’s possible that the “gold” phase is Ponyboy’s acceptance of himself. Ponyboy loves Johnny. He knows he’s different, and while he doesn’t shout it from the rooftops, he’s happy with it in his own way. He finds other people like him, queer, like Cherry and Johnny.

However, the poem’s whole meaning is that nothing gold can stay. That’s the message we’re left with, even with Johnny’s insistence of “staying gold”. It could honestly be referring to an array of things - perhaps Johnny himself, or life in general (given the amount of death in this book), or youth. Obviously, this whole post is about the queer undertones in the outsiders, so one could argue that it’s about a queer youth experience, especially in the past - finding someone like you, someone you love, but it not lasting forever, and it being especially difficult to find again, given the circumstances.

In the end, Johnny dies, but he leaves Ponyboy with all the things that remind him of him - sunsets, sunrises, Gone with the Wind, stargazing. And ultimately, I think that’s the “gold” that the book is referring to.

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matildaofoz · 4 years

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The Invisible Itch Pt. 2 (Demon!Michael x Reader)

Summary: Michael introduces himself after last night and you find yourself on the short end of the proverbial stick by your own doing, no less. Demons don't play nice and Michael puts you firmly into place.

A/N: This is a little interlude to the next part of this series, no smut just yet I'm afraid but plenty of dominant Demon!Michael. He's so much fun to write and the back-and-forth between him and the reader are some of my favourites.

Warnings: Cursing, Power-Play, minor violence and hurt (reader-receiving), mentions of smut

Word Count: 2.4k

Tag List: @prophecy-is-inevitable @jimmlangdon @drasangel @leatherduncan @sexwon131 @rocketgirl2410 @9layerdevilfoodcake @vulgarprayer @michaellangdonstanaccount @michaellandgons-sunshine @iwillboilyourteeth @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul, @kitty4860

After you'd awoken the night after an encounter you couldn't begin to make sense of, you had quite literally grabbed whatever your hands could reach out the wardrobe and sprinted out the door, not daring to even enter the bathroom. You felt whatever, whoever had introduced himself the night before lingering in the place you called your home and that knot in your stomach wound tighter as the day went on. You were going insane. Surely, for the truth of the matter meant that there were forces in this world - and apparently in your apartment - that you couldn't fathom.

You needed answers and so you began to scour the Internet, not caring if your work search history took a weird turn. You still felt his fingers between your legs, his teeth on your shoulder and his grip on your hip. God, the way he had pleasured you was unlike anything you'd ever felt. You tried to shake the lustful thoughts flitting through your mind, the image of him standing before you burned into your retinas.

Demon. That word kept popping up on the websites and subreddits you found and you swore you felt those strong hands on you again as you read page after page of first person accounts with the supernatural. The more you read, the more you became alarmed, mentions of people having unwittingly sold their soul to the devil himself despite not believing in these kinds of things. If this was any other time, you would have scoffed at the idiotic posts. And yet here you were, baring the bruises of something you couldn't explain. The work day drew to a close far too soon, the day feeling like you spent it in a daze, a thick fog hanging over your mind, visions of him clouding your senses. Maybe you had sold your soul, given it to that man, that demon. That would explain the haze you walked through, that ache between your legs.

"Hey (Y/N), you alright? Anything going on, you didn't seem right today," Cindy from accounting said as you both stepped into the elevator.

"Hm? Oh yeah sorry, I'm just tired I think ," you replied with a little embarrassed smile several seconds after she had turned to address you as the doors slid shut. She mustered you, taking in the slight dark circles under your eyes, apparent because you hadn't even bothered to put on any make up. You forced a smile, not feeling up to any small talk.

"Heard Kevin's been bragging about you two going down to his lake house this weekend. Please tell me that's not true, " she continued and you were glad she didn't mention your appreance.

"He did what?!" you shrieked, now suddenly rattled into the present by her statement.

"Thought as much," Cindy replied, a small chuckle on her lips. You two didn't get to speak often but she was one of the few people in the office who showed her disdain for your manager and his creepy ways openly.

"This is turning out to be an even worse day than it already is," you groaned, making Cindy snicker beside you.

"Just be careful, I know he's all bark and no bite but you wouldn't want to get yourself in any situation," she said, patting you lightly on the shoulder as the elevator doors slid open to reveal the underground parking lot.

"Yeah, definitely won't do that. Thanks for the heads up," you called after her as she stepped out to head to her car, waving at you without turning around. You liked Cindy and her no-nonsense attitude. Too bad you were already in a situation of the supernatural kind. You'd kick Kevin's balls any day if he tried anything. The demon in your flat however was an entirely different beast to tame. If that was even a possibility.

You sat in your car outside your apartment building for a good 10 minutes, looking up at the dark windows, debating on whether or not you wanted to spend the night there. What had gotten into you, a tiny voice in the back of your mind berated you. You weren't scared of horror movies or graveyards, you laughed your way though haunted houses you and your friends went to on Halloween and yet the thought of stepping foot into your safe space suddenly filled you with dread. You could explain all those things away by good editing, special effects and makeup. A real-life demon on the other hand...With a huff you swung open the car door and stepped out into the chilly movember air and headed for the entrance. As you passed under the streetlights, you swore you could feel those eyes of his on you, watching from above.

The lock clicked, unlatching the door. You entered, expecting to come face to face with him and yet you were greeted by silence. You ventured into the kitchen, switching on the lights, back rigged. Empty. Next you headed for the bathroom. It looked as if you'd never even took a bath last night, no wine bottle, no glass on the floor, no water puddles on the ground. Slowly but surely you were beginning to think that you'd had a very vivid dream, one that would definetely warranted a visit to your pyschologist, and somehow managed to bump your hip and scratch your shoulder. It made no sense. You knew you were being watched as you stepped out the car. God, maybe you were finally at your breaking point, brought around by nothing in particular, you just simply snapped.

You ventured into your bedroom to change out of your clothes. The note...was gone. You swore you'd left in laying on your covers. After several minutes of franticall searching under the covers and around the bed, you gave up. Maybe your breakup was fianlly catching up with you in an unusual way or maybe it was the loneliness. Whatever it was, all that remained of last night were the bruises. You changed into an oversized t-shirt and some cotton shorts, examining the blueish imprints on your hips. Perhaps you had gotten so drunk last night that you'd simply not remembered hitting your hip and this morning, still drunk your brain had conjured up the note just as it has the demon that fucked you raw in the bathtub last night.

Having let your guard down at finding nothing out of the ordinary, you padded into the living room, your phone in hand that was currently reinstalling tinder. Might as well get back in the game if I'm dreaming up hot demon bathtub sex, you thought to yourself.

You switched on the light, revealing the demon from last night perched lazily on the sofa, looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" you screamed, dropping your phone. So much for not being scared.

"Good evening to you too, (Y/N)" he chuckled, taking in your frightened expression, those pretty (Y/E/C) eyes of yours ripped wide open.

"What are YOU doing here?" you hissed, trying to calm your heart that was currently in overdrive. He wasn't real, he wasn't supposed to be real.

"What do you mean what am I doing here. Didn't we assess last night that this is my domain? I should be asking you that question, Angel," he retorted, that grin of his widening into a dashing smile, his awsner punctuated by a wink that shouldn't have the effect it had on you.

"S-so this, last night, this was all real?" you whispered with your hands gesturing around you, disbelief in your voice and realisation flitting over your face.

"Oh it was real. A demon fucking that sweet little cunt of yours. Very real and very enjoyable I might add," he rumbled, hia brazen words making your cheeks flush. You stood in the door flabbergasted.

"I'm Michael by the way. I didn't get to introduce myself properly last night since you passed out. Not to worry, I take it as a compliment of my expertise," he winked once more.

You watched him as he revealed why you couldn't remember getting out the tub or falling asleep. So he was a demon. A spawn of satan. Your mind went back to all the things you'd read earlier about his kind, that knot in your stomach suddenly coiling in on itself.

"Did I sell my soul to you last night?!" The words spilled over your lips, your (Y/E/C) gaze shooting daggers at the demon who looked more bemused by the second, taking in your flustered appearance. He hadn't expected you to be so straightforward.

"No, you'd know if you did," he smirked, tapping his chin, a cocky smile on his lips as he watched you deflate slightly. You didn't dare breathe a sigh of relief yet.

"This is like if you're a cop, you have to tell me. You can't lie, you can twist the truth but you can't outright lie," you responded, not satisfied by his half answer.

"Oh, we've been hitting the books at work today? Smart girl," he chuckled. You hadn't done nearly enough research to know the pile of proverbial shit you had landed in unknowingly, but you had done enough between work meetings and over your lunch break to know that a demon was bound by whatever force held them to this plane that made it impossible for them to lie if called upon directly. Your hands clenched by your sides, waiting for his reply. He groaned at your resoluteness. You were a lot smarter than you knew and he was growing impatient with the incessant line of questioning. Usually it was him with one hand on the lever.

"Sweet (Y/N)," he inhaled deeply. "You didn't sell your soul to me last night. It's still firmly sat behind your ribcage, all yours. I'd swear on my heart if I had one. I do have integrity, you know. Are you satisfied now?" He sneered, watching your face as he waited for your reply, one eyebrow cocked expectantly, a hint of offense on his features. You sighed in relief at his statement.

"Thank God," you breathed. At least some of what you'd found on various internet sites and reddit threads seemed to be true. At the name, Michael's eyes darkened and he stood up to his full height from the sofa. Your spine straightened as he approached you, his demeanour growing even sourer.

"Don't mention him in my presence," he rumbled, coming to stand before you, the tips of his pristine parent leather boots touching your bare toes. Had he approached you like this when you had entered your apartment, you would've shrunk back but your little research endeavours had struck a hint of Gold, a fact that had emboldened you as much as his admission that he infact a demon. You wanted to try and see what else you could use against him. Resolute, you stood your ground, neck slightly tilted back to meet his gaze. He may have scared you just now but you were not one to back down, for better or worse.

"God," you uttered again, watching his eyes grow dark, an inky blackness swallowing his blue irises.

Michael tilted his head to one side, those shadows starting to creep up behind him like they had last night. A silent warning.

"Jesus Christ," you continued to test him.

"(Y/N)..." his voice rumbled low out his chest, and the depth of it sent shivers down your spine.

"In the name of the father, the son and the hol-" His right arm shot up and he grabbed you by the throat roughly, cutting off your breath before you could finish the sentence. In the blink of an eye you were pressed between the wall, Michael's hand around your throat pinning you in place.

"Shut your fucking mouth or I'll do it for you," he hissed, his body pressed firmly over yours, his black gaze burning into you, and a searing pain exploded behind them. You screamed in terror and anguish as it felt like he was burning your eyes out their sockets.

"FUCK, I'M SORRY, I'LL STOP, PLEASE!" you cried, your vision going blurry from pain and tears that had begun to spill out the corners. At your cries, Michael's hand loosened the grip around your neck and stepped back. You slid down the wall at the loss of his body holding you up, gulping in air, fingers gingerly touching the skin around your eyes, afraid they would come up bloody. Unbothered, Michael watched as you regained control over your breathing, mustering you with a hint of disdain. He crouched down before you, making you press yourself against the wall in an effort to keep the distance between you.

"Don't ever think you're smarter than me, little one. Test me again and you'll see. I dare you," he chuckled, one hand catching your quivering chin in his hold to assess the damage he'd done. Only several small burst blood vessels bloomed in the whites of your eyes. Nothing permanent and yet enough to remind you that you were in his domain, abiding by his rules.

"Now that we've established who's in charge once again, why dont you tell me about your day? I took the liberty of getting some wine," he said, any trace of anger or demonic demeanour wiped from his chiseled features, that small smile playing on the corners of his lips again. He was psychotic or just simply demonic, that little voice in th back of your head whispered while you watched him, the back of your head and shoulders pressed into the wall.

He offered you his hand to help you off the floor, as if the last minutes had never taken place. You debated whether or not to refuse but seeing as how you were on the much shorter end of the stick firmly in his grasp, you took his hand and were hoisted up to your feet by Michael. You recoiled from his grasp as soon as you were steady on your feet, eyeing him warily. Alcohol sounded like a good idea even though you wanted to keep your wits about you around him. There was no doubt in your mind now about who it was you were dealing with and this was far worse than you'd anticipated and yet it didn't seem like you had much choice. Your lease wouldn't run out for another 6 months and there was no way you'd go back to your best friend's couch.

“Why the hell not,” you muttered, earning yourself a gleeful grin from the handsome devil before you.

“I knew you'd come around, Angel,” he grinned, those hooded icy blue eyes glinting.

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #michael langdon #demon!michael #ahs apocalypse

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punkrock-writer · 3 years

Text

Space Cowboy- Part 1

Having a Very Bad Time at Disney World

Pairing- Din Djarin x F!OC

Warnings- Swearing. A lot of bad words. Mild Violence.

A/N- The response to this fic is overwhelming I woke up and wanted to cry, thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged and followed me. And thank you to everyone who went to AO3 and left kudos and comments ily. This introduces my OC Sedona. She's a little rough around the edges but I hope you like her. Feel free to message me or comment if you like it or hate it, I like talking to people. Thank you again.

Prologue AO3 Wattpad

The musty, thick, Florida humidity did little to stop her body from practically vibrating as she gazed up at the sight before her. The grand entrance to Star Wars: Galaxy's Edge stood proudly, casting an arch shaped shadow that she stepped into to get a better look. Faux sandstone and waving flags beckoned her into the park, and she gladly followed with a face splitting smile. She had been saving for this trip for what felt like a life time; overtime had finally payed off, and she couldn't wait to spend an entire week in "the happiest place on earth"...

Or so she thought.

Sedona smiled as the butterflies fluttered in her stomach, gazing up at the Millennium Falcon was like a dream. The ship was massive, and fit snugly within the surrounding attraction. She wouldn't consider her self a 'super fan'- she doesn't know the names of the planets in a galaxy far far away, and she definitely couldn't name all of the different space races- but the beauty of the universe awakened the child that was buried deep in her soul. Nostalgia and adult money were a deadly combination.

It didn't help that the casting department knew how to cast the perfect eye candy to keep a grown woman entertained.

She dragged herself away from the massive ship. Though she told her self she wasn't obsessed, she still unconsciously decided to carve an entire day out of a week long trip just to roam around Batuu. She took as deep a breath as she could of the hot air, just beginning to get used to the uncomfortable way her hair curled and clung to the sweat on her neck. The air smelled like an amusement park, little kids vomit, sweat, and caramel corn. She walked leisurely, her sandals dragging on the pavement as she passed stalls and a makeshift cantina, making her way under another gigantic arch. Voices and music filled her ears, she let her guard down, allowing herself to completely absorb the atmosphere.

If she hadn't been gazing up at the architecture of the buildings surrounding her, she would've been able to react quicker.

An insanely bright blue light flashed in her face followed by a high pitched whine, similar to your grandpas weird old camera.

Startled she took quick steps back, her vision foggy as she struggled to clear the blotches that stayed behind when the light went away. But when she can see the sight before her fills her with confusion and anger.

"What the hell is this Men in Black Comic-Con, who are you?" Holding her tongue had never been her strong-suit.

There was a tall, old, white man in a black suit and sunglasses. Typing something into an iPad, not paying any mind to the girl he just attempted to blind. She made the move to step toward him when his head moved away from her, looking upwards and to the left.

"So this is the one" he wasn't even looking at anyone, and then she noticed the tiny bluetooth device in his ear. Her brow furrowed deeper, her mouth set in a frown. Her hand lifted and mouth opened simultaneously but before she could yell at him further, an object was thrust in her outstretched hand.

That's when her head split open.

Her empty hand instantly flew to her forehead, eyes squinting shut as she tried to control her breathing. It literally felt like her skull was cracking down the middle, lights danced underneath her eyelids, she curled into herself in the middle of the Disney World street.

"Mother fuck" she spat out the words, cracking one eye open to look for the man, but he had disappeared. Leaving her with a migraine and gadget that looked like the worst dildo in the world.

The growl that ripped through her throat was inhuman. One hand still covered her left eye as she charged in the direction she thought the man could've gone. Most likely looking like the angriest bitch in the entire park. Her fist clenched around the metal piece that was in her right hand, swinging it as her flip flops smacked against the cement. She didn't know where the hell he went but she was going to find the prick an-

"Miss are you okay?" A timid female voice flitted from her left side. She spun quickly, another wave of pain crashed over her, she couldn't fathom how she looked right now to the poor mother and her young child. A fist covering her left eye as her face contorted into a snarl, her other hand clutching some kind of metal object. Her chest heaving and leaning awkwardly into her left side.

