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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 years

Text

Extreme Aggressor: Part Two

Pairing: Eventual Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, and angst

Summary: Jason Gideon is called back from a six-month leave from the Behavioral Analysis Unit to profile a killer. Meanwhile, the team flies across the country to Seattle when another young woman goes missing at the hands of "The Seattle Strangler," another serial killer.

Author’s Note: Here is it finally! After hard work, it is finally ready for your viewing pleasure! Please, feedback is always appreciated so let me know what you like about it and what you didn’t!

I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

So without further ado, please enjoy!

After arriving at the police headquarters, you followed Gideon and the rest of the team inside the building. It still felt awkward between you and the rest of the team which is why you stuck to Gideon’s side the whole time. He walked fast throughout the building, and you did your best to keep up.

“He never stands with his back to a window. When I was between him and a doorway, he asked me to move,” Derek gossiped about your friend.

“That's hypervigilance. It's not uncommon in post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“Just how much disorder are we talking about?”

“Morgan, it's been six months. Everything's okay,” Hotchner calmed him down.

“And he brings along a woman we don’t even know? How do we know we can trust her? I’m sorry, but she doesn’t mean anything to me yet,” Derek asked just as you passed them.

Looking at them over your shoulder, you caught Spencer’s eyes before moving on.

“Give her time. You gave me time,” he said, catching up to you. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. He’s right. I’m a stranger to you guys.”

“Hopefully by the end of this, you won’t be,” he smiled, walking into the main room with you that was crowded with uniforms.

“This is special agent Gideon, special agent Morgan, our expert on obsessional crimes, special agent Reid—”

“Dr. Reid,” Gideon interrupted.

“Dr. Reid, our expert on well, everything, and the newest member of our team, Y/N Y/L/N. And after two years busting my ass in this office, I hope you all remember me,” Hotchner smiled with the laughter that ensured throughout the room.

“He's willing to travel with the body,” Gideon speaks, looking at the map.

“Then he drives a vehicle capable of concealing one,” Hotchner added.

“1 in 7.4 drivers in Seattle owns an SUV,” Spencer spat out.

“But how do we know it's his car? Ted Bundy drove a VW Bug. What about a Jeep Cherokee? Jeeps are more masculine,” Derek voiced his thoughts.

“We all know how an unsub feels about asserting his masculinity,” Gideon chuckled.

“When did the bureau become involved in the case?” Hotchner asked the lead police officer.

“After the fourth body. He dumped that one out of state.”

While everyone was conversing and talking, you walked up the board with the recent pictures of the latest kidnapped victim, Heather. She went missing about a day ago which means she has about 24 hours left until she is dead—and the clock is ticking. Her image and the photos of the abduction site certainly does something for you, but it’s not enough. Reaching up to touch the image of her, you closed your eyes to see if you can get anything from a picture.

A flash of an orange car here, her heart rate increasing while inside the car, but other than that, you got nothing. It would be better if you were touching some of her things since the human body leaves traces wherever they go, whatever they touch. Since she wasn’t murdered, there isn’t a dump site that would give you even more clues and answers.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked when he saw you.

Opening your eyes, you lowered your hand before looking at him.

“I am trying to connect myself with her through a photograph. It’s not that common to get anything, but it does happen. I see an orange car and her fearful expressions, but that’s about it.”

“What do you need in order to get a clearer picture?”

“Her belongings. Every human leaves a spiritual trace wherever they go. It’s stronger with personal items.”

“Agent Gideon, where would you like to start?” one of the policemen asked.

“Let's start at the site of the last murder. Y/N, you coming?”

“I think I’ll get a better read on Heather and whether she’s alive or not if I’m with her things. I’ll go to her house.”

“Reid and I will go with you,” Hotchner announced.

Knowing you wouldn’t go alone, you bit your own tongue and followed the two men out the door. The fact that the Bureau provided government standard SUVs were pretty cool. It didn’t take long to go to Heather’s house, and when you arrived, you met her brother and the dog she owned.

“Sandy, no, no, no. I'm so sorry,” Heather’s brother, David, apologized when the big dog started barking and trying to playfully attack you three. However, when it came to you, the dog just stared at you silently.

“No, it's okay. It's what we call the Reid effect,” Hotchner stated, causing the young doctor to be confused. “I'm agent Hotchner. This is special agent Dr. Reid and Dr. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Y/N is fine,” you quickly added.

“You two look too young to have gone to medical school,” the man observed.

“They're PhD's. 3 of them. She has two.”

“Spencer,” you whispered softly to get him to shut up about it.

It’s not like you don’t want people to know you have 2 PhDs, but you just didn’t want the attention. Plus, if your dad knew you went to school to be a profiler in the FBI, he’d have your head.

“Are you a genius or something?”

“I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute,” he gushed. The man stared at him like he was crazy, so the young doctor just agreed. “Yes, I'm a genius.”

“Sandy, you get a lot of attention, don't you?” Hotchner asked the dog who just panted.

Instead of being with them, you took a look around the room to see if you can get a feel to the place. Heather’s spirit was here through certain items, but because there are more than one, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly where it’s coming from. The conversation went on about her dog until it got back on track.

“David, does your sister drive a Datsun Z?” Spencer asked when he picked up a magazine.

“No, but she's in the market for one. How'd you know?” he asked, and Spencer held it up. David just shook his head and took his dog outside since she was getting antsy.

“There's an immediate relationship established between a buyer and a seller, a certain level of trust. If I want to coax a young woman into my car, I’d offer her a test drive,” you said, causing the two men to stare at you.

Their bodies were emitting tension, and you knew they didn’t trust you at all. You needed to do something to prove to them that you were worthy enough to be on this team.

“Let me show you what I can do, okay?”

“Alright,” Hotch said.

Taking the magazine from Spencer’s hands, you closed your eyes in concentration. A multitude of pictures flashed through your mind due to the residue that Heather left behind, until those pictures turned into film. Heather was seated on the couch right behind Hotch and Spencer, flipping through the magazine happily. When she got to the page she wanted, she grabbed the red marker on the table next to her and circled the orange car a bunch of times. She then grabbed her money and began counting it to see if she had enough money to buy it.

“Heather is sitting on that couch, super excited to buy the orange car I keep seeing. She circles the one she wants with a red marker, and she starts to count her money,” you open your eyes, and began to flip through the magazine until you found the page you were looking for. “If I’m right, it’s this page she was on. She found someone with this exact car, and whoever took her did it because they got her to test drive it.”

The page you landed on was the same exact page with the red marker.

“Nice job,” Hotch complimented.

“That’s amazing,” Spencer muttered.

“Thank you. I just want to help, Agent Hotchner.”

“Please, call me Hotch.”

“Okay, then how about the fact that on one hand, we have paranoid psychosis, but the autopsy protocol says what?” Derek asked.

Back at the office, everyone was talking about the case and how the MO of this unsub didn’t make any sense. Derek was the one who was freaking out about everything since apparently not having a profile ready didn't bode well for him.

“Adhesive residue shows he put layer after layer of duct tape over his victims' eyes,” Spencer answered.

“He knows he wants to kill them, but he still covers their eyes. He doesn't want 'em looking at him, apparently. Okay, but then he takes the body and dumps it right out in the open, murder weapon nearby.”

“Not the MO of a paranoid convinced he's being watched or surveilled,” Spencer added.

Gideon stares at the drawing board while the rest talked about the case. Just by the look of his face, he was drowning out whatever they were saying. Even though you can get a read on his spiritual energy, that didn’t mean you could understand what he is thinking.

“Jason? What’s wrong?” you asked quietly, making sure only he could hear you.

However, he didn’t answer you directly.

“Alright, enough,” he interrupted the chatter in the room. “Let's tell them we're ready.”

“We're ready?” Derek gasped as Gideon left the room. The young genius started to write something down on his notepad, but the older agent wasn’t finished. “Reid, you're good with this? We've got a woman who's only got a few hours left to live, an incomplete profile, and a unit chief on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

“They don't call them nervous breakdowns anymore,” you noted.

“It's called a major depressive episode.”

“I know, Reid,” Derek sighed.

Walking away from the board, you looked at Spencer quickly right before you left the room. Gideon gathered everyone in a conference room to deliver the profile and stood in the middle of the room with the tables blocking him in on three sides like a square. The rest of his team stood off to the side, and while Hotch, Spencer, and Derek were listening, you were watching the reactions of everyone in this room. If your abilities told you anything, it’s how untrustworthy even the most highly respected person could be.

“The unidentified subject is white and in his late 20's. He's someone you wouldn't notice at first. He's someone who'd blend into any crowd. The violent nature of the crime suggests a previous criminal record--petty crimes, maybe auto theft,” Gideon began. Running your eyes over every person in this room, you tapped into their energies to see what the normal eye couldn’t.

“We've classified him as an organized killer—psychopathic as opposed to psychotic. He follows the news, has good hygiene, and he's smart. 'Cause he's smart, the only physical evidence you'll find is what he wants you to find,” Gideon continued. The person right in front of you wanted to pay attention, but all of his focus was centered on his phone. He’s got some private issues at home that you rather not delve into right now.

“He's mobile, and his car in good condition. Our guess is a Jeep Cherokee with tinted windows. The murders have all involved rapes, but rape without penetration is a form of piquerism, and that tells us he's sexually inadequate.”

The person to your right is paying very close attention to what Gideon is saying, but she is focused on his lips and the way he talks which says that she’s attracted to him right now. That made you want to laugh because you knew for a fact that Gideon was seeing someone on the down low.

“What is it?” Spencer whispered when he saw the hint of your smile.

“That woman over there wants to bone Gideon,” you whispered back.

“How do you know?”

“I’m psychic, Spencer. I know more about a person than you think. Want me to do you?”

“No, thank you,” he whispered and got back to what Gideon was saying.

“Psychiatric evaluations will show a history of paranoia stemming from a childhood trauma—death of a parent or family member, and now he feels persecuted and watched. Murder gives him a sense of power. Organized killers have a fascination with law enforcement. They will inject themselves into the investigation. They will even come forward as witnesses to see just how much the police really know. That makes them feel powerful, in control. Which is why I also think in fact, I know you have already interviewed him,” Gideon finished, causing the entire room to feel shocked at the news.

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#extreme aggressor #series rewrite #criminal minds series rewrite #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds angst #cm #cm fic #cm fanfiction #cm angst #season 1 episode 1 #s1e1

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cherrehx · 3 years

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okay so its 2am right now and I just thought of something really cute hhhh, so basically, how would kaminari, kirishima, todoroki and bakugou react to finding ship art or something of them and their crush?? I love your writing btw, it's so awesome 💕💕

super long wait, i know. half of this was written when bnha was still my hyperfixation, hence why it's one shots. the headcanons were written now, because i felt bad leaving out denki and eijirou. -cherry

katsuki bakugō:

it was just after nine in the afternoon. katsuki had already gone to sleep as per usual, though tonight he was rudely interrupted by loud knocking on his room's door.

"the hell do you want, loser?!", he shouted, still unsure of who was even at his door. everyone knew by now not to disturb him, so who dared to do so anyways?

getting out of bed and proceeding to open the door, the ash blond was slightly less angered when he saw eijirou standing there. said red head looked frantic because of something. bakugou honestly didn't even want to know what had got him so distraught, but he knew he wouldn't get his well deserved sleep otherwise,

"spit it out, shitty hair."

"we were looking at pictures from the sports festival online and we found something that you should maybe see for yourself!", eijirou started, realizing that he wasn't getting his friend's attention, so he added, "it's about you and (y/n)!"

kirishima was the only one that knew about bakugou's secret crush on you. that's why he wasn't laughing like everyone else in the common room; because what they found may cause complications.

after kirishima had mentioned your name, bakugou was swiftly jogging towards where almost all of his class was sitting gathered around a laptop, which seemed to be mina's, judging by all the leopardy and pink stickers on it.

"out of the way extras!", katsuki stomped over to see what all the fuss was about. from the corner of his eye he saw how you were cowering next to one of the couches, face covered by your hands. at first he couldn't understand why, but when he saw a particular piece of artwork displayed on the laptop screen, he figured you were just majorly embarrassed.

the art that his class found on google was from somebody's blog that was all about the 'heroes of the future!'. needless to say, the blog didn't only deal with the heroes, but also the relationships of them. ever since an encounter at the sports festival that a lot of people saw and shared around, you and bakugou had become a popular so called ship. (the girls explained that 'ship' didn't mean anything related to boats when they teased you about mentioned moment in front of him.)

katsuki couldn't help but feel embarrassed himself, but he also had to keep his cool to not seem suspicious. looking at the drawing of you and him one more time, the ash blond walked over to you, ignoring anything his class was saying.

"(y/n), you ok?", he crouched down to your level, poking your head once. his only response was a quiet hum, followed by a hiccup. worried, katsuki grabbed your hand tightly and pulled you outside the dorm.

the air was nice, not too hot, nor too cold. a light wind was blowing as the moon shone brightly.

bakugou gave you a little space and some time to calm down. when you did, he was quick to ask,

"what's the matter? did you get THAT embarrassed by it?"

you shook your head no. it was something more, but was this the right time to tell him?

"i was really embarrassed at first.", you started, "but then i thought about something and cried."

"about what?", the usually loud boy asked softly. silence was all he got for a good minute until you finally responded,

"you know how they say 'life imitates art'? i really wish it w-was like that..."

now you were the one getting silence as a response. did you really just say that?

"idiot, being all cryptic and shit.", katsuki tried to stay calm, even if he was freaking out on the inside, "if you want a kiss you can have it."

shōto todoroki:

mr. aizawa's classes had a pretty strict schedule most of the time: first the class would get an assignment, that they'd do until said teacher falls asleep. after that, everyone would quietly - in order to not wake up aizawa - do anything they want, really.

for shouto this was more or less just plainly boring, as he was one of the few students that actually did what they had to. he'd finish his work and then wait, because he had nothing else to do. he was most likely to bother midoriya, but today he was very into whatever he was writing down in his little book. so shouto settled for observing the classmates behaviour. well, rather your behaviour.

the half and half boy knew it was weird, but he liked watching you. he liked seeing you, especially when you were happy and smiling. todoroki knew what these 'symptoms' were, but he wanted everything to stay as it was for now.

why he had caught those feelings, he didn't know. he figured it was the way you stood out. you didn't get lost in between the others and he liked that.

while todoroki was deep in thought, ashido had walked over to your desk, where you were doing the assignment in peace and quiet,

"(y/n), look! the other's and i thought about how todoroki always stares at you so intensely, so we created these shipnames! which one do you like better?"

you looked at the paper or rather the newly created words and little pictures drawn by some of your classmates and immediately turned red. flailing your hands around a little, you lied,

"none of these, i don't...like todoroki in that way."

mina looked a tad upset at that, but she understood, nodded and walked back to her table. you sort of felt bad, having killed her excitement, but you didn't need anyone knowing about your secret crush on the stoic one.

speaking of the stoic one, he couldn't hear anything you and mina had talked about. he only saw her walking over, showing you something and you freaking out and sending her away. needless to say, he was curious what had caught you off guard so much. when shouto saw mina throwing away that suspicious piece of paper, he decided to look at it when class ended. even if he thought sticking his hand in the trash was a little gross.

the end of class came sooner than expected. shouto was packing his bag slower than usual, waiting until everyone had left. after they did, he skipped over to the trash can, pulling out the latest addition: a piece of paper that embarrassed (y/n)!

he stuffed it in his bag and carried on walking to his dorm room, where he finally felt safe looking at it, " 'ship names'? why would they want to name a boat after (y/n) and i?", he asked himself, before a certain doodle on the page explained your reaction and the girls' name-mixing. even shouto couldn't help but react in some way, thinking about said doodle happening in real life. that's when he got startled by a knock on his door.

"hey, todoroki. i know you always do your work in class, so i thought i'd come and ask you about...", you drifted off, seeing the light blush on his cheeks and his fire side burning, "...umm, am i interrupting something?"

he was hiding a piece of paper behind his back. you could see just the corner of it, but that was enough for you to identify what paper it was.

"didn't take you for the nosey type.", you akwardly laughed in order to drown out your embarrassment.

"sorry, i got curious.", he looked unusually upset, averting his heterochromatic eyes and letting his arms drop on his sides. you confirmed the paper was indeed the one that mina showed you earlier.

"did you dislike it a lot?", shouto asked without thinking.

now it was your turn to blush.

denki kaminari:

-ok hear me out

-his love language has to be physical touch

-so naturally, when you guys and the rest of the bakusquad had a sleepover, you cuddled

-platonically of course (even though both of you had feelings for one another, but shh)

-oh, but mina couldn't let this one slip

-she HAD to take a picture

-in the morning, when you were still only half awake, mina ecstatically showed her phone into your face

-"LOOK, (Y/N), YOU GUYS ARE THE CUTEST!"

-queue embarrassed (y/n) and denki

eijirō kirishima:

-i feel like with him, you had been like childhood friends

-and back in the day, you guys were all like

-"i'm gonna marry you when i'm older!"

-so you engraved a little "eijirō & (y/n)" into a tree

-years and years later you guys go back to that spot

-just because you wanted to reminisce the good old days

-you guys find the carvings

-"you know, (y/n), i still haven't changed my mind."

-"what do you mean, eijirou?"

-"i'd still marry you."

#headcanons #eijirou kirishima x reader #one shots #katsuki bakugou x reader #denki kaminari x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #x reader #shōto todoroki #eijirō kirishima #katsuki bakugō #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #bnha x reader #fanfiction

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conaionaru · 3 years

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The drowned girl

Little Menace

Synopsis: What if Siggy never died and was raised by loving parents that cared for her and taught her the way of the Gods? What if the little Völva was raised by Floki and Helga (because fuck Bjorn!)

Warnings: canon divergence (duh), violence, past child neglect, child abandonment, bad parenting

I don’t own the gifs.

Bjorn looked at Floki and Helga, waiting for the good news to be said. If the boatbuilder kept his promise and built him the means to leave, Bjorn Ironside could sail to an unknown land and discover what no one had dreamt of.

"What do you say, Helga? What shall we tell him?" Floki mocked his tone, teasing, trying to drag the pretense on.

Bjorn looked at the kind blonde. "We think that it won't be long until you have boats ready and able to take you to the Mediterranean Sea!"

The Ragnarsson lit up at the information until Floki scoffed at the Viking's excitement. "If it exists."

"Of course, it exists!"

"It's just a map, Bjorn. Marks on a paper. A child could have drawn it." Floki cut him off, causing the younger boy to frown. "How can we know if it's real?"

"I learned from my father. The only way to tell if something is real..." He laid a small boat on in the water and pushed it away from the shore. "Is to sail there. I hope you'll come with me, Floki."

"Are you joking? The lure of an imaginary land. Traveling somewhere that doesn't exist?" Floki laughed in his mad way and grinned happily. "Of course, I am coming."

"And I hope you will come too, Helga." The blonde healer smiled at them, amused.

"Well, if Floki is mad enough to go, then I guess I will follow."

Bjorn cheered up at the answer, happy to know that his father's friends would be there to see him achieve his dream. What bothered him, though, was the silence. Something was off. "Where is she?" The tall Ragnarsson looked around them and up the trees, looking for a familiar face or shape. But he saw nothing.

"Went to collect some herbs a while ago," Helga explained, frowning at the relieved sigh the boy let out in return.

A girl in a long scarf sat by the shore, the dark teal fabric hiding her hair from the gentle breeze that swept by. Her bare feet were burrowed in the sand, while her hands held the scarf in a death grip.

The waves mercilessly hit the shore, washing away any imperfections from the sand. But the girl sat there, unmoving. If it wasn't for the rise and fall of her chest, she might have seemed dead. Her lips are in a thin line, a vertical stripe drawn down her chin, with another symbol between her eyes, strands of blonde hair sway in the wind around her face.

But the most shocking feature of this girl are her kohl-lined eyes, as white as milk, unblinking and unseeing. She appears to be in a trance, the world passing by her as she sits there—the calm before the storm.

Despite her ears being deaf to the world, she still heard voices, painful screams, and the hissing of snakes sounded in her head. She saw a snake curled around an arrow, drowning in a river of blood. She could feel the red liquid against her bare feet, wetting her dress.

A raven croaked over her head, drawing her from her state. With the blink of an eye, her white pupils changed to blue, the same shade as the waters before her. She looked up at the position of the sun and sighed in annoyance. With some difficulty, she rose to her feet with a bunch of flowers in one of her hands.

The blonde girl walked up a hill, pulling down the scarf from her head, her wild hair flying behind her in a fury. She sat upon the mountain, putting a bouquet of wildflowers on a small grave, pulling the weeds out, and tossing it away.

The painted girl patted the child's grave, lovingly, and sighed. "I would sing to you, but you have suffered enough, no? I am sailing away soon to Bjorn's imaginary sea. Don't miss me too much."

She left the hill, passing by some playing children and fishers who run around in excitement or got ready to work. She ignored the noise around her, striding towards her goal—the forge. The people around her gossiped with each other, the name of Ragnar Lothbrok falling from their lips. Apparently, the king returned to Kattegat after years of absence; she could care less.

An older woman glared at the young blonde, pulling her child behind her as if to protect it from a rabid animal. "Freak." She spat under her breath, glaring at the unbothered teen.

People avoided her like the plague as if she was no better than the thralls and cattle. Goats were more loved than her around the town. But she didn't care for their feelings, or them for the matter.

"Sigurd." She greeted the man who stood out the forge strumming his oud, humming a cheerful tune with a scowl on his face, trying to distract himself from his thoughts.

"Siggy." The Ragnarsson nodded at her, the lines on his forehead relaxing as he looked the blonde over. She carried herself in the usual swagger, her feet bare and eyes crazy. "Did you hear what happened?"

She snorted and plopped down next to him, taking the oud out of his hands and plucking at the strings with no talent or intention to play. It annoyed him when she used his things, so of course, she did it as often as possible. "Ragnar's back. I heard people curse his name. But do tell what he did."

Sigurd spat on the ground and glared at the dirt, making her stop messing around and look at him in question. "The settlement in Wessex was destroyed right after he left, which he knew of but did nothing! And now he came back, not to reunite with his family or apologize to his people. He wants to sail to England instead."

Siggy giggled at the explanation and jumped up, twirling around the support beam before dropping the music instrument in his lap and continuing her twirls. "He wants revenge like everyone does. People died because of him in every fight, so why are you angry that he wants people to die again? Tis nothing new, Sigurd."

He shook his head angrily before dismissing the issue and talking to her about more pleasant things. "I caught a fox. Do you want the pelt?"

Siggy shook her head, snagging an apple from a merchant's cart and then another one from another food stand. "Keep your lame pelts. I told you I want a bearskin!"

The Ragnarsson rolled his eyes at her and strummed his instrument as his niece stole another apple and juggled them cheerily, ignoring his stern look. "You shouldn't steal, Siggy! You have money!"

"You are the rich one, not me. And I am hungry." She snorted, catching the apple in her mouth midair, wiggling her thin eyebrows at him in a mocking manner.

It felt nice to be around each other without the pressure of Sigurd's bloodline around them. People avoided him when he was around Siggy, the girl too wild and violent for anyone to spend time with her. All but Sigurd were cautious about their words around her.

The Viking with the serpent in his eye was not afraid of her at all. In his eyes, she was the same as when they were children, his lonely friend. Siggy used to be too scared to leave the Great Hall, dirty and neglected by everybody.

"You should be nicer to me, anyway. I am leaving soon, you know? What if I never return? Would you miss me?" She joked dramatically, skipping around the dirty ground with her bare feet

"I suppose I would miss your shrill voice. The silence will be haunting." Sigurd said sarcastically, earning a punch on the shoulder from his niece.

Siggy giggled delightedly, the sound the same as the cackles Floki let out when happy. So much has changed since she was a child; the little blonde wasn't a child anymore; she was now a young woman hungry for adventure.

She was so happy when Bjorn announced that he is leaving to find the place on his map that she didn't even care that it meant going with him. Siggy wanted to see the world; she was an explorer, far too nosy and curious for her own good. But Sigurd supposed it was a family trait; she was just like Ragnar and Bjorn.

"Try not to kill him, Siggy."

"No promises, Sig." Throwing away the last apple core, she spoke to him in a serious tone, her hatred for her biological father obvious. Ragnar's eldest son was far too mouthy towards her, considering he is to blame for all her shortcomings. After all, Siggy wouldn't be an outcast and madwoman if he had been a better father to her.

Truth to be told, Siggy was happy with how her life turned out; she had Helga and Floki, she was sure they were far better parents than Bjorn could have ever been. She pitied his children with Torvi, the poor children were probably neglected, and their mother had to raise them independently. Otherwise, where was the fault if not in him as a father? He couldn't just hate her and love the rest of his children.

Helga and Floki loved her and treated her like their own, so she can't be the issue. Bjorn never cared to explain himself, and they avoided each other like the plague. Whenever he came to visit Floki, she left for the woods or to annoy the Ragnarsons.

Siggy parted ways from Sigurd, who left to train with his brothers. She needed to return home before Helga started to worry; the poor woman would go gray at this rate. Floki already said he was bald because of her and Ivar, which was a lie; it was all Ivar's fault; he was more annoying in her opinion.

"Siggy, there you are! Come help me stitch this sail." Helga called out to her adoptive daughter, smiling when she saw the girl safe and sound. She knew that Siggy could take care of herself, but ever since she lost Angrboða, she was worried about her. After all, the gods tried to take her once before, trying to drown her in the river when she was barely four years old.

Siggy was Helga's second chance at motherhood, maybe Floki didn't want a child anymore, but in the end, they got one anyway. Perhaps not of their blood, but Siggy was their daughter, even if not by name.

"Tighten it better and take your time; a good sail is not made in a day." She reminded the younger girl, watching her thin fingers work carefully. Siggy was skilled with sharp things, no matter if blade or needle. But she was always too restless for needlework; everytime, she started a piece and then ran off.

The two worked side by side in silence, while Floki carved details into the prow. It's supposed to be a bear head, meant to honor Bjorn. Siggy hoped it looked just a stupid as him, but knowing the boat builders' work, it would be beautiful.

"Did you pack your things?"

"Yes, Helga."

"All of them? Even the furs?"

"It's gonna be hot there. I don't need furs."

"You don't know that. Pack some just to be sure."

Siggy sighed and looked at her adoptive mother with a begging face. "Yes, Helga." The older blonde ignored the mocking tone and smiled in satisfaction.

Floki snickered behind them and dropped a bow and arrow in Siggy's lap. "Catch something big. We will sacrifice it to Thor later."

"Isn't Aslaug making a sacrifice?"

Floki shook his head and tapped her forehead with a pout on his lips. "This one is to give you more wits. I can't have you dying stupidly. Helga would kill me."

With a scoff, she slapped his hand away, ignoring his giggles as she went out into the woods. Hunting was always her favorite pastime, other than annoying people. The woods were silent; the gods guided her hands as she became a predator and came back covered in blood. What was there not to love?

Walking barefoot over the grass, Siggy enjoyed the serenity and quiet. It was nice to be surrounded by the woods where she grew up. Ever since she was four, the forest was a part of her home. Climbing the trees like a squirrel and gathering herbs with Helga or Aslaug was when she was happiest.

