#serpent mangle x reader

[toboldlygohome]

"I'm not giving up on you!"

Leonard McCoy X Reader

Summary: Following a terrible attack on the Enterprise, Dr. McCoy does everything he can to save the heavily-injured reader.

Character(s): Leonard "Bones" McCoy

Warning(s): Wounds, Death, Implied violence, Ends in fluff

Dr. McCoy carefully navigated the sea of bodies, careful not to step on any one of them. The Enterprise had been boarded little more than thirty minutes ago. Bones followed the path of destruction, hoping to find some survivors. No such luck.

McCoy scanned every body for signs of life, but yielded no results. He grimaced and trudged onward. He hated this feeling of powerlessness. So many good people were dead and there was nothing he could do about it. If only he had gotten down here sooner, maybe there wouldn't be so many casualties.

Leonard rounded a corner and was disappointed to find even more bodies strewn all over the floor. But amidst the flashing red lights, he saw you. You were leaned against the wall, blood staining your blue uniform. His tricorder picked up your heartbeat and he immediately hurried to your side.

"Hey, can you hear me?" He asked, snapping his fingers near your ear. Much to his surprise, you slowly opened your eyes.

He couldn't believe you were alive, let alone conscious. Your arm was a mangled mess of burns, you had a massive laceration in your lower abdomen, you were sitting in a pool of your own blood, and you had a terrible concussion. Your groan came out as more of a choked gurgle.

Leonard wasted no time in prepping a hypo to ease your pain. "Can you speak?"

"Yeah," You managed weakly.

"That's good. That's really good. Can you tell me where it hurts?" He asked.

"It hurts everywhere," you murmured.

"Perfect."

"Perfect?" You asked.

"It means you still have feeling in your limbs. That's a really good sign," Bones jabbed the hypo into your arm and started digging into his bag. He had to get you stable if you were going to have any hope of surviving this. "I'm Dr. Leonard McCoy. Can you tell me your name darlin'?" He asked, trying to ease you into a sense of calm.

"Ensign Y/N Y/L/N. Biology department."

"On, I know about you, you're the one who wrote that dissertation on the possible medical uses of Aldebaran Serpent venom. You graduated top of your class in the starfleet academy. I heard you've got a promotion coming up." Leonard said, hoping to keep your mind alert. He didn't want you passing out with that concussion, not until he was sure there wasn't some internal bleeding going on that his scanners weren't picking up.

"Yeah, if I make it that far..."

"You're gonna make it, trust me." He swallowed. You could see it in his face. The chances of you living weren't very high.

"You're a terrible liar doctor McCoy...I'm gonna die here, aren't I?" You whispered.

"I brought the captain back from the dead using the blood of a homicidal maniac. I've performed greater miracles than this. You ain't gonna die, not if I have anything to say about it." He said, already working to disinfect the gaping wound in your stomach. "Just keep talking to me, can you do that?"

"I'll try..." You struggled to keep your eyes open. "I-I... I smell something burning..."

"Don't worry about that." Leonard said firmly. "Just...tell me about..." He grasped for a topic that wasn't your maimed body or the smell of burning hair. "Tell me about home. What's your family like?" Leonard started to autosuture the laceration.

You ignored his question and tilted your head down to look down at the damage. Bones grabbed your face and forced your eyes up to his. "Don't look at it. Just look at me, okay?"

"Mkay...nice face at least." You smiled weakly.

"Oh?" he got back to his work, but kept talking. "I've always been told I got a face only a mother could love. What's so nice about it?" He asked.

"You have pretty eyes... and..." You lost your train of thought.

"And what darlin'?"

"Huh?"

"I got pretty eyes and what?" he asked, fighting against the knot appearing in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know you, but he'd like to. You were a tough cookie and he respected the hell out of it. He could see it in your eyes. You still had so much to offer the world... the universe. He couldn't let you die like this. He wouldn't let you die like this.

"Oh...I like your...your forehead wrinkles...makes you look distinguished," you attempted another smile.

"Gotta say sweetheart, that might just be the nicest compliment I've ever received." Leonard met your gaze for just a moment before returning to his task.

"Well, I've got more where that came from..." You leaned your head against the wall and looked at the ceiling. "...Might throw up..."