"I'm fine" she grumbled, before marching further on her war path. She missed the way the mother quickly bundled the child into her arms, rushing into the opposite direction as quick as she could.

━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━

Sedona attempted her murderous trek for as long as she could. Searching the park for the mysterious business man who had fucked with her relaxing vacation. But sooner than she would've liked the pain overwhelmed her. Begrudgingly she boarded a Disney bus and made her way back to her hotel room. The device had been tossed into her purse, not wanting to get rid of it, so she could beat the man with it when she found him.

Yet another shuddering wave of pain ripped through her as she flung open the door to her room. Quickly shutting and locking it behind her, the first thing she did was pull her hair from its ponytail. Her hair, damp and curly from sweat hung to her shoulders, she ran both hand through it, taking a deep breath of the air conditioning. The next to go was her purse, which she unceremoniously flung onto the bed as she stomped forward. Her flip flops were kicked off at the end of her bed. Peeling the sage green sundress off her sweaty body, she rifled through her suitcase.

Nothing good ever happens when I wear a fucking dress.

Satisfied with her choice of pajamas she shuffled into the bathroom. Pausing for a moment to glare into the mirror. Taking in the mess of a girl who couldn't even keep her eyes all the way open. She pivoted to the shower, praying the cold water would do some kind of good for the aggressive pounding behind her eyes.

She stayed in the shower till she was shivering. The headache only diminishing slightly, and the gaudy scent of the hotel toiletries didn't really help. Grappling two thin towels from the rack above the toilet she rolled her hair into one atop her head, the other she quickly dried herself off. She didn't really want to spend much longer in the dampness, wanting a nap much more.

Her pajama choice was simple, a men's 3XL Big and Tall black T-shirt, and a pair of Mandalorian printed MeUndies. No, no, she definitely wasn't a super fan. She exited the bathroom, bee-lining for her massive suitcase that was perched on the bed. Plopping down she hauled it into her lap, searching through the many pockets for the one containing her emergency first aid kit, and she sighed in relief when she finally found the bottle of Advil. As she unscrewed the top she glanced at her purse, a strange blue light emitted from within it.

She reached over her suitcase, grabbing her purse and setting it into the bag on her lap. She couldn't help the eye roll as she pulled the device from the depths. It was a simple looking thing. A long pill shape, with an indented seam running the entire edge, and one small thumb-print size button in the middle. The button pulsated it's annoying blue light slowly, beckoning someone to press it.

"I don't have the energy for this shit" she grumbled. Maybe it was the headache making her loopy, but she placed her thumb over the indentation, without much of a hesitation.

And of course it started to vibrate.

She would've laughed if the vibration wasn't followed by the entire outer seam of the device growing brighter with the same blue light.

"Travel begins in 5 seconds. Please gather all items needed for travel"

Sedona's eyes grew wide as her brow furrowed in confusion. The mechanical voice didn't give her much time to think.

This can't be real.

Panic rose in her throat, her eyes searched the device, flipping it in her hands as it began to grow brighter and brighter.

On instinct she gathered both of her bags closer to her chest. The massive suitcase not really yielding much.

Her breathing grew quicker, matching the aggressive buzzing of the device in her hand.

"Fucki-"

And suddenly she is falling. Rapid descent lifts the towel from her head, and she can feel wind rushing past her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, but she could still tell that she was falling through and insanely bright blue tunnel. Faster and faster until.

BANG

Her knees are folded underneath her, taking the entire collective weight of her body and both of her bags that fall on top of her. She swears she hears a pop, and can feel a burning pain rip up her knees to the top her thighs.

She deeply inhales, slamming her hands onto whatever metal floor is in front of her.

"MOTHER FUCKER"

#din djarin #din djarin x oc #din Djarin x f!oc #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian #mando #mando x oc #the child #baby yoda #grogu #disney #fuck the men in black #sedona #din djarin x sedona #sedina? is that a ship name? who knows. Not me!#space cowboy

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 3.2}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student (however no underage romance), blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.3k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

The thing about making promises as someone who's inherently loyal is, unfortunately, that you leave yourself no choice but to keep them.

Seeing as Robin had assured Professor Snape that she wouldn't study in the hallways anymore, she found herself highly uncomfortable in the common room once again on Monday night. Her divination homework was spread out in front of her on the table, while simultaneously some other students used the same piece of furniture to store their disgustingly sticky sweets and some kind of soda. Of course it had to go wrong. How else would she be reminded of why she dreaded this place in the evenings. The disaster unfolded, the soda was knocked over and emptied its entire contents all over the table, and all over Robin's homework essay. At least she had been graced with fast reflexes, which allowed her to save her textbook and quill at least and jump out of the way before the inevitable wave of sparkling pink fluid with a swirling dash of black ink swept over the edge of the table. Her essay, however, was lost in the floods.

A small apology was all she got in return, along with a few confused whispers once Robin tried to undo the damage by using the spell she'd learned from Snape's book during the last winter break. It indeed turned the water into a fine mist at first, then dissolved it completely, but unfortunately it also dissolved the ink on Robin's parchment, and instead left behind all the sticky sweetness that hadn't dissolved with the water. Right… this just worked with natural substances.

"How did you do that?!" An astonished first year asked Robin with wide eyes directed at where the water had been sloshing around mere seconds ago. "Will I be learning that too?"

"Unlikely." Robin mumbled in annoyance, not at the kid, but the overall situation. Now that the three pages of her essay were basically blank parchment again, and she currently held everything else she'd brought neatly in her hands, she saw no reason in cleaning the rest of the mess up herself. With the intention to at least not make enemies in the grades below her as well, she turned to the kid once more. "Just be nice to your professors and they might show you something handy like that." Then, without another word, she made her way out of the common room and into her dorm. If she'd have to rewrite the entire goddamn essay tomorrow after classes in addition to her usual work, she seriously needed to get some sleep.

Tuesday turned out to be just the way Monday had ended. Robin overslept (which literally never happened), upon which she had to skip breakfast to make it to class, and then ran from one subject to the next for the entire day, only to spend all remaining time until the evening by trying to get as much minor homework done as she possibly could. By the time she walked into the great hall for dinner, she felt so on edge that her stomach protested even at the prospect of eating a single pea. But she'd already missed breakfast and then skipped lunch to finish up a chapter in her book before afternoon classes… She at least had to try to eat something, or she might just collapse like her carefully constructed composure had done hours ago.

"Hey jay, what's all that talk about that you used some bloody weird spell last night?" A boy in her grade, who was sitting a few spaces over at the Slytherin table, asked immediately once Robin took a seat in one of the only empty spots. Being fashionably late, even if by fortune rather than favor, came at the price of having no say about bench neighbors. "Did you make up something new to impress the teachers?" A few people chuckled at the boy's comment and turned to Robin expectantly for an answer.

"Shut up David." She snapped at him with a glare, while her stomach reminded her that it strictly refused to take any more stress tonight. Really, Robin already felt very much like just imploding and ceasing to exist at a moment's notice today. And out of all the times her classmates could have chosen to pick on her this week, of course it had to be today, the one day she really couldn't be bothered with any more annoyances.

Within the next fifteen minutes Robin got exactly one piece of bread down, before she simply gave up on dinner and its inherent company altogether. As subtly as she could, she rose to her feet and made for a quick exit to head back to her dorm way before dinner ended. That at least gave her a good twenty minutes all to herself, before at last the other girls returned to the shared bedroom and thus inevitably made it impossible for Robin to do her work in the same space. With a sigh that bordered between resignation and desperation, she stuffed her trusty leather backpack with all things needed for today's assignments, as well as a bar of Twirls for the unlikely case that her appetite should return at any point in the next couple hours.

Then she made her way back into the common room with the utmost determination to make it work tonight. And at first it seriously looked like it actually could. It was rather empty in comparison to other nights, more or less quiet as well, almost possible to focus… Then however dinner time was officially over, and people entered the room like a flash flood. Or rather… a flesh flood.

The book in Robin's lap shook with the nervous jittering of her right leg, and her mind went in and out of focus as her eyes lifted on their own account to scan each new person entering the room. She tried directly facing the wall to make herself stop after half an hour of her eyes skipping from the page to the door. That however led Robin to a rawly-anxious state of mind where every loud or sudden noise made her jump, and her fingers dig into the spine of her book until her knuckles turned white. The tension that coiled her muscles into knots every time she startled never quite left her body, and after a while she started to shift in her seat in restless discomfort. The frown that had long ago set on her face almost made her eyes water in its attempt to help her to focus by merely squeezing her eyebrows together, but it only served to give her a headache. Indeed, the more she had to focus on staying calm, the more she realized that her mission to make this work was failing. And just like that, slowly, the thudding of her heart and the adrenaline in her blood drove her painfully insane. Just breathe, bloody idiot! This is a complete overreaction… more than likely just some stupid puberty thing. Ridiculous…

She wanted to yell at everything and everyone to just shut up and stop overwhelming her senses like that. Wasn't that something people supposedly did when they were (almost) 14? Not that Robin would know… her parents used to joke how she'd just jumped from childhood straight to adulthood without the awkward teenage phase. Well, maybe this entire lack-of-basic-functioning was just teenage-hood finally catching up with her.

She managed another forty minutes of restless reading, until she reached the end of the chapter only to realize that she could not remember a single word her eyes had traveled over. What book was she even reading?! Oh god… she would never finish this essay! A sharp tug in her chest and a new wave of nauseous heat accompanied the thought. She would fail this essay, and then the entire class, and then she'd be expelled. Bloody hell, she will end up cast out of both the muggle and the wizarding world! No, she had to do something, anything, she needed to get out of here… now.

The air seemed to be sucked out of the room as Robin threw her book into her backpack and her backpack over her shoulders. She didn't care that she felt dizzy. She didn't care that people were watching her abrupt exit like she had gone mad. All she felt was the painful thudding in her chest, the shame, and the tears stinging in her eyes. Before she could fathom to stop or even just slow down for a moment, she was hurrying through the pitch black hallways as if she could simply get rid of the dreadful feeling by going into a blind run. Outrunning her emotions. Just a minute in the courtyard, a minute under the stars or in the darkness of the night and she would be fine, she could just-...

A surging whiplash of electricity hit her body as she blindly ran into a solid surface that made her trip over her own feet and land on her butt, startling her enough to lose control over her unshed tears at last. For a second she blinked up at the blurry figure she'd run into, before being forced back onto her feet by a new wave of adrenaline released into her veins and the still persisting urge to run.

"Not. So. Fast…" The all-too familiar voice of her favorite professor sent a shiver down Robin's spine, but she also couldn't help the impulsive decision to simply walk on. Her body currently held her rational mind hostage, just as she was held in place by a firm grip on both her shoulders before she could bolt.

No no no… he had to let her move on or she would explode into a wailing heap of tears and misery. Or worse, she might yell at him. He would hate her. Even more than he already did anyway. Everyone hated her. She didn't want him to hate her… But she couldn't tell him that, she couldn't even voice any of her thoughts as they remained in their painful ambivalence of tumbling over one another and yet staying completely absent. She just wanted to be left alone… to die already and be rid of this torture.

"Breathe, Robin…" The sound of calmness, of darkness. "Count to six while you breathe in and count to six while you breathe out. You will be alright."

As if her body was trained to obey his solemn command, to ultimately trust his every word, she complied and closed her eyes. One… two… three… four… five… six… She was drowning, literally drowning. Six… five… four… three… two… one… Breathing hurt. It was painful, but getting better. One… two… three… four… five… six… Why wasn't he mad at her?! He was Snape… he was always mad when she did something ridiculous. Six… five… four… three… two… one… He still had his hands placed on her shoulders. She found that she didn't mind. Not the least bit, actually. One… two… three… four… five… six… She felt like her body actually started obeying her mind once again. The painful tension was fading away, the ringing in her ears died down and only her heart was still beating too fast. She could deal with that. Six… five… four… three… two… one… Robin opened her eyes, and despite the thick darkness, she was met with almost black ones in return. Another shiver ran over her skin.

"I'm sorry…" She finally managed to speak in merely a whisper, and a second later an overwhelming wave of guilt closed up her throat altogether. This really was a whole new level of being a bother. He had to hate her now… Wait, had he really used her first name a minute ago? It was all a bit of a blur in her mind…

"Don't." Snape merely said, and let go of one of her shoulders at last to pull her along through the corridors and into the empty potions classroom. As the door closed behind them, he finally turned towards her once more with a mixed expression. "Care to explain?"

"I will, just… give me a moment, please." She brought out, then carefully dropped her backpack on the floor and slowly walked from one end of the classroom to the other, pacing back and forth while Snape sat down on the edge of his desk and watched her in silence. Finally she felt enough like herself once more to talk to him, even if she wasn't entirely sure what he expected to hear. So that's where she started. "I don't know what to say…"

"Is this a usual occurrence? You running through the hallways in blind panic?"

"No…" Robin finally stopped in her avoidant movements, but still looked everywhere other than at the potions professor. "I mean… yes. But no. Ever since the start of term, I… it's…" Robin sighed, then sat down in her usual seat in the second row and put her head in her hands for a moment to collect her thoughts, while Snape waited patiently for her to go on. Finally she took a breath and lifted her eyes to look up at him. "I really shouldn't have told you that I wouldn't study in the hallways anymore… it's the only place I can bear to be at certain times. Ever since the start of term I've had trouble being around people. Not generally, I mean, just… working there, in the common room. I can't focus on my work, no matter what I do, and it always ends with me feeling like I'm going to die. Then I run and hide in the hallway. It's just… what I do to-... to cope without bothering anyone." She shrugged, more so to herself than to him. "I know it's probably just some pathetic teenager thing. It's nothing, really, and I already feel embarrassed enough by how stupid that all sounds… And I should probably stop talking."

"You should have told me."

"What?" Robin blinked at him in irritation. This is not the response she had expected. Mocking, yes. Scolding, even more likely. But not… something that sounded an unlikely lot like understanding. Remorse even! Surely she was misinterpreting that.

"You should have told me on Sunday what you told me now, and matters would not have come this far." He replied reproachfully, which was already way more likely on the scale of his normal subtones, and moved away from his desk towards the door.

"Well, it's not something you simply tell people! At least not without a darn good reason…" Robin defended herself quietly while avoiding his eye once more. He already knew quite enough, he didn't need to see her blushing over it like a damn idiot as well. "And no offense, professor, but I doubt that there is much you can do about it anyway. It's probably just… nature, or… something." She cringed as the words left her lips, but she would only embarrass herself even more if she spoke on in an attempt to make it any better.

"You may have failed to notice that you are sitting at a desk in a decently lit classroom right now instead of cowering on the ground in a dark hallway."

"Actually I was quite aware of that." A small smile accompanied the frown on Robin's face now as she turned around to face him standing by the door. "But… you seem to be making a different point with that statement and I… don't get it."

"Would you like me to spell it out for you?!" He rolled his eyes, looking equally annoyed and uncomfortable. The kind of uncomfortable he always wore when he got caught doing something nice.

"I'd actually appreciate that a lot, sir." She replied with an insecure half smile, even though she knew that his comment had been mere sarcasm. "This… thing, in the common room, has left me a bit… slow, for the moment. Sorry… I guess I'm back to being a dunderhead for the moment."

"Do you remember the advanced spell to lock and unlock doors which I taught you in your first year?"

"Yes, of course."

"It is commonly used to lock the classrooms. All classrooms, to be exact, in the entire school. However I would prefer if you made use of that knowledge solely on the doors to my own classrooms, should you find yourself in need of a… suitable study space again." He gave her a pointed look, then disappeared out into the hallway without another word.

Robin stared at the now closed door for another moment, and listened to her own heartbeat and the silence it was filling. He trusted her enough to allow her to study here, and even come and go at will. That… wow. Robin felt honored, in a way, and definitely privileged. She'd felt proud to be allowed to break curfew, but this was a step further into what honestly started to look like trust. Severus Snape trusted her, even if only ever so slightly. Hadn't she been so emotionally exhausted from the events of today overall and tonight in particular, she would have smiled brighter than the sun. She felt like smiling brighter than the sun, actually… but all her body allowed for now was a small but grateful smile. Yeah, she'd happily write a thousand labels for him as a thank you for this… and a couple more as an apology for making him do something nice. For now however she still had an essay to write for divination, and she would make sure that it turned out even better than the first.