Despite her indifference to the Queen, she was thankful for her company. Aslaug taught her about her gift and how to use it, teaching her the bits that Floki lacked when it came to Völvas. The woman also gave birth to Sigurd, so that was a good thing too. It was also easier to forget that Aslaug left her to the thralls instead of raising her herself. With four children of her own and her husband away, Siggy was too much of a burden on her.

Sometimes when she was young and bored, she wondered what it would have been like living with the Ragnarssons and being raised in Kattegat instead of here. What she might have been like as Aslaug's granddaughter instead of her ward. But those were childish fantasies and a waste of time.

The snapping of a twig broke her train of thought. Siggy stopped in her track and sharpened her ears to any other sounds. Another noise followed, and a deer walked out behind a tree. The animal didn't notice her yet and happily ate, unaware of its upcoming doom.

Siggy drew her arrow and carefully aimed the weapon at the deer. A crow flew from the tree the moment the animal dropped to the ground. Siggy walked to the still twitching deer on the floor; an arrow ebbed in his chest.

"The gods will be happy; you are a pretty one." She grinned in victory and kneeled before the animal to pick it up. "Come on, don't be difficult." Narrowly missing a flailing antler taking out her eye, she threw the animal over her shoulder and carried it home. Humming a song tune Helga sang to her as a child, Siggy returned home only to hear a foreign voice talking to Floki.

Slowly she let the animal to the ground and climbed up a tree to watch the visitor from afar. He was bald with a beard and dressed in rags. But by the way, he talked to Floki and Helga; he must be an old friend.

A crow sat down on the branch next to her and croaked into her ear. "Shut up." The bird continued the persistent noise, only tilting his head as if to mock her. "Gods, you are more annoying the Ivar. Shoo. Shoo." The crow inched closer to her and cawed louder, right in front of her face. "Fuck off!"

"Stop bullying the birds and come down!" Floki's voice carried out from under the tree, causing the blonde teen to scoff. Leaping off the tall tree, Siggy landed in a crouch and picked herself up from the sandy ground. Making her way to Helga, Floki, and the stranger, Siggy sprinted to her seat by the fire. "What did you catch?"

"Deer."

Plopping down next to the stranger, Siggy leaned into his personal space to stare at his aged face that was pulled in a grimace. The blue eyes and quirky smirk were somewhat familiar to her but still a little bit foreign. "Nice to meet you."

"Stop harassing Ragnar. He is a visitor. Play nice for once, huh." Siggy frowned at the name that Floki spoke and leaned away from the once Greatest man alive.

"I imagined you taller. With more hair." She exclaimed, shrugging her shoulders and reaching for the plate with soup, ignoring the man who chuckled at her nonchalant statement.

Helga ruffled Siggy's hair affectionately and filled a bowl of soup for Ragnar as well. The older man thanked her and watched the young blonde female waiting for a name from her. "Don't mind Siggy; she isn't that fond of people."

Ragnar's eyes widened in slight shock at the name reveal. There was only one blonde Siggy, the girl's age that he knew. Bjorn's daughter Siggy - his granddaughter. He looked at Helga for her to confirm his suspicions, so the woman nodded in agreement.

He opened his mouth to tell her something, but the girl cut him off. "Don't bother. I don't care:"

"Siggy." Scolded Helga.

The younger female rolled her eyes and waved her hand while talking. "You told me not to tell lies. I am simply honest. I don't care what he has to say. Sigurd told me he is back and what he did. I could care less for either."

Floki snickered at her indifferent speech and smirked at Ragnar proudly. No matter if she was of Ragnar's blood, Siggy was more like Floki himself. Crazy with the touches of Helga in between.

"But if you touch any of my stuff, you will pay for it with your life, old man." Ragnar snickered at her statement and looked at her with a challenging glint in his eyes.

"What makes you think you could beat me?"

Siggy scoffed and counted on her fingers. "You are old, in pain from your wound. Meanwhile, I am young, fast, and know your weaknesses from Floki."

"Also stupidly brave and possibly suicidal."

Smirking at his remark, Siggy leaned into his face again and chuckled darkly. "Maybe. Or maybe I am certain that if I stabbed you in a dark corner, no one would come to your aid. Especially not your oldest son."

Ragnar grimaced at her truthful words and looked down at his hands that still held the bowl with soup. "You don't like Bjorn."

"For someone who has been away for a long time, you catch up quickly." She stood up from her seat and walked to the water to play with Floki's mini boats. "He is a lot like you, you know? A shit father just like you. You must be very proud."

"Siggy!" Helga scolded, apologizing for her daughter's behavior and running after her. "What happened today. You are being awfully mean today, Siggy."

The blonde snorted and pushed the model ship around the water.

The water created soft waves around the small boat, calming her earlier anger. "We will sail with Bjorn."

"You don't have to go if you don't want to. You could stay with Sigurd. I am sure he won't mind. Or I can stay as well. We could have some time alone and make some new dresses for us. I think yellow would suit you well."

Her reflection in the water looked pissed off. The tangled blonde hair and bright blue eyes of her biological father were a permanent reminder of who she really was. No face paint or mannerism could cover-up whose daughter she was. "I don't want a dress, Helga. I want to fight and have an adventure." Siggy hissed in anger and slapped the water, destroying her reflection. Helga jumped in surprise but calmed down when she saw Siggy's concerned look.

"Then what is the problem? You will be with Floki and me. You can talk to Hvitserk and other warriors. You don't have to talk or look at Bjorn at all." Helga whispered softly, stroking Siggy's dirty cheek tenderly. Closing her tormented eyes, Siggy sighed as if a weight was lifted from her shoulders.

"What matters is the adventure and the glory, not Bjorn. What matters is you, not them—none of them or their whispers." Siggy nodded and stood up to take a stroll.

"I will go for a walk. Meet you at the Hall for the celebration."

Helga watched the teen walk away solemnly. "Be careful!" Siggy waved her hand at her and left without looking back.

Running through the woods barefoot at dawn felt great. The birds were up and chipper while the rest of the world slowly woke up around her. Her blonde hair flowed behind her as she jumped into a puddle of mud and enjoyed the squishy feeling in between her toes.

"Come, the best trees are up here!" Called Floki hiking up the hill before them, passing other tall trees on the way.

Siggy runs behind him, touching every tree and remembering the textures of every bark. "Why not this one? It feels good."

Floki turned on his heel and circled around the tree in a weird dance before shaking his head. "No, no. Not good enough. This one needs more time. But when it gets older. I will make a pretty boat out of it."

Siggy pouted and hugged the tree in protest, pushing her face against the bark. "I like this one! Do something out of it, Floki! Pleaseeeee!"

The boatbuilder rolled his eyes and pried her from the tree. He held her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes for a bit before chuckling in his peculiar way. "Both you and the tree will grow, and when you are both older, this tree will be the first plank for your very own boat."

Her blue eyes practically sparkled at the thought, and she grinned in excitement. All her earlier sadness and frustration were forgotten. "You will make me a boat? A real big one?"

Floki chuckled and continued his way uphill, Siggy climbing behind him. "Of course! Every voyager needs a ship."

"How do you know I will be a voyager?"

"I can see it in your eyes. You will sail all over the world and see many exciting things." Siggy grinned in victory and sprinted up the hill to a tall oak tree.

She hugged it and smirked down at Floki, who nodded in agreement and let her mark the tree with a knife. He would cut it down later when she was further away. First, they will need to find more trees. "Will people love me when I am older?"

He looked down at the hopeful eyes of his adoptive daughter and sighed. "People don't always love great men and women. They envy them as they envy the gods. Be true to the gods and yourself, and they will reward you."

Siggy opened her eyes, the milky white color fading from them. She sighed in annoyance and watched the waves move in the moonlight. The Great Hall was alive with drunken cheers and brawls, but she felt content by the shore.

When she returned home from her walk, Helga and Floki already left to join the celebrations, so she got ready alone. The pink dress that Helga made for her, especially for tonight, felt too delicate on her. How were those battle-hardened men supposed to fear her if she looked like a soft flower?

Siggy was anything but soft. Sigurd always said she was a hurricane with skin. Easy on the eyes but secretly dangerous. Men will still underestimate women; that was an unspoken rule that always pissed her off. They would respect her skinny mad genius of an adoptive father before they even thought about not treating her like an object. Of course, they will lose an eye or hand for that, but the audacity was still annoying.

Let them look at her and think her small, and then they will shit their pants when they see her beheading enemies. The day Siggy the Drowned settled for a peaceful life, Ragnarok would come. She is Viking and Vikings aren't to be disrespected or underestimated.

With one last sigh, Siggy turned on her hell and discarded her fur cloak to show off her bare arms to the horny eyes of the drunk people. Sigurd sat on a table near Aslaug, his brothers all around him. Floki and Helga talked to some foreigners on the other side of the Hall.

Merrily skipping towards them made the younger of the two foreigners look at her in curiosity. "You disappoint me, Floki. I wanted to butcher the deer myself."

"You snooze, you lose, Little Menace." The boatbuilder snickered and pulled her closer to show her off to his friends. "This is our daughter Siggy. These are King Harald and his brother Halfdan."

"Ah, yes. The conqueror and his shadow. I am a huge fan of how you take over one kingdom after another—the reason why is disappointing, though."

Harald and Halfdan both frowned in anger but said nothing back to her. Not even an hour here, and she already pissed off two people. At this rate, she would hit her personal record of how many people she can bug in a day.

"Be nice, Siggy. We are to sail with them to the Mediterranean." Helga softly scolded and shot Floki a glare when she saw him enjoying the exchange too much.

"You have a very unique daughter. I wouldn't expect anything else from you, Floki." Halfdan finally broke the silence looking the young teen over. Slightly unruly blonde hair, face paint, blue eyes with a crazy glint, and a pretty figure. The girl was the perfect mix of Helga and Floki.

"Have you ever raided before, Siggy?" Harald questioned her, causing her to shake her head in denial. "A first raid is a great way to prove yourself. I wish you luck in your battles, then. Let your first kill be easy."

"Who says I haven't killed before?"

Halfdan chuckled at the darkness in her gaze. The voyage won't be boring at all. "And how many did you kill then?"

"A few. People tend to anger me very easily and bleed out too fast."

"I like you, Siggy."

"A shame I don't like people."

#history vikings #vikings imagine #vikings #sigurd snake in the eye #sigurd ragnarsson #sigurd lothbrok #bjorn ironside #bjorn lothbrok #bjorn ragnarsson #siggy #siggy bjornsdottir #helg #floki #siggy lives

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istgimamess · 3 years

Text

Reaction: [ S t r a y K i d s ] finding out their s/o is a [ S u p e r n a t u r a l C r e a t u r e ]

"...hi it's the anon from yesterday! so I'm not sure what way you do your reactions but something i haven't seen yet but would like to is a reaction to finding out that either their s/o or friend, whichever you'd prefer, is a supernatural creature (like werewolf, fae, witch, shape shifter, mermaid, demon, angel, anything really) for stray kids!

let me know if I didn't give you info that you need for a reaction or... if there are any problems with my request, I'm kind of shooting blindly since you don't have rules or anything right? so yea, i hope this is fine tho..."

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[ C h a n ] finds out you’re an [ A n g e l ]

His initial reaction: [ C o n c e r n e d ]

^ he’s logical, fair and patient—he’s known for having a logical minds and a fair judgment. He strives for fairness and justice constantly. This makes him a wonderful mediator. He’ll analyze every situation with his little legal eagle brain and logical mind; with the help of that he can organize all things well and eliminate the irrelevant. So when you finally admit to being an angel, show him your wings, he’ll most like keep quiet.

^ also, he’s a great listener—he’ll most definitely listen to your side of the story before making any irrational decisions about your relationship. This goes back to his logical, fair and patient way of thinking; he’ll most likely just sit there quietly and let you do the talking, the explaining. ^ he soaks up all the ideas and information around him like a big brainy sponge. He hates conflicts and confrontations and always watches his words while communicating, talking in a way as to not offend you. When he finally does say something, his words will be well thought out, calculated.

^ he always knows a lot more than he lets on, most likely he already knew you were abnormal—a bit different—from the very start of your relationship. And he was just waiting for you to get comfortable enough to admit it to him, to officially let him in on the secret.

^ he’s very understanding. He’s very thoughtful and interprets things that most people miss out on. This will be beneficial to you when you begin to try and explain to him why you kept this a huge secret for such a long time. He’ll see that it, your unwillingness to tell anybody your origin story, has nothing to do with him not being worthy of knowing. He won’t take it personally.

^ he’ll tell you like it is, straight up, because he’s an honest and upfront person. He’ll wait until you’ve finished explaining and when you question him on his thoughts and feelings in the moment, he won’t sugar coat it—which can be both good and bad.

^ but, also, he can smell bullshit from a mile away. If you omit any significant details, or lie in any way, he will catch on almost instantly. And he won’t be happy.

^ he’s loyal to the bone and fiercely protective of you; finding out you’re an angel won’t change that. If anything, he’ll feel even more protective of both you and your secret. ^ he’ll forgive but never forget. Even though he won’t show it on the surface, he’ll be extremely hurt that it took you so long to tell him. Logically he knows it has nothing to do with him, but emotionally it will feel like you just don’t trust him enough. He’ll forgive you for keeping such a monumental secret, but he’ll never forget that feeling. But once he listens to your story, does his own research, his concern for you will outweigh those hurt feelings.

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“So I did some research,” he trailed off, you jerked at the echo of his voice in the otherwise silent room.

“Research? On what?” you gaze over at him, not quite meeting his eyes.

“You. Well, angel’s in general, but mostly you.” his voice is much lower, the silence drags on for a moment too long. It’s suddenly stifling.

“And?” you breath out, still caught off guard.

“What does Éloa mean?” he questions, taking a step around the bed to face you, get a better look. You narrowed your gaze, heart suddenly in your throat. How did he find that name? Did he know? Was he just testing you? You take a deep breath, eyes dropping down to the carpet beneath his bare feet. You decide to just answer him, literally. “It’s the name of an angel.” He tilts his head, contemplatively. And there is something dangerous in his eyes, something you can’t quite place. “I’ve never heard of him.” “You wouldn’t have.” you pull the blanket closer to you, resisting the sudden urge to spread your wings, stretch them wide and flee. “Was he a fallen angel?” his eyes are darker now, assessing, he definitely knows. You know he knows. So why wasn’t he saying? “She was, yes.” you hesitate, not wanting to give too much of your past away, but unable to stop yourself. “Lucifer tricked her into falling from heaven.” “Tricked her how?” he was still standing above you, he wouldn’t approach you, hasn’t since the night he caught you in full form. You meet his gaze. “She fell in love with him.” His eyes narrowed, his face pulled into a grimace. How disgusting must it feel to find out your girlfriend is not only a fallen angel, but also a fallen angel who was once in love with Lucifer. You shrink, your wings drawing in closer to your body. “Did he love her?” Like an addict loves his addiction, you think, bitterly.. “The only way he knew how.” He must have been able to see the pain in your eyes because, for a moment, pure concern crossed his features. He shook his head, schooling his expression once again. “How could he trick her?” “He never told her his name.” you whisper, your voice breaking. And suddenly he wasn’t across the room, standing above you at a distance—he was right in front of you, knee on the bed, arms around your shoulders. “Shhh, it’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it now.” He reached forward to cup your cheek, the touch surprising you. "Please understand that no matter what you are or what has happened in your past, I am yours. I am devoted to you above all else, including my own life."

You exhaled after holding your breath for what felt like forever, tears spilling over in excess. "That's pretty heavy, Chan." His expression was impassioned, and the backs of his fingers brushed the side of your neck, thumbs wiping away the wetness on your cheeks. "It is a burden I am glad to carry.” ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ C h a n g b i n ] finds out you’re a [ W e r e w o l f ]

His initial reaction: [ C u r i o u s ] ^ he’s kind and protective. He feels responsible and is always willing to help you out when you’re in need. He will go to great lengths to make sure that you feel loved and you’re happy. He will always stand up for the underdog, (no werewolf pun intended.) This is beneficial to you because his compassionate heart will win out over his logical mindset.

^ he’s extremely loyal. If there’s one trait imbedded in him, it is his loyalty. He physically won’t be able to turn his back on you—werewolf or not.

^ he’s also very honest. He tends to be extremely direct and straightforward with you. He gives honest feedback to you when you ask for it. He would never speak a white lie just to avoid conflict, or be deemed reasonable, so you wouldn’t have to worry about him bottling up his true thoughts, opinions and emotions on the subject.

^ that being said, his honesty often comes off as excessive bluntness. Therefore, at first, you might catch some heat in that department.

^ he, at times, can be very inflexible. When he has committed to something, in this case a way of thinking, he’ll fight tooth and nail to stick to that way of thinking. Regardless of how much proof he has in front of him, it will be difficult to convince him otherwise—especially when he grew up believing that werewolves were myth, not real.

^ once he has a significant amount of proof, though, he’ll be insanely curious on the matter and his crazy sense of humor will resurface.

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“Wait, are you an alpha? An omega? Do you turn when you feel threatened?” his wide eyes, his random questioning—it all catches you off guard.

“I’m considered a dominant amongst my pack. And, yes, I guess I would if I felt threatened.” you nod slowly, holding his gaze. You’re the werewolf here, the freak of nature, but this boy—this human—is the weird one.

“What’s a dominant? Are they more important than a submissive?” he crawls closer to you, his jeans catching on the carpet beneath you.

“Not necessarily. A submissive wolf is not incapable of protecting themselves: they can fight, they can kill as readily as any other. They are a treasure in a pack, just as important. A source of purpose and of balance.” you catch yourself quoting your great grandmother, the very first female dominant in your pack, a rare, smart, capable wolf.

“Then why does the dominant wolf exist? If a submissive wolf is just as capable, just as important, why make the distinction?” he interjects, your baffled at his level of curiosity.

“Because even through submissives are just as capable and important, they’re very different. It’s a dominants job to protect those beneath them.” you pause momentarily, watch a multitude of expressions cross his face. “Protecting a submissive is far more rewarding because a submissive will never wait until you are wounded or your back is turned to see if you are truly dominant to them. Submissive wolves can be trusted. And they unite the pack with the goal of keeping them safe and cared for.”

There is a long moment where you just stare at each other, his eyes glazed over, a childlike expression on his face. “So you’re a werewolf trapped in a human body?”

You stifle a laugh, unable to control your facial expression. "Well, yeah, that's kind of the definition."

"No, really. You’re trapped?” his eyes widen slightly, he leans forward, anticipating your answer.

"Oh? Are you trying to ask me the last time I shifted?" you voice, confusion written all over your face.

“Yes.” he nods enthusiastically. You briefly debate telling him about the traffic incident, but ultimately decide against lying.

“On your birthday.” you admit, sheepishly. “There was a lot of traffic and I was running late.” you trail off, suddenly awkward. But then he laughs, big and loud, throwing his head back.

“That’s so cool! I want to be a werewolf. How do I get a werewolf to attack me?" he smiles wide. And you roll your eyes, shake your head in pseudo disappointment. “Stand in the middle of a forest under a full moon with a raw steak tied to your face, holding a sign that says, 'Eat me; I'm stupid'?”

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[ H y u n j i n ] finds out you’re a [ M e r m a i d ]

His initial reaction: [ P r a c t i c e d ]

^ he’s very empathetic with a lively imagination and a friendly disposition. He has a boundless capacity for empathy even with those who he barely sees eye to eye with. This is great for you because, even if he is initially angry that you kept such a secret from him, he’ll still empathize with your situation, your story.

^ he’s more emotional than your average guy. He is intune and prone to the infectious emotion of those around him. If he see tears, he will likely cry. If he can sense hurt in your voice, it will sadden him also.

^ he will love you unconditionally no matter what or who you are. ^ he’s selfless and generous. No matter how big the secret, how hurt he is from your omission, he will always be there when you need someone. Because he is so practiced in the idea that he can’t live without you, he will always show up when you need him.

^ that being said, because of his idealistic nature, you can often find him walking alone. He can be overly trusting and it often leaves him feeling betrayed, hurt and vulnerable. He might view your lack of openness, truthfulness, as a betrayal within your relationship. And that might make conversation with him, for a while, very stilted. He’ll seem impassive at first, but he will eventually warm back up to you.

^ he’s not one to give up easily. He puts in the work to get what he wants in life and he won’t let it slide away without a fight. He won’t let you go over something like this, not after he’s just got you.

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There, with bare feet and drenched hair, you were crouched like a child. Upon hearing him approach, you looked up, peered into his dark, hesitant eyes. You wore only an enormous men’s sweater, his sweater—with no extravagant pattern or color, the sweater was a dull beige. Your knees were pulled up inside of it, thin pale ankles peeking out from underneath. The wool sweater alone was dry, as the rest of your head, hands, and feet were as wet as if you’d just been pulled from drowning. Tiny rivers flowed off your hair and pooled on the wool sweater, leaving it dark in splotches. Water droplets glistened on your skin, not running off, as though they couldn’t quite bear to leave you. His eyes held yours in a way his hands did not. His empathetic gaze schooled, his expression practiced, controlled.

“So...a mermaid?” you twist your head the other direction, his voice breaking your concentration momentarily. At this he took a sudden step forward, as if compelled. He had caught a glimpse of pink gills under your chin, his busy eyes dancing along your neck with a new found curiosity. You became overwhelmingly self conscious, tucking your chin, keeping your neck hidden from his view. It had always taken your gills longer to disappear than your tail.

“My mother told me stories of mermaids. She said they sometimes sing to humans to lure them underwater.” his voice trailed off, momentarily. “But you have a horrible voice.” your gaze snaps up, catching the mischievous look in his eye, his grin.

His teasing catches you off guard, you fumble with your words, “Yeah, well...I've been practicing. Want to hear?” you glare at him, halfheartedly.

He lets out a soft laugh, “I'm always happy when I'm surrounded by water, I think I'm a Mermaid too...or at least, I was a mermaid in a past life.” he crouches down, he’s much closer to you now.

“Are you in pain?” you choke out, the idea of him hurting, in any way, unbearable to you. You don’t know why you asked that, he’s obviously just joking—keeping a steady conversation with you, trying to keep you calm.

“Pain? Why would I be in—” he trails off, eyes snapping in your direction. “Wait, are you in pain?” the absolute, genuine concern in his voice has you pulling up short. Your breathing shallow.

“Mermaids hurt when we’re in human form.” you admit, quietly, eyes glued to the rocks on the horizon.

“But...but you never look like you’re in pain, you’re always smiling, always so...graceful—” he cuts himself off abruptly, eyes narrowed. It’s as if he’s angry at himself for not catching on to your discomfort much sooner. “What does it feel like?”

“When your tail divides and shrinks until it becomes legs, it’s very painful. It feels as if a sharp sword is slashing through you. Everyone who sees a mermaid on legs will say that they are the most graceful human being they’ve ever laid eyes on—” you remember, vividly, all the times you were complemented for your gliding movement; not even a seasoned dancer is able to tread as lightly as you. “But every step you take feels as if you are treading upon knife blades so sharp that blood must flow.”

There is silence, the ocean waves brushing against the sand, caressing the shore—it’s the only noise you hear for a moment.

“Then shall I take you home and put you in the bathtub?” his unsystematic question is enough to pull you out of your thoughts completely, his brand of humor easily calming you in your panicked state. You’re suddenly very thankful.

“How do you always know just what to say?" you ask, a smile on your lips. His laugh rumbles through you as he puts his arm around your damp shoulders. "Practice, I guess."

You pull back and give him a quizzical look.

"I spent three years imagining what I would say to you if you were mine," he says, tugging you closer. “I should hope I know what to say now that I've finally got you.” ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ J i s u n g ] finds out you’re a [ D e m o n ]

His initial reaction: [ B e w i l d e r e d ]

^ he’s very intelligent and he’s always ready to expand his knowledge reserves. He usually has a systematic approach to life, he always ensures that he doesn’t miss any loophole behind. So when he finds out about you being a demon, he’s both bewildered and inquisitive.

^ he’s usually very calm and collected on the surface. But underneath he has a great intensity that demands he bring order to his world. He struggles with the need to rearrange his frantic interior beneath the calm exterior until everything is perfect. This might make him seem more freaked out, frightened, than he actually is.

^ he is highly patient with you and always tries to find the good in everything around him. So in reality, even though he initially seems frazzled at your confession, he will actually give you enough time to fix up your act—explain yourself—when need be.

^ he can, at times, be very judgmental. He tends to appraise and judge people based on one particular viewpoint in that person’s life—especially if he doesn’t know that person well enough. That being said, your relationship is solid enough to outlast his initial judgment.

^ he can also be very fussy, as sometimes he gets lost in the details. His strong likes and dislikes make him quite finicky at first. And he’ll definitely feel some type of way that you kept him in the dark for so long. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ All the demons of Hell formerly reigned as gods in previous cultures. No it's not fair, but one man's god is another man's devil. As each subsequent civilization became a dominant power, among its first acts was to depose and demonize whoever the previous culture had worshipped. The Jews attacked Belial, the god of the Babylonians. The Christians banished Pan and Loki, the respective deities of the ancient Greeks and Celts. The Anglican British banned belief in the Australian aboriginal spirits known as the Mimi. Satan is depicted with cloven hooves because Pan had them, and he carries a pitchfork based on the trident carried by Neptune. As each deity was deposed, it was relegated to Hell. For gods so long accustomed to receiving tribute and loving attention, of course this status shift put them into a foul mood.

And when Hell, itself, was in a foul mood, demons—specifically the ones planted here on earth—got the brunt of it. So to say you were in a bad mood would be an understatement. In hindsight, it might not have been the best decision on your part to agree to speak with Jisung about your origins in that moment.

“It’s not fair.” his voice wavers, the emotional confrontation taking a toll on him.

“What, that I’m a demon or that you managed to date me?” you bit out, tersely. “Don’t.” his voice was abruptly dark.

“No, you’re right, it’s not fair—but what makes earth feel like Hell is your expectation that it should feel like Heaven. Earth is earth. Dead is dead. Good is rarely good and bad is always bad. You’ll find out for yourself soon enough. It won’t help the situation for you to get all upset.” you snap back at him, voice just as dark.

‘‘What’s that supposed to mean? Are you threatening me now?” his eyes narrow.

“How miserably hypocritical,” you respond with a growl. “You think it’s such a burden for you to be tricked into dating the devils servant? What about the burden of me being me?” your voice is much lower now, your practically spitting venom in his direction. “No sooner am I offered a chance to flee Hell than I yearn to stay.”

“I didn’t want this.” his dark eyes, his bewildered gaze reflecting a huge amount of regret.

“Few families hold their relations as closely as do prisons. Few marriages sustain the high level of passion that exists between criminals and those who seek to bring them to justice. It’s no wonder the Zodiac Killer flirted so relentlessly with the police. Or that Jack the Ripper courted and baited detectives with his—or her—coy letters. We all wish to be pursued. We all long to be desired. That’s what I did, I pursued you, I desired you. Anything beyond that is your fault.” you turn, ready to flee out the door, the overwhelming urge to hurt something, someone, frightening you.