"If you feel like you are, just tell me. Okay darlin'?"

"Mkay..."

You both fell into silence and Leonard labored to think of some way to get you talking again. The autosuture wasn't working fast enough for his liking. He still had about two and a half inches to go. If he didn't work fast enough, you were gonna die.

"...Everything's all fuzzy. Cold." You murmured. A low rumble echoed through the halls as if punctuating your dark statement.

"I bet. You lost a lot of blood, but you'll be okay." Leonard clenched his jaw.

"There are others...gotta help the others McCoy. I'm a lost cause."

"You are no such thing. I'm saving you dammit." He didn't have the heart to tell you the other people in the hallway were already dead. A sudden, sharp jolt shook the ship. Leonard grunted as he tried not to fall into you.

"I'm gonna die... I never even got to ask out that doctor. Never had the guts..." You mumbled, eyes struggling to focus on anything.

"What doctor?" Leonard asked as he continued closing you up.

"Y'know. The grumpy one." You said.

Leonard's expression darkened. He was trying dammit, but not nearly hard enough. You were growing delirious. You didn't even realize what you were admitting to him. Your eyes fluttered closed, but you kept talking.

"I don't really know him, but he saved a friend of mine once... He's uh..." You gathered your thoughts. "He's real smart. So dedicated to his patients. I really admire that... Also got this dry sense of humor, and a really handsome voice. I wouldn't have minded taking him out sometime. Buying him flowers." You hummed.

"He's the kind of guy you bring home to mama, I think...Well...My mama at least." You looked at Leonard, eyes swimming with grief. "I'm not scared. You have to tell her for me. That I wasn't scared...I have people back at home. Can you tell them I love them?" You whispered, just as Leonard finished closing your abdominal wound.

Leonard breathed a sigh of relief as he started wrapping you with a bandage. "You're gonna tell them yourself darlin'. You're gonna make it, you know why? Because you're strong. Resilient as a rubber band." He tied off the bandage and started going to work on your arm. "I'm gonna get you stable and we'll get down to the medbay, then you'll make a swift and miraculous recovery, just in time for you to earn the rank of Lieutenant. How does that sound?"

"..." You didn't respond.

"Y/N?" He asked. Your eyes were closed. Your heartbeat was growing fainter by the second. "No No. Dammit, come on! I'm not giving up on you!" He emptied hypos into your arms and legs. A cocktail of medicines were brewing inside of you, fighting to keep your heart beating. He waited with baited breath for your readings to change on his tricorder.

Eventually, your heartbeat grew stronger and your breathing deeper. Then, to his astonishment, you opened your eyes again.

"Welcome back, you gave me a start there." Leonard flashed a relieved smile.

"Sorry...didn't mean to fall asleep," You smiled back.

Suddenly, the red lights turned off and the hallway lit up in its usual bright white light.

"I know darlin'. You're awake now, that's what matters." He pulled out his communicator. "Nurse Chapel, do they have the bastards detained?... Good. I need a stretcher on deck 15, as well as a recovery team. Prep the protoplaser and the burn chamber for the arrival of ensign Y/L/N." After her confirmation, he hung up and pointed his scanner down the hallway to see if there were any more heartbeats. Nothing.

Bones sighed and hung his head. The bastards were thorough, he had to give them that. He found only one survivor out of how many hallways? He was curious about how the security team managed to take them down, but that would be a conversation for a different time.

"Goddamned bloodthirsty space beasts..." He hissed.

"Tell me about it," you chuckled. "Certainly did a number on me, huh?"

"How are you feeling?" Leonard leaned against the wall beside you.

"Numb all over... I suspect you had something to do with that?" You turned your head to look at him.

"I injected you with a hypo for pain relief right when I found you." He met your eyes.

"Funny. I don't think I remember that."

"You're definitely on the loopy side. Can't tell if it's from the blood loss or an adverse reaction to the medicine, but we'll figure all that out soon."

"You can go now. Someone's coming to get me right?"

"You ain't getting rid of me that easily. I'm staying with you until your stretcher arrives." He crossed his arms.

"But there's got to be others that need help too, right?" You closed your eyes. "I'm fine, you should help them."