… … …

About an hour later, Professor Snape returned to the classroom in the same silence he had left with. Robin looked up from her work as her ears picked up on the movement, and she followed him with her eyes as he sat down behind his desk with a stack of paperwork. For a moment, he returned the gaze with the same calm expression he had worn in the lab two days ago, and Robin wondered what he might possibly be thinking. Then he focused on his own work, and Robin did the same.

For two more hours they sat in silence like this, each working on their respective tasks in the dim light of the few lit candles in the room. Robin hadn't been able to work this well for this long ever since the start of term, maybe even longer than that, and she couldn't quite believe just how lucky she was to have ended up here now. Lucky, and grateful. Just sitting in Snape's classroom with him, way past curfew and in comfortable silence, she felt like she was able to relax for the first time in over twenty four hours. In addition to that, her essay was turning out to be amazing. This might not beat last Sunday night, with all the amazing wonders the lab had to offer, but it was a pretty close second.

Once the essay was done and packed up to be handed in tomorrow, Robin made the pleasant discovery that the Twirl she had packed was still unharmed and not entirely smashed after how she'd thrown her book into the backpack earlier. Pleased with herself for packing the candy in the first place, she grabbed it out of her backpack along with the book she intended to read next.

"You brought chocolate to Hogwarts?" Snape raised an eyebrow at her in what almost looked like amusement, and Robin had to smile at the fact that this was what finally had led him to disrupt the silence. "Isn't the insufferable amount of sweets served here quite enough?"

"It's not nearly the same, actually." Robin replied neutrally, then took one of the chocolate bars out of the package to place it on her desk before looking back at Snape. "Do you… uh, would you like one? I mean… I'd be happy to share. Still haven't gotten used to having two chocolates in one package…"

"And what exactly would be the use of that for you?"

"Eating chocolate or sharing? Actually-... Well, I guess it doesn't matter, actually… both tend to be quite delightful." Robin shrugged as she rose to her feet and walked over to his desk to place the second piece of chocolate in front of him. Seeing as he still looked doubtful, Robin rolled her eyes even though she knew she shouldn't. "I'm not going to poison you! I'm… just trying to be nice. And hoping you won't yell at me."

While Snape continued to frown at her, then at the chocolate on his desk, Robin sat back down at her own desk with a sigh and went to enjoy her treat. Why couldn't he simply accept a kind gesture without being all weird about it? It made Robin feel weird in return… but she also refused to let that stop her from being nice to him. He probably didn't believe that anyone would be kind to him for the same reason he found it so hard to believe that Robin didn't mind, and even appreciated his company. Well, in case she or anyone on this planet hadn't noticed before now… her potions professor was different. Not different from anything in particular, just different. Yet she couldn't help wondering… had he ever tried muggle candy before? Chances were ridiculously high that he didn't even-...

"There indeed is nothing like Twirls in Hogwarts… I had no idea they sold them as twin bars these days though." He mused after a moment, then snatched the piece of chocolate off his desk to eat while resuming his work as if nothing had interrupted him in the first place.

Robin felt baffled for a moment… he actually knew that they hadn't always come packaged like this?! Most of the kids in her house didn't even know what a TV was… leave alone a random brand of sweets. How come he knew? But Robin knew that it wasn't her place to ask... She'd already stretched her luck quite enough by offering him chocolate in the first place. But in terms of being kind, it really was an improvement to having the house elves bringing him cake, just like her using his classrooms as a study space was an improvement in terms of trust. Somehow, Robin felt like they were making progress. But she didn't yet know which goal they were trying to reach.

… … …

After Tuesday night, Robin declared the potions classroom to be her personal sanctuary. Thus it was no surprise that on Wednesday night she was back in front of the door, only to find it locked. However seeing as Snape had been rather direct about her being allowed and expected to let herself in, she didn't hesitate to make good use of the spell she'd learned in her first year. From some time after dinner until way after midnight, Robin was alone in the classroom, working and reading and simply enjoying the fact that she was entirely on her own. Solitude was hard to come by around here… so she treasured every second she had to herself, before at last she made her way back to her dorm. She didn't run into a single person that night, and it was absolutely blissful.

On Thursday night Robin had to let herself into the room yet again, but after an hour of being alone, Professor Snape burst into the room like a black whirlwind or a thundercloud, which in return caused Robin to jump with a yelp. He stared at her in surprise for a second, frozen in his spot in the middle of the room now after the dramatic entrance, but then his entire demeanour slowly changed from threatening tension to calm neutrality and he moved on into his office, only to come back with a stack of notebooks a moment later. Still without saying a single word, he sat down at his desk in the front of the classroom and started to work. Whatever he had been upset about a moment ago, to Robin it seemed to have faded for now. Or he'd just gotten better at hiding it. However Robin had also gotten better at reading his barely-existent expressions and tiny tells, and thus it was more than likely that he felt calmer now for real. The thought made Robin smile as she turned back to her work. Perhaps this sanctuary wasn't only hers to escape to after all.

On Friday night, Robin found herself with a surprising lack of assignments for the next week, which left only her private studies to delve into. However due to exactly that reason, she decided to take a walk down to the lake after dinner, before curfew would limit her to the castle grounds alone. It was still surprisingly warm for the beginning of October, and thus she strolled along the shore until the time of night forced her to return to the castle. Once back inside, she made her direct way to the potions classroom without even bothering to return to her dorm first, seeing as she carried her backpack with her anyway, and thus all of the books she could possibly read. To her surprise, the door was unlocked already, but she stepped into the room to find it empty and in darkness. Well, the back of the room where Robin was currently situated was dark. The door leading to Snape's office however stood wide open, and the faint light radiating out of the office dimly illuminated the very front of the classroom.

Without wasting any more time standing in the dark like an idiot, Robin closed the door behind herself, lit the candles with a single word and then sat down in her usual spot. Somehow it only now appeared to her that up until this week, Snape had always been working in his office whenever she had seen him working in the evenings, and not once in the classroom. Had he started working here to keep an eye on her? No, she'd been alone here all of Wednesday, and multiple hours over the other two days. Huh… how curious. Robin then settled for the explanation that he also didn't mind some company at times. And the desk here in the classroom seemed a whole lot larger than the one in his office.

"Miss Mitchell…" His voice stopped her before she even had the chance to unpack any of her books from her backpack.

"Good evening, professor." She replied in a hint of surprise at actually being talked to after the enduring silence of the previous night, and meanwhile followed him with her eyes as he made his way out of the office with a book in his hands that might as well be older than the castle. "Is… is everything alright?"

"Indeed. However I… would like to ask for your assistance." His voice didn't let on anything at all once more, and Robin didn't know if she should feel nervous or excited. Her heartbeat sped up anyway.

"My-... My assistance?" She frowned a little, but snapped out of her insecurity in a second. This was her chance to help him another time, and she would take it no matter what. "I mean… of course, I'd be glad to. What is it you need my help with?"

He placed the book on his desk and motioned for Robin to come over as well, which she did while he explained. "I was in the fortunate position to acquire this unique piece of literature over the summer, but it appears to be missing one single page, which however I suspect to be of crucial importance to fully understanding everything else. Since the page was not simply torn out of the book, it also cannot simply be restored either."

Robin stood next to Snape at his desk and carefully inspected the heavy tome for a moment. It was bound in shabby but decently restored leather, with the barest hint of a gold inscription on the spine that however had long before rubbed off. Not much to go by… what kind of literature was this even? After a moment she looked up from the book to meet her professor's eyes. "How could I be of any help with that? I mean, I absolutely would help you if I could, but I very much doubt that there's anything I can do if even you didn't know a suitable spell. Maybe you could ask Professor Flitwick, or Professor McGonagall, or…"

"I asked for your assistance, did I not?"

Robin nodded, but the frown stayed on her face nonetheless. "Yes, sir… but I'm afraid I'll only disappoint you even if I tried. I have no idea how to restore the page as it is."

"I would not be so certain about that. You are in the possession of something that could very well be of vital assistance right now." He gave her a moment to think, and the gears in Robin's mind jumped into full action. Did she, really? But what-...

"The book about literature spells!" Her eyes widened at her own conclusion, and her lips remained agape with the realization. So that's why he had asked her! But how had he remembered that? It's been ages since she'd mentioned it…

"Is it still in your possession?"

"Of course!" The smile was on her face before she could help herself. In an instant she was back at her own desk and digging through her backpack with her right arm almost disappearing in the small bag up to her shoulder. Snape watched her with a risen eyebrow, and Robin felt the need to explain herself rising up with the heat on her cheeks. "Uh, I… carry a lot of books usually, so I used an extension charm I had previously researched for-… You know what, nevermind."

Snape looked so extremely unimpressed by her words that Robin had enough reason to assume that he actually was actually –at least partially– impressed by her spellwork. Really, it was another odd thing about him that she'd discovered recently, the nearly indistinguishable difference between unimpressed, and 'unimpressed but actually quite impressed'. She hid her smile in her bag for a moment, until she came to the conclusion that the book in question wasn't in there. Thus she dropped the bag on her desk as she rose to her feet, and then turned back to Snape.

"The book is in my dorm room, since I hardly ever use it these days… But I'll go get it right now, so, uh, I'll be right back." With that she made for the door and left without waiting for a reply. Ten minutes later she walked back into the classroom at the same pace she had left with, eyes already fixed on the book as she flipped through the pages. "I'm afraid I only ever really studied half of it, seeing as the second half was pretty much useless for me at the time, but-..."

"Jay?! What the hell are you doing here? Must've gotten yourself into detention as well, huh?" The snarling voice of David –who certainly had been a more than qualified replacement for Alexander in terms of bullying, ever since the duelling incident– made Robin look up from her book so fast and in so much surprise that she almost ran into the corner of a desk. In equal shock and incredulity she stared at David for a second, then at Professor Snape who had taken a seat behind his desk.

"You've got to be joking…"

______________________________

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#severus snape #snape #snape imagine #snape fanfiction #severus snape x oc #snape x oc #snape x ofc #professor snape #young snape #young severus #severus x oc #pro snape #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #Voluptas Noctis Aeternae

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afni-fics · 3 years

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Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 26: Dragon Rising (part 5)

Chapter 26: Dragon Rising (part 5) by C_R_Scott Chapters: 26/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Modded Skyrim, Skyrim Spoilers, Tim Drake is Dragonborn | Dovahkiin, Batfamily-centric (DCU), Tim Drake-centric

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Summary:

The conclusion of the "Dragon Rising" portion of the main Skyrim storyline.

-------------------------

When Tim and Lucien made their way into Dragonsreach's throne room, they could hear, even from the front doors, that Jarl Balgruuf was already in a loud, animated discussion between his steward Proventus and a different guard. This one was male and had very striking facepaint. Tim frowned. Irileth was nowhere in sight.

Swell.

"Good. You're finally here." Proventus said. "The Jarl's been waiting for you."

The new armed guard on the Jarl's left hand agreed. "We were just talking about you. My brother needs a word with you."

A quick glance back confirmed Lucien had decided to hang back by a couple of yards, but his own hooded face was lined with a subtle scowl since he didn't see Irileth either. Then Tim paused at the foot of the stairs leading to the throne and bowed respectfully to the Jarl.

Jarl Balgruuf looked at Tim appraisingly. It made Tim uneasy. "Irileth informed me of the dragon's death at the Watchtower, but she mentioned something... strange that happened there." The Nordic ruler narrowed his eyes at the younger man. "I'd like to hear your perspective on the events."

Tim slipped on his best Wayne mask, the one he normally reserved for dealing with Lex Luthor company executives whenever any decided to visit Gotham and Wayne Enterprises. He was nothing but professional as he spoke. "I wish I could give you my perspective, my Jarl," he said politely. "Unfortunately due to my illness and injuries, I wasn't in the right state of mind to remember much of that night. I do know that there are accounts from others who were there when the dragon died that I appeared to absorb 'something' from it." He shook his head. "What that 'something' was, I couldn't even fathom how to describe it with any accuracy from second-hand accounts. The most I can offer is that I've heard the word 'Dragonborn' used in conjunction with the events. I am sorry I can't offer more clarity than that."

Balgruuf stroked his beard thoughtfully. "If Irileth's men, honest Nords to a man, who were there that night and witnessed the miracle, are calling you 'Dragonborn', then it makes sense that the Greybeards have sent out a summons for you now. You must be Dragonborn."

Tim felt a lump rise to his throat, but he swallowed it down and clung to his "mask" like a second skin. "Who are these Greybeards, and why would they want to summon me?"

"They are masters of the Way of the Voice," Balgruuf started as one of his servants brought him a drink. He took one silver goblet and waved the rest away. "They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the Word." He took a long draught before continuing. "The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice - the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or a Shout. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift."

The servant girl offered Tim a drink, but he waved her away politely as he kept his focus on Balgruuf even as the left-hand guard began to address him.

"Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you came to Dragonsreach?! That was the voice of the Greybeards," the man in the dark armor said with absolute self-certainty. "Summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn't happened in... centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora!"

If the guard was going to say anything else, he was cut off by Proventus "Hrongar, calm yourself. What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here?"

As Proventus triggered a heated argument with who Tim now knew as Hrongar, the Jarl's brother, he took the moment to take a breath and absorb what had just been said. He swallowed the desire to include his own frustrated voice to the squabbling between Proventus and Hrongar, but held his tongue. Instead, he let Balgruuf finally break the argument up before speaking up again.

"What do these Greybeards want with me?" Tim asked.

Balgruuf shook his head. "That's the Greybeards' business not ours," he said with almost an apologetic tone. "Whatever happened when that dragon was killed, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it." The Jarl met and held Tim's gaze solemnly. "If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue?" Then he broke off the gaze and sighed. "You'd better get up to High Hrothgar as soon as possible. There's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It's a tremendous honor."

As the Jarl mused wistfully, something about envying Tim about his upcoming 'pilgrimage' and waxing nostalgic about the peacefulness of the Graybeard's high altitude monastery, inwardly Tim was trying and failing to wrap his head around this entire situation. How had things escalated so damned fast and in such a completely insane direction?! He wasn't whatever they thought this "Dragonborn" was! He couldn't be! He was just a human vigilante from Gotham. He wasn't a metahuman. He wasn't descended from magic or an alien from Mars or Krypton. He was just a rich kid from Jersey for Christ's sake!

There was a subtle shift in the Jarl's voice and Tim's attention jerked back to the man on the throne. "You've done a great service for me and my city, Dragonborn."

"Oh crap!" Tim thought silently with a faint edge of alarm, though his face betrayed nothing of his inner thoughts. "He's referring to me as 'Dragonborn" like it's replaced my name. This can't be good."

"By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honor that's within my power to grant."

"Wait-- What?!" Tim's mask slipped as he blinked in surprise and stared at the Jarl with blatant bewilderment. He was momentarily distracted by the fact that Proventus had walked up to him bearing a large parcel that was wrapped with what looked like a cloak bearing the crest of Whiterun, an image of a horse's head in profile. "Oh, no, no, nonono..." Unconsciously Tim took a step away from Proventus.

Despite the young man's obvious confusion, Balgruuf pressed onward, not caring in the least about Tim's visible discomfort. "I also assign you Lydia as a personal Housecarl, and this weapon from my armory to serve as your badge of office."

"Now one moment--" Tim tried to interrupt, even as the Jarl's brother Hrongar was attempting to offer him what looked like a very ornate greatsword that was nearly as long as Tim was tall. He tried to wave the sword and the parcel away, but thankfully Lucien came up and accepted both on Tim's behalf, looking about as startled as his friend was feeling. Lucien shrugged his shoulders apologetically at Tim. He had no clue what was going on either in that moment.

Tim held both hands up as if surrendering to Balgruuf, if only to just make him stop talking for the moment. "I... appreciate all of this. You have shown me a great deal of generosity, Jarl Balgruuf, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart... but..." Then Tim caught sight, out of the corner of his eyes, a heavily armed woman with a sword and shield coming into view. He focused on that for the moment. "I don't even have a house in the area to have a 'housecarl' in," he argued. "You don't need to give me one of your soldiers."

"That's easy enough to fix."

Tim felt the blood drain from his face. "Oh sweet fucking Jesus," he thought to himself with dismay.

"Proventus," Balgruuf said. "Didn't you mention that there is a house that is currently vacant in the Plains District the other day?"