“My fault!? Is it my fault that I want you? That I want that feeling of standing with you against all odds and succeeding? That I want it so bad, I’d risk destroying everything I’ve worked for?” he spits at your back, crossing the room in a long stride to block your path to the door. “Is that my fault? I should walk away. But all I want to do is follow you, out that door, down the street, all the way back to hell.” his fists are clenched, his face red, you’ve never seen him so frustrated—with you or himself. “What the hell am I doing, falling in love with a demon?” His sudden confession almost knocks you from your feet. Anger and confusion painting his face.

“You love me?” you whisper in a fit of shock.

“Yes.” he whispers right back, voice matching yours, as if his own confession shocked him as well.

“Enough to follow me all the way to hell?” you’re baffled.

“Well, according to Google, 98.3 percent of lawyers end up in Hell. That's in contrast to the 23 percent of farmers who are eternally damned. Some 45 percent of retail business owners are Hellbound, and 85 percent of computer software writers.” he hums to himself, pausing in thought. “Perhaps a trace number of musicians ascend to Heaven, but statistically speaking, 100 percent of them are cast into the fiery pit. As are essentially 100 percent of journalists and redheads.” he finishes with a satisfied nod. “Readheads?” you cock your eyebrow, completely thrown by the turn of conversation.

“What? I told you! I googled it.” he smiles, oddly proud of himself.

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[ F e l i x ] finds out you’re a [ V a m p i r e ]

His initial reaction: [ P l a y f u l ]

^ like Jisung, he’s appears very calm and collected on the surface; he will struggle with his external facade and his internal need demanding order. This might make him seem very impassive in the moment, as he tends to shut down when confronted with mixed and conflicting emotions.

^ he has an analytical mind that can see things in black and white. He is capable of finding solutions to tough problems, always. He has a keen attention to detail, and likes to absorb everything before making a decision. So he will probably, like Chan, be very quiet and expressionless during your confession.

^ he has a very clever mind. And he will go through all possible elements of thinking before making any decision—so you won’t have to worry about fear, disgust or uncertainty driving him to make an impulsive decision about your relationship.

^ he’s very honest with you, he will always tell you exactly how he feel about you—to your face. He doesn’t like to sugar coat his words. For him, honesty is the best policy, even if the truth hurts. So when he does settle his mind, his inner conflict, enough to respond to you articulately—you might experience some unintentional savagery, but it most definitely will not last for long.

^ he’s pretty old school, a bit conservative and old fashioned. He’s not really into modern changes and prefers things in their old traditional ways. This is beneficial to you, in the given situation, because you are much much older than you seem. Your aura brings that old fashioned feel, and he will still appreciate that—even after realizing why.

^ once he wraps his head around the concept, around the idea of you being a vampire and living off of blood, he’ll be extremely playful. He’ll love to tease you, and honestly, he’s the type to be into a little blood play.

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

“Yeah, I get it, you're a vampire," he said. "Creepy. And okay, a little hot, I admit."

"You don't mean that." you gape in his direction. "Come on. I still like you, you know, even if you... crave plasma." You blink once, twice, and it’s as if you’ve never seen him before. “You what?"

"Like. You." Felix enunciated slowly, as if you might not know the words. "Idiot. I always have. What, you didn't know? We’re literally dating." he sounded cool and grown-up about it, but you saw the hectic color in his cheeks, under the moonlight.

"How clueless are you? Does it come with the fangs?" he sniffs, eyes darting around him, never really settling on you.

"I guess I...I just thought.... I don’t know. I just didn't think...You're kind of intimidating, you know." you finally admit. "I'm intimidating? Me? You’re the vampire here!” he spluttered out. "You're the one who's intimidating. I mean, come on. All that power, and you look... Well, you know how you look."

"How do I look?" you were fascinated now, you moved a little closer to him on the couch. He laughed nervously. "Oh come on. You're a total model-babe."

"You're kidding." you deadpan, completely caught off guard.

"You don't think you are?" he shot back at you, side eyeing your expression. You shook you head."Then you're kind of an idiot. Smart, but an idiot." he crossed his arms, momentarily lost in though. “So? What exactly do you think about me, except that I’m intimidating?” he questioned after a moment of silence.

“I think you’re…you’re…ah, interesting?” your the one tripping over your words now. If you were capable of blushing, you’d be beet red. “I think you’re kind of beautiful...for a human. And really, really strange.” You look away, keeping your eyes on the opposite wall.

“Beautiful? But I’m a boy.” he whines.

“Boys can be beautiful too, it’s not subjective to one gender. Besides, beauty is a state of being—it’s inside—not just physical attractiveness.” you reprimand him for his narrow mindedness.

He smiled and looked down, the color in his face deepened. “Thanks for that,” he murmured, “I thought you only considered me to be bratty.”

“Well, to be fair, you are bratty.” you smile, peeking at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Hey!” he gasps, affronted.

“What? You can be bratty and beautiful,” you shot back, repeating yourself once more. “I think it’s interesting.” There was a beat of silence, “So, your not scared of me? You don’t hate me?” you whispered into the dark room. Before he could even open his mouth to reply, you continue, “I have been stabbed, shot, burned, bitten, beaten unconscious too many times to count, and even staked. None of those would hold a candle to the pain I’d feel if you hated me, if you were scared.”

His dark eyes find you in the light of the moon, his hand reaching out to intertwine with your. He opens his mouth, closes it and opens it once more—as if trying to articulate his feelings properly, as if trying to find the words. “That's pretty hot," his deep voice carries in the otherwise quiet room.

"What? Me being staked?" you admonished, unprepared for the turn of conversation.

"Well, no. Of course not. I meant the idea of getting rough with you is hot. I'm a big fan of full-contact sports." he wiggled his eyebrows in your direction, his voice playful, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Throwing your head back, you squeezed his hand, “I'm sure you are.” ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ J e o n g i n ] finds out you’re a [ N y m p h ]

His initial reaction: [ D e l i g h t e d ]

^ he’s incredibly open-minded and tends to think and do things differently than others. He thinks for himself and likes to keep an open mind about all things. He’s not the type to judge a book by its cover. So you won’t need to worry about any judgment being thrown your way.

^ he’s a true free spirit, meaning any attempts to keep him from being who he really is will make him turn away. This is great, because he has learned to treat others as he wishes to be treated; he won’t ask you to suppress who you are, or change in any way, for the fear that you might do the same to him.

^ he’ll most likely need some space and freedom to work through his thoughts on your unusual upbringing. However, he will be very vocal about exactly why he needs space, as to avoid any miscommunication. He would never up and leave you for being open and honest with him and he wouldn’t want you to think otherwise.

^ like Jisung, he is also quite the intellectual. He can amaze anyone with his original ideas; this is great because, right off the bat, he will be so overwhelmed with curiosity, overflowing with questions, he won’t have the time to be upset with you.

^ sure, he’s a bit of an intellectual rebel and he will loudly defend his opinions, but he’s also willing and open to learning. Ultimately, telling him you’re a forest nymph will be like telling him you had grapefruit for breakfast. He has a great power to form and understand abstract concepts and conform and adapt to new information like he’s known it his whole life—like it’s no big deal.

^ he’ll be delighted with your honesty, insanely curious and extremely playful.

^ he’s also very stubborn at times. It is often hard to change his mind about something once it is set for. But you’re close enough to actually succeed in this area, an area which others have failed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You wake up sudden—a chill crawling down your spine—in a puddle of cool sunlight. Your hands asleep beside you, your hair draped on the lawn like a mantle of cloth. Frost grows on the window glass, forming whirlpool patterns of lovely translucent geometry, and you stare up, momentarily forgetting where you are. Sitting up slowly, you lean forward and breath on the glass, giving the frost more ammunition. Now the winter nymphs can build castles and cities and whole ice continents with your breath’s vapor. In a few blinks you can almost see them moving in, ready to do their seasonal damage to your lovely forest, to your home. That’s when you hear it, a shift in the cool grass. And suddenly he’s right there, crouched down beside you. He rocks forward, and hisses in an attempt to scare you out of your thoughts. But you knew he was there the entire time, you could sense his presence. He could never truly sneak up on you in the forest, not with the many trees and plants and animals—the many eyes and ears.

You turn to him, with a bored expression, “Really? That’s all you got?”

You stretch your wings, hear their crackle, as a show of complete content.

“Not fair! How did you know? I was really quiet this time!” he pouts, whining about how unfair it is. “Also, why are you out here? It’s kind of cold.” he finally sits down, pulling his knees up to his chest.

You shrug your shoulders, resisting the urge to smile. There’s a pause, a beat of silence, where you both gaze up at the outer side of the house; the windows covered in frost catching your attention, yet again. And then you feel his gaze on you.

“It’s nice.” he whispers and you turn your head to face him, confused.

“That you exist.” he smiles at you and you feel your heart drop.

“I think humans don’t want merely to see beauty...we want something else which can hardly be put into words—” he cuts himself off, momentarily, watching your face carefully. “We want to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to become part of it. I think that’s why we have peopled air and earth and water with gods and goddesses, and nymphs and elves.” he trails off again, and you’re left speechless. His dark eyes catching on the curves and lines of your face. And then the moment is broken, he looks away, back up at the frost bitten windowsill. But your heart still thumps in your throat. “And this is nice," he begins with a sigh. "Like...one of those paintings where a nymph or Athena is drawing the gods and goddesses." your eyes follow his gaze back up to the windowsill, you see that he’s referring to the intricate designs hidden within the frost. Winter nymphs have a tendency to hide such patterns, such art, in their work.

You hum in agreement. “And here I was thinking you were an utterly uneducated human," you said teasingly.

"I am a student," he responded with hauteur. "I am classically educated.”

"Plus, nymphs are pretty," he adds, in after thought.

You laugh. "I could stare at them all day," he continued. His tone was carefully neutral, but his eyes never left yours. And you found you couldn’t look back, and not blush. He reached over, delicately pulling you into his side—it was only then that you realized how closely he held you, and how the gentle incline of the hill brought you almost eye to eye with him.

One side of his mouth twitched. "Your cheeks are like cherries." he chortled, delighted.

You tucked your chin into the wool of his coat. "It's cold," you said, defensively. He shook his head. "I am not complaining. I think they're rather charming. They make you look like a winter nymph.”

“I find that really offensive.” you grumble in response, the forest nymph and fairy blood in you disliking the comparison all together. He laughs, warmly, and pulls you even closer. ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ S e u n g m i n ] finds out you’re a [ W i t c h ]

His initial reaction: [ R e l u c t a n t ]

^ he’s highly reliable, it’s in his blood to keep up with commitments. People often completely rely on him to complete complicated tasks with efficiency and perfection as he is naturally very rational. It’s that rational side of his mind that will force him to listen to your explanation to the end.

^ he would never, consciously, let you down; he consistently gives his best to meet your expectations. He’s the first to answer your call and the last to leave a situation when you’re in need. This will be beneficial to you as he will be compelled to stop, listen and hear you out.

^ like Felix, he is extremely analytical. He will think everything through—weighing the options, good and bad—before making a decision about your relationship.

^ at first he’ll be quite reluctant, hesitant and unwilling to budge in his prejudice. It’s something he can’t help, growing up believing witches are evil, dark, dangerous and manipulative. But deep down he knows you, and this will be all he needs to encourage understanding and acceptance.

^ he’s a problem solver. He likes to tackle problems of close ones and the people around him. At first it might seem like he’s trying to control the situation, but you will soon realize that he is only analyzing your situation to find ways of helping you improve your life.

^ he can be critical at times, overly demanding. It’s because he already has a clear picture in his mind about how things should be done. But he’s also open to change, and once he comes to terms with your witchy ways, he will become the most supportive boyfriend you could ask for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “So tell me about it,” he interjected, pulling you away from your inner dialogue.

“What?” you look up from your study table, eyes meeting his across the room.

“Are you a good witch or a bad witch? Do you practice Black Magic? Have you ever put me under a spell?” his face is blank, expressionless, but his voice gives away his anger and confusion.

“There is no such thing as White Magic or Black Magic.” you turn you head away from him, unable to accept him being so cold and cruel to you. “If you are participating in magic, you are interfering with the natural order of how life would have developed without your hand in it. You are manipulating reality to suit your own personal needs. Regardless of whether you perceive it as "positive" or "white light", you are manipulating life. And just like life, it’s not black and white, all good or all bad.” you trail off, your stomach in knots. It’s best to be truthful, you know this, but it hurts you to think that something like this could damage you relationship. Or worse, end it. You feel the telltale signs of tears forming in your eyes, the heat almost unbearable.

“And no, I’ve never—I would never use it on you.” there is a brief silence and despite him approaching you, stepping much closer, you resolutely keep your eyes lowered.

“Can you tell me about them?” his voice was much softer now, much too close. You look up into his eyes and realize he’s referring to the plants on your bed side table. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, slowly stand up from the chair and turn towards your bed.

“These are tropical palms. They bring strong solar energy into your home that break up stale energy, and keep your home safe from nasty spiritual entities.” you trail off, carefully watching his expression. “This right here is African violet, and it’s associated with love and magic. But I use it because it’s vibrant purple flowers pull lunar energy into your home. Lunar energy is most important to those in my coven.” you whisper, the vivid memory of your grandmother and aunt surrounding themselves, filling their homes, with African violets almost brings tears to your eyes. “Aloe is associated with the water element because the gel inside the leaves. They’re cooling and healing.” you continue on, pulling yourself out of your reminiscing.

Finally you turn to the last plant, your moms personal favorite. “The clusters of star shaped flowers that grow on the long tendrils of the hoya, also called a wax plant, produce truly intoxicating nectar whose aroma fills the whole house. It also bestows blessings on anyone who smells it.” You wait for him to say something, still avoiding his unnerving stare, unsure you want to even see his reaction.

“This stuff? These plants? They really mean a lot to you, don’t they?” his voice is barely there, a whisper, but his words still have the same affect. You blink, once, twice, and the tears you were so set on holding back, fall.

Suddenly he’s there, pulling you closer to him, guiding your head into the space between his neck and shoulder. His warm embrace is enough to comfort you by itself but he still whispers to you, “It’s okay, it’ll be okay. I’m not mad. I won’t leave you. It’s okay.” And, for once, you truly believe it.

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[ M i n h o ] finds out you’re a [ S h a p e s h i f t e r ]

His initial reaction: [ E n t h r a l l e d ]

^ he’s focused and competitive. When he wants something he just goes for it. Also, when he sets his sight on something (you) he allows very few things to get in his way and does anything to achieve his goal (to be with you.) This focus, this competitive nature, will keep him present and attentive during your confession.

^ he’s also extremely brave and daring. He isn’t afraid of challenges in life, so what appears to be a crazy risk to more conservative people is just a normal day for the brave-hearted Minho. Because of this, he won’t be afraid. When you tell him, show him, what you really are—he’ll be more enthralled than fearful or confused.

^ one of the great things about Minho is his loyalty to you. He values trust and honesty making him a fiercely loyal boyfriend, and he expects you to be the same way. That being said, he most likely will be upset that you felt the need to keep such a secret. But he will quickly get over it, dismiss those feelings, once he realizes just how honest you’re being with him in the present. ^ he respects you and treats you with amazing loyalty, generosity and kindness. Him finding out you’re a shapeshifter definitely will not change that.

^ however, it most likely will take him a hot second to be content within your relationship dynamic again, as a part of him perceived your lack of truthfulness as disloyalty. There's a pretty good chance that your actions will cause some big-time resentment to him, at least for a while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “It’s okay, I mean if you want to, if you need to—” he trails off, his eyes sympathetic. “I’m okay with it.”

You look at him ready to cry again. Not out of pain. Not out of need. But because his words rub that part of your soul that suffers, that wants to be explored like a virgin land that has remained intact for centuries and craves to be occupied, appreciated and transformed. So you let yourself go.

You groan as your limbs lessen into shorter proportions and your neck stretches. Auburn-coloured fur emerged upon your fevered skin, and the sounds of your bones cracking, shifting in an echo around the cold mountain side. Your snout elongates and your teeth sharpen.

You were panting and, with one last shudder, your body slides from human to fox in a crack. Minho stood there, face drawn up in a twisted expression full of empathetic pain, watching the frost dissipate on your hot tongue, sending tiny rivulets of steam into the air. In this form, the world was sharp and clear, he was sharp and clear. You never realized how many different colors of shadow there were, how the angles of his face cast such an array of shade. It made you savor the dark beauty of the cold evening even more.

Minutes passed by—him staring at you, and you staring at him—both of you almost caught in a trance. When a little blue butterfly fluttered up to you, and landed on your snout. You blinked at it and it fluttered to your ear; it was winter, cold and lifeless on the mountain side, why were there suddenly butterflies? A big yellow butterfly gently floats over and lands on your paw, and as if reading your mind, Minho cocks his head to the right, “Well, that’s different.”

Soon a whole swarm of them float up and down around you, like a swirl of multicolored petals. It happened once before, in your backyard, when you shifted on a late afternoon.

Your magic must be strong enough, in that moment, to attract them—despite the weather and location. Butterflies were small and light, and very magic sensitive. For some reason you made them feel safe and they gravitated to you like iron shavings to a magnet. Minho let out a quiet giggle as a bigger butterfly landed on your forehead and you shook it off, affronted. Resisting the urge to fight the assault, you took a step back. They ruined your ferocious badass image, but you’d have to be a complete beast to swat butterflies.

Now if a baby deer frolicked out from between the mountains and tried to cuddle up, you would yip. You wouldn’t bite it, but you would most definitely yip, maybe even growl. You had your limits. Minho slowly approached you and reached out, his fingers hesitant. You tilted your head down, letting him touch your ears. His hand trembled slightly as he caressed the fluffy protrusion. You knew they were warmer than he thought they’d be, a living extension of the human inside. He petted your pelt next, charmed by the coarse fur and the feel of your muscles bunching and moving underneath. Finishing off with your tale, he ran his fingers through it, slowly, thoroughly.

Sitting back, he winked down at you. "You probably get this a lot, but…I like your backside.” he laughed at your annoyed yip. “What? It’s so fluffy.” You stretch back into human form, the change much easier in reverse, and look up at him from the ground. “Always gotta be the smartass, don’t you?” you roll your eyes, with a smile.

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To the beautiful anon who requested a supernatural s/o reaction [Stray Kids,] I hope you like it!!! 😅😅 It was superrrr fun to do, so thank you for the request, loveee! 🥰

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hongism · 3 years

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Hyello, okay so. I don't have the emotional energy to take in and discuss everything in that chapter so imma just gush over the info cause I am a ✨whore✨ for world building.

So obviously MOC SPOILER

hi bestie HELLO guess WHO!!! finally ANSWering!!! altho im gonna answer separately and space everything out all Neatly bc im all over the place so strap IN we’re going on an moc RIDE!

THERE'S A WHOLE SIREN COMMUNITY?! AND YN AND IT MUST BE WOOYOUNG WERE FRIENDS? SIRENS HAVE A FULLY FLEDGE COMMUNITY WITH PRIESTS AND SCHOOLS AND MULTUOLE CITIES TO SOME EXTEND??? MAYBE EVEN AN ENTIRE PLANET WITH SIRENS MAYBE THEIR ORIGIN PLANET? HOW MANY TYPES OF SIRENS ARE THERE AND IN THE COMMUNITY HOW DTRICT ARE THE DIFFERENT ROLES?!?! ALSO DOES THE SIREN COMMUNITY ALLOW FOR DIFFERENT TYPES OF SIRENS TO BE TOGETHER? OBVIOUSLY THEY SHOULD BUT ARE THE CHILDREN THEN HYBRID TYPES, LIKE WHEN WE GET BLUED DARK SKIND BABIES OR CAN A SKREN ONLY BE ONE TYPE. WHAT POWERS DO SIRENS HAVE AND DOES THE POWERS REFLECT THEIR PERSONALITY AND DO THE DIFFERENT TYOES LEAN TOWARDS CERTAIN JOBS. LIKE WE JUST LESRNED THE OCEAN GOTTA BE PRIESTS BUT MOON ISNT STRICT WHAT ABOUT FIRE. AND IS YN INSTIC TO PULL OUT A HEART CAUDE HER PERSONALITT, TRSUMA OR IS IT RELATED TO THE MOON. ALSO CAUSE ITS A RED MOON WHICH IS COMMONLY A BLOOD MOON, IS YN THEN A SPECIAL MOON SIREN AND THATS WHY HER POWERS ARE STEONGER OR HER INSTICTS TO USE THEM ARE STORNGER BUT THEN THE MILITARY FUCKED HER UP. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

now this is the thing im biting my tongue on SO HARD bc it’s my favorite aspect of the world building and the universe and everything involved in it bUTIHDFKJG THERS SO MUCH I WANNA SAYYYYYYYYYY in short that one dream sequence holds more hints and information than ANYTHING from previous chapters, i think that it’s probably the MOST IMPORTANT dream to date. while we’ve seen some crazy ones in the past, this one is both the biggest hint and the biggest window into y/n’s past by FARRRR. even tho that whole scene was dialogue i think there’s so much to pick up on from it and so much to see and learn from it and it’s one of my faves bc there’s so much to unpack from it !!

Like yes the story and the development is freaking ✨yes✨ I love it. Genuinely think moc should be released as books. But I just cannot deal with the emotions rn.

But also now all I'm going to be thinking about how many sirens are actually out there. And if yn knew her parents and wasn't just an orphan the military found in the streets... How the fuck did she end up in the military grasps. What happened to her parents what happened to the community, is it still out there? Guess I gotta go back and reread the galaxies and the backstories, obviously I must have missed or have forgotten something. Ugh how the puzzle pieces are puzzling (or something). Moc is a drug and I'm not going sober anytime soon

(obviously you don't have to respond to my questions, this is more just an insight into the spiralling of theories going on in my mind)

releasing moc as books? a dream and a half, i can say that much slkjdlgkjlkf but back to the sirens... how many are out there? we heard early on that hongjoong was looking for ‘the last five’ but then seonghwa debunked that and said that was a mistranslation over time that was passed down and such, but beyond that, we don’t really know much about sirens as a whole? there are some hints in the galaxies and planet descriptions but if that dream sequence is a puzzle, i would say we have a handful of pieces that can be put into place based on what we’ve learned so far!!!!

Okay I lied, I am ready to unpack a little of the ✨emotions✨

When hongjoong explained that hwa tried to stop San only for San to detain him and in a sense make him watch the scene unfold. And then realising hwa had to go through that again, only being even more helpless. I don't doubt hwa loves San, but to see the events happening again, with someone he clearly loves as much as he does yn even if he also loves joong, and to see the desperation and determination must have been just. Horrible. Just absolutely soul breaking horrible. I can imagine him vowing to himself after San that he would never let something like that happen again. That of any of the crew got out of control like that, that he would fight harder to stop them. That he would would do absolutely everything in his power to stop it. And then being helpless as he watched yn do it. Just pure heart wrenching pain. And it must have been beyond terrifying to see someone you love ready and determined to kill themselves partly from rage and partly from desperation. With the backstory, that scene becomes almost as cruel as the warehouse scene with San. The only redeeming quality is no one needing life saving surgery in a time crunch, otherwise they would be the same level of ✨never again✨

honestly i think the two crew members i torture the most are san and hwa bc i just keep putting them thru all this shit and hurting them so much but really this was the defining point of why seonghwa was so afraid. before we kinda just knew he was afraid of yn and hongjoong was mad about it. in this revelation we get to see the source of the trauma and how it was amplified by it being someone he loves as dearly as he loves yn. and for sure when first reading that scene of yn and jisung in the brig, it’s meant to evoke a sense of anger and rage like yn is so angry to a point where she would do this sort of thing, but my hope with that scene was also to show that desperation. that when looking back at it after having already seen the rage and the aftermath, that reading it again shows how desperate and hopeless she was in that moment. which is exactly the same emotion that was evoked back in that warehouse scene with san, except it was relayed differently because the warehouse was a more immediate sense of desperation. this brig scene was meant to emulate that but in a slow burn kinda way where the veil of realization is pulled off after the fact and not in the moment!!!

Just to make sure you don't misunderstand. Those asks were compliments. You are an absolutely incredible writer. And the fact that you aren’t afraid of hurting your characters *cough cough* SHOOTING SAN?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!!!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? *CLEARS THROAT AGRESSIVELY* just makes the story much better. No one gets plot armour, making it more realistic (?) and really draws in the writer and sorta imitates the fear and desperation the characters feel

PLS don’t worry, i live for every moment and i live for these open and raw and genuine conversations i didn’t take any as an insult i PROMISE!! i think part of the nature of this whole trope of space pirates and criminals is that hter is no guarantee of safety! i don’t wanna have to cut corners to make sure everyone stays unharmed and undamaged throughout the story when the nature of the world i’ve built thus far is a wildly dangerous one!!! i always say that i try to be as realistic as i can, all things considered, and i think that’s the biggest thing that adds to the ‘realism’ in my mind so im so happy to hear that you see it and appreciate it and enjoy it!!!