Tim tried to open his mouth to protest again in a vain attempt to derail the Jarl's obvious train of thought. However, thankfully, another strong voice spoke up loud and clear.

"That won't be necessary, my Jarl!"

Tim almost sagged in relief as the main doors to Dragonsreach flew open and Irileth marched herself into the great hall with calm unwavering authority.

"My apologies for being late," she said as she bowed respectfully to the Jarl. "But there was a disturbance being caused at the city gates by a couple of Redguard men I needed to attend to." Then she glanced at Tim and Lucien, taking a moment to look over the things that had been handed to Lucien with a subtle frown, before turning her full attention back to the Jarl. "And there won't be a need for your new Thane to purchase a home within the city walls. Timothy and I spoke the other day at the Temple about his favorite areas in the Hold..."

Tim glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, repressing his new confusion as best he could. They never spoke about any "favorite areas" the other day when she visited him at the Temple. She just asked him to come to this meeting with the Jarl and left when he agreed. Then, as she continued her "suggestion", he realized what she was doing.

"...He mentioned having a fondness for Riverwood. The people there were kind to him after surviving Helgen, and he spoke with me at length about how much he was looking forward to taking in some of the hunting in that area once he leaves the city. I believe Gerdur's husband mentioned that they have an old house that's been vacant for years in the village during his most recent delivery of lumber." She gave Tim a knowing look. "It would take a number of weeks to bring it up to livable conditions, but considering our Thane is going to make a pilgrimage to High Hrothgar upon leaving the city, his new housecarl will have plenty time to make that happen.

Balgruuf regarded Irileth thoughtfully, then he smiled at Tim. "Yes, I can see why Riverwood would be such an appealing place for a young man such as yourself. In my youth, when my father was still Jarl, I remember relishing the freedom to roam those forests during hunts with my old friends Kodlak, Olfrid, and Eorlund. It's not a luxury I can afford myself these days, but I cherish the memories." He turned to Irileth. "Please send a missive to Gerdur. Let her know that our new Thane has chosen her village as his home whenever he is in the Hold, and send Lydia to see about starting preparations to make the vacant house ready for use by the time he returns.

Irileth nodded respectfully. "Yes my Jarl."

Tim marveled at how smoothly the dark elf routed the Jarl. She couldn't stop him from offering Tim a piece of property in Whiterun, but at least she was able to put a solid day's travel distance between that potential "home" and Dragonsreach, as well as make it expected that it would be weeks, at least, before he would be able to spend any significant time there.

Balgruuf then regarded Timothy. "We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn. May the Divines watch over your journey to High Hrothgar." Then he turned to his steward. "Back to business Proventus. We still have a city to defend."

***

Once dismissed from the court, Tim and Lucien were led out of Dragonsreach by Irileth, under the excuse that she was going to help prepare him for his journey to High Hrothgar, since neither he nor Lucien had ever been to that part of Skyrim.

As soon as the heavy wooden doors to Dragonsreach were slammed shut behind them, and the trio had put decent amount of distance between themselves and any nearby guards, Tim turned to look at Lucien and Irileth. "Ok... Can someone please explain to me what the hell just happened in there?!"

====================

Note:

So, in my Skyrim head canon, Jarl Balgruuf is the kind of man who cares about his people, wants to be a fair ruler, but has absolutely no impulse control to speak of. Proventus tries to keep his Jarl on task, but has no ability to restrain his boss's worst impulses if Balgruuf has his mind set on something. Irileth is really the only one who can keep the Jarl on the straight and narrow... so long as she's in the same room as him.

Poor Tim, though... He's so confused.

At least he's healthy now, right? And he's got a new greatsword he has absolutely no clue on how to use:

#elder scrolls dc#fanfiction#tim drake#skyrim fanfiction#red robin#batfam#crossover#lucien flavius#wip#afewnovelideas

#elder scrolls DC #Fanfiction #tim drake #skyrim fanfiction #red robin #batfam #crossover #lucien flavius #wip #afewnovelideas

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xxconclusione-aperioxx · 4 years

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youtube

Okay so I'd like to share what I commented on this video. I watched it and it sent me into a whole rant about the motives and characterization of Draco. I recommend watching before reading this:

@quinncurio is the original poster

Here's the copy paste of my comment/ Essay. I was slight heated when I wrote this, but my points still stand.

"OH BOY. HI, HELLO I VERY MUCH DISAGREE. ALSO: DISCLAIMER: DONT TAKE THINGS PERSONALLY, YOU WILL FIND I HAVE A VERY LOGICAL EXPLANATION, FOR WHY THIS ANALYSIS DOESN'T WORK.

Calling a Draco a cowardly bigoted bully, and a carbon copy of Dudley is the most SHALLOW and LOW EFFORT CONCLUSION YOU COULD POSSIBLY DRAW. IT IS LOW HANGING FRUIT. I'm going to have to break this into sections to truly explain why your conclusion is soooo incredibly shallow. You may have done your research, but I feel like you learned nothing more about Draco then if you'd never seen more then 5 min. So I'm going to start the same way you have and break this down into the same points.

PART 1 : AN ANALYSIS OF HARRY MEETING DRACO

I'm not going to go into detail of Harry's impression or ideas of Draco, because this analysis is about Draco, Not Harry. Also remember the books were written from Harry's POV, not a neutral party. I'm not obliged to Harry's opinions, just facts. Which brings up the first true conclusion about Draco's character. *Draco Malfoy feels a strong need to impress others, to gain their affection.* He does this through incisive bragging, trying to make people believe he knows best, and tearing down the reputation of others, so the object of his desires sees Draco and the most obvious choice. Where we differ is:

You believe Draco does this, because he thinks, he's better then others.

I believe,(which circumstantially has more evidence), Draco does this because he wants the affection, and acceptance of others

Whether you believe he acts out this way bc of how he is raised, his privilege, or something else, it doesn't change the fact that Draco was truly trying to make a friend, perhaps the only way he knew how.

In noble wizarding society, traditions, and your family does mean a lot. Not even looking at it from a pureblood view, imagine having a family that old and known. They really are a type of nobility, with family Lords even having political seats in the Wizengamote just because of their family name. The Longbottoms and Weaselys hold this same political influence, and it's not tied to Slytherins, pureblood ideals or anything like that. Draco is an only child, and an heir to his family line, so he is going to be treated importantly bc of that. He is raised with that responsibility, and in social situations not only represents himself, but the whole heritage of his family. Draco hasn't had the ability to act like a normal petulant child (part of the reason he tends to act out at Hogwarts.*ie. away from home*). He's been taught to act proper, make good allies, and impress others for the good of his reputation. I'd say most noble wizarding children probably get the same training and lectures, and have their own customs and culture of educate. What may come for Draco as polite, and diplomatic, may sound rude or arrogant to Harry. This is because Draco was not aware how different Harry's upbringing was from his own, and has never dealt with not having enough. Perhaps if Draco knew how different and ignorant Harry was he would have felt pity, or a sense of wrongness at Harry's injustice. Though Draco is just an 11yr old boy, who's only ever had a loving family, and almost anything he wanted. It is difficult for him to relate to the lack of others. As all wizarding children, he probably grew up with the story of the boy who lived and may have even been excited when his father said he wanted them to become friends. He truely was excited to meet Harry and genuinely wanted to be friends. While yes Lucius definitely wanted Draco to befriend Harry to help lighten their family reputation, I also think that Draco, being a child, would more likely be more excited of making a famous friend. Maybe he even had some hope seeing he'd met Harry before when he saw him on the train.

Part 2 : THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN DRACO AND DUDLEY

Draco's sense of superiority comes from his traditions and pride in his family, while Dudley's is strictly from his own greed and selfishness. Draco would't do half of the things Dudley does simply because it's incredibly unclothe, and he has better ways of getting what he wants. Dudley isn't smart enough to compare to Draco. Though Draco and Dudley might both have things handed to them, Draco is not gluttonous or greedy about it. Dudley will trash his gifts and belongings, constantly wanting more, and viewing things given to him as disposable. Draco wants things yes (like every child does) but he's proud of his possessions and cherishes them, brags about them. Dudley is an animal compared to Draco. He doesn't have the same skill, smarts or self control. Dudley is abusive, and a tyrant in his bullying. Dudley wants to see Harry hurt and bleed. He is very violent compared to Draco. While we constantly and repeatedly see Draco shy away from violence, and use more his words.

Part 3 : DRACO'S "HARASSMENT", STRATEGIES AND EVOLUTION.

Draco despite his threats and facade is Not a violent person. This is because despite all Draco's bravo, and cruel words, Draco is kind. Yes he is conflicted, but that is only more proof of his inner kindness. If he didn't feel guilty, he wouldn't feel conflicted. Which means he really doesn't want to be mean to others, but he's just acting out based on how he thinks he's supposed to feel/act, but doesn't really enjoy it. I think when you strip Draco back behind his actions, and pose, you'll find a very different person. The half-blood prince gave us some of that, but it's another thing to see it in Draco from the beginning. Essentially Draco's attempt at bullying started when Harry rejected his friendship. Draco had probably never been rejected before, and probably couldn't possibly fathom why Harry would choose anyone else over him. While yes that's a bit coincided, Draco was also incredibly sheltered and probably wasn't introduced to children who weren't already tied to his family. Harry's rejection irrevocably shattered Draco's confidence and perception, which sent him into literal years of lashing out at Harry for his hurt emotions, and pining for his attention. It is the most pathetic excuse for bullying, and Draco antagonizing Harry is the equivalent of pulling a girl's pigtails. Draco did get quite shrewd with words, but he was really just trying to get the biggest reaction, especially since Harry is so volatile at times. The truth of the matter is Draco is actually very jealous, because deep down he really admires Harry. He want's the same freedom Harry has. He doesn't want to worry about his duty or who he has to be, but to be able to live authentically the way he views that Harry does. Draco really just wants to be more like Harry, but feels he is stuck, by the Dark Lord, his family obligations or anything else. Draco isn't a bully, he's just sad. Not even Ron or Hermione take him seriously after a while. *cough*this is why Drarry is so huge*

Part 4 : He had no choice?????

Everyone has a choice, but I think you over estimate how easy a choice can be. Family is important to Draco, they are probably the only people who love him for who he is, not what they can get out of him. As a child Draco felt pride in his family, and family made him feel special and important. As he got older that pride turn into expectations, and responsibility. Lucius and Narcissa value the preservation of their family above all else. They are protective and loving and those feeling extended to Draco. It's where he gets his kindness. It is indeed a Slytherin trait to value those you care about above everyone else. We protect our own, a loyalty probably stronger then Hufflepuff for those select few a Slytherin deeply cares about. Draco's parent would let the whole world burn to save him, and Draco would do the same for them. While Draco's family did hold pureblood ideals, after the first war Voldemort was not someone they willing wanted to follow. The light sided also would have never offered aid to death eaters, because fundamentally they were still against the dark, and there was no other place for dark wizards to go except Voldemort. Most of the death eaters had actually been somewhat relived at the news of Voldemort's death, and the boy who lived, as Voldemort had already become insane to the point of torturing his own followers, and wasn't getting them anywhere near their goals. Except for the also insane brainwashed few like Bella who'd follow her lord to the grave, many of the death eater's were content to be peaceful and stay quite after the war. Probably even grateful for it, as there were many needless casualties on both sides. I feel like the Malfoys were one of those families that were happy to get out. If the side they are on is harmful or losing, they are ready to abandon ship. This may sound like they are cowardly with no resolve, but if it was the life and death of your family, and your loved ones, I think you might think differently. I feel like we aren't too far off in agreement here, but where we differ is in judgement and motives we feel the Malfoys, or Draco had. Lucius made a mistake in the first war, and spent the second trying to keep his family out of danger. I can't imagine the fear he had in Azkaban for his family, the dementors feeding off him and what he thought the Dark Lord would do to his only son, his wife, his family. Meanwhile Draco was left with the threat of his father rotting in Azkaban, and his mother being killed. His mother also with the thought of her son being killed. So yes Draco could have made a choice, and he did make a choice, a choice to protect his family, and honestly I can't see that as wrong. Maybe if Harry would have actually taken his offer of friendship things could have gone differently and it wouldn't have come to that.

Part 5 : Abuse Theory

I definitely agree with you here. The Malfoys were not abusive, and get a better anthology for racism then something which in fact could be solved with a study on culture rather then blood. If you want a good parallel for racism in HP forget muggleborns, and look at creature blood, not dumb house elfs either, but werewolves, goblins, centaurs beings just as intelligent as wizards. The bigotry towards werewolves especially is horrific, especially from the "light side" who avidly labels them as dangerous dark creatures. *Also note about the scene in Borgen and Berks* Lucius stopped Draco from touching the artifact because it was probably cursed, as many dark artifacts are. Even if you know what you're doing they can be dangerous to handle carelessly. So Lucius was actually very wise and protecting Draco, his 12 yr old son, from getting badly hurt. Why the cane? If touching a cursed object curses you, then its better not to get close with your actual hands. Using his cane to push Draco away was actually a precaution. Lucius is anything but careless,

Part 6: Draco's Wand and Symbolism

I generally agree here too, but I believe this symbolism is more reflective of the things Draco wishes he could have had, or done differently. If anything the wand and symbolism Draco has is representative of the good in him, and not cowardice, or inability to do enough.

Part 7: Redemption

Tbh I'm part of the crowd that would have liked that deleted scene to stay in the final cut. However I understand what's justifiable for one person, may not be enough for someone else. This is where you get more into the topic of morality, and how much are you morally responsible for as a person. Harry has been drilled with the mindset for years that he has to save everyone, and that if your not in it for the greater good, ready to lay down your life you better forget being in it at all. Personally I don't believe Harry has any right to claim that rhetoric, as Dumbledore(and by association Grindlewald) practically spoon fed it down his throat; but I wont talk about that as it's a whole other issue. Draco, you have to understand has a whole type of different morality. Objectively I believe he's a good person, if not pressured by the echo chamber of ideals around him. Yet Draco repeatedly gives signs, and expresses the desire to want to do good. In order to properly analyze Draco you have to look past his outward facade, and actions, or you'll never see him as anything more then he pretends to be. If you can only read plain text, if you can't see past the obvious, you will always have a very flat one dimensional view of a character or a person. To me there's no redemption needed. Draco is already good, more good then his parents, and perhaps more good then some who claim goodness.

In summary Draco is a very complex person, who tries to over compensate for his flaws, struggles to express honesty, but deeply cares for others, especially his family. His duality lies in how he wants to be good to others, yet how in the end he always chooses to save the ones he loves, over the majority. Draco will always have his flaws, but he will always have his goodness too, and I hope you won't disregard that.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

P.S

Kudos to anyone who read through all that.

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whimsical-musingss · 4 years

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Heavy Pasts

Summary: there was a day, every month, when you wouldn’t get out of bed as you dwell on your past. There was a day, every month, when the Mandalorian would go quieter than usual; more closed off, dwelling on his past.

Warnings: mentions of past abuse, mentions of murder and fighting. Slight angst but it gets better...I think.......I hope...............

GIF isn’t mine!

He knew of your past. You didn’t have to say it, but he knew. Every time you two engaged in a fight, your hand to hand was familiar. He didn’t know which league you came from, since he couldn’t find a signa, but he had guesses.

Monthly, you were reduced to dust as you were collapsed in your cot. The Mandalorian had no idea how to handle those days, especially when the baby wanted you and tried to play. You never reciprocated, only stared off.

It wasn’t only a day, but there were nights when you actually sleep. The demons and nightmares wrench you awake, and you’re screaming, throat hoarse. Every time, there were footsteps from the cockpit, and the Mandalorian would stand there. Every time, you would frantically scoot back on your cot, blaster ready.

You would lower it immediately when you recognize it’s him. The nightmares clouded your thoughts and made you go insane. If it wasn’t him, you would shoot, no hesitation.

He never asked. You never spoke. The next morning you would act like nothing ever happened, and he would act the same. You picked up baby, who miraculously never woke up during your shrieks of terror.

It made you reckless, and he noticed. Every fight you became more ruthless and deadly. Your skills as an assassin was shown, using fatal hand to hand combat. You said it was because you were trying to protect baby. He knew it was because you lost control of yourself.

He’s seen assassins fight: sly, cautious. You weren’t like them. Whether you abandoned their techniques and adapted your own, you were different. Elegant. Graceful. He knew if you fought him hand to hand, he would loose. And he would be just fine. Anything to feel.

You stumbled inside the Razor Crest. It was late, and the Mandalorian put the baby in the cradle and shut it closed. He wanted to say so much to you as you collapsed on your cot, curling up so your in a fetal position.

He wanted to ask if you were okay. If you wanted to talk. His words evaded him, so he’s left standing over you.

“What is it?” You ask. If he didn’t know you were a highly trained, professional assassin, he would have never guessed. Your voice was soft as you sat up. There was some dirt on your cheek and forehead, and he wanted to try and remove it gently with his hands.

You sit up gingerly, still gazing at him. You knew he was familiar with your past and that you were an assassin for a league. Sometimes you wondered if he actually knows what league. But then again, you had no signa. You burned it off your skin once you had left.

It was time to tell the truth and you knew it. There were too many secrets, so much left unsaid, and it pulled you away from Mando. You understood that he might think of you differently, perhaps hate you, but he’s Mando. You couldn’t fathom it.

“Mando? Can I tell you a story?”

He was grateful for your words, filling up the empty silence. The curt nod provided you the okay to keep going. You invited him to sit down on the cot next to you. The thin mattress sinks as he sits down, your thighs and arms almost touching. He was silent, waiting for you to continue on.

“There once was a girl in the league...where she was raised, and trained. She dreamt of an outside world where there the violence she’s known all her life never existed,” your voice, for once, was shaking. He wanted to reach over and grab your hand.

“Ever since she could remember, she was at the hands of her instructors. If she didn’t perform with upmost excellence, she would be...corrected,” your voice broke as you shrug off your jacket that was always zipped up to your neck. What Mando saw what the tank top revealed were laceration scars over your back and chest. It suddenly clicked that you were talking about yourself and your past.

“That’s just part of it. It was more than just floggings. They would have other assassins train against one another, leaving their opponents dead. She...they...were ordered to strike to kill. It was a sport for some instructors sometimes. But she’s earned a lot of scars from her sisters and brothers. And she killed a lot of them too. That’s what she dreams about now. Killing them again.”

You fell silent, staring at the wall in front of you. Mando was surprised and speechless. He never thought you would open up to him like this. There were tears threatening to spill over your cheeks. Some escape, and he desperately wanted to brush them away.

“But the she met someone,” her voice was lowered, her head tilted so her eyes can meet his. “He’s stoic, but deep down, he is caring. He is beautiful, and I don’t even know what he looks like. But he saved me, from that life, and I owe him. But...I don’t know if I should fight this. I’ve never known what I’m feeling right now...and it’s frightening.”

Your hand was slowly moving towards his helmet-his face. He backs away, recoiling, not knowing what your intentions were. In his surprise, you place a hand on his helmet, where his cheek would be.

“W-what are you doing?” He’s not trying to push you away, he’s just curious. You move closer to him, taking his hand with your free one. “I’m not afraid of what I’m feeling,” you say, softly. “Because I’m with you.”

He melts inwardly at your gentle words full of emotion. You feel him relax under your touch, his shoulder relaxing.

“Aren’t you afraid of what’s underneath? What you can’t see?” His voice isn’t gruff or strict as it usually is. It’s soft, and you smile.

“I already see you,” you whisper, and if you could see him now, he’s smiling, but desperate and confused. How were you not afraid of loving a shell? Of what you can’t see?

“Mando?”

He’s pulling away, slowly, not to frighten you. You watch in amazement as he slowly takes off his gloves, revealing hands of battle. Worn, scar covered, callouses. Something that isn’t armor or thick fabric.

“You don’t have to do this,” you counter, but fall silent once his fingertips graze your cheekbone, then down to your chin. You sigh at the feeling of his skin, his raw self. He watches you lean into his touch, kissing his other hand.

His breathing is shaky. You hold your breath as Mando’s fingertips trace out facial features, mapping them, memorizing them. How they feel with his actual hand, not a gloved one.

“Mando,” you sigh, butterflies everywhere in your stomach, clouding your thoughts, erasing your past just for a moment.

“Dyn.”

You hum in response, only half listening. He repeats, “Dyn.”

“Dyn?” You ask, and he nods.

“My name is Dyn. Dyn Jarren.”

“I love it,” you smile, wider this time, and Dyn smiles as well with you. “Dyn,” you repeat, and look up at him. “Thank you for trusting me.” His helmet shakes back and forth. “Don’t have to thank me,” he says, but she nods. “Dyn, your life is based off of the Way. Trusting me enough to tell me your true name is...it’s wonderful.”

He can’t help but smile at your cordial words. His mind, however, is still dwelling on your story.

“About your story,” he begins, and you shake your head. “It’s okay,” you say. “You’re a silent man, Dyn. I’m not expecting any words. You, being here, is enough.” With that, you slowly move into his arms, your head resting on his shoulder. His arms shake as he slowly takes you in his arms.

He’s under some sort of spell. He never would have believed to be holding her, confessing to her. She’s now the only person to know his true name. And he’s never felt this more alive. He feels like a star being born, bursting with light and energy.

And you’re his focus.

#star wars #the mandalorian #baby yoda #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian and baby yoda #the skywalker saga #fluff

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starshineskyandthepowerofrock · 3 years

Text

First Day

Part 5 of Starshine, Sky, and the Power of Rock.

I've been told that dreams are commonly nonlinear, nonsensical, and not necessarily pleasant. Some are even scary. I can't imagine being thrust into one's day after experiencing something so stressful. Good thing that never happens to me.

Of all the perks there are to being the Heir to Light, I'd say one of my favorites is the nightly visions. Every time I fall asleep, I'm pretty sure the Crown of Light speaks to me. Well, "speak" isn't the right word, more like it conveys information. Considering I've been on the right track towards my ultimate goal of defeating the Band of Darkness for years at this point, there's rarely much I need to know other than, "Yep, the battle's still a long time from now." Exactly how long it'll take before I have to face Princess Persephone has never been made clear, but I suppose I'll find out when it's relevant.

Anyway, you can imagine how pleased the Crown is to know I'm training so enthusiastically, and with little to report it has gotten into the habit of conjuring up beautiful places for me to rest within myself before I have to start the day. I'm still endlessly excited about starting school when I wake up. And the Crown is clearly excited that I'm excited, because I'm currently laying in an endless field of roses, carnations, and hydrangeas. The mystical auras emanating from each one wash me in a soothing palette of cool blues, lavenders, and pinks. The sky is less a sky and more a deep blue ocean of infinite diamonds, stretching forever above me. I notice a star twinkle, almost wink at me, and I reach in an attempt to give some sort of reply. Ah, yes. I, too, am a star. Hence the name. And in just a few short hours, I'll begin to truly shine the way I was born to.

"Me and my band..." I whisper to myself.

Something pricks me in the back. I sit up and turn to see what the nuisance could be, baffled because I don't remember the last time I felt pain during a vision. Amongst the flowers still glowing with life, one is shriveled and black. And thorny. Really, really thorny. I rub my back.

"Sorry, sorry," I say. "My band and me."

Another rose, this time beneath my hand, wilts and stabs me right in the palm.

"Ow! Okay, well, you know there are instances where 'and me' is appropriate! You say 'and I' when it's the subject of a sentence! Or is this because I made a sentence fragment-"

This one gets me in the butt. I stand straight up. "UGH! Okay, if it's not grammar, then what is it?" But then I remember who's in my band. "Is this about Skylar?"

I'm not met with further violence, which I take to mean "yes."

Gingerly, I sit back down, my silk nightgown billowing around me. I pick a carnation and twirl it between my fingers. "I mean... She's kind of weird. And she could use a makeover. But I don't know... I mean, I know she's a monster, but... she seems... nice." I look down. The carnation is welling up with blood.

I scream. Drop it. The blood flies out on the way down and splatters on my nice blue nightgown. "That was my third favorite!" I shout up at the sky. "She wasn't hurting anyone! What, just because I'm destined to defeat a vampire princess I suddenly have to hate every single one?" The thought escapes my mouth the exact moment it forms. I place my hands in my lap, and stare at them as I turn over the fresh idea in my mind.

The Crown seems to be having the same thought process - I guess magical crowns can have those - because the tainted roses slowly but surely begin to swell with new life, their thorns receding into smooth, harmless stems. See, Crown? I'm reasonable.

⭐⭐⭐

The Royal Academy of Rock's uniform is insanely cute. Granted, I may be biased in that I make everything look cute, but still. I love the way the dark purple pleated skirt twirls with my every movement. I can't fathom why anyone would prefer the pants option, but to each their own, I suppose. I smooth down the pastel cyan blouse before putting on the navy blue tie, which I have spent more time practicing the tying of than I'd care to admit. Said tie matches the double-breasted blazer I slide over all of this. My Soul Key took the liberty of customizing it to have little purple jewels for buttons, which is just so me, you know? Said key, encrusted with tiny blue and purple gems and featuring a fabulous hot pink star-shaped handle, hangs from a loop on my skirt's waistband. And now, there's a familiar tightness missing from my wrist. I retrieve my special bracelet from my jewelry box, slip it on under my sleeve, and twirl for my own reflection. Perfection. Hey, those rhyme!

I take the tiniest detour to jot this down in the section of my journal labeled, "Ideas," put the journal back in my sleek messenger bag that I've made sure matches my uniform's color scheme, look through the bag one last time to make sure everything I need today is there, and look at that! I'm all set!

As I make my way to breakfast, I notice an extra spring in my sashay. I'm joining a drove of kids in matching blazers and ties. They all look so cute! And they clearly feel the same way about me, because necks are craning left and right, jaws are going slack, and I'm hit with the familiar "Your Highness"s from all around. I flash a bright smile in return. I'm fully capable of knowing how gorgeous I am all on my own, but outside confirmation is certainly nothing to complain about.

Without warning, I'm crushed from behind by an enthusiastic hug. Next thing I know, my feet are dangling above the floor and I'm struggling to breathe.

"Morning, Star!" Citrus says in my ear.

"Good morning," I manage to choke out, and that's when he realizes maybe a hug to him is a headlock to me.

He releases me and we keep walking. "Heh heh... Sorry about that..." he says, scratching between his cat ears. "It's just been a while, you know?"

"Ugh, don't I!" I reply. "I wish we had some classes together."

"Or could at least eat at the same table!" Citrus replies.

I giggle. "Agreed. But, you know, bands have got to stick together! Even when we eat. Plus," I indicate the awestruck kids all around us, "I think a lack of assigned seating would mean everyone would try to sit with me."

Citrus looks around as told, his eyebrows raised as though this is news to him. "Oh, but you're just Star!" he says before bringing a hand down on my shoulder. The new hug he gives me is a touch more gentle than the last. "I'd love to catch up," he says.

"Well, how about this?" I offer. "We'll go for a fly right before dinner. Talk to our hearts' content." I haven't ridden my flying horse, Splendor, in a couple days anyway. We could both use some fresh air.

Citrus considers this for a moment. He smiles. "Okay!" He looks ahead to see three other boys waving him over to them. "Oh! There's my band! Gotta go!" And with that, I'm left alone again. But I've reached the dining hall at this point anyway, so it's whatever.

The dining hall is one of the more spacious parts of the palace, which is understandable considering it has to comfortably hold all of the Academy's students, plus a very extensive buffet setup, from which breakfast is currently being served. Each table is labeled with the room number of the band that has been assigned to it, which means I'm scanning each for the one that says "L-42." But it turns out I don't have to, because Crescent is standing on her seat, waving her hands way above her head and gesturing for me to sit with her and Pearl at a table near the far wall. They're backlit by one of the multiple giant windows flooding the room with morning light.

"Good morning!" I say as I make my way towards them. I scan the buffet quickly, trying to locate the others. "Where's Sky and Gossamer?"

My question is partially answered before either girl says anything when I notice kids scurrying off to the side trying to avoid someone, and I find it far from unreasonable to guess who that someone might be. At last, a unicorn boy and a couple mermaids back away from my view to reveal Sky, who looks relieved to find our table and be rid of the crowd.

The image of a monster in our pristine uniform is quite a surreal one. Judging by what she was wearing yesterday, I'm a tad surprised she knows how to tie a tie. I'm not surprised that she didn't tuck it under her blazer, though. Nor am I surprised that she chose the pants option.

"Morning," she says, sitting down and setting her bag next to her seat, and I now notice there's... something smudged on the corner of her mouth. Something red.

I can't speak for a moment, but Crescent manages a tentative smile. "Good morning," she says. "Uh..."

"What?" Sky asks.

I tap the corner of my own mouth. "You, um, have a little something..."

Sky blinks. Brow furrowed, she wipes a hand across her mouth and looks down at her hand. "Oh," she says, and then chuckles. "Oops." She looks up, expecting us to find this funny, too.

We don't laugh.

"What? It's not from a person," she says.

I'm too freaked out to have her elaborate, so instead I say, "Well, I'm gonna go get breakfast. I'll be back."

"Okay," Crescent says through a mouthful of rice, and Pearl just nods. Her eyes haven't left her salad this whole time. I guess that stuff is normal breakfast food where they come from.

During the process of getting my usual meat-lover's omelette with lactose-free cheese, I keep looking over my shoulder at the table. Pearl looks like she's trying to turn invisible, but it seems that Sky and Crescent are at least trying to talk. In fact... I think they're smiling! The weight in my heart begins to lift.

It is then that the Glade sisters burst in. Summer leads the pack, and I can practically see smoke emanating from her ears. Dewdrop is attempting to calm a steaming Aspen. Breezy is telling Gossamer, who brings up the rear, to hurry up. Gossamer stares at the ground, rather than ahead like her older sisters.

Actually, they aren't just looking ahead. Their gaze is aimed right at my band's table. No, not the table. Sky. Oh no.

I head back to the table as fast as I can without dropping my food, set my tray down, and turn to face the Glades, who have made their way over. "Is there a problem here?"

"My sister is not going to be in a band with that!" Summer replies, pointing at Sky.

"I'm sorry, 'that'? She has a name," I say.

Summer scoffs. "As if I care!" She gets real close to Sky, who's been staring at the floor since they came. "Listen, bloodsucker. If you so much as breathe the same air as-"

"Vampires don't have to breathe," Gossamer says.

Summer whips her head around and gives her sister a silencing glare. But then her expression softens a tad with realization. "That's right, Goss. They don't," she says, and leans down next to Sky's ear with a look of pure malice. "Because they're dead. They're filthy, disgusting carcasses that DON'T BELONG IN OUR SCHOOL!"

If Sky doesn't have to breathe, then that makes the deep, shuddering breaths she's taking now rather unnecessary. She stays silent, and she dares not make eye contact with anyone.

The dining hall is silent now. Everyone is staring at us for a slice of the drama. But I don't need drama, especially not on the first day of school!

"Well, Summer, what do you plan to do about that?" I ask her, my voice reverberating in the spacious hall.

Summer slowly comes up and looks at me, eyes wide and lips pursed. She's silent for a second. "I have connections."

"She says to the princess," I respond immediately.

Summer huffs, and looks past me out the window in an attempt at subtly breaking eye contact. "Okay, well..." She blinks rapidly, desperate for a way to have the last word. "Go ahead," she says, her eyes snapping back in place to continue our little staring contest. "Make friends with a monster. We'll see how well that turns out for you." Satisfied with her half-baked comeback, she struts away. Aspen, Breezy, and Dewdrop are yanked along on their invisible leashes, but Gossamer stays in place.

"You know there's assigned seats, right?" I ask her.

Gossamer refuses to meet my eyes, but stares at Sky, her mouth a single line. She looks around at everyone staring, then scurries off to join her sisters. I guess the assigned seating thing is based on an honor system, because no one stops her. Whatever. I don't need that kind of negativity anyway.

"I'm really sorry about them," I tell Sky, sitting down. "I promise, we aren't all like that."

Sky doesn't respond. Her breath slows, steadies, and stops altogether. She finally looks up at me. "Why did you do that?"

"Um, because I'm not a jerk?" I giggle, cutting into my omelette. "You were in trouble, so I helped out. It just felt right, you know?" I take a bite. "Plus," I say after swallowing. "I never pass up an opportunity to deal with Summer."

Sky smiles with appreciation, then her eyes light up. "Did you know people grow rice on the moon?"

Crescent beams. "I've been teaching her about my home!"

So that's what they were chatting about.