OHOHOHOHOHOH ALSO

YN GRIPPING SOMEONES HEART??? YOU WRITE THAT SO FUCKING WELL. LIKE ENIGUH DETAILS THAT WE KNOW WHATS GOING ON, BUT ALSO NOT SO MANY DETAILS SO IT GETS DETACHWD FROM THE STORY. LIKE THE LACK OF CLEAR SUPER MANY DETAILS REALLY MADE IT THAT *YOU ARE EXPERIENCING THIS, NOT JUST READING IT* LIKE IT MADE IT WAY MORE EMOTIONAL AND OERSONAL AND THE READER REALLY GOT IMMERSED IN THE MOST HORRIBLE WAY THAT KUST MADE IT ALL RHE MORE BETTER. ALSO JOONG AFRAID????? JOONG REALISING HE GOT A FULLY FLEDGED HEART RIPPER SIREN WHO CANT CONTROL HER BODY TO MOVE THROUGH A HARMLESS DOOR BUT CAN DEFINITELY KILL IN A HEARTBEAT (OR TWO 👀) ALSO THE CONTRAST OF REMOVING RHE BLOOD COLOURED WHITE OLASTIC AND HAVING A CLEAN HAND UNDERNWATH. THE SYMBOL OF IT ALSO BEKNG A TRASH CLEANERS SUIT. LIKE SHE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO ACTUALLY USE THE TRASH PROTECTION DUIT FOR ITS INTENDED PURPOSE. ALSO THE OART WHERE SHE SAYS SHES FINE EVEN TJO SHE ISNT. AT FIRST I READ IT AS HER TELLING HERSELF TO LIE BUT THEN I REALISED ITS HER ADMITTING SHE VERY MUCH ISNT. AND SAN NOT KNOWING???? AND KISSING HER HAND AND UGH AND SEONGHWA KNOWING. I BET HE'S LOWKEY GETTING MORE AND MORE AFRAID OF HER. LIKE YN IS READY TO KILL HERSELF AND ANYONE AROUND HER TO KEEP SAN SAFE. AND SHE INSTICTUALLY GOES FOR THE MODT AGRESSIVE METHOD POSSIBLE. IHHHHHHHHHHHHH I FUCKING LOVE YOU AND YOUR WONDERFUL WTITING AND YOUR TWISTED MIND THAT CAN CREATE ALL THESE FUCKING SCENES THAT GOT ME THUNKING AND FEELING ✨EMOTIONS✨

truly one of the HIGHLIGHTS of the chapter simply bc of how shocking and sudden it is!! for me, that was one of the easiest scenes to write in the chapter, oddly enough? it was something that when it came time to write it, i knew how i wanted it to be and was able to just sit down and write it out the way its written in the final draft of the chapter. i really love playing with those aspects of fiction and storytelling. tangible to a point, without spelling it out. i think it’s obvious that i really love delayed realization in writing, but i really like playing with how the brain processes information and for me personally, i don’t pick up on things right away! i can realize them in a snap or it can take me a bit to go ‘oh god that’s what happened’, and i like playing with that in y/n’s character a LOT.

and in that same vein of thought, there are some layers to that scene as well when compared to the door scene. in the door scene we saw hongjoong clearly tell y/n ‘you need to do this to save san’ yet she wasn’t able to do it despite trying and believing hongjoong. then in the heart scene we saw y/n clearly tell herself ‘you need to do this to save san’ and she did it then. so there’s a lot at play in that parallel alone too. and with that internal monologue she has of im fine vs not fine, then san kissing the hand that touched a literal real actual beating heart for me that was a sort of self indulgent scene and i was really worried about it coming across as too cheesy or something like that, but that is something that’s gonna impact y/n as a character and her relationship with san when they have the conversation of ‘oh hey i put my hand through a man’s chest for you’

i think part of why this chapter was so difficult to construct and write as a whole definitely is because of all the undertones and nuances throughout, and in a lot of ways it’s so so much to even think about that it’s almost too much packed into one chapter alone, but even if you don’t pick up on all the nuances throughout, i’m hoping to revisit them and bring them back around in that delayed realization style again bc that’s one of my favorite things to do ofc :3

#21y redeemed fool #mists of celeste #moc: spoilers #caly answers #sorry i wrote you a whole essay in response oh my god?!??#T_T

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salemsbones · 3 years

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Lonely Stars Chapter Seven

Trigger Warnings: scars, picking at scars/ injuries, self hatred, self doubt,

Age 16 It's been exactly one week since I left the hospital wing and readjusting to Hogwarts has been a challenge. Before the accident I would hold my head high like Mother taught me, because I was a proud Black woman and everyone should know that and acknowledge my presence but now I just want to shrink inside myself when anyone looks at me or in my direction. Sirius and Regulus have helped, they will try drawing attention more towards themselves instead of me and my scars that how cover my body. Sirius just the other day decided to steal one of my skirts and wear that all day around school grounds while accompanying me places, that definitely got some weird looks from students and different professors that weren't as familiar with Sirius' antics. Regulus would give people the dirtiest of looks if they even dared to look at me, ready to go off on anyone without a second thought. People's looks weren't always what bothered me though, and as much as Sirius and Regulus tried to make me feel better about the scars, they couldn't keep out my thoughts. I had always been taught to enhance my natural beauty, a little bit of blush on my cheek bones, swipe of eyeliner or mascara, but it's hard to enhance your beauty when you don't find yourself beautiful anymore. The most noticeable scar was across my face, it started just above my right eyebrow, came down across my forehead and nose, ending the apple of my left cheek. There were others littering my neck, my chest, a very thick one that started at my left ribs and ended near my right hip, multiple on the legs, arms and back. But despite the warming weather, I continued to wear long sleeve shirts, sweaters and pants or skirts to hide the hideous scars that would be forever on my body. I was supposed to be meeting Regulus and Sirius for breakfast, I was seated at the Ravenclaw table like every morning, picking at my breakfast but quickly loosing my appetite after seeing the still healing scars on my hands and arms. I push my plate away in disgust, and notice two Slytherin girls walking past, both gave me looks of horror as they say my face and arms, then quickly whispering to themselves as they walk faster. I rip my sleeves down covering the rest of my arms and my hands and look down at the table, trying to find interest in the old scratched wooden table. I heard a stool scrape across the floor from across the table and I look up thinking it may be one of my brothers only to be met by the cheerful face of Remus Lupin, one of Sirius' best friends. "Hey Lia," He smiles, sitting down on the stool. "Hi Mooney," I smile back, using one of the nicknames I heard Sirius call him countless times. "You look lonely, thought I'd join you for some toast," He says as he reaches over and grabs a piece of toast and starts to slather strawberry jaw on it with the butter knife he stole from my plate. "No one wants to talk to me, they think I'm a freak." I mutter, referencing my scared face only to look up to see his similarly scared face. "I'm sorry that's not what I meant." Regardless of what he could have assumed from my comment, he smiles and shrugs, taking a bite of his toast, "I knew what you meant Lia, it's okay." We fall silent as Remus slathers another piece of toast with strawberry jam, listening to the chatter echoing the hall from the other tables. Absently I begin to pick at one of the half healed scars on my hands, not thinking anything of it until Remus gently takes my hand making me stop picking at the skin. He reaches into his book bag and pulls out a small container of cream, "Here, stops the itch." I take the cream and place it in my own book bag, "Thank you Remus," He nods and takes the final bite of his piece of toast, "Of course," After a moment of silence I look back up at him, "Can I ask you a question?" He hums in response and raises an eyebrow, telling me to continue, "How do you do it? How do you deal with all the looks and the stares and the whispers? It's killing me. It makes me feel like I'm an animal in a zoo." Remus smiles and rubs the back of his neck thinking for a moment, "I own it. I can't change what happened so why try to change people's perceptions of you or about what happened." He gently takes my arm in his hand and starts to roll up my sleeve that I had previously pushed down in disgust of what was underneath. "That includes not hiding or turning away. Wear it with pride, you survived and no one can say otherwise." I take in his words and nod, sitting up a bit straighter and raising my chin, pushing up my other shirt sleeve to show off my scars with pride just as Remus had said.

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florvinhara · 3 years

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my detectives (part 1)

kjahfjhsj i can have a little infodumping... as a treat... anyway this was originally gonna be 1 post but then i got carried away so part 1 in the series of me ranting abt my detectives!

Kira Isabella Song

Romances N, F, or M

Age: 25 at the start of book 1, currently 26

Birthday: February 7

Star sign: Aquarius sun, Taurus moon, Scorpio rising

Height: 5’7”

Hair: Short, ash blonde, a little longer than chin length

Eyes: dark brown

Race/ethnicity: Korean-American

Other appearance details: Several beauty marks on face and body. a few subtle scars on face/legs from falling out of trees, etc. fingers are callused from band practice and left hand fingers are a little crooked from being broken.

Languages: English, Spanish, a few basic phrases in some other languages

Stats:

Charming/Intimidating

Impulsive/Cautious

Sarcastic/Genuine

Friendly/Stoic

Easygoing/Stubborn

Heart/Mind (equal)

Optimist/Pessimist

Team player/Independent

Primary skills: Science & combat

Strengths: Trustworthy, strong, courageous, calm under pressure, compassionate, thorough, clever, good intuition, self-sufficient, sure of herself

Weaknesses: Petty, caustic, distrustful, secretive, lackadaisical, insubordinate, emotionally unintelligent, can be disdainful, uncommunicative, contrary

Personal:

overall body language is casual and unbothered, lowkey her posture is kind of yikes RIP but she has a very fluid way of moving

her voice is smooth and somewhat low in pitch, very even in tone

Loud and/or jumbled sounds sometimes overwhelm her; she usually has noise cancelling headphones with her just in case

Rebellious as a teenager; she started skipping school and getting into fights, did some graffiti and one time she stole a street sign that she may or may not still have

When she wasn’t breaking rules, etc. she was taking boxing lessons, chilling in the library, going on runs, or playing bass guitar in her band

Wanted to get out of Wayhaven as soon as possible after college but was arrested after she came back because she was selling fake IDs and stole a car; absolutely did not want to be law enforcement but Rebecca and the captain essentially made her

The deal was that she would work at the station for 5 years and if she did well/stayed out of trouble she could then quit- she's 3 years into it

deep down if she wasnt a detective she would want to be a paramedic

She shares a lot of mannerisms with Rebecca and they’re way more similar than she’d like to admit

Birds FREAK her out seriously; she’ll deny that she’s afraid of them but she’ll cross the street to get away from them, also hates crowded places and deep water

Scary resting face and has a habit of just... eerily staring at people who are bothering her until they get spooked, but she's not actually that angry or grouchy, she's really just Vibing u know? she's not gonna correct anyone's impression though or they might start like... Talking to her :/

Loves any book/movie/show with a secret society or spy element and stories about a Hero and their Journey, also loves angsty philosophy books; her favorite movies are cheesy but feel-good (The Mummy, Pacific Rim, anything with big CGI monsters)

Doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth but would kill someone for strong coffee; if she’s really tired you can catch her drinking it cold straight from the pot with a straw

Emo/pop punk teen and she definitely cried when MCR broke up, she also listens to a lot of Dixie Chicks, Johnny Cash, Dottie West, Patsy Cline, etc

She’s been drawing since she was a kid- mainly works with charcoal and sometimes pastels. her sketchbooks are like her diaries and she’s never shown them to Anyone Ever

In her spare time, she still plays some guitar, draws, or reads; her library is extensive because she keeps every book she’s ever read or intends to read (it’s one of the few things she’ll drop real money on)

Very tactile person and fussy about textures, she prefers ultra soft blankets/pillows and her bed is basically a nest

Practical, efficient, frugal- she doesn’t necessarily find joy in cooking or anything but she can do it well enough, quick showers, uses cheap soap/shampoo, cuts her own hair

Her hands get super dry/chapped in the winter and it hurts very much :(

Never yells; when she gets angry she’s very cold & will Not hold back; every word is designed to hurt bc she’s purposefully poking at things she knows are sore spots

At the start of the books, she’s kind of... sleepwalking through life? like, she was in a not-great place mentally for most of her teens and didn’t really have a plan for the future but law enforcement was definitely not it? She isn’t feeling super passionate about what she’s doing and it kind of sucks to not have joy in purpose :( luckily that’s changing and is gonna be a significant part of her journey through the series!

Her apartment is cluttered but clean and she knows where everything is, if someone moved one of her things she would not be able to find it and it would bother her until she located it

She’s not stubborn exactly? Like she’ll concede an argument if it’s not super important to her and has no problem with losing or backing down in many cases; she’s pretty open minded in that respect, but if something is central to her values then she will Die before she backs down

On that note she’s overall a very logical person but when it comes down to it she'll follow her heart/first instinct

Does not care about rules or procedures At All, she'll follow them if it suits her end goal but otherwise... nope

Lowkey she… did not care about the reveal? it was a surprise but not her first priority in the moment- she kind of already thought UB was sketchy and didn’t trust them, so mainly she was pissed off that Rebecca had sent them to babysit her instead of actually help solve the murders

Speaking of Rebecca their relationship is kind of yikes. Kira isn’t exactly mad that Rebecca was gone so often, but she does think that she kind of forfeited her parenting rights and was annoyed that Rebecca was interfering with her life; first by getting her on the force and then by dropping UB on her. So now it’s Very Awkward between them because Kira doesn’t want to be like… mean but honestly what is there to say?? They’re trying but neither of them like to share personal information so it’s rough

On the subject of sharing, she just… genuinely doesn’t like to open up. Like, it doesn’t come naturally and in her mind it’s just… nobody else’s business what she’s feeling/what’s going on in her life

Genuinely does not realize that people care about her unless they openly tell her lmao... sad hours but at this point in the story she honestly doesnt think that any of UB cares abt her beyond their job besides the one she's dating :(

"Everyone should be allowed to feel things and rely on the support of the people around them, their emotions are Valid. not me though, this is my personal problem and as such its dumb so i have to get over it alone"

Her primary love language is acts of service, she wants the people she loves to have everything they might need; she’s Soft and really just wants snuggles but also she does not want to address it out loud

Her way of asking for affection is to just... stand/sit there and occasionally glance at the person... hovers like a sad ghost until she gets a hug... literally like 🥺👉👈 sjdhdkn Clown girl

She’s sarcastic and makes a lot of snarky comments, but generally she’s pretty honest unless she doesn’t want to talk about something (in which case she’ll brush it off and deflect or change subjects) which is why it annoys her so much when people are willfully dishonest or conniving

Pretty adaptable and capable of rolling with the punches but she generally dislikes surprises and being the center of attention

genuinely she's pretty chill! and a Huge enabler of chaos as well, like unless it's specifically bothering her she's gonna let it happen and mostly she thinks it's pretty funny to watch from the sidelines

in short she's basically like a feral cat who stares suspiciously at everyone from a distance until they successfully pspspsps their way into her heart and then she would die for them <3 but if she's mad she will make direct eye contact while shoving glasses off the counter

ahdgsksg ok last one i swear she Cannot Sit Properly, always has to be some flavor of lounging or leaning or sitting twisted into a pretzel

#my eternal love for u if u made it thru this whole post <3 #lowkey these are gonna double as my writing notes which are currently scattered between 5 million notes on my phone #ANYWAY #twc

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thepeacetea · 4 years

Text

The Past that Made the Future

Hey guys! So, um, here’s a new story. This will probably stay a one-shot, but here you go. Hope ya’ll enjoy! Peace!!

He was suppose to protect her. He promised he would. He promised her, and now she was gone, all because he couldn’t keep his promise. He swore he wouldn’t let anything happen to her, to the only person that was able to bring light back into his life and now she was gone. All because he couldn’t protect her. Because he wasn’t strong enough, or fast enough. He should have taken the bullet. If he hadn’t frozen on seeing the gun that madman had, his firecracker would still be here. She would be safe. She would still be here. But he froze, and now she was gone.

It was almost a year now. Almost a year since she was killed. Since his life spiraled out of control. Since everything came crashing down around him. As the minutes ticked on, drawing closer to the time of her death, he remembered.

11:40

The first time they met was unforgettable. He quite literally fell for her. He was running late for one of his classes at Gotham University of Art, Science and Technology. Sprinting down the stairs, his nose buried in one of his textbooks, there was no way he could have seen the small girl running up the stairs. One second, he was running down the stairs and the next, he was free falling.

Bracing himself for the collision with the unforgiving floor, he was instead met with a softer landing, promptly followed by the sound of something snapping. Sealing himself, he waited the pain to come, but five seconds past and no pain came. And then the ground shifted, groaning in pain. His eyes few open, locking on the soft ‘floor’ beneath him. To his horror, a tiny girl lay under him, face twisted in pain. The shutter of a camera snapped him out of his horrified trance. Scrabbling off the girl, his apology came out in a incoherent, jumbled mess.

“I - I am so - are you - please tell me your - I didn’t mean - I wasn’t looking and – do you need - I mean,” He tried to say, to many things pushing to the forefront of his mind and his mouth couldn’t decide what to say first. The students surrounding them could only snicker at they young Wayne’s mishap. Many of them relishing in the accident if only to have some dirt on the young heir.

“I – I think my arm’s broken.” Groaned the girl, who was gingerly trying to sit up, cradling her right arm.

Those words sent him in a bigger panic. He not only knocked a girl over, landing on her, but he also broke her arm.

“I- I’ll take you to a hospital. Do you think you can stand?” he asked, frantically searching for his keys.

“I- I think so. Do, do you have anything I could use as a sling, to support it? She asked, shift the weight of her arm slightly.

Tearing off his over shirt, he did his best to make a semi-comfortable sling for the girl. As he finished with the last knot, he glanced up, meeting her eyes for the first time, his breath catching. One of the most stunning pair of serine blue eyes stared back at him, studying him.

“Let- let’s get you to a hospital.” He managed to say, forcing the words out from the constriction in his throat.

They somehow managed to get to his Jaguar without aggravating the girls arm any farther. The ride to the hospital was tense. His mouth couldn’t seem to shut up, he couldn’t keep track of what he was saying as he tried to focus on the road and the condition of the girl beside him.

“Hey, listen. It’s ok. I don’t blame you, ok. It was an accident. It could’ve happened to anyone. But I need you to breath ok. Can’t have you passing out on me in the car.” She said, snapping him out of his panic state of mind.

“I- I fell on you, in front of the whole school! I broke your arm! How are you not mad at me?”

“One, it could have happened to anyone and if those people say otherwise, they’re jerks! Second, it’s not the first time I broke something, and knowing my track record, it will not be the last. Third, you already apologized, so you can stop, because like I said, it was an accident and I forgive you. And fourth, I think I may be able to get out of some assignments with a broken arm!” She said, laughing at the last reason.

The sound of her laughter caught him off guard. Not only was she not mad, but she was laughing it off. Just who was this girl?

“I’m Marinette by the way,” she said, almost as if she read his mind, extending her uninjured arm to shake his hand. Glancing at her for a second, he saw a friendly, welcoming smile adoring her round face as her eyes twinkled with a light that he couldn’t pinpoint.

“Bruce,” he said, reaching over to grasp her hand, slightly surprized at the strength of her grip.

“Well Bruce, I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

She had been right about that. In the six weeks she was wearing the cast, Bruce insisted that he help her. He even went so far as to sit in on some of her classes just he could help her take notes. He had never been one to warm up to anyone quickly, even when his parents were alive. But this girl, Marinette, there was something about her that drew him in.

She had always known what to say to him, even if he didn’t want to hear it. She was always there for him, and in time, he learned to stand up for himself and for others.

11:45 p.m.

“ . . . and I wasn’t getting any inspiration, like nothing. So I decided to climb on my roof, you know, to get a look at the stars and skyline and get some fresh air. While I was up there, looking over the city, I saw something fly through the night. I couldn’t tell what they were, and then one of them flew through the light. They were bats! And I watched them glide through the night, I suddenly go hit with this . . . wave of inspiration.” Marinette told him as they walked through the halls. They planned on getting lunch between their classes, and she was using their time to fill Bruce in on what had inspired her latest work. While he wasn’t . . . fond of the night terrors, he was impressed by his friend’s designs.

As they passed on of the chemistry labs, raised voice floated through the air, causing the duo to pause.

“ . . . simple freak, just do our assignments and we’ll leave you alone. Deal?”

Bruce knew that voice, Graham Alexander Towers the III. A spoiled rich brat whose family came from old money.

“Look, I’m not g-going to do your assignments anymore. I- I don’t have enough time to do my assignments.” a nervous voice countered, but it was so soft and low that Bruce almost didn’t hear it. Harsh laughter cut off whatever the other person was saying as the others cawed.

“You hear that boys, the coward thinks he has a back bone. Listen freak, unless you want to scared of turning corners, then you do it. After all, being scared is all your good at.” Towers sneered.

“And I suggest you develop a health dose of fear, cause once Pr. Adam’s finds out that you’ve not only been bullying someone else to complete your assignments but also threatening his top student, well, let’s just say that it’s not gonna be pretty.” Bruce’s voice cut through the chemistry lab, startling the occupants.

Spinning around, Graham locked eyes with Bruce, and for a few long moments, no one moved. The two heirs held each other’s gaze, Graham with ill hidden anger and Bruce with smug satisfaction.

“Wayne.” Graham spat.

“Towers,” Bruce countered politely, like they were discussing the weather. “I highly suggest that if you don’t want Pr. Adam’s to find out, then you leave him alone. If you try anything like this again, lets just say that the Towers’ name will be a little more mared then before. After all, the press will jump at the chance to do a story about how the Graham Alexander Towers the III was bullying a top student at G. A. to do his homework. It’ll be pretty and I don’t think your father will be very happy about that. I mean, he barely kept your last scandal under wraps.”

Graham considerable paled at those word. Wisely, for once, he kept his mouth shut and just stormed out, muttering curses under his breath. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Bruce turned to the other man in the room, who was looking at him with ill concealed awe.

“You’re Crane, right?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah, yes, I’m Jonathan Crane. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Wayne. Thank you for that.” Jonathan said, shaking Bruce’s hand with enthusiasm.

“Bruce is fine, and don’t mention it. I’ve seen your work. You’re a top chem. student and I would hate for you to not reach as far because of Towers. Keep up what you’re doing, cause I have a feeling you’re going to do something big someday and blow Gotham out of the water.” He said, sending the young man a smile before leaving only to run into Marinette, who he had left outside the classroom. The last thing he wanted was for her to become a target of Towers. Heaven knows that family has it out for the Wayne’s. The look she gave him made him slightly self-conscious.

“What?”

“You’re a good guy, Bruce. A really good guy. I’m proud of you.” She said before turning on her heels leading them back down the hallway, leaving a stunned and flustered Wayne behind.

When he defended Jonathan Crane, it had been an impulse decision, but that marked the beginning of a change in Bruce. He was no longer the quite boy who didn’t pay attention to others. He started standing up for others more after that. He became a force you didn’t want to cross, especially if you crossed someone he cared about. That became very evident at the first gala he took Marinette to.

11:55 p.m.

The night started out amazingly, though Marinette had been a nervous wreck on the way to the gala, but once she stepped through the doors, everything changed. She practically light up when she saw the interior of the building. High archways, pillars of black marble, gothic architecture, the place screamed beauty. Everyone was curious of the girl the Wayne heir had brought as his plus one. They all knew how closed of the boy could be, so the fact that he even had a date was a shock to the upper class. But when they saw they Asian beauty he had on his arm, they were blown away. Compared to Bruce’s 6’2” frame, the girl’s 5’6” with heels, looked so small and fragile.

The women, once they saw the girl’s dress, instantly started flocking to her, asking who designed it. The black, off the shoulder dress, had a fitted bodice with a high-low skirt, something that wasn’t common. The front ended a little above the knees, while the back spread out behind her. the inside of her skirt was a beautiful blood red, creating a stunning contrast. But what really caught everyone’s attention was the fact that if you looked at the dress, especially the skirt, it looked like a bat. Like one hanging upside down, ready to fly. The pure creativity and beauty of it was mind blowing. When they discovered that she was the designer, she had nearly half the gala coming with requests to commission her for the next gala.

It was around halfway through the party that Towers got drunk and forgot exactly who he was dealing with. He had been getting a little handsy with most of the single ladies there, and all of them rather enjoyed the attention they were receiving from the heir of one of the richest and oldest families in Gotham. But he made the mistake of putting his hands where they shouldn’t have been. On the Asian beauty Bruce brought. One second he was trying to sweet talk her into one of the side rooms to ‘get acquainted better’ and the next he was on the ground with a bloody nose.

“What the hell, Bruce!” Towers yelled, shooting the man in question a glare as he desperately tried to stop the blood dripping from his nose

“Keep. Your. Hands. To. Yourself.” Bruce growled out, not so subtle putting himself between Marinette and Towers.

“Why should I? None of the other girls seemed to mind. Besides, she should be grateful someone of importance and influence showed any interest in her.” Towers shot back, not noticing the growing rage that radiated off the young Wayne. Nor did he take stock in the glare he received as he stood, meeting it with a mocking smile as he sent the girl behind Bruce a wink.

Suddenly, Bruce grabbed Towers coat laps in a crushing grip, hauling him uncomfortable close. It was only then that he felt a twinge of fear. He had never seen Bruce angry. Ever. And by the looks of the crowd, neither had anyone else.

“Let me make this clear to you, and I’ll use simple words so you can understand. Mari doesn’t need any ‘help’ from you. She never has and never will. And if I catch you trying anything like this with my girlfriend, well, we’ll find out who the real prince of Gotham is. So let me say this one more time. Keep. Your. Hands. Off. My. Girlfriend! Do I make myself clear?” Bruce growled out, his blue eyes, which had always been soft, guarded, and compliance, were blazing with such an intensity that startled everyone. He looked like an actual Wayne, and it made the other families nervous. They knew, all too well, how much power the Wayne name carried in Gotham alone, not mentions the rest of the America or the world. If they had to describe a Wayne in one word, it would be dangerous.

All Towers could muster was a shaky nod of understanding. Even drunk, he knew better than to disagree. Stumbling when he was suddenly released, Towers watched as Bruce shot him one last look that promised retaliation if he broke his word before gently grabbing the girl’s hand muttering ‘Let’s go’. The crowd parted as he lead the two of them out, everyone watched as Bruce tucked the girl against his side, leaving a certain level of chaos and shock in his wake.

“So . . . girlfriend?” Marinette asked as Bruce drove them back to the manor.

Bruce could only flinch at her word. He had hoped that she hadn’t caught that part, not that she couldn’t have considering that everyone in the vicinity had heard him, but he could always hope. Glancing over at the person who he could truly call his best friend, only to find her facing the window, chin propped on her hand as she watched the city past them by. He couldn’t read her, and that scared him. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, let alone feeling. But as the city lights flickered over her features, he couldn’t deny what he was feeling. He loved her. He was so in love with her that it hurt. She was his friend, the first real friend he could remember. She made him feel safe and cared for. He didn’t have to attempt to portray an image for her. Heck, she didn’t even care about his name. To her, he was just Bruce, the awkward boy she had met on the first day of university who happened to break her arm. She had changed him, and he couldn’t thank her enough. But that friendship, that platonic love had turned into something more for him. He wanted more. He wanted to be more with her, but he didn’t want to risk what they had. He couldn’t lose his best friend. He couldn’t . . .

“Because if you mean it, and I mean, really mean it, well, I wouldn’t object to it. I. . . I like you, Bruce. More then a friend should, and I don’t know where to go from here.” She said, cutting through Bruce’s spiraling thought.

For a moment, his brain shut down. She liked him? Marinette? The girl with the most creativity Bruce had ever seen? The girl whose culinary skills were the only one’s that made Alfred’s pale in comparison? Who always smelled of sugar and spices? Who, no matter how much she had on her plate or what she was doing, would drop everything if her friends needed help? The girl who was the only real person Bruce had ever met?

“ W-well, in that case, would . . . would you like to go on a date with me?” Bruce asked, stuttering over his. The seconds that followed where the longest of his life, there was no going back now.

“I would love to.”

The months that followed where the best of his life, and there was nothing he would have done differently. If he thought that he had been happy before, he had never been so wrong in his life.

11:56

It was six months after they started dating. Six month of pure bliss. Sure, they argued like any couple, but Bruce would change anything they had. Though their arguments were few and far between, every time he saw her angry, even when it was directed at him, he could help but notice how beautifully terrifying she was. She honestly reminded him of a firecracker. Beautiful when exploding but none the less deadly if not handled correctly.

They were walking around the manor grounds, simple enjoying one of the last summer day’s before classes started again. One of the things Bruce noticed since dating his firecracker was that she had an almost unusual love for nature. Every chance she could get, she would be out in the gardens or parks, simple enjoying the feeling of being outside. So they walked through the garden, with the late summer flowers in full bloom lending an enticing fragrance, Bruce couldn’t think of any other place he would rather be.

Glancing over at Marinette, Bruce couldn’t help but stare. Seeing her in the garden, surrounded by the flowers she helped plant, she never looked more beautiful. In the late afternoon sun, her hair, which had always been so dark, light up to a gorgeous midnight blue framed by the small flower crown of daisies. Her cut-off jean shorts paired with slightly oversized tee-shirt and bare feet gave her such an innocent look that Bruce couldn’t imagine living without her.

“Marry me.”

Bruce wasn’t even aware he had actually said that until Marinette turned around, her eyes blown wide in shock.

“What?”

“Marry me. Mari, I cant live without you. You brought light back into my life. I wasn’t living until I met you, I was merely surviving. You showed me life was meant to be so much more. With you, I feel like I can be somebody worthwhile. And I know that everyone will say we’re too young and that we don’t know what love is, but I know, Mari, I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to have a family with you. So, will you allow me the honor of becoming your partner, your protector? Will you marry me?” He asked, gently taking her hands, laying his heart out for her to either take or turn away.

Tears sprung into the eyes, causing the serene blue to sparkle as diamonds. For a split second, he thought she was going to say no, but it was only a second before she launched herself into his arms, crying with the most beautiful smile etched on her face.

“YES!! YES!! A thousand times yes!”

She had moved into the manor a week later. Bruce loved waking up next to her. To smell of her hair and the warmth of her body. He loved the feeling of curled against him, how her head fit perfectly into his shoulder.

11:57

It had a week since he had been home and Bruce couldn’t wait to get back to his own bed and he fiancé. But instead of an excited fiancé greeting him, he was greeted with the unusual sight of empty boxes. And when he said boxes, he meant that the entire entrance was full of empty boxes. The sound of music could be heard coming from one of the upper floors. Following the sound of Summer of 69, Bruce found Marinette dancing while painting one of the many unused room. Leaning against the doorframe, Bruce just watched his firecracker for the duration of the song as she continued to dance and belt out the lyrics to her favorite song. Watching her being so carefree brought a sweet smile to his face.

“Painting?” he asked once the song finished. Whipping around, her hair smacking her in the eyes as red paint flew from her brush. She looked at him startled for a second before her face light up.

“Bruce, your home!” was his only warning before a paint covered Marinette plowed into him. Laughing, he caught her with ease while planting a sweet kiss on her disheveled hair.

“I missed you too, Mar. Though mind telling me what you’re doing and why the entrance is packed with empty boxes?” he asked, gently setting her down as he brushed hair out of her face.

“Right. I’m sorry I should have cleaned those up early, but I got distracted. I have something important to tell you. So, the night you left, I had a dream. And usually I don’t pay too much attention to my dreams but Bruce, this one was different. It, it was so real. We, well we had a family. Bruce the house was so full and it was, I mean, I -I cant really explain it. It was amazing. There was a lot of people but I could only make four out clearly. Bruce, they were our boys, and . . . I cant even find the words to effectively describe it. Bruce, they were amazing. One of them, I think he was the youngest, was incredibly artistic. Bruce, his drawing, his painting were breathtaking! And he was such an animal person. Another one, he was insanely smart, like almost mindboggling. His ability to see thing, little things that no one else was able to see was incredible! Oh, and the other one, I think he was the oldest, was an absolutely amazing gymnast. His acrobatics, Bruce, it was like watching a top circus performer! And the last one, he – his grasp of literature was heartwarming and beautiful. I mean, his knowledge of classical literature rivaled the professors at the university. He was also a little mechanical, a little enginery I suppose.” Marinette explained, her eyes lighting up as she described the boys.

“So that’s why there are a bunch of empty boxes and your painting rooms?” he asked, trying to understand why she was acting like she was prepping for these boys. Like they were real.

“Bruce,” she said, looking at him with one of the most serious faces he had ever seen. “I know it sounds crazy, but whenever I have dreams like this, with this much clarity and detail, they always come true. Bruce, we’re going to have a family. And I know it won’t happen for a while, but I – well I wanted to get a head start, you know. In preparing the rooms. I want them to have a place where they can indulge in their passions. A place where they can learn and grow and create. I want them to have a place of their own. A place where, when everything is too much and they feel like giving up, that they can come to, to just, be themselves. For when the pressure just gets too much and they feel like giving up. A place where they can just be who they are without anyone telling them otherwise.”

Looking down at her while she spoke, Bruce saw that she truly believe every word she was saying. And as she explained herself, he started to believe her too. While everything she was saying sounded so surreal, the certainty with which she spoke and the spark in her eyes quickly won him over.

“Mar, tell me more about them.”

That wasn’t the first or the last time Bruce was surprised with his firecracker. It seemed like every day, she would do something or say something that he had never thought of or considered. And some of them would make a larger impact then others.

11:58

“Bruce?”

“Hm?”

“What do you think of heroes?”

Looking up from his book, Bruce cast Marinette, who was sitting on the other end of the couch, a look.

“Don’t you mean vigilantes?” he asked, earning him a playful kick from his seatmate.

“Well, if you want to be technical about it,” she scoffed, sending him a mock glare. “But seriously, Bruce, what do you think of them?” she asked again as she continued to sketch.

“I never really gave it much thought. Why the sudden question?” Bruce said, watching his fiancé’s pencil stop momentarily before it resumed it’s task. It was a few seconds before she spoke again.

“France, Paris specifically, had a set of heroes when I was twelve. Coccinelle and Chat Noir, or Ladybug and Black Cat. They were tasked with fighting a madman who called himself Faucon Papillon, or Hawk Moth. He would prey on the emotionally compromised, granting them power to feed their need for revenge. And in return, he wanted them to retrieve what gave Coccinelle and Chat Noir their powers. He called it their miraculous, two pieces of jewelry: earring that belonged to Coccinelle and a ring from Chat Noir. If he had those two items, it would grant him the powers of a god. It would grant him a wish.”

“How could two pieces of jewelry do that?” He asked after a pause, searching her face.

“Well, they were magical. I know this sound crazy, but I assure you that I am not lying. The ladybug represents creation and the black cat, destruction. Two halves of a whole. A ying and yang if you will. With these two combined, one rewrite reality. These heroes were not only given the responsibly for not only defending Paris from that emotional terrorist, but also prevent him from obtain ultimate power. With every akuma, that’s what we ended up calling the controlled person, they had to fight and purify, every cure that was cast, they became symbols to us. When people saw them, they knew that we still had hope. It took nearly five years for them to track Faucon Papillon down. Before the final battle. When they defeated him, Paris breathed a sigh of relief, but we never got to thank our heroes. They just, disappeared after. So, for me, heroes are a symbol of hope. When things look the bleakest, and everything is crashing down, they are always there. Fighting for people who they will never really know. They are fighting a war they may not see the end of, but they fight on. Because they know that if they fall, hope is destroyed. So heroes, or vigilantes, have my highest respect.” She explained, occasionally glancing up from her drawing, but never stopping.

“You really think highly of them don’t you?” he asked, moving over to her side of the couch.

“I do.” She said, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, glancing down on her sketch pad. There, laying in startling detail, was a hero design. The design, unsurprising, was incredible. The suit was designed for maximum protection and agility, as well as identity concealment. She even went so far as to start weapons designs. But what caught his attention was the symbol she chose.

“Why a bat? Don’t they symbolize death?” Bruce asked as he studied the sketch.

“Yes, but they also symbolize rebirth and protection, and in Chinese culture, they represent luck or good fortune. They are often referred to as guardians of the night, and I think that’s what Gotham needs. In a city so full of misfortune and death, they need a symbol that shows thing can be better. That the city can be rebirthed into something greater. And while that hope is there, they also will have a protector. Someone to watch over them when darkness falls. I . . . I think it’s the perfect symbol for Gotham.”

11:59

It was New Years Eve and the gala was in full swing. Bruce and Marinette, though they had been engaged since August, had both agreed to wait until New Years to announce the engagement. Everyone agreed that the news was an amazing way to end the decade. The news of their engagement would be made public tomorrow, but for now, they would enjoy themselves and bring in the new year together. And then, it happened.

It was five minutes until midnight when a gun fire went off. Everyone started to run, screams of fear filling the air. Then the laughter started, that crazed laugh that shot terror though everyone’s hearts. They all knew that laugh. All eyes turned towards the sound, towards the stage, landing on a familiar figure. There, standing in all his terrifying glory was the Joker.

“Is this thing on?” he asked, roughly tapping on the mic, sending a high pitch squeal though the speakers. “Well, sorry I couldn’t be here early folks, but at least I’m here before the ball drops.” He said, waving his gun hand over the crowd. “You know what I always wanted to do? What I always dreamed of doing. I always wanted to bring a new year in with a bang! And I always wanted to be the one to ring in a new century. I mean, just think about it. A new year, a new century, a new era, brought in by the Joker himself. And your little party here, is baring witness to that. I mean, you guys are going to go down in history. I mean, how crazy is that!”

“The only crazy I see in here is you.” Someone muttered, but unfortunately, they didn’t do it quiet enough.

“Oh, oh I’m not crazy. You see I only do crazy thing. People think I have this elaborate plan, this vindictive that I follow, but you see, I just like to rattle a cage, and then I sit back and watch what naturally progresses from there. I may start out with a basis of what I wanna do, I start it and then I take things as they come. That way, I’m never surprized and it’s a guarantee for me to have a laugh.”

Then, someone whispered a little too loudly, ‘Monster’, and that seemed to flip a switch, Joker went from the happy lunatic to an angry one.

“Monster? Oh, I’ll show you monster!” he shouted, swinging his gun towards the crowd, firing without glancing at the target. During his distraction, one of the security guards, one of the few who hadn’t been gassed by Joker, fired his gun, his bullet finding it mark in the madman’s shoulder. While the crowd began to breath a sigh of relief, a desperate cry tore through the building.

“Mar! No! Nonononononononono!! Please Mar, look at me. Firecracker, please.” Bruce begged, cradling his beloved’s face with one hand as he tried to apply pressure to the chest wound. Her dress, a beautiful baby blue floor length gown, was splattered with blood, the stain growing rapidly around her chest.

“B-B-Bruce?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. I’m here.” He whispered, tears falling freely down his face as the warmth of her blood seeped past his hand.

“I-its gonna be ok, Bruce. It’s not your fault, ok. It’s not your fault.” Marinette said, gasping for air.

“No! No, you cant say that! You can’t- I don- I can’t lose you too. Please.” Bruce said, tears blurring his vision, a lump forming in his throat.

She let go of the hand that was attempting to stop the bleed, gently cupping his face, forcing him to look at her. The feeling of her cold hand, sticky with warm, fresh blood sent a whole new wave of panic through him.

“I love you, Bruce.” His firecracker said, giving him the sweetest smile. Just as the clock struck midnight, her hand slipped from his face, leaving behind a bloody print.

It was exactly a year since that night. A year since she was gone, and nothing was the same. The manor was colder, the days bleaker. There was no light anymore. They should have been married. She should have been here with him. But she wasn’t. And here he was, alone, looking through one of her old sketch books. Trying to picture how she always stuck her tongue out when she was concentrating on a drawing. Remembering how she would light up was the image in her head began to take form on paper. Turning the page, Bruce stopped at one of the drawings, the one with the bat suit. The one of his firecracker’s ideal hero of Gotham.

“This is quiet something your asking Mr. Wayne. The details in this suit, well, they’re very specific.” Lucas Fox stated, looking up from the suit design the young Wayne brought in, requesting to be made, and he wasn’t joking. The instructions for the suit itself were incredibly specific. Just by looking at the diagrams and designs, they would need to be followed to the letter just to make it plausible.

“I know, and you’ll have full funding for it, but I want it exactly the same. I don’t want a thing changed. Especially the symbol.”

@naclychilli

#maribat #brucinette #angst

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writingmyselfout · 3 years

Text

Because I Could Not Stop for Death

Author: MBM

Summary: Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, has died. Voldemort has won, and all his sacrifices were for naught. Surprisingly, the one who is angriest about it is his own Grim Reaper because his third time wasn’t a charm after all. He’s got to convince his Reaper that he’s worth betting on one last time, knowing that if he fails again, they’re both screwed.

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue: The Show Must Go On (1/?)

HOW often had he seen that flash of green fill his vision? He had relived that fateful night so often throughout his seventeen years that he had long ago lost count. Now, he blinks his eyes open, trying to remember where he’d fallen asleep. Were they still in the tent? No, Bill and Fleur’s beach cottage? It would explain why everything is so bright. But as he blinks, squinting as he expected everything around him to appear blurry as they always did when he didn’t wear his glasses, he is surprised to find that he’s not in any cottage at all. He has no idea where he is currently.

“Mr. Potter? Harry Potter?” Harry moves his eyes away from the corner of the otherwise empty white room he’s been looking around, over to where a door has opened and a figure stands. A pair of dark eyes in a brown, androgynous face glares at him from the doorway. “This way, then.”

They don’t wait to see if he is going to follow, disappearing back through the doorway, and Harry stands up quickly. He wants answers and he figures he’s more likely to get them with that person than he will sitting around in a room by himself. He goes through the open door and into a long hallway with doors lined on either side. The figure who called him is continuing on, their gray robe barely brushing the ground and a hood lying flat against their back. They are halfway down the hall when they stop, look back to see he’s currently coming, and then open the sixth door on their left. When Harry catches up, he sees that they have sat down behind a desk.

He steps cautiously into the office, his brain trying to make sense of what is going on. Wasn’t he just fighting at Hogwarts? What happened? He’s still disoriented, trying to piece together the events that lead him to be in this unfamiliar place with this stranger.

“I can’t believe you’re here again ,” the person says, waving a hand towards one of the chairs in front of their desk, indicating Harry should sit as they continue, tone clearly exasperated, “ **already **.”

“Where is ‘here’, precisely?” Harry questions, slowly sitting down and moving his head only slightly to take in what little else is in the room without actually losing sight of this person.

“Limbo. Purgatory. The place between. So on and so forth.” They wave their hand in a circular motion to indicate they could go on, then turn to a stack of folders on the right side of their desk. “Basically you’re dead.” They start muttering, ranting really, almost as if they have forgotten Harry’s there as they go through the folders. “Again.” They slap a thing folder they’d picked up on the other side of the desk for emphasis. “Record breaking destined hero, and he can’t even manage to stay alive to confront said destiny.”

The flash of green , Harry recalls. That’s right, he was hit with the Killing Curse by Voldemort. Again. It wasn’t a memory, it was him dying. Then the implication of what was just said hits him. “Wait, ‘again’? I’ve died before ?”

A nod. “Yup. Three times before, to be precise.” They pause in their search to tap a finger on a nameplate sitting between them and Harry, drawing the wizard’s attention to it for the first time. Before his eyes, the strange markings morph into letters he recognizes: ‘Maquetauire Guayaba’. “Call me Yaba. You’ll butcher my name otherwise.” Meaning he’d done it before.

Fair, as Harry couldn’t begin to guess how to accurately say their full name. “Okay, Yaba. You said I’ve been here three times before? So I’ve died-”

“Four times.” Yaba confirms. “FOUR!” They slap another folder down. “‘Destined Heroes’ was supposed to be an upgrade, you know; less frustrating than Catalysts. Catalysts are unpredictable. Destined heroes have a moral compass . I was well on my way to breaking the record. FIFTEEN straight destined heroes with no failures, but no. You -” Yaba points an accusing finger at Harry, eyes narrowed “-were assigned to me, and instead of defeating your enemies, changing the world for the better, living to some ridiculously old age with your soulmate, and cementing my success as a Reaper, you keep dying . You can’t even keep your soulmate straight! Mixing up some Granger girl with that other one with the G name. Or is it the other way around? I don’t even know anymore!” Yaba throws their hands up in frustration before grabbing another folder. “It’s downright-” they slapped another folder down on their left “-fucking-” and then another “ infuriating !” ending with another loud slap. This time, though, the folder is a thicker one that they smack down in front of themselves.

Mind racing with questions, and unsure where to even begin, Harry blurts out one word before he’s actively decided to ask any of them. “How?” It seems as good a place as any to start figuring things out, his mind whirling between the astonishing idea that he’s died so often, and the possibly equally surprising revelation that Hermione is his soulmate. Or could be, if Yaba hasn’t mixed her up with Ginny, the only other “G name” Harry can think of at the moment. Unless he means that Slytherin girl, Greengrass? He shakes his head, not wanting to get distracted.

“How?” Yaba flips the folder in front of them open with a sigh. “Let’s see. This will probably start triggering memories, by the way, so try not to freak out. It’s normal, since this is where your lives converge.” They flip past the first two pages, Harry catching enough of a glimpse to see that even if he wasn’t looking at them upside down, all the information was written in unfamiliar markings he neither recognizes nor can he begin to guess what language or culture they originate from. They have no problem, however, as they stop on the third page. “The first time, you died approximately forty-four days short of your sixteenth birthday, after getting hit by simultaneous dark curses in an attempt to protect your soulmate.”

Yaba adds more details, giving the location, but Harry’s remembering even as they speak. The Department of Mysteries, with members of Dumbledore’s Army. They had been tricked. No, he had been tricked, into believing that Sirius was in danger and the others had run headlong into danger with him. They had been running through one strange room after another, trying to stay ahead of the Death Eaters, and Hermione had tried to silence one but missed and they’d responded with a dark curse Harry had never heard of but resulted in a whip of dark purple flames heading right for her. He hadn’t stopped to think when he put himself between it and Hermione, his body had just moved and he’d grabbed her, turning them so it struck him in the back. At that same moment, someone else had aimed the Killing Curse at him, and his last memory was of Hermione’s shocked eyes on his. Then he had woken up in the empty white waiting room Yaba had pulled him from.

“What happened after?” He interrupts, leaning forward in his chair. “Hermione, after I died, did she escape?”

Yaba looks up from the folder, staring at Harry, annoyed. “What do you think? Not that it matters. It was all undone when I sent you back for your second attempt. That time…” They trail off, flipping through to another page. “Here we go, yes, the second time you go through the Battle of the Department of Mysteries -- what a stupid name -- you managed to get through that whole debacle pretty much unscathed.” Harry frowns, starting to recall his second life and remembering that the second time, although she survives, Hermione was hit with the curse he’d protected her from the first time.

“Instead, you die at the Battle of the Astronomy Tower. You were knocked out of the tower when you were hit with the Killing Curse. Wait.” Yaba lifts the previous page, squinting at the edge. “No, that was the third time. I remember, that’s one of the times you inexplicably didn’t choose your soulmate. Ah ha, stuck together.” They pull the two pages apart and go back. “The second time you didn’t drink enough Felix Felicis and ended up accidentally drinking some of the Acromantula venom your professor collected.”

Harry winces, remembering suddenly the way the venom had seemed to burn him from the inside a few minutes after drinking it. When he had been bitten in his fourth year, the effects had been infinitely slower, and less noticeable. “Right. That almost destroyed my magical core. I had to be rushed to St. Mungo’s from the infirmary, and Mrs. Weasley offered to take me home for a few weeks over the summer while I recovered. I was trying to get away from Ginny, who kept trying to get me alone on my birthday, when-”

“You fell down the stairs and broke your neck.” Yaba is actually grinning . “I’ll admit, that one was kind of funny. It’s like the less interested you are, the more persistent and desperate that girl becomes.” They frown then. “Still, would have preferred you not dying. Then there’s this latest-”

“-which doesn’t make sense.” Harry interrupts. He’s on the edge of his seat, leaning forward onto the desk. “All those other times, something happened to kill the piece of Voldemort’s soul attached to me. I remember, we talked about it after the second time, ‘cause I was wondering why the venom didn’t kill me when it had basically drained me of almost all my magic and you said it was because it burning through magic attaching Voldemort’s soul to me first kept my last bit of magic from being destroyed.”

Yaba nods. “Correct. And all the other times, something killed that soul piece first too. Including this time.”

“How?”

“You interrupted,” they point out. “This last time, Tom Riddle destroyed his own soul piece, and then you were eaten.”

Harry blinks. “I was what ?”

“Eaten.” Yaba repeats, slowly. “The snake passed by you after the curse hit you, felt the warmth of your body, and decided to bite and eat you.”

“So let me get this straight. I’ve been cursed multiple times, fallen to my doom twice, and then eaten ?”

Yaba nods. “It’s quite impressive, and if you weren’t making my afterlife miserable, I might even be entertained at all the ways you manage to fail.”

“Look, I’m trying my best,” Harry argues. “I’m working blind here, and I wouldn’t have ever gone to the damn Department of Mysteries if Dumbledore had just been open with me about what was going on so I didn’t have to keep trying to figure it out through my literal enemy . I mean, a prophecy? They were protecting a prophecy ? And one that basically Voldemort already knew the general gist of? It was such a stupid secret!

“And that memory he had me try to get from Slughorn! I nearly died getting it, and it was just Slughorn telling Voldemort about Horcruxes. Pointless, and okay, maybe he wasn’t completely aware of it at the time, since he didn’t actually know what Slughorn’s memory was going to be, but his pulling me out of St. Mungo’s and forcing me to go to the Burrow was on him. He kept making comments about Ginny reminding him of my mom and asking how things were going; it was not subtle.”

Harry suddenly snaps his finger. “Oh! The tower! That killing curse wasn’t even aimed at me, it was aimed at him ! They were trying to kill him and he basically used me as a meat shield!” Harry practically growls, hands balling into fists. “Manipulative bastard, playing everyone like bloody pawns in a chess game. This last time, too. I didn’t know a damn thing about Voldemort’s soul but he did. He’d long suspected, and it was seeing Snape’s memory that gave me that info. Months wasted looking for Horcruxes when I bloody was one.”

Harry slumped back into the chair, momentarily overwhelmed. Why had he trusted the old wizard so implicitly? Even after knowing that he’s the reason that he was left at the Dursleys’ abusive,neglectful home all his life? It didn’t make a lick of sense, now that he was fully aware of just how many situations throughout his school years Dumbledore had manipulated. It wasn’t to say that the old man was necessarily evil , that was a designation better given to Voldemort and his ilk; but at the very least, the wizard was fairly self-serving.

Yaba is quiet for a moment, then sighs. “Yes, well, unfortunately for you and my record, Albus Dumbledore is a Catalyst.”

“A what?” This is the second time Yaba mentions him. “Can you explain? You mentioned that before. And I’m a-”

“Destined Hero. Essentially, people fall into a bit of a hierarchy, I guess is the simplest way of putting it,” Yaba starts to explain. “Most beings are normal, living fairly normal lives, and they are what we call the Standard. They have no specific destinies, and their lives are shaped by a combination of uncontrollable factors such as where they are born, to whom, when, etcetera, and their choices. Grim Reapers-”

“Someone like you?” Harry interrupts.

Yaba shrugs. “Yes and no. To you lot on Earth, we’re all Grim Reapers, and it’s easiest to just go with that. In reality, it’s a bit more complicated. What you imagine, or imagined before dying, as a ‘Grim Reaper’ is really a Soul Reaper. They collect souls after a being dies and bring them to the In-Between. There, they weigh that being’s circumstances against their choices.

“Catalysts are beings capable of affecting great change. Various villains and heroes throughout history were Catalysts. There is no predicing if they will be good or bad because they tend to live by a complicated set of beliefs. They may begin with good intentions, but be corrupted, or vice versa. Bunch of pain in the asses, to be honest.”

“I’m assuming both Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore are Catalysts?”

“Yes. As I said, pain in the asses. A Catalyst in turn causes the existence of a Destined Hero. Sometimes that Hero is just someone who acts like a positive influence in the Catalyst’s life, preventing them from going down a dark path. Sometimes, as in your case, they are opposing forces that cannot coexist and determine the fate of the world.”

“Lucky me.” Harry grumbles. Granted, he can’t imagine a world in which he would somehow be a “positive influence” on Tom Riddle, thus preventing his becoming Voldemort. “Do Destined Heroes always get multiple tries?”

Yaba coughs, clears their throat, and looks aside. “Uh, well, no. Usually, if a Hero dies without fulfilling their destiny, they are given a choice: a second chance or acceptance. It’s rare that a Hero didn’t at least try , and even in those cases, it’s often because they died before understanding what their destiny even was . If they accept, they are reunited temporarily with their loved ones in Heaven.”

“Temporarily?”

“Yes. You see, eventually, most beings in Heaven forget their lives. Once all of their loved ones have died, there is no longer an attachment to their lives. Heroes who have fulfilled their destiny and lived great lives, along with their loved ones who reach Heaven, are the exception, but that is because where they reside is like an upper level of Heaven, I guess you could call it. An eternal reward, essentially.”

“So it’s worth it for a Hero who fails to not accept and instead ask for a second chance,” Harry concludes.

“Yes. Although a second chance could be one of two things: attempt to fulfill your original destiny, or await the need for a new Hero and accept a new destiny. Namtar, the one you call Death, may decide that a failure cannot be reversed because of” Yaba pauses and then shrugs “reasons. And he’s the boss, so what he says goes.”

“Why then have I had more than just a second chance?”

“If you remember, I mentioned Soul Reapers, correct? Well Grims are the ones who handle Catalysts, since their lives tend to be more complicated than Standards. Grims who have worked for a very long time, with countless Catalysts with little error can be promoted to Demons.” Yaba indicates themselves. “Many of your kind used to call us ‘death gods’, but as religions changed, so too did our names. And because you all fear death so much, ‘demons’ became synonymous with evil beings, so we’ll sometimes go by the technically incorrect title of ‘Grim Reapers’.

“Demons such as myself are basically directly under Death, and we get the mostly cushy job of just supervising a department of Grims and Standards, with the occasional Destined Hero. The record for most Destined Heroes without failures in a row is fourteen.” Yaba leans across their desk. “I am tied with Iku, and he currently doesn’t have a Destined Hero, so the new record should be mine , but you keep failing .” They throw themselves back into their chair, looking defeated.

Harry blinks, unsure whether he should sympathize with his Grim Reaper, or Demon--whatever they were called--or not. On the one hand, they seemed to be another self-serving being using him as a pawn, but on the other, perhaps he could get himself another chance.

“So if I’m understanding this correctly, rather than give me a choice, you just kept giving me more chances?” Harry clarifies.

“Oh no, you kidding me? That would get me demoted all the way back to Soul Reaper if I took your choice away!” They look scandalized at the very idea. “I always ask, but no offence, you’re predictable. I knew you were never going to turn down the chance to go back and help your friends, especially ‘cause you always ask the same thing first. ‘What does my death mean for my friends?’ The answer,” Yaba rushes in, anticipating Harry’s need to know, “is that most of them die.”

“Then of course I want to go back!”

“You’re not understanding, I can’t keep doing this. Someone is bound to have noticed by now that I keep looping time to allow you to start over. I mean, it’s not hard to keep that under the radar; death is a busy business. But I’ve done it three times .”

“So what’s one more?” Harry argues.

“Easy for you to say. At this point, I’m not sure you can succeed.” Yaba taps the folder for emphasis. “Not that I necessarily think it’s your fault. Not entirely, anyway.”

Harry frowns. “So, what? I just have to accept my fate? Doesn’t that mean you lose your streak? What happens then?”

“Then I hope that since it’s my first failure in centuries, they don’t decide to audit your file. Iku’s gloating would be bad enough but if I get audited, forget the record and my streak, I might lose my position and be demoted back to working with Catalysts .”

“They don’t audit the file if I succeed?” Harry asks, fairly certain he knows the answer.

“No, they don’t.” Yaba confirms. They’re staring at each other, and Yaba shakes his head at Harry. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do; convince me to send you back again . But every time I break a rule, it’s one more thing to be punished for when you fail and I get audited. At least if I quit now, I might be able to talk myself out of the worst of it.”