⭐⭐⭐

A teacher that makes the kids work on the first day is an insane one. Good thing we don't have those here, but I am just a bit disappointed because this is a music week. Instead, most every teacher has one of those icebreaker games prepared for us.

Ms. Solstice, the music theory teacher, hands us each an index card with a different question on it, and we have to ask this question to each person in the classroom on an individual basis. Cue a disjointed mess of kids wandering around, trying to remember who they have and haven't asked about their top three favorite movies (I only watch musicals and chick flicks, if you were wondering).

The songwriting teacher, Mr. Crystalline, has us write answers about ourselves on the white board for the whole class to see. When asked about her least favorite habit in other people, Crescent writes, "Getting angry." Pearl reveals her favorite pastime to be painting, which sounds hard to do underwater. Gossamer professes her dislike of the scent of grass. And Sky, when asked to share the biggest secret she feels comfortable revealing, writes, "It's not a secret if I feel like sharing it."

Mr. Ebullient asks the guitarists in the class to show the rest what we can do, I suppose as a way of setting an example or getting us out of our shells or something. I preface my demonstration by making it clear that I'm best on rhythm guitar and that Sky will likely end up taking the lead. This statement leads to all eyes gluing themselves to Sky, who sinks into her seat with her arms crossed.

Once it's her turn to sit in front of the class, guitar in hand, she just sits there, eyes wide and jaw slack. She drops the pick multiple times and when she has a good grip on it, it just wavers over the strings, not making a sound. She turns a shivering head to Mr. Ebullient, who tells her that not everyone is going to overcome stage fright in one day and that she can return to her seat. She does so, and hangs her head so that her hair forms a white curtain that hides her face. Whispers buzz through the class like a swarm of flies.

I feel the need to lean over and ask if she's okay. She doesn't respond. So, I reluctantly pull away and bring my attention to the next kid's performance. She'll be fine. I hope.

#fantasy story #fantasy wip #magical girl oc #magical school #magical girl WIP #magical girl idol #princess #catgirl #vampire #vampire oc #catgirl oc #princess oc #princess starshine

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very-merry-sioux · 7 years

Note

I read your Tiny and Terrifying Cute posts for the Doma arc (great drawing by the way), and I love them! I wanted to ask you why Yugi played the Seal? How did they get in that scenario in your AU?

“I discard one card to destroy your monster!” Yuugi declares. Timaeus opens his maw, immense energy pooling in it. Dark Magician Girl braces herself. “Dark Dragon Burst!”

The pair shoot a beam of light towards Guardian Grarl, the attack so powerful that the plateau trembles.

“Reverse card, Self Tribute!” Raphael declares, revealing his face-down card. “By paying 1000 life points, I can bring back my monster that was destroyed!“

He cries out in pain as the effect slowly takes away his points. He’s sweating once Guardian Grarl is back on his field.

Raphael’s LP: 4000 → 3000

“You really will do anything to protect your cards,” Yuugi murmurs, amazed at the man’s determination to keep his monsters on the field. Even he never went through such lengths.

“Yuugi Mutou, wielder of the Puzzle and caretaker of the Nameless Pharaoh, do you know why we will not lose?” Raphael asks, wiping away his sweat. “Because DOMA has a strength that you don’t have.”

“If it’s kidnapping, I’m afraid to say that I’ve beaten people who’ve done that.”

“It’s the strength to accept the darkness in our hearts.”

“The darkness in your hearts,” Yuugi repeats flatly. “I guess that explains the kidnapping, very dark thing to do–taking people against their will.”

“Joke all you want, but you of all people should know how dark the world can be,” Raphael says. “A teenage boy who has been beaten and bullied several times, who has been betrayed and tricked, who has been used and taken advantage of.” He shakes his head. “You link yourself to the light of people’s hearts, and I wonder why? Why believe in kindness when teachers like Chouno and Tsuruoka exist? Why trust in the good when people hurt you for no reason? Imamori, Nezumi, even your dear Jounouchi at one point. Didn’t he used to take away your things? Your precious Puzzle?”

Yuugi stiffens. “How do you know all that?” He hisses.

“Why believe in the light when people like Kaiba put you in a death game?”

“That was in the-”

“Why believe in the light when people like Pegasus kidnapped your family? Took the soul of the only guardian who has stuck in your life?”

“How do you-”

“Why believe in the light when parents like Gozaburo Kaiba and Marik Ishtar’s father exists? When your own father isn’t there? When your own mother does little to help in your problems?”

“… Stop.”

“Why believe in the light when people like Ryuuji Otogi framed you for a crime?”

“Stop it.”

“When he took you and trapped you in a game?”

“I said stop.”

“When he’s the reason your brother was shattered in pieces? Why give people like Kaiba a second chance when he hurt your brother so badly that to this day, he’s still scared of the man?”

“I said stop!” Yuugi shouts, clenching his fists.

“Why believe in the light when everyone around you is so willing to hurt a child?”

“You have no right to talk!” Yuugi snarls. “From day one, you and your group have been trying to take Yami!”

Said child sniffles, hugging his Marshmallon pillow tightly. The spirits of Mystical Elf and Celtic Guardian are at his sides, the cards left by Yuugi so he could watch over him. He wishes his brother could stay put for once, wishes he’d stay with Jounouchi and the others. But when a baby has the power to teleport at will, it’s a bit difficult to achieve.

Yuugi takes a deep breathe and calms himself, making sure none of his anger bleeds into the link.

“You’re the epitome of controlling the two sides of your heart,” Raphael observes. “Just like the world, both dark and light exists – striving for balance. And just like the world, darkness is prevailing.” He holds the stone he’s wearing, one similar to Yuugi’s. “Our despair and sorrow is greater than anything that exists in this world, darkness always surpasses light.”

“That’s a bleak way of seeing things.”

“People like you who pretend to be righteous can’t fathom the depth of such logic.”

“Logic?” Yuugi says in disbelief. “You call that logic? Kaiba-kun is more optimistic than you!” He snorts. “Revenge and destruction… then what? What exactly are you trying to accomplish by doing that? All you’ll have left is emptiness!”

Raphael chuckles, then laughs loudly. “That’s true, if you do things half-heartedly then you’ll find only emptiness.”

“That’s taking the saying ‘Go big or go home’ a little too seriously.”

“But what if even emptiness is not remaining?”

Yuugi blinks.

“What if we can restart humanity? Set it back to zero?” Raphael spreads his arms. “That’s the purpose of DOMA, it’s goal is the ultimate nothing! To set human history back to zero!”

Silence.

“… You’re insane,” Yuugi concludes. “I’m not going to listen to you anymore, anything after that is just insanity.”

“Is it?”

“You’re suggesting the eradication of the human race,” Yuugi nods. “I’m pretty sure it is.”

“This is the only way after DOMA has tried its hardest to guide humanity,” Raphael shakes his head. “The organization has existed since history began, always pushing civilization, even through unjust means. All for the sake of the world.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“People who don’t follow DOMA’s will don’t understand, they always repeat history,” Raphael says. “Wisdom exists so people could accomplish their task of protecting this world. But what has happened? Look around you, look at your own life. What has happened? Human beings filled with selfish desires, filled with hate, filled with violence.”

Raphael looks directly into his eyes and he feels a sense of foreboding. “You’re not exempt from this, Yuugi. Your heart is filling with darkness as well.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” Raphael asks. “Tell me, would the old Yuugi Mutou threaten people so directly? Would the old Yuugi Mutou be so distrusting? Would the old Yuugi Mutou hurt people the way you have? Break bones and tear skin? Use words to sting and hurt?”

“Since I’m assuming you’ve stalked every inch of my life, you must know that those people would have hurt my brother. My very young, and very infant brother,” Yuugi’s eyes narrow. “I don’t see how defending someone can be considered dark.”

“Him?” Raphael points at Yami. “Surely you must see that he’s far from a normal innocent child. He’s a powerful king, one with a soul worthy enough for Lord Dartz’s goal.”

Yuugi takes a step, blocking Yami from Raphael’s sight. “How about no.”

“The Nameless Pharaoh was known for his power, but everything else is a mystery. How do you know that he’s good? There could have been darkness in his heart, there must be, if he invokes that much darkness in yours.”

Yami whimpers, Mystical Elf hugs him.

Yuugi glares at Raphael. “You shut up, right now,” he says. “Yami has never invoked any darkness in me, there is nothing dark in my heart.”

Raphael draws two cards, he looks at them and smiles. “Then prove it to me,” he challenges, setting one card. “I activate Exchange!” He says, one of his set cards flip up. “This allows us to trade a card in each of our hands.”

Both of them only had one card.

They both walk to the center. Yuugi takes one last look at his card and gives it to Raphael.

“Necromancy,” Raphael reads. “A card that allows a player to get monsters from their opponent’s graveyard,” he chuckles. “It would have been useless for you, as I have no monsters in my graveyard.”

“Quit talking and give me your card.”

Raphael laughs and gives him the card. “Yuugi, this is the card of your fate,” he walks away. “Let’s see if your light is strong enough to resist it.”

Yuugi frowns and walks away. “Card of my fate?” He asks, bringing up the card. “What does he mean?”

His whole body freezes, in his hand is the Seal of Orichalcos.

The stone around his neck glows brighter.

[Tiny And Terrifyingly Cute AU]

A cup of your tears makes me merry, but a cup of coffee makes me merrier. Have you considered [Buying Me Ko-fi]?

#tiny and terrifyingly cute #yami #yugi #yuugi #raphael #rafael #doma #orichalcos #word vomit #nightfurylover31

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thekrazykeke · 7 years

Photo

Fandom(s): DCEU, Suicide Squad

Relationship(s): Joker x Harley, Harley x reader, Joker x reader, Harley x Joker x reader.

Rating: M

Summary: Down, down, down the rabbit hole the reader goes. Will she break when she hits the bottom? Not even she knows.

Warning(s): Devon is starting to catch on. Deadshot makes an appearance. Mild hints at the reader’s past. Smut.

Tagging: @kirsty-lou666 @lovelylittlekittn @coppercurlzz @whyarentyoulaughingj @puddinslilmonster0911

A/N: Tumblr deleted the original chapter and I’ve been up all night for several nights working on this. I’m sorry if it’s crap.

After their admission that they felt something for you, that they saw “the real you”, the Joker and Harley doubled the amount of time that they spent with you. Somehow, some way, they always seemed to work around Devon’s schedule in order to be with you. Harley liked to spoil you with a girl’s day in, painting your nails, listening to instructions for how to care for your hair, cuddles, and lots of snacks. While J was quieter, he respected you opinion, checked your bandage and re-dressed it, watched movies or TV shows from your Netflix account with you, and generally was more of a silent comfort.

It seemed that they were letting you in…

Which is why you didn’t understand why you constantly experienced a sinking feeling in your chest, as if this was just the calm before the storm and they were trying to brace you for it.

“Unofficially, it’s called ‘waiting for the other shoe to drop syndrome’.” Flopping down next to you on the couch, Devon casually reached over and grabbed the remote, turning the TV off.

“Hey!”

“That stupid look on your face.” Your older cousin continued as if you hadn’t huffed with discontent. “It’s the gaze of someone who can’t possibly fathom why all the good things are coming to her because you’re so used to only the bad. And listen up, because this next part is important!” Reaching out with one hand, he turned your chin to face him. “You deserve good things.” His grip firmed a little as you tried to turn away. “You deserve the best in life. If anyone deserves that, it’s you.”

Shoving at his chest, you managed to move back a couple inches. “What brought this on?” Panic swirled through your midsection as you gave the older male a quick once over. “Did the doctor call? Hurry up, get dressed, I have enough bus fare for the both of us.”

“I’m not sick, dumby!” Devon rolled his eyes. “Look. You’re a grown woman and I have no say in what you do, or who you do it with, but I know when something’s up.”

The bottom of your stomach felt like it had fallen out. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Devon sent you a frustrated stare. “Yes, you do.” He stated as if talking to a belligerent two year old. “Y/N, I ain’t gonna get mad at you for getting your rocks off. As I said before, you’re grown.”

An invisible weight lifted itself from your shoulders. “...How did you figure it out?”

Flicking the TV back on, he changed the channel to ESPN. “You never could stand to use the dishwasher and suddenly there’s an extra mug in there every couple of odd days?” He remarked in an offhand, distracted tone. “No need for the Scooby gang, I’ve solved the mystery.”

Overcome with inexplicable emotion, you snuggle up against him, like you were kids all over again. “I love you.”

He patted the crown on your hair, “Love you too.”

The two of you spend the rest of the morning together, quietly conversing and occasionally teasing each other, maybe throwing an inappropriate barbed joke at the other’s expense. It’s healing for the soul and just what you both needed. Eventually, though, he does have to get up and dressed for his morning shift; before you could feel loneliness creep up on you, Frost is knocking on the flat door, only for once, he’s come empty handed.

“What’s going on?”

“The boss and Miss Harley are waiting. It’s advisable to dress comfortably today.” Not a trace of the man who’d you’d steadily gotten to know since the first time the two of you met is to be seen. Frost is all business and unconsciously, you mimic his attitude, nodding with the appropriate amount of seriousness before quietly excusing yourself to do as he bid. You’d taken a shower late last night so only take a quick wash up, going about your hygienic routine as normal, pulling your hair into a tight, no-nonsense bun and dressing in worn blue jeans and a shirt with comfortable shoes, standing at attention under the brunette’s gaze and letting out a quiet sigh of relief when he nods only once in approval of your attire.

Neither of you speak when he curves his muscled forearm around your own, leading you down to the parked truck. He opens the back seat passenger’s door and gives you a boost inside, closing the door and going around to the driver’s side while you put on your seat belt. Conversation is nonexistent once he flicks on the car radio to some sort of news program and you stare out the window, watching the scenery pass by in the glass frame. Hours pass this way, he stops only once to buy some burgers and fries with two milkshakes, barely batting an eyelash when you use your fingers to dip some salty fries into your drink, eating several handfuls until nothing is left, the burgers are huge and take a bit more time.

It’s mid afternoon and you’ve just left the inner sections of Gotham when you finally arrive at your destination.

Armed men with ear pieces and dressed in tailored Armani suits milled about and you were careful to keep your gaze locked on Frost’s form as he confidently navigated around these men. Several times, a few stopped the brunette henchman to inquire as to who you were, only to be stone walled every time, and most simply accepted that for what it was, but you could feel eyes watching your every move.

It was sincerely uncomfortable.

“Y/N~” The familiar sound of Harley’s voice had you lifting your head. You see a flash of blonde hair and smell sweet perfume but you’re lost in the moment, in the sensation and heady, intoxicating feeling of the chaste kiss. Her hands find the small of your waist, dancing over your ribs caused you to giggle, which transforms into a moan when she uses the opportunity to tilt your chin just so, her tongue slipping past the seam of your lips to twine with your own.

“If I knew I’d be getting free soft porn, I’d have brought the camera.” J’s amused voice breaks the illusion and you try to taper off from the kiss but Harley whines, pecking you on the lips once, twice, before finally drawing away. “Couldn’t you wait, pooh?”

“Not with Y/N looking so cute. I couldn’t help myself, Puddin’.” Harley stuck her tongue out, playful. Licking your lips, you ducked your head as J’s icy blue gaze raked over your body. “She does pull off that cute and innocent look rather well.” he remarked in an off handed fashion.

“Come here, sweets.”

Obedient as always, you made a move to start forward but Harley blocked your path which drew an actual snarl from the Joker. “Haaaaaaaaaarley, come on, come on. Move. You kissed her first. I want a kiss too.”

“Nuh-uh, Puddin’, Y/N’s kisses are all mine today.” Playfully wrapping her arm around your waist, Harley whipped you behind her, an impromptu game of ‘keep away’ that was riling J up even more.

“Guys.”

“Don’t be so damn selfish. Do what Daddy says and let me kiss Y/N. You know you want to watch.” Pinning Harley with a look that screamed ‘obey me or else’, tone going rough towards the end, instantly turning you on, and judging by Harley’s sharp inhale, she was similarly affected. The ex-psychiatrist moves aside without a word and J merely opens his arms, a silent invitation and command rolled into one.

In less than a few strides, you’re standing in the Joker’s space, hand coming up to touch the Jester tattoo that’s peeking out from his half unbuttoned silk collared shirt but he merely uses this half conscious action to bring you fully into his embrace, leaning his head down to kiss you with hungry intensity. Flattening your body against his, free arm winding around the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss and causing him to growl with approval. Before the two of you could go any further, a polite cough is heard from...somewhere and J reluctantly breaks the kiss, purring with amusement as your lips blindly follow after his for a second.

“Everything is set up in the basement, boss. He’s waiting.”

“Did I ever tell you that you have the best and worst timing, Frosty?” Joker comments in a deceptively light tone. The brunette wisely doesn’t answer. “It’s probably for the best. I had the urge to bend you over and--”

Cheeks flushing, you quickly interject, “What’s going on? Why all the secrecy?”

J sighs and all that sexual tension from a moment ago is gone. “I didn’t do right with Harley…” he held up a hand, forestalling the blonde’s automatic protest. “When she, for some insane reason, fell in love with me, I threw her in headfirst into this life. Luckily, she’s a fast learner but she did fuck up. A lot.”

“That’s mean, Puddin’.” Harley pouted.

“But the truth, and you know it, looney tune.” He shot a smirk in her direction before fastening his mad, blue gaze onto your face. “We’ve laid it on the table that we want you, that you…fit into our lives, if you want to. If you want just sex, fine. However, being around us, even in that capacity, inevitably leads to violence. They will try to hurt you, and we’ve seen you fist fight. You can hold your own on that front, but people use guns.”

You could feel the color leech from your skin. “We’re not warning you to scare you off, suga’.” Harley hastened to add. “It’s just a precaution.”

Swallowing thickly, you mutter, “You want me to learn how to shoot a gun.”

“We’ve brought the best of the best to teach you. But, Y/N, he can hammer all the knowledge in the world into your head, its useless if you’re not actually going to apply it in real life.” For a second, the gangster paused, gathering his thoughts. “You can say ‘No’, walk away from all of this right now.”

“Really, maybe you should have thought about all of this before you had sex with me at all.” You can’t help the sarcastic drawl in your voice and J looks seconds away from wrapping his hands around your throat while Harley looks shocked and amused in equal measure.

Glancing at Frost, you say, “Take me to this guy.”

Floyd Lawton, aka Deadshot, aka “Don’t call me ‘Teacher’ or I’ll kick your ass” was the best. Even a novice like yourself could see that. He had a semi-automatic pistol and revolver waiting for you on a table, encouraging you to tell him the difference between both. He didn’t care for the technical explanations and preferred for you to speak truthfully. Although you felt like an idiot, you explained the limited knowledge you had about both guns, which is practically nothing. Once you’re done explaining, he nods and then shows you how to take apart each gun, check if it’s loaded, etc. The revolver is harder to deal with while the .22 is only a bit easier.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve held a gun.” Deadshot stated. His dark eyes never left your face. “I don’t need details but I do expect honesty.”

“...My ex. He had fluctuating, extreme moods. Sometimes, he’d stare down the barrel of a gun, crying that I hated him and begging me not to leave. Other times, he would wave the gun in my face and say that the only way I was leaving is if I was in a body bag too.” And that’s the end of the conversation. He doesn’t let you fire off either gun but he does make you consistently repeat standing in the correct position, adjusts your stance. Then he tells you he’ll be back by the end of the week towards the end of the lesson.

Frost leads you back up to the main floors and makes you a few ham and cheese sandwiches with a glass of apple juice to calm your stomach. Staring out the glass windows at the armed men from earlier stationed all over the premises, you realize belatedly that this is your life now. The inevitable conclusion that you had denied up until this point but was always heading in that direction from the minute J and Harley first had sex with you. Politely, Jonny ignores the sheen of tears in your eyes, quietly taking your dirty dishes and goes about washing them, allowing for you to compose yourself. Once he’s done with the dishes, he leads you to the Clown King and Queen’s shared bedroom, knocking on the door when it seems you’re never going to get the nerve.

Although they’re batshit insane, and really, so are you, they take one look at your face and leave you be. You shower in peace and when you’re finished, you find them in bed, space already made for you to sleep. Try as you might, sleep does not come, and the notion is further out of your reach with two amorous clowns right next to you. Biting your bottom lip, despite the inner angel on your shoulder screaming not to, you turn your head and catch them kissing. Harley is straddling J and he has a hand on her ass, squeezing firmly. He’s murmuring something too low for you to overhear but whatever is said has her lifting her baggy T-shirt over her head and tossing it aside, doing the same to her bra. J lifts a little, the sheet pooling around his waist enough to reveal that he’s already half erect and leaking pre.

Oh God, oh God.

Closing your eyes, you clamp your lips tight together and place your head down onto the pillow, a flush working up your cheeks, you were soaking the crotch of your underwear. Although you close your eyes, you know what’s happening, judging by how J’s raises a little more, “Come on, baby, come on, come on, c-c-” And the sucking sounds. Not looking was supposed to put it out of mind but holy fuck. They really had no shame. Trying to be stealthy, you shimmy out of your underwear, dropping the lingerie on the side of the bed and slowly begin pleasuring yourself, gaining confidence and speed every growl from J or scream from Harley. Still, you nearly jump out of your skin, eyes flying open when, just after you cum to the sound of J telling Harley to “take Daddy’s dick like a good girl”, a finger is suddenly probing your other entrance. It’s Harley (of course) and she looks both amused and aroused. J doesn’t waste any time teasing, just tears the sheets off of you, spreading your legs open as he kisses down the length of your body before his lips brush along your clit and finds your folds, lapping up your juices. You moan, either from the feeling of Harley’s finger or J’s tongue, both, it all just feels so good.

Too good.

J’s fingers and tongue became relentless as they worked you hard. You could feel another orgasm coming, this one stronger than the last. Grinding your hips against J’s face as two fingers entered your soaking center, moving around and brushing against your g-spot, as the fingers that occupied your ass ran along the thin membrane that separated the two sets of fingers. As the fingers, and J’s tongue, lapping on your clit, sped up, and you came hard, literally gushing. “Mm, mm, mm. So pretty.” Harley hummed as her lips descended on your nether region, helping clean up the juices you just spilled. The other fingers removed themselves from your ass and you whimpered at the loss. J hushes you with a deep, bruising kiss.

#dc #joker #dc imagine #the joker #black reader #the joker imagine #harley #joker imagine #harley quinn imagine #jared leto joker #joker x harley #suicide squad #joker x reader #harley quinn x reader #joker x harley x reader #harley quinn x joker x reader #suicide squad imagine #thekrazykeke

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superninjaviolinist · 5 years

Text

The Girl with the Black Dragon Tattoo, Chapter 2

You ever completely panic and let your body do whatever it thinks it’s supposed to do? Sometimes we shit ourselves, other times we freeze. Hunters, we tend to get violent.

My hand shot out and impaled the closest demon, someone’s aging soccer mom. It gave a howl in pain as I ripped out the blade. I turned to face another and ducked under a flying fist. Slit his belly open and watched his guts spill just like Steve’s. Whipped my leg around and kicked him in the temple.

This was a nightmare. I’d never faced more than one demon at a time and now there were ten. I dodged, stabbed, kicked, and made absolutely no impact on their numbers. Even the one I’d disemboweled was getting back to his feet.

One managed to clip me on the head with what felt like a bat. In the few seconds I was dazed another demon locked my arms behind my back. The guy that had hit me got in close, grabbed my chin, and leered. “I wonder what it’s like to fuck a hunter.”

On the surface, what with the claws and fangs and black eyes, monsters seem inhuman, but get down into the basics and they’ve got the same wants and desires as the rest of us. The difference often was whether their natural hunger had been slaked, be it for flesh, brains, or violence. This wasn’t the first time I’d encountered a sociopathic creature aiming to fulfill more base desires and it wouldn’t be the last.

Demon or not, males are still males. “Not interested,” I replied as my knee snapped up between the bastard’s legs. He folded down. I whipped my head back at the one behind me while he was gaping. Soon as my arms were freed I introduced my fist to his face.

Tim and Reggie made a break for the camper and I followed. We climbed into the late Steve’s ride and slammed the doors shut. I watched the demons gather themselves as Tim dropped the keys from the visor and started the engine. The black eyed fuckers smiled as we peeled out of the parking lot.

I sat down on the aisle between the stove and the table in order to catch my breath. All of us were scraped up, bruised, and bloody. From the passenger’s seat, Reggie attempted to console his friend. “Tim—“

“Shut the fuck up,” the other man snapped.

We drove in silence for several miles, just far enough to feel safe, before Tim pulled to the side of the road. As soon as we were stopped, he began slamming his palms against the steering wheel. “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

“What’re we gonna do?” asked Reggie.

“I got me an idea.”

“Take me back to my bike,” I said as I stood up. I leaned over between the two seats so I could make sure they heard me. “Ten demons? Whatever stupid-ass idea you’ve got is suicide.”

“Okay. But first…”

Tim’s fist connected solidly with my temple. Blackout.

Next thing I knew I was being hauled down the camper steps in a fireman’s carry, across black pavement, and through some doorway, its bell blasting in my ears. Through the haze, as I was dropped to my feet, I heard someone cry my name. A moment later a blade was pressed against my throat. That cleared the fog up pretty goddam quick. “The fuck—?”

“Just take it easy, okay?” came Sam Winchester’s voice. “Put the knife down.”

Reggie wasn’t stupid enough to do that, especially since he knew that once he did I‘d grab it and shove it in his throat. In fact, the knife bit a little more. I felt a small trickle of blood go down my neck.

Now I didn’t know Sam from Adam at the time. He might not care that some woman he’d met for all of five minutes was being used as leverage for whatever the Douchebag Trio, sorry, Duo had in mind. Maybe he’d just fight them off and leave me to my fate. Fortunately for me, the man has a hero complex, a trait that gets him in trouble more often than he would like to admit. “Stop!” Sam cried. “It’s true. What the demons said, it’s all true.”

“Keep going,” Tim said, deceptively calm.

“Why? You going to hate me any less? Am I going to hate myself any less? What do you want?” Such a whiner.

“I want to hear you say it.”

There was a moment of quiet. “I did it. I started the Apocalypse.”

Oh. Well then. Of course, the details were more convoluted than could be explained in a single sentence, but at the time I was just angry that this over-grown idiot had doomed us all. But before I could express my outrage I was handcuffed to the service station. It was a sign of just how out of it I was that I hadn’t noticed the bracelets sooner.

I pulled at the cuffs, loudly clanging metal against metal, as Tim withdrew a vial of red liquid from his pocket. “What is that?” a deeply apprehensive Sam asked.

“What do you think it is?” Tim replied triumphantly. “It’s go juice, Sammy boy.”

Demon blood, had to be. The mix of desire and loathing on Sam’s face was ugly. “Get that away from me,” he growled.

“Away from you?” asked Tim. “No. This is for you. Hell, if that demon wasn’t right as rain. Down the hatch, son.”

“Are you insane?” I yelled. “We don’t know what that’s going to do to him! For all we know it’s going to make him kill us, you stupid son of a bitch!”

“Will you shut that slut up?” Tim barked at his co-conspirator.

Reggie backhanded me. I’m quite sure he’d been wanting to do that ever since I’d dumped his ass. After spitting blood from a bitten cheek onto the floor, I looked up through stray locks of hair and told the motherfucker, “When I get out of these you’ll have to eat through a straw.”

“Look, just leave her alone,” Sam said loudly, “and we can work this out.”

Tim ignored him. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna drink this, Hulk out, and you’re gonna waste every one of the demon scum that killed my best friend.”

Confident I was secured, Reggie joined his friend in advancing on the taller hunter. Tim held out the vial invitingly. “Come on,” he urged, “you know you want it, Sam. Just reach it and take it.”

Entranced by the proffered liquid, Sam failed to notice Reggie creeping up to him from the left. In another moment they were grappling and Tim moved forward to force the blood down the Winchester boy’s mouth.

Great, Dumb and Dumber were distracted. I yanked on the cuffs again. No go. Next, I looked about (out of the corner of my eye I could see Sam spitting crimson liquid into Tim’s face). Bottled, cups, and toothpicks. Nothing remotely helpful.

My lockpicks were in my boot. I swung my foot up and used my teeth to undo the laces. Thank you, mom, for insisting I keep up with the gymnastics. As I worked I could hear fists smacking flesh. I wasn’t quite sure who I was rooting for at this point. I just hoped they were too preoccupied to see what I was doing… and… success! I pounded my loosened heel on the countertop to drop the kit near my hands. A few seconds later I was free.

When I looked up I saw Sam beating the ever living hell out of Tim. Good… except Reggie was sneaking up behind him with that stupid knife. I grabbed the nearest mug and hurled it as hard as I could. It hit him right in the face. Even better, his blade dropped to the floor and Sam snatched it up. He held it to Tim’s neck while Reggie spit out a few teeth.

The Winchester boy then looked at me. I don’t know what was on my face, but it made his expression crumple from fury to resignation. He shoved Tim at Reggie. “Go.”

Tim rubbed his own neck. “Don’t think we won’t be back.”

“Don’t think I won’t be here.”

The Douchebag Duo left and left me alone with Sam. He approached and reached out at the bruise on my face. “Are you—“

I slapped the hand away. “Don’t!” Touching me without permission was a good way to develop a fatal case of steel-in-the-gut.

Sam backed away. “Sorry. Let me at least get you some ice.”

I didn’t object; my cheek was throbbing. Sam was lifting the gate to get behind the bar when I heard the engine of Steve’s van rev several times. There was no way that thing would survive being rammed into the bar wall so I couldn’t begin to fathom what he was planning. Didn’t have to wait long; a few seconds later a horrible series of crunching and grating noises filtered in.

My blood ran cold. They couldn’t have. “Oh, shit,” I gasped and ran through the exit.

Yep. Those dickheads had run over my motorcycle. My poor bike was smashed all to hell, parts strewn in a curve all over the parking lot. Luckily the saddlebag that had ended up scraping along the concrete was the one with my personal effects and not the one with my weaponry. They’d even done the courtesy of tossing my sword and its sheathe out of the camper. Both were lying sadly on the asphalt several feet away.

Sam came out holding a clean rag full of ice as I was silently fuming. The idiot made the mistake of putting a hand on my shoulder while my back was turned and I automatically spun around to plant a fist in his stomach. He let out a whoof and stumbled back a few paces. “Oops,” I said.

“Ow!”

I didn’t apologize; he should have known better. Instead I knelt down and got busy unclipping my surviving saddlebag from the wreck that had been my Yamaha. The other one was completely shredded. I pulled it out from under the ruined bike anyways to see if anything had survived. Nope. I discovered my spare clothing had been inadvertently reconstituted as workshop rags with the exception of a single pair of underwear. In an additional insult to injury my toiletries had squelched out and had soaked pretty much everything.

Wonderful. My current shirt and jeans were filthy with blood and sweat and I was in the middle of Nowhere, Oklahoma without a ride. I sat down with my rescued panties hanging pathetically from my fingers and sighed. “Great. Just fucking great.”

“Listen,” Sam said as he put the ice pack on my cheek. I flinched, but gratefully held the cold thing to my face. “Why don’t you at least spend the night at my place? In the morning I can take you wherever you want to go.” I peered up at him suspiciously. “Just a peace offering,” he claimed.

Seeing that there was a dearth of options I told him, “Fine.” I stood and walked over to my sword with a scrap of what had been a really comfortable shirt. As I headed back I wiped off the dirt and blood. “No funny business,” I warned him as I pointed the tip at his chest.

Sam eyed it warily. “You got it.”

As the shower warmed up I took stock of my remaining belongings. Bow (no arrows; all snapped), sword, wallet, iPhone, compass. Rollup pouch of various blades. Couple of tampons (which, then and now, made Sam deeply uncomfortable), makeup bag that was miraculously untouched, and the (lonely) underwear.

Sam put a shirt, flannel, and a pair of basketball shorts next to my bag. “Just for now,” he said. “I’ll throw what you’re wearing in the wash.”

“Thanks.” I grabbed what I needed and headed into the now delightfully steamy bathroom.

After passing my clothing out to Sam I used his soap and shampoo. No wonder the man had such a fluffy coif; the stuff he used was really nice. Now clean, my long, black hair wrapped snugly in a towel, I catalogued bruises and cuts. Nothing major. Worst was the mark on the side of my face, the one out there by a human dickwad.

I unfolded Sam’s shirt and snorted. The thing was a tent. I don’t know what he was thinking; he had almost a foot in height on me. Better than nothing. It was comfy and warm and with the flannel everything would be covered. There was no fitting the shorts, however, no matter how tight I made the drawstring. Oh well.