“The problem is, you keep sending me back to, what, six months to a year before my last death? And with no memories of those deaths, I am right back in the middle of my hero-worship of Dumbledore, and all my other relationships are pretty much established. Of course I’m going to keep failing!” Harry stands up, pacing about the room. “If you send me back farther, with my memories, I’m sure I can do it.”

Yaba watches him pace. “I don’t have the ability to let you keep your memories. That’s a separate department altogether. Not sure that’s possible, really.”

Harry looks over at his Grim Reaper, noting the thoughtful look on their face, and he’s suddenly standing by the desk, leaning forward. “Can you find out? If I could just remember , you could send me all the way back to the beginning. I mean, not all the way, but before I even start at Hogwarts. I could make sure to not repeat those deaths, and save other lives.” Like Cedric’s and Sirius’s.

There’s a moment of contemplative silence, then suddenly Yaba calls out. “Opiel!” A shadow suddenly appears next to the desk, like a large curtain that has been balled up, and unfurls into a large dog-like creature. It’s dark eyes take Harry in before it turns its head over to look at Yaba. They speak words to it in some unknown language and just as quickly, the creature disappears. “I’m not making any promises, there’s maybe half a dozen under Death who might have the ability to do what you’re asking, and only one who might be willing to help.”

Harry has barely nodded when suddenly the creature, Opiel, is back. This time, accompanied by another. Harry vaguely remembers a school lesson, back before Hogwarts, in which their history book had shown images of ancient Greek statues. The woman before them looked like one of those statues come alive, although rather than all white marble, she had skin of a light brown, almost golden complexion, wore a dress of pale pink, and the hair curling about her face and pulled back into a bun at her neck was almost as dark as his own.

“You summoned me?” Harry suppressed the urge to shiver. The tone of her voice was cold, and it was clear she was offended.

“Summoned? Lethe, I just asked Opiel to tell you I was looking for you,” Yaba explains. “I couldn’t very well take a Destined Hero to the Library, after all.”

Lethe’s dark eyes move over Harry as she crosses her arms. “No,” is all she says after a moment, and Harry assumes she means Yaba could not have taken Harry to this Library. She looks away from him and back to the Grim Reaper. “What is your purpose in seeking me out?”

“Ah, see, Harry here needs to go back to reattempt his destiny. I was hoping you could make it so that he recalls his past life?” Yaba gives her a hopeful look. “You know, as a favor to me.”

“That I have not let it be known he has been thrice revived should be favor enough,” Lethe responds, and Yaba grimaces.

“Ah, you noticed?” Their eyes widen. “Has anyone else?”

“No.” She does not elaborate further, looking between them for a quiet moment. It isn’t until Harry shifts restlessly that she says, “My domain is oblivion and forgetfulness.”

“Yes, that is your expertise,” Yaba agrees, “but it’s all memory. You could prevent forgetfulness too, couldn’t you?”

“Assisting you would be worth more than what I owe.”

Yaba nods their head in understanding. “So instead I’ll owe you in turn. Absolutely. So you’ll help?”

She unfolds her arms and comes around the desk to stand next to Yaba, holding her hand out. They pass her Harry’s folder and she takes a moment to flip through the pages. “What were you thinking?”

“Further than the previous times. Age eleven.”

“He cannot maintain all his memories.”

“Why not?” Harry asks.

“Because.” She looks up to meet his eyes and states matter of factly, “You would go mad. Your mind is not intended to hold the memories of various lives, and it is especially not intended to remember its own death, much less multiple deaths.”

“I’m fine right now, though.”

“You’re dead,” Yaba reminds him. “So your mind and body aren’t constricted by the normal limitations.” Lethe nods her head in agreement, setting the folder down. Yaba turns to her. “What do you suggest then?”

Her head tilts to the right slightly as she thinks, eyes still on Harry. “I would suggest he choose a few memories to take back with him. The ones he feels to be most pertinent to ensuring his success, and I can make it so that they come to him in dreams or are triggered by something.”

“Then it will be more like an intuition or a glimpse into the future. Your mind will basically come up with a plausible reason for why you seem to just know those things,” Yaba explains.

“Okay,” Harry agrees. He’ll take whatever he can get, before either of these beings changes their mind. “Let’s do it, then.”

“Not so fast.” Yaba opens a drawer in their desk and pulls a paper out. They read over it and then pull out a long item that seems to be some type of writing utensil. It’s carved out of one piece and is all white, including the pointed tip, but when they press it to the paper it writes in blue, the words around it moving to make space. “This has to be the last time, and to make sure Lethe doesn’t get caught up in my trouble if you fail again, we’re doing this the right way and drawing up a contract. This is a big exception, so if you don’t succeed, your acceptance means you’ll have to work some time for the the Library of Memories to make up for essentially wasting Lethe’s time.”

They finish writing then flip the page around so it’s facing Harry. With a tap, it’s all legible, and Harry pulls the chair forward so he can sit and read over it. The basics seems to be what they already discussed, that he’ll be sent back for a final chance to fulfill his destiny and that he understands that should he fail, he will be forced to accept with no additional chances. Furthermore, for using up the time of a Memory Librarian, he agrees to give back the equivalent amount of labor before being allowed to take his place in Heaven with the understanding that it may prevent him from meeting with his loved ones if he does not complete his time prior to the limitation of a being’s memories in Heaven. At the bottom is a place for his to affirm his understanding and sign, and then a second page that is blank except for an area for signatures at the bottom.

“What is the second page for?”

Lethe is the one who answers him. “That is where you shall write the memories you choose to keep. You can pick no more than a dozen, so choose wisely, and I shall review to ensure it can be done. If no changes are needed, we will both sign that we are in agreement with those memories.”

A dozen memories. A dozen memories out of the collective seventeen years he had lived. Twenty-one, if they were counting the years he’d relived. Surely he could come up with moments that if he did differently, would change the course of his life? He had to, he was only getting one more shot at this. So he began writing, beginning with:

The Dursleys will take your Hogwarts letter: hide it...

Story Notes:

Title of the fic comes from the Emily Dickinson poem of the same name.

Chapter title is from the Queen song of the same name.

Maquetaurie Guayaba was the name of a Taino death god. Opiel was the demon guard dog protecting the entrance to the ancestral spirit realm.

Lethe, in Greek mythology, was the personification of oblivion and associated with (sometimes considered the goddess of) the river in Hades of that name that made its drinkers forget the past.

#Because I Could Not Stop for Death fic #BICNSFD #Harry Potter #HP fanfic #Harmony fanfic

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scandalsavagefanfic · 4 years

Note

2/2 Also I have a question does anyone from Jason's harem have feelings for him, or they all just here for pretty boytoy?

I’m answering part 2 of this question first because I have some ideas for part 1.

Short answer is, yes. Most of them actually care about him in one way or another. Not people like Lex of course. Slade doesn’t have feelings for Jason but he likes the kid as much as he likes anyone. But the Justice League love him and they’re very protective. The al Ghuls love him. Ra’s has more romantic interest than Talia but they’d both kill someone for hurting him.

And of course a certain Green Lantern gets sucked in, despite his best efforts.

Which brings me to the long answer. Here’s the first of two chapters about how Jason’s harem actually appreciates him for more than just his sexy skills.

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

Part 4 - Read All Parts on AO3!!!

Words: 2085

Warnings: None

Nothing explicit in this chapter. Just softness.

_____________________________________________

Kyle racks up a startling number of favors owed in a startlingly short amount of time.

If he’s honest with himself–which he generally tries to avoid on principle; if you can’t lie to yourself, what’s the point?–he might be more interested than he likes to let on. But he assures himself over and over that he’s not doing anything that everyone else isn’t doing.

Hell, even Hal is hooking up with Jason.

Though… Kyle doesn’t think Jason is purposefully trying to give Wayne a heart attack, he’s just doing what he needs and wants to do. But Kyle is positive Hal is definitely fucking with Batman as much as he fucking Jason. Kyle would bet his tiny apartment on the fact that at least 25% of the attraction for his predecessor is sticking it to the Bat.

Alright… maybe Jason does get a little joy out of Wayne’s discomfort.

That said, no matter what he tells himself, Kyle is all too aware of the fact that Jason gets something out of every rendezvous.

Except the ones with him.

They both know the favors were just an excuse, even if neither of them would admit it.

It takes months before Jason finally starts calling them in. And when he does it’s in small ways.

Requests for backup are expected when they come.

But then Jason uses one to ask Kyle to pick up take out from Jason’s favorite hole in the wall in Hong Kong “on his way over”.

He uses another just to get to see Oa–the Guardians were not thrilled to have a “tourist”–and Kyle found it was actually enjoyable showing Jason around. He was amused and a pleasantly surprised when Jason hit it off easily with Kilowag. Far less surprised (and far less amusing) when they visited Guy and Arkillo and it was like the three of them had known each other for years.

Of all the little things Jason uses his favors for, Kyle’s favorites are the massages. They almost always lead to more and it hasn’t escaped Kyle’s attention that when they do, Jason doesn’t count it.

Even when it doesn’t lead to a round of increasingly… affectionate sex, he still gets to work pleasantly scented oil into the astounding number of giant knots plaguing the rippling muscle under Jason’s warm, scarred skin.

Both scenarios usually end the same way too. With Jason dozing off and snuggling close as Kyle uses his ring to get the lights.

He’s reasonably certain that none of Jason’s other arrangements get to stay the night.

They’re both intelligent, capable men. They know what this is. What it’s become. What it could morph into.

But Kyle’s too stubborn to voice it and Jason is too, even if he wasn’t cripplingly insecure about shit like this.

Still, it hadn’t really hit him how bad he has it until now. Until he slowly crawled out of bed, careful not to wake the other man, showered, and exits the bathroom to what he can only describe as an ethereal view.

Jason is laying on his front, arms tucked under the pillow, breathing slowly and evenly. His mouth is slightly opened, a small dark spot on the pillowcase where he’s drooled a little. The sunlight pours into the room between the opened slats of the blinds. One band illuminates the mop of wild black curls, making the thinner edges glow golden like a halo. Several more stretch across the width of his broad shoulders, his rib-cage, his tapered waist. The soft cotton sheet has slid low, sitting atop the perfectly rounded rise of Jason’s butt, the sea-green edge perfectly angled with the blade of light. The last one shines warm and orange over his toes, peeking out from under the soft cotton sheet.

Sketching is like breathing to Kyle. He’ll doodle on napkins or receipts, anything with a little space, of anything with a little beauty.

He doesn’t pay much attention to the paper he swipes from Jason’s open file folder. Just enough to note that there was nothing on the back.

That’s how he finds himself drawing Jason while he sleeps. Painstakingly smoothing over the line for the arch of Jason’s spine, the curve of his ass. Lovingly capturing the shape of his lips, the thick, dark fan of his eyelashes.

It’s while he carefully adds every scar from memory that Kyle realizes just how deep he’s gone.

His hand goes still and he glances up to Jason’s face with the surprise of the sudden understanding.

Then he jumps so hard he drags the pencil through the drawing.

Jason is laying there awake, bright eyes watching but otherwise still as he was when Kyle started.

“Jesus,” Kyle hisses, trying to collect himself. “Scared me half to death. How long have you been awake?”

Not very long if the soft, groggy smile Jason gives him is any indication.

“Just a couple of minutes,” Jason answers, voice husky from sleep (and the way Kyle made him scream last night).

Kyle cringes internally. A couple of minutes is a long freaking time to not notice.

“You had your focused face on,” Jason continues, shifting a little to stretch like a cat. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“My what now?”

Jason turns onto his side, clearly in no rush to get out of bed, and smirks at him.

“When you’re really into what you’re doing, your brow pinches and you either chew your lip or, honest to god, stick your tongue out. It’s cute.”

Kyle scowls. “Puppies are cute. I’m a badass, space cop.”

With a snort, Jason sits up against the headboard and runs his fingers through his hair. “Whatever you say, officer.”

And fuck if that doesn’t give Kyle all kinds of ideas.

“What were you doing?” Jason asks, attention trained down at the book Kyle was using as a hard surface.

“Uh… nothing.” He tries to think of how he can hide it from the other man. Even to an untrained eye, the emotion in it is obvious. And Jason knows a surprising amount about art. Kyle would much rather never become more than this than risk losing what they have.

Jason’s smirk turns mischievous and there’s an amused glint in his eyes. “Drawing me like one of your French girls?"

The little huff of laughter Kyle manages does nothing to hide the rapid shot of color to his cheeks. His "no” is weak and unconvincing.

“Well, come on, Rayner. Let me see?”

Kyle’s breath freezes in his chest and he hesitates, clutching the sheet of cheep printer paper closer to him.

“Dude, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Jason taunts.

It’s not bad at all. That’s the problem.

It might be the best thing Kyle’s ever drawn.

He swallows hard and braces himself. Then gets up and sits on the edge of the bed as he hands it over.

Watching the smile slip from Jason’s face feels like getting punched in the gut.

It’s over now. Kyle got too serious. The Pit left Jason with something he can’t fully control and he doesn’t want or need a partner. It doesn’t matter that Kyle would understand that Jason would still have to… do what he does. It doesn’t matter because the last thing Jason needs is some useless serious relationship cramping his style.

“Is… is this supposed to be me?"

The question surprises Kyle. Because it’s painfully obvious that the portrait is of Jason, down to the almost unnoticeable freckles across his nose and cheekbones. And the question is asked so timidly as Jason stares down at the sheet with wide eyes. Not an ounce of recognition.

"I couldn’t have made it more obviously you if it was a photo,” Kyle says lightly, hoping head off the worst of things.

But Jason stares for long moments, expression confused, until finally he pulls his eyes away to look up at Kyle.

“But I… I don’t look like this.”

Kyle blinks at him. “What? I mean… you don’t have a big, dark pencil line through you but–”

“No… I mean… this is… this is so…” He huffs. “It’s too… pretty. Didn’t really think you were the type to romanticize the subject. Sure you didn’t have Dickface on the mind?”

It’s defensive. Using humor to armor himself. Kyle can practically see the walls going up in Jason’s mind as he tries to rationalize things. As he tries to make what he’s seeing on the paper–what Kyle sees–fit with his own idea of himself.

Leaning in, Kyle takes Jason’s chin in one hand and pushes the book with the sheet of paper down to Jason’s lap while forcing Jason to look up at him.

“This is you, Jason. Every scar, every freckle, every bruise from last night. Just you. No one else.”

“But…”

“No. It’s beautiful because you’re beautiful,” Kyle says gently. Then he smirks. “And because I’m really talented. But I promise. That’s exactly what you look like.”

“To you maybe,” he grumbles, trying to turn away.

Kyle tightens his grip and gives a little tug to get Jason meet his eyes again.

“Yes. To me."

Jason’s eyes widen and he stops breathing.

"I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, Jason, but you’re objectively attractive,” Kyle continues. He looks into those vivid aquamarine irises and where once he would have bristled, felt the urge to challenge and compete, he softens. “And to me… you’re perfect.”

The room is deathly quiet. It seems like neither of them are even breathing.

Eventually Jason gulps and looks back down at the drawing.

Kyle glares at the headboard, kicking himself for letting things get this far; for having to come clean about his feelings; for putting Jason (and himself) in this awkward position. For letting their friends-with-benefits agreement slide into murkier waters. A lifetime ago, when he did have a stupid, ill-advised, youthful crush on Batman, he promised himself he’d never actually fall for any Bat. They were all bad news in one way or another.

So of course it’d be the asshole black sheep of the family, the biggest bad news of the bunch (except for maybe the punk kid who’s Robin now), who he’s going to have to get over.

An indignant noise from below him draws his attention back to Jason.

Jason who is glaring up at him.

Kyle shrugs and splays his palms open in surrender. “What?”

The drawing gets shoved in his face. Only it’s not the drawing. Its the other side. The side emblazoned with the Coast City Police Department logo.

“You drew on my police report, asshole!”

He searches Jason’s face. The younger man isn’t kicking him out; isn’t telling him off. Hell, Jason isn’t even asking that they just keep things casual. Kyle knows he can be clueless about this kind of stuff (Jason honestly believes Ra’s is only interest in him is the sex) but there was obvious understanding in that gemstone gaze when Kyle spilled his heart.

“Those aren’t supposed to leave the precinct. You shouldn’t even have it,” Kyle retorts.

Jason rolls his eyes so hard Kyle’s surprised they stay in his head. “No shit dumbass, that’s why I have to sneak it back in!”

Trying–and failing–to stop the smile tugging at his lips, Kyle says “Oh… whoops” and goes to shift back, put a little more space between them. But Jason’s hand snaps out and the next thing he knows he’s flat on his back with Jason towering over him, those fucking thighs straddling his hips

“Don’t worry,” Jason practically purrs, “you can make it up to me.”

“Oh no. What a great inconvenience,” Kyle smirks as Jason leans close.

The kiss is softer than usual. Less desperate; less demanding; less competitive.

“And then?” He whispers it against Jason’s lips when they part to get some air. He can’t help it. He has to know.

Jason hums and mouths at the pulse point in Kyle’s throat.

“And then I’ll be hungry so you can take me to breakfast.”

He swallows hard against that talented tongue and the pointed roll of Jason’s hips against his groin.

“A favor?” he asks, hardly daring to hope.

Jason kisses his mouth again before answering, cheeks bright red and eyes averted. “A date… if you want.”

Kyle threads his fingers into the curls that stick up every which way and when he pulls Jason into the next kiss, it’s got all the desperation of the ones before and then some.

“I want.”

#Jason Todd #Kyle Rayner #JayKyle #jason/justice league #I have to find a better tag for this stuff #fluffy #Anonymous

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singeramg · 4 years

Text

Finding Forever: Chapter 4

Pairing: Henry Cavill/ OFC

Rating: E OR M however you want to say it

Warnings (: Dom! Henry, Sub OFC, Smut, Some Angst, Oral, female receiving, Unprotected sex, (Don’t be silly, wrap your willies people)

A/n: Sooooo it wasn’t that slow of a burn. I think four chapters is good enough to start the smut lol

Catch up: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

In honor of Henry being a cheeky boy this morning, here is this gif and the story...

The ride back to the hotel was quiet as I regretted my hasty words. I knew I had effectively ensured Henry would dislike me if not right out hate me. Not to mention Mia would always feel some type of way about me if she and Henry decided to give it a go. I knew she wouldn’t outright cut me out for him because we had been through too much together for that to happen, but that didn’t mean I wanted my friend to look at me differently because of this. All because of my stupid inability to keep my mouth shut and my emotions down.

I trudged up to my hotel room, flinging my shoes off and adding the chain to my room door. I headed to my bathroom, shuddering at the reflection in the mirror. Her ponytail was loose, her eyes red, eye shadow smudged and looking downright tired. In short I looked a mess.

I turned on my shower, grateful for the warmth of it falling on my skin. I stayed in far too long contemplating on how I would face the two of them tomorrow. I could fain a hangover but that wouldn’t save me from Mia and honestly she would figure it out that I was faking it. Frustrated, I cut off the shower and got out, pulling on a pair of grey spandex type shorts that had outgrown being appropriate to be worn in public and comfortable enough to sleep in, along with a thin black cami that had the words “killin’ it” written on the front in white. Pulling a black almost floor length on, I had made the decision to deal with everything head-on tomorrow. As much as it would kill me, I was going to have to apologize to Henry. I told or at the very best implied something that he asked me about in confidence. I knew how that felt, as I had former friends other than Mia that I thought I could trust and they turned to use those secrets against me. I was a shitty person to do that to him. I cut on the TV in my bedroom for more background noise than anything and went out to the front of my suite to grab a bottle of water.

I hadn’t bothered to cut on any lights as this was a quick trip over to the desk where I had been leaving my bottled drinks.

“You know this hotel should really invest in better chains for their doors. I was able to slide that out of its place with a comb.”

Is familiar accented voice said and I yelped, jumping a foot in the air, before trying to find a weapon in the darkness. The lamp near a red and gold accent chair cut on to reveal Henry sitting there looking as calm as ever, however I was the one freaking out.

“Holy shit Henry, you almost gave me a damn heart attack! What in the fuck? How did you get in here?”

He gave a small smirk, holding up a rattail comb with the metal end.

“I told you with a comb. More specifically Mia brought me this comb and her copy of your room key, when I called to tell her I couldn’t reach you.”

My eyes narrowed at the mention of Mia and while I winced on the inside, the outside showed no change. I crossed my arms across my chest, jutting a hip out.

“You do realize there is thing called knocking. How it works is you tap from the outside, I hear it on the inside and decide if I want to let you in.”

He chuckled.

“I knocked. You didn’t answer so I got to thinking maybe I could wait for you to come back to your room. I realized you were in the shower so I waited. I thought I was going to have to rescue you considering how long you were in there.”

“It’s my room I can stay in the shower as long as I want. Now what I want is for you to leave.”

I pointed a thumb toward the door. His response was to lean forward, elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together in front of him. I noticed the worry lines across his forehead.

“You make everything so hard.”

“The only thing hard about this is you still sitting here.”

He stood abruptly crossing the room quickly with his long legs. He was in front of me before I could retreat away.

“No. What is hard is that you are so fucking hard headed. I came to talk to you, sort this whole thing out like rational adults.”

“Look Henry. I apologize for outing you to Mia like I did. I know that was messed up...”

“Stop. Where did you get this idea that I was interested in Mia?”

I stepped backwards again trying to put more distance from being able to smell his cologne. He wouldn’t allow it as he stepped forward again.

“What are you talking about? Henry you literally asked me if she was single.”

He began to laugh, affronted, I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.

“What is so funny?”

“Aura darling, there has been a major misunderstanding. I am not interested in Mia, not now, not ever.”

I somehow let a breath of relief that I didn’t know I was holding. Embarrassed, I didn't want to deal with this right now.

“Whaa... But... I can’t do this with you tonight. Get out.”

I shook my head and moving backwards. Henry looked at me, incredulous then his eyes narrowed slightly and seemingly got darker.

“No I don’t think I will.”

“It wasn’t a request Henry...”

“Not a request... Do you want to know the true reason I asked that question about Mia?”

He moved closer and this time I didn’t move. Something about his gaze kept me pinned in place. I didn’t say anything either which also wasn’t like me when I was pissed, as evidenced by my little club outburst earlier. I nodded my head, noticing that my throat was now dry.

Close enough to me now, Henry reaches up brushing some of the wayward hair away from my face pushing it back behind my ear. The action screamed gentle and soft, but his eyes said otherwise.

“I prefer if you use your words when you address me.” He prompted. Intimated by the tone he spoke in coupled with his actions I looked at him and spoke.

“Yes go ahead and tell me.” Fake bravado won out in the end.

“I asked about Mia because Jay, who is one of cameramen for the movie really wants to get to know her. While Mia is certainly pretty, she is not who I am interested in.”

“So you are interested in someone just not here. Oh my bad, hopefully I didn’t mess anything with whoever you actually like.”

I couldn’t tamper down on the attitude, trying to keep a wall up between us to help save face. I began to walk away, but Henry only let me get but so far, then he ended up catching me by the waist. His grip was sure, but not painful.

“I am interested in someone who is currently acting like a brat because she can’t take a hint. I tried the subtle thing with you Aura because I didn’t want to scare you off. You however are stubborn.”

His right hand came up to my face, grasping my chin to make me stare him directly in the eyes. My hazel crossing with his blue and I couldn’t look away.

“Let me be clear, the only one I have an interest in is you.”

White noise rang out in my ears as I felt my breath hitch in my throat again. As the tension in the room was about to boil over.

“Me?”

“Yes you Aura.”

Slowly I moved in and he moved in until our lips met, the kiss ignited a fire in me as I pressed myself flush against him and both of his hands drifted down the side of my body landing on my hips and making sure I could feel how he had hardened against my stomach. I slid my hands up his torso, linking around his neck. I was breathless by the time he pulled back, a smug look on his face, lips redder than normal from our kissing.

“I have been wanting to do that since I met you. It was not a disappointment.”

“Is that all you have been wanting to do since you met me?”

I questioned with a mischievous grin. I’m response he raised an eyebrow.

“Oh no actually I have been thinking about just how good you are going to look after you’ve cum 5 times...”

That was it. I felt a rush of wetness leave my body as I tried to clench my thighs together. Henry noticed and his gaze was intense as he didn’t break eye contact, which could be unnerving but it wasn’t as much as it should have been for me. I untied the black robe in the front and let it fall to the floor, well aware of my lack of bra and tight shorts that clung to me.

“You talk a good game, but can you back it up Cavill?”

I turned and walked toward the bedroom. I didn’t even check to make sure he was following because I knew he would be. I walked in turning the dimmer on in the room so it was a soft glow, but not pitch black like hotel rooms could be. I guess my stop to mess with the dimmer was all the time Henry needed to catch up to me because he was in the door quicker than I had only taken 4 steps, grabbing my hips again, stopping my forward motion.

“It’s sir to you Aura and where do you think you are you going?” He questions.

“Umm to the bed?”

“Did I tell you to get in the bed yet?” He questioned his hands grazing under the edge of my shirt, drawing small circles with his fingers. His breath warm against my right ear.

“No but I’d imagine if we are going to do this, we need to be in the bed.” I snarked to him. All that earned me was a sharp slap on my ass. I yelped in surprise as I heard Henry give a chuckle.

“Ouch. That hurt.”

“ You’ve earned a lot more than that one, but if you’re a good girl for me. I’ll suspend your punishment.”

I bit my bottom lip in anticipation.

“What if want to be bad?”

He laughed again.

“Trust me baby girl. You will want to be a good girl for me.”

With those words, I turned around to face him again, and instead of standing there so I could kiss him as planned he walked over to the bed. Sitting on the edge of it, he looked at me and beckoned me closer. I smirked.

“You just want to be in control so bad don’t you.”

“And you want to give it up so bad. I sensed it in you from the moment we met. So why don’t you let me Aura?” I find myself nodding.

“Give me a safe word.”

“Raggamuffin?”

I say with a smirk. He returns it back then agrees.

Henry reaches up, gasping my neck lightly again, then down into a kiss. His hands slid down until the reach the hem of my shirt, then breaking the kiss, pulling it over my head. Bare from the waist up, Henry makes my face feel warm, as my body is under his direct gaze. He strips my shorts and panties off in one smooth pull. He breathes in deeply, as I try to anticipate what he will do next, my legs still trembling slightly as his hands run from the back of my knees to my ass.

“You smell absolutely delicious.”

I began unbuttoning his shirt, wanting nothing more than to see it on the floor. He helped me get it off then began kissing my stomach, his lips drifting lower and lower around my bikini lines, but never where I wanted his lips to go.

“Your legs are shaking darling. I think you should sit on the best seat in the house.”

He slaps my ass again, but this time not as hard. I moved backward, as Henry moves backward resting his head on the pillow, then beckoning me up there to him. I did as he asked, crawling up his body, feeling his jeans brush against my bare skin, then the thick, dark chest hair.The sensation dynamic played a role in the power imbalance, and I was loving it. I was headed for the button on his jeans, when he spoke.

“The seat I want you on is up here.”

I had to be dripping by now, he kisses me one more time and I pulled myself to hover above his full lips. His hands glide up my thighs, then he kisses both of them stupidly close to my sex but doesn’t touch it. I could feel his breath against me and it frustrated me further, but his strength kept me held up.