Sam returned while I was packing up the remains of my meager possessions. He still had my clothes in his hands. “Someone’s using the washer. Don’t worry, I’ll get to it.”

“Thanks.” I looked around the motel room. There was only one, albeit king-sized, bed and no couch.

He saw what I was doing and declared, “I’ll take the floor.”

I rolled my eyes. “That bed is huge, dumbass. You stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine.”

“Are you sure? Because—“

“Look, you’re cute, and normally I’d be seeing if you were interested in a good fuck.” Sam flushed. Aw, how precious. Wish I could still picture him that way; what happened between us several months later pretty much scrapped any concepts I had about his innocence. “But I just got knocked in the head several times, not to mention nearly torn to pieces by a bunch of black-eyed assholes. I want to sleep comfortably. And after those guys knocked you around? I bet you do too.”

“Someone also punched me in the stomach,” he said wryly.

I made a disparaging noise before lifting a corner of the covers and climbing into bed. “Good night, Sam.”

“Yeah. Good night, Eva.”

I was woken up a few hours later when Sam’s lips found my neck. My eyes snapped open and I flipped around. Initially, I was prepared to smack him, but he was staring at me with such affection that I was taken aback. “I love you, Jess,” he murmured.

God, if only I’d known then what this little hallucination of his was heralding I’d have walked out that damn door the second I woke up. I merely thought Sam Winchester was in the grips of some really intense dream. It was either that or I’d taken charity from a delirious nutcase.

Nonplussed, I watched as he turned around and sat at the edge of the bed. “God knows how much I miss you, too,” Sam said sadly. “But you’re wrong. People can change. There is reason for hope.”

“What a crock of shit,” I replied bitterly.

“How can you be so sure?” he asked.

I hesitated. I mean, undoubtedly he was talking to Harvey the Rabbit, but I barely knew the man. It wasn’t really the right time and place to expound on the fallacies of the human race. It was taken out of my hands, however, when Sam jerked around and looked at me in horror. My eyebrows shot up as he stood up and stumbled backwards. “Lucifer.”

A chill ran down my spine. I’m in no way religious, especially after everything I’ve seen and been through, but my parents had been devout Christians. I also didn’t have my head in the sand; I knew the Apocalypse that was looming was the biblical Apocalypse, atheists be damned. Sam Winchester had claimed he was responsible. Maybe the guilt had addled his brain. “What do you want with me?” he demanded. “I don’t want anything from you.”

I glanced around and found my saddlebags set neatly at a table near the window at the opposite side of the room. Damnit, I wanted a knife, but I didn’t know how he’d react if I moved. When I turned back, Sam’s expression had gone from horrified to baffled. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

Sam stood and took a few steps back, his gaze pointed at some vague spot on the wall. I guess Satan had gotten to his feet. “No,” he snarled. “No. That’ll never happen.” A short pause. “You need my consent.” And another. “I will kill myself before letting you in.” I really wished I could hear the other half of this bizarre conversation. “You’re wrong.” More silence. “Why me?” His head fell.

When Sam finally raised his head it was to search about as if whomever (or whatever) he’d been talking to had vanished. Much to my consternation those hazel orbs were filled with tears. “Sam?” I ventured.

He jumped. “E-Eva?”

I went for directness. “What the hell is going on?”

“Uh, um, nothing.” Sam turned away.

“Sam,” I snapped. He still didn’t look at me. “You woke me up by kissing me. Then you called me Lucifer.”

That got his attention. He whirled back around. “How much did you hear?”

“Everything you said. So again: what the hell is going on?”

“It’s… It’s nothing.”

All right, enough of Mystery Man and his enigmatic phantasms. “Fuck this, I’m out.” I stood up and whipped off the borrowed flannel. But when I pulled the shirt over my head, fully intending on throwing both things back at their owner, getting dressed, and hitching a ride, his shocked gasp was hard to miss. It wasn’t my sudden nudity; I’d bet Sam Winchester had been treated to much better sights. I’d been so rudely awakened and treated to such a queer spectacle that I’d forgotten I was in his bed as a guest and not a lover, and it meant that I hadn’t warned him about my scars.

They crisscross my back in an irregular pattern. I remember how each of them had been inflicted. This one, here, across my shoulder blades, was from a bullwhip. That one, right under my ribs, was one of a dozen made by a razors he’d kept in a velvet-lined case, blades too small to kill but just right for inflicting pain. The one closest to my nape? His teeth.

After Bobby rescued me, it took months of rehabilitation to get me back on my feet, but once they were healed I’d traveled to Japan. With Bobby’s directions (the man is, quite surprisingly, fluent in Japanese) I’d found a tattoo artist who was also familiar with the supernatural. After two exquisitely torturous days under the needle I had an irezumi, a traditional Japanese tattoo, of a sinuous black dragon curled over my back and buttocks. An anti-possession mark was hidden in its coils along with thirteen Shinto wards meant to ward off evil. It covered nearly all my scars, but in certain lights you could make out every ridge and gouge.

Sam obviously knew he wasn’t looking at the expected inevitable repercussions of living as a hunter. Those would have been scattered, maybe a few on my arms, my legs, my torso. These were concentrated on my back. They’d been artistically inflicted by a sadist, one with centuries of experience. Of course, there was no way he could have known then who and why but his silence spoke volumes.

I slowly put the flannel back over my shoulders. “I’m not telling you,” I said quietly, still not facing the man, “so don’t ask.”

“I didn’t,” he said gently. “I won’t.”

It was refreshing, and jarring, to meet someone who didn’t pry. Some men wanted salacious details, thinking it might be from a background of rough S&M. Others played the macho card and wanted to know who and whether or not the perpetrator had been punished. Both disgusted me, which is why I normally told some outrageous lie (sorority hazing, Halloween makeup gone wrong, a really aggressive dog), then rode ‘em and tossed ‘em in the same night.

Whether Sam would backtrack to appease his curiosity wasn’t a given. Then again, after what I’d seen I was certain he had his own secrets that he didn’t want unearthed. I buttoned up and made a quick decision. “Look. I need a ride to Bobby Singer’s. He obviously knows you so I’m assuming you know him. He hooked me up with my last bike for dirt cheap and I’m pretty damn sure he‘ll do it again. If you’re not going to help me then I need to get moving.”

“No, I’ll take you.” He wiped a hand down his face. “I was planning on leaving town anyhow.”

“Is this… talking to Lucifer thing a nightly occurrence? Should I be prepared?” I had to ask.

Sam chuckled a little, much to my surprise. “No. I’m pretty sure this was a one time thing.”

“Fantastic. Can I get back to sleep now?”

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, no problem.”

I tucked myself back into bed. Sam, however, grabbed his jacket. “Where you going?” I asked sleepily.

He gave me a small, sad smile. It made me want to cuddle him. I swear he must practice those puppy eyes. “I’ll be back. Just going for a walk.” I made an agreeable noise as he shut the door.

Man, I’d lucked out. Nearly killed by demons, knocked senseless by a complete asshole, and had my ride and belongings completely fucked over. But surprise, surprise! I scored a free ticket to Bobby’s and a handsome companion to get me there. Afterwards, Sam could go his way, I could go mine. No way I wanted to get into whatever issues the Winchester boy was having, especially since he seemed to be directly involved with the Apocalypse.

I wish time travel was more accessible. Stupid, naive past-me really needed a whack upside the head.

We left as early as possible the next day. Sam paid the reckoning for our room and we loaded up his car, a rust yellow Lincoln Continental with ripped seats and a faint smell of cigarettes. I sat in the passenger’s side and popped open the dash. “George Freedman,” I read off the registration.

Sam turned the engine over. “You really wanna know?”

I tossed the slip of paper over my shoulder. “Nope.”

It was going to take us about a day to get to Sioux Falls (barring traffic) including some overnight driving. I offered to take the middle stretch and he agreed.

Both of us, by unspoken mutual agreement, made no small talk. We were both content to be lost in our own thoughts, the shifting radio serving as a backdrop. It started on a modern pop station, but somewhere between states it morphed into classic rock. I caught Sam mouthing the words for a few minutes before he grimaced and tuned it to country.

“No love for Zepplin?” I asked.

“Nah.”

We did a drive thru for lunch but decided to stop at a sit-down place for dinner, some out of the way diner in Missouri. I ordered a Cobb and a water, he did the same. While we waited I hummed a little, not seeing the need to start a conversation. “That’s a pretty tune,” Sam said, killing my attempt to keep myself distant.

“Piece,” I corrected.

“Okay, ‘piece’. What is it?”

“Chopin’s Prelude in E minor.”

“You play the piano?”

“Played.” It wasn’t as if I could cart an upright around while I hunted.

“Ah.” I resumed humming. Sam, unfortunately, didn’t seem to like awkward silences. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” He could ask, but it wasn’t like I was obligated to answer.

“What made you start hunting?”

I shrugged. “Thing killed my family. Went looking for it. The end.”

“That’s… vague.”

No shit, Sherlock. I figured Sam was used to people opening up to him almost right away. He flashes those empathetic eyes at them and they cave. Not me. “So why are you a hunter?”

“Pretty much the same reason.” Our salads arrived and we dug in. “How long ago?”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Does that matter?” I asked before popping a cherry tomato in my mouth.

“I guess not. It’s just… you seem pretty skilled. No one gets that good right away.”

“It’s been… several years. You?”

“Almost all my life.”

Wait. “What do you mean ‘almost’? Not including the obvious time you were in diapers.”

Sam poked morosely at some lettuce. “I, um… I went to college for a bit.”

“Where?”

“Stanford.”

I gave a derisive snort. “Stanford.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “You’ve got to be the first person I’ve told that isn’t amazed I went there.”

No lack of ego there. “That’s because I went to Berkeley.”

Sam startled me with a bark of genuinely surprised laughter. The rivalry between our two universities was notorious. “You sure you won’t stab me in my sleep?”

“Bears are inherently better than trees, chump,” I declared, referring to our respective mascots.

Sam continued chuckling as he ate. I speared a slice of hard boiled egg and tried to choke it down. Remembering college inevitably recalled the phone call I’d gotten from the SFPD that cloudy Thursday afternoon, taking the BART into the city while numb with shock, seeing the blood liberally splattered over the walls of the place that had once been my childhood home…

I gave up trying to eat and put my fork aside. After a minute or so Sam did the same. It looked like the path of our conversation had killed both our appetites. I wondered if he’d left Stanford for the same reason I’d left Berkeley. However, I didn’t want to pry and only ruminated about how much tuition money Sam had thrown down the drain.

We choked down a few more bites before asking for the check and getting back on the road. Sam had driven until lunch, I’d been driving since then. We switched about three hours in and I curled up in the back to get some sleep.

Sam woke me up again. I figured if I ever wanted to get a full night’s sleep again it had to be without him anywhere in the vicinity. At least this time there was no unintentional molestation; now he was just talking on the phone. I got the impression that he might have begun the conversation quietly for my sake, but the topic was distracting (not to mention agonizing) enough that courtesy had been forgotten. ”He said I’m the one that’s supposed to be letting him ride around in my skin.”

At least this time I could hear the other person. “So, you’re his vessel, huh?” they said. Damn, that was one deep voice. I pictured someone taller than Sam with the build of a lumberjack. Beard, belly, plaid, the works. “Lucifer’s wearing you to the prom?”

“That’s what he said.”

Well, shit. I’d heard about the whole angelic possession thing. A hunter who wanted to survive kept up with new supernatural developments. We all knew that angels were walking the Earth for the first time in thousands of years. They were supposedly powerful, invulnerable, and could freaking teleport. Rumor mill also had it that while demons took unwilling meatsuits, Heaven’s ambassadors needed permission before getting a ride. Therefore Lucifer, who, if I remember correctly, was an archangel, needed Sam’s permission to ride his ass through Armageddon.

I‘d fooled myself into thinking that maybe he’d been playing along in order to get the Douchebag Trio—sorry, Duo—off our backs and that maybe last night’s conversation had been the product of some personal issues he was having. Apparently I was an idiot. I’d been watching Lucifer court his fucking vessel and hadn’t had the foresight to do something about it. Well, it looked like I’d been given a second chance.

Quietly and slowly I reached down and unsheathed my sword. “Dean, don’t do this,” Sam was pleading. A farewell sounded from the other end and he slowly dropped his phone.

I didn’t want to startle him too much; he was driving, after all, and I didn’t want to end up splattered on the side of the road. Instead, I slid my weapon over Sam’s neck with just enough slowdown so he could acknowledge what was happening. “Pull over,” I said softly.

The car drifted to the embankment. “Eva—“

“Shut the fuck up. If I slit your throat would it all be done?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

I felt Sam’s throat bob my blade up and down. “Lucifer told me he’d just bring me back.”

It was very likely he telling the truth. There was too much despair in his voice for it to be a ruse. “And the other guy?”

“My brother.“

If there was anything I could empathize with it was sibling estrangement. Still, I might be able to save a lot of lives by killing him. Or maybe he’d just get resurrected and my altruism would bring the literal wrath of Hell down on my head. Just… there was a chance I could derail the Apocalypse right here, right now. Or I might doom myself into having a revengeful lumberjack on my ass for the rest of my life.

I vacillated between the two possibilities for a bit too long. With a speed belied by his size Sam‘s left arm shot over to grasp the back of my shirt. He yanked me into the front seat and I let out a really undignified squeal. I threw my arms up to prevent my head from slamming into the dash as my blade flew to his feet.

After struggling a bit in the small space I ended up in a one-armed chokehold with my boot heels pressed against the passenger side window. Sam’s left arm was wrapped around my body for additional restraint. Frustrated, I kicked the door and the glass several times before letting myself go slack. “You done?” Sam asked irritably.

“Yes.” Even to myself I sounded like a big, pouty baby.

He let me go and moved his tree trunk of a leg so I couldn’t retrieve my sword. “Can we get going now?”

I answered him by slapping him silly. “That’s for starting the Apocalypse.” I slapped him again. “And that’s for Lucifer.”

Sam palmed his cheek, his eyes wide with outrage. “He’s not in me right now!”

“I know,” I said calmly as I settled down in my seat. “Just make sure he gets it.” After buckling my seatbelt I asked, as sweetly as possible, “Can I have my sword back?”

Sam grimaced. He used his heel to slide my samjeongdo under his seat. “No.”

“Asshole.”

When I woke up again it was just after dawn. Sam’s jacket was draped over my shoulders. Nice of him; it wasn’t exactly warm this time of year. Then I saw that we were stopped under a bridge and was pissed; if we were still driving in the right direction and at the same speed we should have been in Sioux Falls. This was definitely not Singer Salvage Yard and that guy that Sam was talking to was not Bobby Singer.

The stranger was slightly shorter than Sam (which still gave him half a foot over me) with a military cut and what were astonishingly handsome features. Man had a chiseled jawline and everything, and the five o’clock shadow only enhanced the package. The way Sam was looking at him, with a mixture of hopefulness and guilt, cemented the fact that this male model wannabe was his brother, Dean. No beard and belly. At least I’d gotten the plaid right.

I watched Dean hand Sam some kind of knife. The former gave the latter what looked like an ultimatum. They came to an agreement, Sam started looking relieved and grateful, and the conversation was over. Time to meet the pretty boy.

I opened the car door and got both of their attentions immediately. I will never forget how Dean’s face went ashen at the sight of me. This was the first time we’d met; there was no reason for him to be looking at me like I was some kind of ghost.

I walked over and stopped near Sam, still meeting Dean’s horrified expression with my own perturbed one. Stupid genetics. These two made me feel like a midget. “What?” I snapped.

“You,” Dean said breathlessly. “I saw you.”

“Stalker much?”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked his brother.

“Future me, man,” Dean said breathlessly. “I caught him lookin’ at this picture of us… them… whatever! Kept it in his pocket like some kind of fricking treasure.”

Sam was as confused as I was, but apparently it was for a different reason. Instead of, “Are you crazy or something?” (which I felt any normal person would have asked) he simply wondered, “Why?”

“Because he said she was someone he’d loved. And at some point…” Dean swallowed apprehensively and looked over at me. His next words would forever leave a black stain our relationship. “At some point she died in his arms.”

Acknowledgement : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episodes “Free to Be You and Me” (SPN 5.03) and “The End” (SPN 5.04).

#Supernatural #ofc #fanfiction #fanfic #Crowley #Castiel #Dean #Sam Winchester

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