“Please Henry”

I whispered. He squeezes my thighs just enough to sting and make me whimper.

“ What did I tell you to call me?”

My fuzzy mind struggled to come up with the answer but I soon found it.

“Sir please. Please touch me.”

Finally his tongue sticks out and touches me. I lower slightly and he actually allowed me to move. I gripped the grey hotel headboard as best as I could. He started drawing what seemed to be random patterns. I wanted to grind down against his face and take my pleasure but he was having none of that. He stopped for a second.

“Let’s play a game. Let’s see if you can guess the letters I am spelling out. You get them right, I’ll keep going. Get them wrong and I’ll stop.”

I whimpered not wanting him to stop. He chuckled, the vibrations traveling directly into my core. Then he went back but this time it took every ounce of my collective concentration to even guess at the first letter.

“Umm...shit.... it’s a H.”

He didn’t respond but kept moving. When he swirled his tongue around my clit in an unrecognizable letter my mind went blank until he suddenly stopped.

“What is the letter baby?”

“I..I don’t know.”

“ You ready for the game to be over already?” He asked me with a chuckle, which sent the vibration directly into my center. I bit my lips and then whispering quickly,

“No please don’t stop.”

He does the pattern again.

“W!”

“Good girl”

He moves on me getting the remaining letters of D, and C. His initials. He thought I wouldn’t notice but I did... somehow. He moved on with me guessing the spelling for Daddy and Sir correctly.

He finally took mercy and sucked the bud he had been torturing for the better part of 20 minutes. Crying and convulsing I came, head tossed backward.

Sensitive, I tried to pull away, but actually wrapped his hands around the outside of my thighs, pulling me fully seated, forcing me to accept his tongue inside of my body until sensitivity became pleasure again.

“Fuck Fuck Fuck!”

He let go of one thigh to move his hand up where he rubbed my clit again combined with licking and sucking until I came again.

Coming down from the high, I gasped for my breath, finally being allowed to move off of his face, I dropped to the bed next to him, feeling my eyes begin to drop closed after a few moments but Henry was not with that. He climbs over me, pulling me into a kiss, waiting until I was engaged again before pulling off to get out of the bed. Just as I was about to ask him where he was going but he only took two steps back, sliding his jeans down, finally revealing himself to me. The pictures online of him in tailored trousers had done him no justice and that was saying something.

“See something you like?”

“I’m waiting to find out if I like it or not.”

I couldn’t turn the snark off if I wanted to. I think I was testing him on purpose. At the look he shot me I knew he was going to make me regret that.

“Keep testing my patience and you won’t. Turn over.”

I tried to comply but the second Henry thought I was too slow he moved me quicker, positioning me on my hands and knees.

“Do you remember what I told you at the beginning of this?” He asked caressing the soft flesh of my ass.

“Umm...”

“About you being a good girl.”

“You would suspend my punishment.” His fingers grazed the strip between my legs, lustful again already.

“Now do you think you’ve been good?”

I shook my head, my bold nature leaving just as quickly as it had come. Then I felt his large hand come down on my ass again. I yelped.

“Henry!” He did it again.

“You keep adding to your punishment and we haven’t even started it yet.”

“What was that for?”

“You keep breaking my rules.”

“What rules?”

I was confused slightly, he rubbed my ass.

“You should be using your voice to answer my questions AND you address me as Sir.”

“What if I don’t want to call you sir?”

“You don’t have a choice. Either you do it or you safeword out and not to be a shitty person love but if you can’t handle calling me sir, you certainly can’t handle what else I have in mind. You may want to tap out now.”

I turned around, looking over my shoulder.

“You think I’m a quitter...sir.”

I raised my eyebrow as I looked at Henry whose arms were crossed over his chest. He looked at me for a moment, resolved he motioned with his finger for me to face the opposite wall again.

“Alright little miss “I’m not a quitter”, just don’t forget your safeword. Now I’ll be nice tonight, you get 10 total. 5 for not coming to talk to me when you have a problem and 5 for being a brat. Count them. You mess up, I start over.”

And with that he hand came down across one cheek, the force matched the others he had given me.

“One.”

*SLAP*

“Two”

*SMACK*

He moved to an opposite cheek for three and also increased the force a little, but this time he rubbed the spot, kneading the flesh of my cheeks.

“Four, Five”

They were in quick succession and harder. I thought this would be a turn off but he was proving me wrong.

“Six!”

I yelped, the sting leading to wetness gathering between my legs even more.

“Seven!”

Henry noticed when my arousal starts to run on my legs, and I thought I heard him groan before sliding his fingers through it. I can feel myself struggling to stay in the position he put me in.

“Eight!” I cry, the pain having gave way to pleasure somewhere around smack 6.

“N...nine.”

*Smack*

“Ten!!!”

I say as he gives me the hardest spank of the night followed by an immediate plunging of a finger into my core.

“You are so wet baby. I think you might have enjoyed your punishment too much.”

His fingers moved in and out of me for a moment, but pulling away, leaving me whimpering. Henry immediately moves me onto my back, and yanks me to the edge of the bed, pulling my legs apart like a pair of pliers, they fan to either side of his hips.

“You took your punishment so well. I think it time for a reward.”

He rubs his hardened cock in my folds collecting some of the wetness that gathered there, then slid into me. Henry was surprisingly gentle in this, taking his time, letting me adjust. His own eyes closed. From the angle we were in with him still standing I couldn’t reach him to touch him.

“Damn Aura. You are tight been waiting for me all this time have you.”

“Mmm...yes” I moan out, distracted the pulsating of his cock inside of me. He was thick and long, I could feel myself flutter around him. He held still for a moment and I got impatient, moving myself against him slightly as a signal to move.Henry seemed to have gotten the hint, because he began to rock, moving himself in and out slowly. Torturing me with his deliberate strokes. I tightened my legs around his hips, trying to move into him. He took this as a challenge or at the very least motivation, tilting his chest down to mine, changing his angle just enough that he deepened, hitting a new spot that had not been reached before.

Henry leans down, strong arms on either side of my face pressing his lips to my body, peppering small kisses across my chest and neck, my nails to his back.

“Fuck, harder.”

“Oh darling where are your manners?”

He said teasingly,slowing down, drawing back until he was almost all the way out, leaving only the tip in then froze. I wiggled my hips, but Henry just moved one of his hands to my hips, stopping the movement. Frustrated, I groaned, looking down at where we were connected, but no movement.

“Please sir, please fuck me harder.”

Not much warning before he slammed back in, taking my breath away when he did. A polar opposite to how this began, his strokes deep enough that I could feel them in my stomach. Me making whimpering sounds, my breasts moving with the force of him, and honestly it had moved me up the bed some from where I had been on the edge. I truly couldn’t tell if I was running from him or not, but it all for damn anyway because It seemed the word sir activated the primal part of him, as he leaned back, sliding out, and having made just enough room for his knees to be on the bed, grabbed the back of my knees, folded me up like a pretzel and went back inside.

I knew I had to be yelling, but I couldn’t tell you what I was saying, it was all hazy jibberish to me, all I could really feel was the pleasure rising inside of me, my walls clenching around him, building. He was giving me those deep strokes, you know the ones that made your eyes roll into the back of your head, your stomach tighten, and you feel the full weight of your partner body pressed against yours, his pelvic bone rubbing against your clit sinfully. I was damn close and I could feel it, Henry had been making noises of his own, manly grunts and hisses that added to my pleasure, knowing he was being satisfied by my body.

At the feeling of my clenching, Henry, already close to my ear says

“You hold it, you don’t get to cum until I tell you to.”

As one of his hands moves up the side of my body, until it latches onto my neck, tightening, adding just enough pressure that my orgasm doesn’t come, but instead keeps building and building as his hand tightens some more to the point of black spots invading my vision. I could tell he was close and I was about to cum regardless of any commands.

“Cum for me baby. Cum all over my hard cock.”

He said, his words snapping and invisible tether inside of me that caused a shout and a physical body shaking as I came all over us my wetness covering his thighs. My orgasm lasting longer than it ever had, especially as Henry let’s go of my neck and his thrusts become faltered, his hips stutter and freeze as I feel him coat my insides with his seed.

“Aura!”

Both of us breathe heavy as he stays inside of me for a moment, the with a groan, he slowly rolls out of me. Then after a beat of silence he gets up from the bed, my body too exhausted to move much. Henry comes back in a few moments with a small washcloth and bottles of water. To which he hands me the water but not the towel, instead using it to wipe my center clean of his essence, tossing it aside and then demolished his water bottle.

“Thank You for taking care of me...sir.”

I said attempting not to stumble of calling him sir when he wasn’t blowing my back out. Then somehow I found the energy to move, moving from my position from laying sideways to lay the correct direction on the bed and get under the covers, sliding over once under to make room for Henry. He follows suit, getting into bed next to me, and in a surprising move pulls me into his arms.

I hadn’t pegged him for an after-sex cuddl-er especially after the type of sex we just had where he seemed to be all hard edges and tough words. I half expected him to redress and leave, so when he didn’t I kept my surprise quiet and relaxed at his side, tossing a leg over his and my arm over his abs, head on chest, with his arm drawing random swirl patterns on my skin. Yawning, as my adrenaline came down, I snuggled into his warmth, content to lay with him for however long he would lay here. We didn’t talk, we didn’t need to, my breathing begins to even out as I fall asleep

“You know Aura, I could take care of you forever if you let me...”

Henry says trailing off, I was too close to sleep to respond, letting his words send me into the land of satisfied and content sleep....

A/N:

Alright y'all tell me what you think! I had loads of fun writing this, maybe i’ll do some Headcannons....

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x black ofc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill smut #black!ofc

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inside-of-a-fangirls-mind · 4 years

Text

The White Wolf’s Dance; Chapter 2

Request; Still none but I needed a little action and angst. Hope you guys enjoy.

Words;2,753

Warnings; Minor Character deaths, Family deaths, Blood and Gore. Trying to save a life. Reader passed out from wounds after a fight.

Pairing; Defintley more Geralt x Reader ish. IF you squint.

Note; So I dunno where I really went with this chapter. Just wanted to give some background info on reader mainly. And show how freaking powerful she is and how much Geralt lowkey cares about her already. Maybe one day Geralt will train her to become even better? Idk.

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{I don’t own any gifs or witcher content!}

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@yuminyg @andyl394

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*Chapter 2; The Girl Behind the Mask*

Geralt and Jaskier stood away a bit from you, Jaskier just staring at you the whole time. “She’s a bit peculiar isn’t she?” Jaskier whispered to Geralt as he watched the girl. “Maybe I can get her in a talking mood. It seems she knows loads about us and we know nothing of her.” Before Geralt can say a word Jaskier walks over and pulls a log up to sit by the fire as well.

“Y/N,” He hums softly setting his lute down beside him “That’s your name right?” Jaskier offers a smile to you but you don’t open your eyes. Just giving him a slight nod which he would have missed if he wasn’t staring at you.

“Why’d you try to go after the harpy yourself? Surely you could have just put out a contract on it like anyone else?” He watches you before his attention goes to the fire. You peek an eye open to look at him before a soft smile tugs at your lips.

“I’ve killed many a monster before. Didn’t think one with wings would be too different. That’s where I was wrong. Unlike your friend,” You glance over to where Geralt is pulling up a log to sit at the fire as well. “I haven’t had years of training or been enhanced in any way. I just try my best and out of sear will I make it.” You look across the fire and catch his amber eyes looking back at you for a second before you sigh loudly. “Well, I’m sure you have more questions. Let me hear them. I’ll answer all I see fit.”

“Why’d you start killing monsters?” Geralt’s rough voice shocked you for a second, you didn’t expect a word out of him. His tone didn’t seem truly interested in the answer just trying to make conversation.

“Well the basic sob story, my village was attacked, my people killed. My father went off to fight and never returned. I was the oldest so someone had to take care of the family. Mom couldn’t do it all alone. Soon I was hunting, small animals. But one day something attacked my little sister. Tore her leg clear off, I picked up my first sword that day and I did what I had to, to save my sister. Just luck has it be, life wasn’t easy. Ma got sick, sister healed but couldn’t walk. My brother and I had to provide. I took to towns betting mostly, I’m pretty good at Gwent if I say so. Come across a bit of oren. My brother was the monster hunter. They attacked our village often because of the smell of death each grave gave off. Once ma died I decided I would protect everything I knew too.” You shrug and glance up at the small patch of sky through the tree line.

“And your sister? Where is she now?” Jaskier asked leaning in for the story. He was very interested in the new travel companion, Geralt was never this talkative.

“Dead.” You speak softly, before throwing more sticks on the fire. “Brother was all I had left after she passed last winter. Part of me hoping he’s still alive somehow. Though I know he isn’t.” You stretch over your head before letting out a yawn. You had all but blocked out emotions from your family matters. It had been a while and you were better off on your own anyway. No one to care about or miss.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier whispered before putting a hand on your shoulder. You stare at it for a moment before shrugging it off. He didn’t take it the wrong way, moving his hand back to his lap.

“It’s fine. All the more reason to kill the creatures.” You hum, you had been numb for a while to all this. Not like they would understand anyway. Not like they knew what you really were. Most of the story had been true, though the monsters at first. They weren’t beasts like the one you hunt now. They were humans, mostly men. See what your hired monster killers didn’t know is that you were an elf. You hid it will. Passing off as a sorceress explained your magick and a simple concealing spell hid your ears. Soon you could go back to your home and live out the rest of your days avoiding humans. Just had to stop that harpy first.

“Where’d you learn magick?” Jaskier asked then followed up with “And why’d you use it on me in the first place?“ He wasn’t used to having magic used on him. Geralt knew some but never once used it on him. Yennefer had to heal him but that was a whole didn’t story.

You chuckled at first before looking over at him. “The brotherhood,” You lied easily before smirking. “You weren’t my first choice. I was looking for The Witcher. Though he was suspicious of me, weren’t you?” Your eyes turn to Geralt as you offer a charming smile.

“No normal lady buys free drinks for strangers, especially without speaking first.” His rough voice was almost like music to your ears however you didn’t let it phase you. Sure he was big and handsome. But Witchers have no feelings, they only care about money.

“Well If you hadn’t left the party so soon I would have gladly explained my job to both of you. But Jaskier had other intentions didn’t you?” You smirk looking over the bard before winking.

“Hey! You came on to me! She came on to me Geralt!” Jaskier tries to explain looking to his friend. Although he did play a part in everything. She had made the first move.

“Hmm,” Geralt grunts with an eye roll.

You chuckle softly before smirking. “Relax. I just wanted to make sure you got some needed sleep before this journey. Though looking back. You’re not much of a monster hunter are you?”

“Uh..no.” Jaskier looked away before faking a yawn. “I’m going to bed have fun you two.” And with that, he was heading a bit away from the fire to sleep.

Not much was said for a while. Just glances at each other before he spoke. “Just don’t get killed. I want to get paid.” The Witcher grumbled.

“That’s the plan. You don’t get killed either. Don’t wanna be known as the one who got a Witcher killed.” You glance at him through the flame as it flickered quickly before you looked away. Okay, maybe the Witcher was pretty hot but still. You needed to get a grip. Not like the two of you would ride off into the sunset on his horse. Your dream of finding someone died with most of your people.

“Don’t worry.” He stood up before looking down at you and at this moment you felt incredibly small. “Get some rest. I’ll take the first watch. I know that’s on your mind.”

You don’t say a word as you stand up and look at him in a different light. Before nodding and then glancing at where Jaskier was laying down. “But I’m not sleeping with him.” You smirk before heading to a nearby tree and leaning against it. Suddenly your eyes feel heavy and you’re quickly drifting off into sleep.

Geralt keeps watching overnight. Though he is mostly watching you. The way your flowing H/C locks frame your face. The soft steady beat of your heart. And your willingness to run off and try and slay this monster yourself. For a human you had guts and he couldn’t wait to see you with a sword.

He already thought he was going soft because of Jaskier. Now another human he could grow to care about? What was all this becoming? He did his best not to think of it as he watched the fire dance in the night. A few hours later you woke up and noticed Geralt was gone. You feared he had runoff. You quickly checked your pockets but nothing had been stolen and as you focused your gaze pass the fire you saw Jaskier still laying on the ground sound asleep.

Suddenly a hand on your shoulder made you jump. Quickly another flew to your mouth before your eyes met familiar Amber ones. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” But the smirk on his face said otherwise.

You pulled his hand from your mouth and rolled your eyes. “a simple hello wouldn’t have done that.” You lean back against the tree noticing the softness of the black night sky. “Sun’s rising soon. We best be on the way. Not much further.” You stood up and brushed yourself off.

“Jaskier will wait here with Roach. We will continue on our own.” He spoke before going to wake his friend and tell him.

As soon as you two were getting ready to leave you walked over to Jaskier and placed a hand on his forehead. “Beri- na- os- cin.” You whisper as a soft blue light admits from your hand.

“Geralt…?” Jaskier whispers looking to his friend who didn’t seem alarmed.

“Relax. It’s a spell to hide you and protect you from everything else in this forest. Do not worry though. I’d bet my life on that spell. And have many times.” You pat his cheek roughly before strapping your sword to your hip and bow to your back.

“Stay here Jaskier. And don’t make too much noise. We will be back come nightfall.” Geralt’s rough time warned him before starting up the rocky trail to the mountain top.

You followed behind not saying a word. Just fiddling with the handle on your sword.

“Hope you got silver.” His voice was softer and surprised you.

“Yeah. Forged from my mas old jewelry. Made her myself.” You pat your sword on your hip smiling slightly. You were quite proud of that. But soon nothing stood between you and the top of the mountain but an area of trees.

“Hell, we go. Right past these trees. She’ll be there hopefully asleep.” You whisper as you draw your bow ready for anything. Geralt draws his sword and you both creep out of the trees and up the small trail to the nest. Only when on top do you both realize the mistake you made.

Not only was there the harpy sound asleep but two more. Three in total and they were twice the size of you both. This was going to be a lot harder than you thought. Geralt glances to you before motioning you to creep to one side as he did to the other. Taking out two while they slept making the third easy.

Though what you didn’t expect was a soft wheezing sound from the far side of the Harpy’s nest. And a weak “help.” You crept along to see who or what was making noise and upon laying eyes on your brother he screamed for your help. The Harpy’s shot up just as Gerald was slashing at one of them.

You notched your arrow and fired but the harpy moved out-of-the-way just in time. Soon the two of you were standing in their nest back to back as they circled you. “well this wasn’t planned.” Geralt spoke to you and you nodded. You had to stay focused.

Geralt was soon caught in a slashing fight with a harpy before you could respond. You notched arrow after arrow firing at the two that still flew around you two. That was until your brother cried out as one of the Harpy’s was trying to pick him up in her claws.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM YOU BITCH,” Yout shouted sword now drawn as you ran towards it. Swinging your blade at it with pose and slicing off one of its wings. It recoiled in pain and shrieked at you.

While being distracted the other swooped in and gashed your arm and thigh with its huge claws. You cried out in pain and dropped your sword. Geralt had managed to kick back the harpy before running over to you. “Get out of here kid. I got this.” He growled before knocking the already wounded Harpy’s head off.

“No!” You shouted picking up your sword in your other hand and standing with your back to your bother. “COME AT ME, YOU SORRY BITCHES.” You cried out sword pointed to the sky. Another harpy swooped and you swung at it missing. Tears covered your cheeks as your brother screamed for you to leave him.

Geralt managed to fight one-off giving it a gash on its foot before backing up towards you. “Kid leave now. I don’t get paid if you die, remember?” He yelled at you his amber eyes were something furious now.

You shook your head no and swung your sword again but the Harpy’s claws hit your shoulder with another gash. You cried out in pain and dropped to your knees.

Geralt turned towards you and got surprise-attacked by the one he had wounded. Pinned to the ground as the harpy tried to sink her claws into him. The other heading for your brother again. This was it. Your last few seconds and you had to make it count.

You dropped your sword, “GET OUT OF HERE KID.” Geralt yelled as he tried to hold off the harpy.

You got to your feet and slowly lifted your damaged arm and other. Both palms to the sky as you screamed out “Rost naur!!” And fire shot out of your palms as you screamed. Your hair coming undone and falling against your shoulders. Your eyes shut as you merged the flames into a dome and let them burn the harpy above you to dust. Then with one quick move, you shot your hand out at the one on top of Geralt and screamed “Torth- -o cín faer!!” And ripped the harpy in two.

Blood crashing down and drenching Geralt. He got up and watched as you were about to drop. And was there to catch you as your legs gave out. “Easy now.” He whispered.

You rested against his chest for a moment before a surge of power ran through you and left to the sky in blazing orange light. Your appearance slightly changing. Your eyes turning a soft orange your ears returning to their familiar pointed ones and your body covered in glowing light blue tattoos. You take one look at your hands before up at him.

“I have a job to finish.” You whisper and push out of his arms before he can say a word. You fall to your hands and knees crawling to your brother. Only then does he notice you and your brother’s features.

You’re face stained with tears and blood you take his hand and smile. “I never thought I’d see you again.” You whisper holding it close. Your brother smiles slightly, “Y/N, my Luna. I need you to follow through with our promise.” His voice was rough as he coughed up blood. At this point, you could see one of his arms was missing. His legs ripped opened and a hole in his midsection. Tears streamed down your face as you nodded.

“I love you, Rydel. Say hi to ma, pa, and Nuala for me.” You smile before caressing his face once more than going to your hip and pulling out your dagger and slicing his throat. Your hands going to the blood and drawing a symbol on his forehead before chanting “N- with mín kin in mán a faer.” Then setting your hands on his chest as a shooting solid blue light goes through his body. You fall backward everything going dark as his body burns in soft blue flames, the ashes dancing to the sky.

Geralt quickly grabs you in his arms looking over your wounds before carrying you down the mountain back to Jaskier without a word. Once Jaskier sees the two of you he freaks out. He runs over following the two of you like a lost puppy.

“Y/N!! She’s an elf!?” He nearly shouts as Geralt lays her almost lifeless body on the ground. Jaskier instantly puts a hand to your cheek, he was just starting to get used to you around.

“Doesn’t matter. Get my bag.” He spoke softly as he moved your hair and ripped your shirt off your shoulder, stitching you up the best he could at the moment. At least you wouldn’t bleed to death. But it was going to be a long trip back.

Chapter 3

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years

Text

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E7; Chapter Seven, The Lost Sister - [Pt. 4]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

In their search for answers, psychic visions draw Eleven and Y/n to a band of violent outcasts and an angry girl with a shadowy past.

A/n: lots of flashbacks my dudes, sorry. Kinda messy since it happens at the same time as the back to back moment with reader so apologies if it's funky.

||3rd Person POV||

"It's me."

The world is black, but the familiar voice rings out like a beacon in the void. She can't remember entering, so she wonders why she is here. In the distance, Jane can see the all too familiar wooden table and the ham radio that sits atop the adjoining stack of trunks. The tiny lamp that rests on the wooden table provides a soft homey light that blankets the otherwise dark and cold void.

"I know that I've been gone too long, and uh..." It's Hopper, her policeman. "I just want you to know that it's not because of you. And it's not because of our fight."

Jane finds herself being pulled towards the machine, the soft pitter-patter of her feet against the pool of water provides white noise other than Hopper's shaky voice echoing through the radio. It's garbled, and it has the usual static form the machine, but she can sense his emotion. The lump in his throat.

"Something came up, and, uh, I'll explain everything soon. I just, um... I want you to know that I'm not-- I'm not mad at you. I..."

She can feel a lump of her own forming in her throat as she waits for the words, they are almost here and she stands patiently. She is breathing heavily, trying not to cry and that is when the words come.

"I'm just sorry."

She feels a hand grab her shoulder and her eyes rip open.

"It's okay." Kali soothes. "It's only me."

Jane sighs, and sits up slightly.

"Bad dream?"

Jane only closes her eyes, trying to will away the sleep plaguing them. Her gaze wanders to the empty spot next to her, and she looks to Kali who caught her gaze.

"It seems your friend has left."

Jane only stews at the spot Y/n once was and huffs, before banishing her from her mind.

"What time is it?"

Kali smiles at her response.

"It's late. You slept well. Come. It's time you meet my friends. Properly this time."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Jane follows Kali eagerly throughout the warehouse, she had slept in her overalls and having gotten used to the temperature she had slipped on her jacket. She was being led to a new area she hadn't seen yet when the man with the crazy hair stepped into view with a small folded white box and two wooden sticks.

"We need more money, Kal," he says. "I can't keep eating this garbage."

"This is Axel," Kali states, leading into the room full of her friends.

"The spider hater?" Jane asks, eliciting several chuckles around the room.

"Yes," Kali says with a smile. "The spider hater."

She gestures to the crazy looking girl that with the large bow in her hair, she smiled as she twisted a lock of her oddly colored hair.

"This is Dottie, our newest. Like you, she just left home."

"You mean the loony bin." Axel shot, taking a swig from a white can.

"Mick," Kali gestures, to the woman in green with dark cloud-like hair. "our eyes, our protector."

She then looks to the large, seeming bald man with one long braid trailing from the back of his head. He smiles, stepping forward.

"This is Funshine, our warrior," Kali informs as Jane steps forward to greet him. "Don't let his size frighten you. Like I said, Fun's a teddy bear."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Jane." He says, holding out his hand.

Jane takes his hand, turning it over to find a blank wrist.

"If you're looking for a number, you won't find one," Kali informs, crossing over and taking a seat at the table.

"They're not like us," Jane says, in realization.

She releases the man's hand and goes to stand at the head of the table.

"No, not in that way." Kali answers. "But like us, they're outcasts."

"Outcasts?"

"Freaks," Axel says shortly.

Dottie scoffs. "Speak for yourself."

"Society left them behind, hurt them, discarded them," Kali explains.

Funshine speaks out, his voice is somber as he fiddles with his hands.

"We were dead, all of us. Kali saved us. Here," He pointed to his mind, and then to his heart. "And here."

"Don't get all mushy on us now, Fun."

"No, not mushy. True."

"Now we help her," Mick says.

Axel leans forward, his beer can in hand.

"In this life, kid, you roll over or you fight back."

"We're all fighters here." Mick finished.

"Fight who?" Jane asks, intrigued.

||Reader's POV||

I wince as the bus hits yet another bump, my head resting against the glass bumps against the windowpane once more. I tear my eyes away from the blurry green scenery of the trees we pass to check my watch for the umpteenth time, twelve twenty-five. We just left Illinois, but I still have a way to go. I'm thankful El still had money left over from Becky's, of course, I curse myself at the memory.

Mom is probably freaking out right now, I'm sure by now she's gotten word from chief Hopper. I don't what I'm going to do. I don't know how I'll possibly explain this.

Maybe I can say I was looking for Mews? No, that wouldn't work. For several reasons. I already told Dustin that I was at Will's and besides, I was reported as a possible runaway while on a secret trip with El. And no one was supposed to know about her.

Yeah, Mom's gonna flip.

And my fight with El keeps playing over and over in my mind, twisting my chest and stomach into uncomfortable knots. Everything about it left a sour taste on my tongue.

How could she say those things? How could she not see that I was looking out for her? Part of me wishes I could have just left in the middle of the night and never told her. Left without a word. Like she probably would have done to me.

The trees begin to slow, and an odd popping elicits from the back of the bus. It turns many heads including my own, and I spot the driver near the front. I see his face from the wide mirror overhead and it's clouded with worry and frustration.

Just as I feared, the bus grew slower and eventually pulled off to the side. Murmurs broke out all along the bus after the driver announces the issues with the bus. I wish I had taken a seat closer to the front as all the people around me have burst into angry complaints and I can't hear a word the driver is saying.

"Four hours? I need to get home to feed my dog!"

"My babysitter is off the clock soon, I can't wait that long!"

Four hours until we're back on the road? I can't wait that long either. I'm far too restless and I don't care if I have to walk. I am surprisingly restless given the amount I have exerted myself in the past twenty-four hours, and there is no way to tell if it is from some cleansing after effect or my fight with El but I need to move. I take a moment to kneel on my seat, and I glance out along the street studying my surroundings. Lucky for me, I recognize this spot, I'm not far from Becky's house. Which means I'm just on the edge of Hawkins.

I can walk that far.

And I'm fairly certain I wouldn't be able to afford a ride that went any further. Instead, I rose from my seat and slipped out the front. For all I know, it just might take me four hours to get home, but at least I'll be home by then.

||3rd Person POV||

Kali empties the box's contents onto the counter, dozens of badges, ID's and various records of previous or current employees at Hawkins Lab.

"Everyone you see here was in some way responsible for what happened to us," Kali informs, her team standing behind her.

Jane stands across the table from her, she picks a laminated card from the bunch to examine. She looks to her counterpart and raises a brow, her interest peaked.

"You hurt the bad men?"

Dottie makes a face, shaking her head.

"No," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "We just give 'em a pat on the back."

[FLASHBACK]

A van screeches to a stop outside an undisclosed apartment building. Five masked figures exit the vehicle and storm the building. There is a knock on one apartment door, a confused man opens it only to be met with a bullet to the head.

[END OF FLASHBACK]

"You kill them?" Jane asks.

"They're criminals." Kali days simply, shrugging. "We simply make them pay for their crimes."

《•••》

Kali is seated in the passenger seat, her eyes closed and her hand raises to eye level. The van is racing at tops speeds as the police ride their tail as they enter a tunnel. With her full attention, and a sly smirk she whispers.

"Boom."

The cement ceiling of the tunnel explodes, debris falling and blocking the tunnel. The police cars swerve to miss the avalanche of rock.

《•••》

Jane examines the badge further, and it isn't until this has been explained does she realize the badge is sprinkled in splattered of blood.

"Damn, Shirley," says Axel teasingly. "What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Jane tears her eyes away to glare at the spider hater with the crazy hair. She notices that each of Kali's companions are smirking at her in a similar matter. Dottie merely shifts her weight to one foot and tilts her head, speaking sluggishly.

"We can't all be fighters, I guess." She sighs.

"I'm a fighter." Jane corrects. "I've killed."

《•••》

The second man spared a second to look before turning to her to try and restrain her.

Before he could even step foot in the room, he was dead on the floor, his neck snapped. All with the flick of her head.

•••

El stands at attention, she gravitates towards the front protectively in front of her four friends. The bad men surrounding them freeze and she tilts her head, her attention laser-focused on each and every one of the soldiers. They begin to twitch and squirm, and as her nose begins to bleed so do their eyes. A horrible squelching sound echoes throughout the hallway as the lights flicker violently and they each drop like flies, blood pouring out of their eyes, nose, ears, and mouths. Eleven had squeezed their brains like grapes.

《•••》

"Did these men you killed," Kali asks. "did they deserve it?"

Jane nods confidently.

"They hurt me."

《•••》

Eleven struggles to break free from the men's hold as they carry her by her arms down, back into the room.

Sobs track her body as she uses all her strength to turn and look back at Papa.

"Papa!" He steps out into the hallway and remains standing, doing nothing to help her, yet she still calls for him.

《•••》

"And they still want to hurt you," Kali presses. "To hurt us. We're just making the first move."

Kali nods her head, gesturing to the doors.

"Come."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Kali and Jane break off from the others as Kali shows her outside. They walk for a short while, Jane once again finds herself taking in her surroundings as her friend explains. By now they had found themselves a great fair distance from the warehouse and they wander through a scrapyard of boxes, abandoned shelves, and steel shipment containers.

"I was just like you once," Kali says. "I kept my anger inside. I tried to hide from it, but then that pain festered."

"Festered?"

Kali comes to a stop and looks sadly to Jane unable to meet her eye immediately as she is forced to relive the memories.

"It spread. Until finally I confronted my pain, and I began to heal." She said, her voice growing excited before she continued on through the scrapyard.

Jane did not follow immediately, she almost felt stuck as those words echoed in her mind. She knew what Kali spoke of all too well.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Y/n ducks under yet another low hanging branch, her hand gently pushing it away. The pads of her heels had begun to sting but she presses on. Despite the long trek behind, and before her, she has yet to regret her decision to go on foot. Much to her great delight and surprise, she finds that she is not as tired as she typically might have been. Only minutes after her departure, when she was safely out of sight of the bus and its impatient passengers did she drift off into the woods where she would not be as easily seen.

And though she is hidden well within the trees, the wind manages to snake within the trunks and whips against her clothes and the exposed skin on her neck and hands. She feels the damp earth sink beneath her shoes and she is thankful her shoes were able to dry faster than her clothes - the one thing she successfully managed to dry with the aid of her abilities.

She realizes with a dry laugh that she has once again left without her clothes but she does not care anymore. Once again her mind drifts to her last conversation with El.

Jane, she reminds herself bitterly.

Y/n has given it much thought and she had admitted to herself she had assumed that El had used that name do draw less suspicion. It hadn't quite dawned on Y/n that she truly did want to assume that part of her identity and she feels a twinge of guilt. But she can't ignore the itch of it all, something nagging at her that something about that was off. It just didn't seem like the same person, but Y/n dismissed the thought and was able to admit to herself that she was in the wrong on that front.

But that didn't mean her feelings weren't still hurt. El- Jane, had completely tossed her aside the minute she laid eyes on Kali. Y/n could still hear - and see - that exchange all took well.

Sister.

It brought another pang of jealousy to her heart as she so desperately longed for such a connection. Y/n, of course, loved her bother and friends with all her heart, but her whole life she had longed for such an iron-clad bond with another girl. And she supposed she had that with Jane. But it seems it was one-sided.

Quickly, Y/n shakes the thought from her head. She was not partial to thinking about that night, that night had hurt her deeply and it would only exhaust her.

She focuses her eyes on the ground before her, watching her step as she navigates the uneven terrain hidden under layers fallen leaves when she noticed something. A very simple thing that would most likely go unnoticed by any other being, or even her if it were any other given moment. Y/n saw a flurry of leaves swept up in the wind, moving across the landscape like a wave crashing in the ocean. And much like many other times in her life, something so simple triggers a memory in her brain like a feeling triggers the memory of a forgotten dream.

The details, not only what it looked like but what it felt like, of the phenomenon of what she had experienced the night before. Not her fight with her friend, or the scary adventure that led her to the other side of Hawkins and all the way to Chicago, but the explosion in the old train yard. And while it had not quite been forgotten, merely set aside in the unfurling events of her split with Jane, remembering the event felt silly. What a catastrophic thing to have forgotten.

Perhaps it wouldn't be the worst idea to practice, she thought.

She was all alone after all, she was out of sight and far away enough from the road where she couldn't be caught. She knew not to strain herself of course, given the long walk ahead of her. But she was rather bored and she figured she'd never really get another opportunity like this. After all, she couldn't quite practice this in her room.

In the end, temptation - and boredom - won, and she gave a quick sweep of the area before she settled in one spot. Worried of the potential exhaustion she was in fact risking, she figured she could rest for ten or twenty minutes or so. This also allowed her feet a small break. She found a small gap in the trees, a long stretch of open space where she wouldn't risk a fire hazard on any of the tree trunks.

Y/n finds her focus driven on the path of damp leaves before her. Her hands outstretched and with all her might she pictures the path before her blown away into a small ditch in between the long stretching gap between the trees. The forest still smelled of rain and even the trunks around her were still a bit damp, though she did want to risk it. The wet sludge of fallen leaves before her was her goal and she planted her feet preparing herself.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Kali's heels hit the pavement as she jumps off the platform, Jane's sneaker-clad feet soon follow. Kali strides across the damp pavement and she turns to face the clearing as Jane joins her side.

"You see that train?" She asks, gesturing towards the large abandoned car.

"Yes."

"I want you to draw it towards us,"

Jane looks at Kali with unease, and Kalie gives her a sly smirk. Jane takes a breath but looks back at the train. She raises her hand, her mind focusing on the train and the surface around it. She can feel her mind strain and her hand trembles violently and all that comes to show for her efforts is the faint sound of metal creaking, and slight separation of the cart from its wheels.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The wind had died down but still few leaves moved under her control. The signature blur emits from Y/n's hand, it reminded her of heat reflecting off concrete on a hot summer day. She felt herself smiling over the feat, but it quickly died out as her ability did. It quickly fizzled out and she felt a great strain on her body, and she sighed collecting her breath.

Something wasn't right. This wasn't how it went.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"I can't," Jane pants, hands on her knees collecting her breath.

"Last night you told me you lifted a van once."

《•••》

Her vision locks onto the van barreling towards her and her friends, and she scowls. With one flick of her head, the van flies through the air and over their heads.

《•••》

"Yes."

"The bad men were trying to take you away again, and that made you angry."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Y/n's mind flips through her memories, every experience she has had with her powers and her mind lands on the scene from the night she always chose to forget. The night they almost took her.

《•••》

A violent scream erupted from the young girl's throat, a scream that pierced even her own ears and ripped her throat raw.

A powerful force of energy exploded off of Y/n swept across the hallway mowed down everyone, including the man holding who had been holding her hostage. Most of the men were knocked into the concrete walls and slid down to the floor unconscious, blood dripping from their heads.

Y/n landed on her knees, Eleven only about a foot away who had miraculously avoided the line of energy while on the ground.

Panting, she looks up to the man several feet away, laying on his back slowly coming to, and with all the remaining courage and energy she can muster, she slowly rises to her feet, breathing harder, her fists clenched and eyes filled with rage.

《•••》

Anger. Anger was the common factor of every incident she realizes suddenly. This had been the first time she had allowed herself to dwell on the memories of that night. Ever since it had been much too painful to revisit and she never bothered. And yet all this time she had wasted, trying to figure out her powers, figure out herself, and she had been ignoring the answer.

And for the first time, she thinks not of the people she's hurt. But the comes who have hurt her.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Good. So, find that anger, focus on that, not the train, not its weight."

She raises her hand once more, and with a deep breath preparing herself for the task at hand. Not the boundaries she is preparing to test, but unlocking her heart and mind to the floodgates of bitter memories and untapped anger waiting to be unleashed.

"I want you to find something from your life. Something that angers you."

《•••》

The friend Y/n trusted most in the entire world, turned on her. Undeniable hatred and disgust in eyes instead of a loving gaze.

"Get out," Will seethes.

"What-?"

"I said, get out!" He hissed.

Y/n flinches at his tone, and backs away fighting tears and struggling to hide the hurt in her eyes.

"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

《•••》

"Now channel it."

The girl's hand trembles and the ground begins to shake as she unlocks this side of herself. the gates are opening, the gates to her full potential. She is strained but unwavering as she watches in glee as she moves the world around her.

"Dig deeper. Your whole life you've been lied to..."

《•••》

'THE MISSING EXPERIMENT'

Y/n gazed at the folder in shock, looking to her sleeping friend with fire in her eyes.

She had this with her the entire trip. And not once did she share it with her. Every file, every news clipping, every theory on her life that almost was. On her. And she was the last to see it.

《•••》

Anger rises to the surface, it is now all the girl can feel. At this moment in time, all she knows is white-hot rage and it is powerful enough to break the world. She is powerful enough.

"...imprisoned."

《•••》

Y/n loses the ability to speak when the man's eyes meet the agent holding her back. With one simple gesture, she is torn away from her brother and friends and straight into the man's clutches.

"What- what are you doing?" She cries, continuing to fight and kick against the steel hold.

An overwhelming storm of panic and frustration takes over and she begins to hyperventilate.

Instinctively, she struggles to turn in the agent's grasp to meet her brother's anxious and fearful eye and cries out to him.

"Dustin? Dustin!" She shrieks.

Her brother's desperate calls for her break her heart, but it turns to fire when she hears the man's voice.

"Y/n, don't fight it. You belong with us. We are your true home. Come home to us, Nine"

《•••》

She can feel her jaw clench, her muscles tense as she focuses all her energy - all her anger on the target before her.

"The bad men took away your home, you're mother,"

《•••》

"She was pretty." She began, smiling sadly. "She had [h/l] [h/t] [h/c] hair. And [s/c] skin. She was [y/h]."

•••

"She disappeared... Bang" El said slowly, a saddened frown forming on her face. "Gone."

•••

"So, my mom? She's...?" Y/n took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in her throat and El nodded.

《•••》

Her whole body began to shake, a raw and forceful screaming tearing from her throat and piercing the cold autumn air. It was only a small fraction of her emotions, only a mere glimpse of a wild hurricane bursting forth from within her as her powers unleashed.

"They took everything from you."

《•••》

But then she saw it. The small, lifeless body. He was wearing the same red vest he wore on that night. She was speechless. Hot tears streaked down her cheeks and she forgot how to breathe. She collapsed into Lucas's arms, his own grip weak and shaky, and she buried her wet face in his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her tightly, a lifeline of his own as he witnessed the horrible sight.

"It's Will. It's really Will." Lucas croaked, unable to speak above a harsh whisper.

Y/n felt tears fall on her head, telling her that Lucas had started crying as well.

The noise she made was incoherent. She let out a painful wail and tore herself away from Lucas's embrace when she gathered enough strength.

"Will? Will!" She cried.

Lucas and Dustin pulled her back. She fought and screamed, her throat aching from the strain. All previous worries of being spotted were forgotten, wanting nothing more than to be by his side. She wanted to be with him. To see if it was really true. But she was too weak. Defeat set in and she went limp, collapsing onto the ground and hugged her knees. She buried her tear-stained cheeks in her knees and hid from the cruel world that took such a loving soul from her. She rocked back and forth trying desperately to convince herself that this was a nightmare.

•••

And it had been. Not even a week later had she learned his body was a fake. The bad men lied. To her. To his family. To everyone. They stole him away and they didn't care who they hurt.

《•••》

Blood dripped from her nose, spidery veins spread across her face and hands. The violent force of power overtook the world and her body but it felt fantastic. She felt truly free for the first time in her life.

"They stole your life, Jane"

The final and most forceful burst of anger comes forth, the final push she had been waiting for. The scream echoes and rings throughout the air long after she silences, and she collapses to the ground as exhaustion overtakes her.

She had done it.

Before her, a long deep trench stretches on for several feet. Y/n had uncovered not only the thick layer of damped leaves but several layers of earth creating a lengthy ditch where the earth had been carved. Raining down from the air were the discarded leaves raining down from the heavens like bright golden confetti celebrating her accomplishment. Y/n smiled despite her exhaustion, her hands on knees the palm of her hands still hot to the touch.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Jane collapses to her knees, gasping for breath and gazes at the train before her in disbelief. Distant cheers erupted in the distance and she looked to find Mick, Fusnshine, Dottie and Axel jumping, hooting and hollering.

"WAY TO GO JANE!"

She doesn't fight the smile that sneaks up on her and Kali kneels beside her, smirking.

"How do you feel?"

Jane nods, her smirk turning sly and confident.

"Good."

+++

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fumbling-fanfics · 5 years

Text

Imagine having a second child with Viktor Drago...

So I wrote this because @lady-olive-oil was insistant on killing people off, lol. Love you Liv!

I also kind of forgot I wrote this so there was more I wanted to write but I forgot those parts.

**********************************************

You weren't meant to give birth so early. But here you were sitting in a nice relaxing bath, Lily on the bathroom floor drawing more pictures for Viktor while you soaked. If you were honest the contractions had started early in the morning, but they varied between 4hrs and 3 minutes apart. So you had ignored them. But now it was 2 in the afternoon you were pretty sure you were having contractions - the proper ones.

"Lily baby, can you pass mommy here phone please" her little head popped up beside the bath with a big smile. "Are you going to ring daddy? Can I talk to him?" she asked as she disappeared out of the bathroom.

Viktor should have been the one you were going to call but he wasn't.

"I'm going to call Aunt Jenny" you smile kissing her forehead in thanks letting her get back to her drawing. "I'll make Aunt Jenny a picture too" she states, paper rustling about. You pressed the call button next to Jenny's picture (a picture of her and lily at the beach) and waited for her to answer.

"Thank god you called. I'm so tired, I'm literally falling asleep at my desk… What's new?" she sang.

"Code Red" you whispered down the phone.

"Huh?" you can hear the frowns of confusion on Jenny's face. "Oh, Lily, I can go get her from preschool" you could here her moving around more on her end.

"No, Lily's here with me-"

"Hi Aunt Jenny!" Lily called from the floor, voice echoing off the bathroom tiles.

"Oh" Jenny was frowning again.

"The other code red, the new one. The second one" you watched Lily for a reaction but she was absorbed back into her drawing.

"Shit" Jenny shouted.

"Shit, shit, shit! SHIT! Are you sure? It's not those fake ones, those pickle hiccup contraction things" she panicked, you could hear things being knocked around and a draw open and then slam closed.

"You mean Braxton Hicks, and no"

"You're not due for like another 2 months, I'm looking at my calendar. It says on my calender" you could hear her voice go up an octave in panic. You were pretty sure she was also poking the calender too.

Jenny was down as your second birthing partner, after Viktor of course. But since Viktor was away for a fight that was still wasn't due for another 6 weeks, Jenny had happily (and in a drunken state) assured Viktor she'd be your number two should anything happen. But it would be fine because nothing would happen because you still had two months to go.

"I know, I know...Can you maybe come anyway, and maybe it'll be fine by the time you get here"

"Of course, I'm leaving now" she hung up quickly.

"Will Auntie Jenny bring me jellies" Lily asked, pencils poised in her hand.

"Maybe" you laugh, glad she oblivious to what's happening.

By the time Jenny arrived you were out of the bath and sitting in the living room on your yoga ball wondering if you should call Viktor or not.

He'd flown back to the states to fight again, and really concentrate on getting ready as this opponent was almost equal in size to Viktor. You knew if you called him he'd freak out and even fly back (or walk if he had to).

"(Y/n)!!!" Jenny practically screamed, slamming the door closed. You could hear her but not see her. Lily sprinted off to find her Aunt, and reappeared on Jenny's hip.

"Are they for real?" she asked looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

"I think so, they've just got worse"

"Auntie bought me jellies!" Lily waved the box and then wriggled out of Jenny's arms and ran off. At least she was occupied.

****

“Is it okay to make a call?" you asked in the back of the ambulance. The female paramedic nodded as she carried on writing things down.

Jenny was following in her car with Lily and your hospital bags.

You pressed the call button and held the phone against your ear. There was a series of tial tones, including the international one.

"Hello" it was a quick, short answer.

"Ivan, it's y/n" slight relief washed over you hearing his voice.

"Hello. You want to speak to Viktor?"

"No, no, no, no, no" there were too many no's for Ivan's liking - he felt worried but the fact you weren't crying and he could understand you made him worry a tiny bit less.

Ivan said something in Russian but you couldn't hear, it was muffled, like he had his hand over the mouthpiece. There was the sound of a metal door slamming closed and then silence.

"What's wrong?"

"The baby, its early" there was a long pause from both of you - you both didn't know what to say.

"I'll get Viktor"

"No don't...I mean I know he needs to know, but not right now. You know he'll get on the first plane back, won't think twice about the fight. I can't let him do that." Ivan said nothing but also agreed. But he also wanted to tell his son. Congratulate him, tell everyone in the training room - he had another grandchild.

"I'll let him know it was all my idea not to tell him, just try and act like everything's normal. Please?“

“Are you okay? Are you at the hospital?" the concern in Ivan's voice broke you and you started to cry.

"I'm fine. I'm on my way in an ambulance"

"Are you on your own?" he sound panicked. "Where's Lily?"

"She's following in a car with Jenny" Ivan remembered Jenny from when she came to the beach that day. Ivan was struck by how caring Jenny was with Lily - making sure she ate and drank enough while still having fun.

"She must call me" you nodded even tho Ivan couldn't see you.

"Here" the paramedic handed you a tissue to dry your eyes. "Don't worry, everything's gonna be okay"

***

Olivia May Drago, born 2 months early but otherwise healthy.

Jenny had called Ivan to let him know everything was okay - you were okay, Lily was okay (but probably had new found profession as some sort of Antinal Nurse specialising in premature babies) and that Viktor's new baby girl was okay too. It was only when Jenny came back into the room, an hour later did you realise she had been talking to Ivan for an hour. "He's so funny, Ivan" she said with a smile on her face. You raised a quizzical eyebrow at her as she peered into the neonatal cot to look at Olivia. "Did you just say Ivan's funny?“ you asked, maybe the drugs were making you hear things." Yeah, the jokes he cracks. But otherwise he says he's glad everyone's okay. I said I'll call him tomorrow"

"You should go, it's late" Lily had crashed out on the bed in the room reserved for partners to sleep on.

"No way, do you know how hard it was to get this parental leave. HR officially hate me, so I'm going to use every moment to stare at this beautiful girl" she cooed, picking up Olivia from her cot.

Lily had been born 4 weeks early, so Jenny had fought tooth and nail to have the right to use shared parental leave to help you look after Lily and the baby assuming Olivia would be born early too, despite not actually being a parent to either. She had initially demanded full maternity leave, but had settled for 3 and a half weeks "shared parental" leave. "That's what they get for not having a watertight policy" she'd smugly smiled sipping non alcoholic wine with you when she told you when you met her for lunch just after Viktor left to prepare for the fight.

You were trying not to cry but the harder you did, the quicker your eyes filled up with tears. So when you blinked they came streaming down your face. "Hey, don't you start crying because I'm gonna start crying again" Jenny moved to perch on the edge of your bed still holding Olivia.

"I know you feel bad, but don't. Everything is okay, you're okay, baby's okay. Lily's okay. I'm okay" the last part made you laugh and you brushed the tears away.

"But we need to make sure Viktor's okay, and that means not telling him just yet because we app know what will happen. I'll just keep taking a million photos and videos so he has stuff to watch. Here, hold her" Jenny passed you Olivia and grabbed her phone to take pictures.

"Do I look a mess?" you asked, aware that not only had you given birth 6 hours ago but you had also cried one too many times. "Actually, you look so good. Which makes me slightly hate you" she placed her phone down and then made grabbing hands at Olivia. "My ovaries hurt when I don't hold her" she blushed.

***

You where now sat in the hotel suite that had been reserved for Viktor. Lily was laying on the floor - half on top of the fluffy rug, half off - drawing more pictures for Viktor. You were sure she was on over 100 at this point, but it kept her occupied, you enjoyed listening to her stories behind them and writing them on the back of the picture for Viktor to read later.

She was currently drawing the picture of him winning his current fight - the one that was meant to start in 45 minutes.

You were sat on the overly large sofa breastfeeding Olivia, after having to shout at Buddy Marcella and the entourage he brought for you to leave. He'd brought a nanny with him - just in case you wanted to leave Lily and Olivia to go watch the fight. He was driving you crazy more than usual.

You didn't need help, you just needed space and for not a single soul to mention to Viktor that he had an earlier than expected baby girl he'd never seen. You'd also spoken to Ivan at length who had been extra hard and stubborn on your behalf making sure everything and everyone would be perfect.

***

Just as the fight started Olivia woke up with a cry. You half didn't mind as she'd been asleep for a long time, as if she was waiting for the perfect moment to announce her presence in the world. She was very quiet for a newborn.

You noticed that Viktor seemed to be fighting differently, quicker, even harder, like he just wanted it to be over.

But that wasn't surprising. When Viktor had agreed to the fight, there were a few additional requirements that Buddy had added in. Endorsements and a whole bunch of extra PR stuff, including promo stuff with Adonis Creed.

"Hey!" you called to Buddy. He turned around with that stupid grin on his face. "Just remembered my husband's a person and not just your cash cow" he'd then proceeded to try and butter you up but it didn't work.

***

As the ring filled with people from either team and the official referee to call the match you spotted Buddy climbing into the ring. You held your breath as you watched him whisper something to Viktor. Ivan appeared and pushed Buddy away, but you could see Viktor was getting impatient and just wanted the result said. You watched Ivan place his hands on Viktor's shoulders and he calmed down a little. The referee appeared and the camera angle zoomed back showing Viktor and his opponent standing either side of the referee.

You didn't let your breathe go until the referee held up Viktor's arms and the crowd cheered. Lily jumped up dancing around with her picture in her hand. "Told you daddy won" she wiggled her hips side to side and threw the picture in the air along with her crayons.

***

Now you felt sick. Sheer panic and you tried to organise your thoughts and your words to explain to Viktor that you were sorry for not telling him that Olivia had come early, that you cried after every phone call with him because you wanted to just tell him. But you were glad that you didn't, that there were no distractions.

"Lily, come here please" you call, her silence not always a good thing. She skips from the bedroom, her face covered in melted chocolate. Then she stop rigid, eyes wide. "Daddy!“ she screams, sprinting past you. You turn, this isn't how you wanted him to find out. "Grandpa!“ Lily screeches, almost another octave higher. She doges Viktor and throws herself at Ivan.

Viktor doesn't seem to mind that Lily skipped him. He's staring at you or Olivia, or both of you as you rock Olivia in your arms. She's quiet now, as if nothing happened. He drops his bag and slowly walks closer to you. When he reaches you, he pulls you against him, his lips rest on forehead which makes you cry.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there, I'm sorry you had to do this on your own" Viktor tenderly hugs you, careful not to squash Olivia.

You pull away to wipe your face with one hand, surprised at how relaxed Viktor is. "My dad told me. I made him when I saw he had a lot of calls from Jenny, I thought something was wrong" you looked to Ivan, but he was busy cleaning the chocolate from Lily's face.

***

Everything was calmer. Everything was fine. Viktor sat holding Olivia, with Lily on his lap. They talk in hushed tones over a sleeping Olivia. Both falling quiet every so often to stare at the peaceful baby.

Viktor was stunned by how beautiful his second baby girl was. Her tiny nose, her tiny mouth, her ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. Lily's mind was slightly blown by Viktor telling her she was once this small, even he was too.

Together they couldn’t stop looking at Olivia. Every now and then Lily gently kissed her sister - telling Viktor all the things she planned to teach her little sister - coloring within the lines, eating jellies that Aunt Jenny brings etc, eating all the chocolate you could find in a hotel suite.

By the time Ivan got back with food for everyone, it was his turn to fuss over his new grandchild. "World's happiest grandfather" Ivan announced taking Olivia from Viktor. He sat down on the couch with Olivia while you pulled out your phone to show Viktor the million photos you'd taken while he was away.

**********************************************

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