"It's against protocol to leave a critical patient alone. I'm not leaving until your ride arrives." Just then, he heard the sound of the hover-stretcher. "Speak of the devil, it's about goddamned time." He stood and addressed the two nurses. He spoke to them in hushed medical lingo. You had no idea what he was talking about, but it didn't sound good.

Leonard helped load you onto the stretcher. "I'm passing you off to Nurse Bell and Nurse Valinsky. They're going to take great care of you."

"As opposed to you taking bad care of me?" You smiled tiredly.

"Very funny," He smirked. "I'll catch up with you soon. Don't miss my face too much, you hear?"

"You're asking for the impossible, Dr. McCoy," You joked. The nurses guided you down the hall and around the corner. Leonard stared out at the crowded hallway, hoping his recovery team would arrive soon. Until then, he would just have to look for living patients on his own.

A doctor's work is never done.

~~~

When you awoke, you felt heavy. It was dim in the medbay and all was quiet, save for the occasional beeping of the biobed. You attempted to sit up, but winced the moment you put pressure on your arm. From the shoulder down, your limb was covered in bandages. You felt a deep ache all the way through your body and decided it was best to lay back down.

You tried to remember how you ended up here, but everything after the initial attack was a blur. You remembered the grumpy doctor, you remembered him mentioning your dissertation, he said something about pretty eyes, and you remember being so tired, but trying so hard to focus on him.

You looked around the room, hoping there might be a nurse nearby. Instead you found a room full of people sleeping in biobeds. There was a light on in the office at the end of the room, but you had no way of knowing if there was actually someone inside.

You scanned the controls to your left until you found a call button. Once you pressed it, you heard shuffling in the office. Much to your surprise, Dr. McCoy came shambling out.

"It's about time you woke up," Leonard took a look on your screen to check all your vitals. As you watched him, the events of your last encounter came flooding back. Distinguished forehead wrinkles? Seriously?

"Your heart-rate is kicking up," Bones smirked "Is that because of me?" He joked.

You rolled your eyes, "how long was I out?"

"About forty-eight hours."

"Two days?!"

"Better keep it down darlin'. Don't want to wake the neighbors." He slowly raised the bed into a sitting position and handed you some water.

"Thanks," you said hoarsely, "I didn't even realize I was thirsty."

"That's what I'm here for." He grunted as he copied some data from your biobed to his PADD.

"Bringing me water?"

"Keeping you from dying of dehydration," Bones corrected.

"Aw, and here I thought I had my own personal butler," you smiled and sipped your water. 'He really does have pretty eyes,' you thought while watching him work. Who were you kidding? It wasn't just his eyes that were pretty, it was all of him. You cleared your throat and took another sip. "Anyway, what are you doing here so late? I didn't think you worked gamma shift."

"I normally don't, but there are a lot of reports to file and not a lot of time to do it."

"That bad huh?...How many dead?" You asked softly.

"Fifty-six," Leonard sniffed pulled out his kit.

"Damn... and what about the pirates?"

"In custody back at Yorktown." Leonard administered a hypo into your arm. The soreness melted away almost immediately, but the ache in your chest didn't.

"I would have been one of them if it weren't for you..." You whispered. "You didn't give up... even when you should have."

"Any doctor worth his salt wouldn't give up on the likes of you, not when you were so keen on living. Ain't seen nothing like it in a long time. Your body just kept going long after it should have shut down." Bones explained, "And you kept telling me it was hopeless, but I could tell you were hoping for a miracle."

"So you gave me one," You smiled up at him.

"I told you I would. They don't say I have legendary hands for nothin'," McCoy smirked.

"Still, thank you for not giving up on me," you laughed. "I definitely owe you one."

"Ask out that doctor of yours and we'll call it even," Leonard spoke so casually, you nearly didn't register what it was he just said.

"I-I- my what?" You asked, dumbfounded. Your heart-rate picked up again and Leonard couldn't mask his amusement.

"You should get some rest, Nurse Chapel will be by in a few hours with some food for you. We're putting you on a soft food diet until your internal wounds heal some more. If you need anything before then, you know where the call button is." Bones started back to his office, but stopped just short.

"Oh, and Y/N?"

"Y-Yeah?"

Leonard sent you a smug look. "I like daisies," He said before disappearing behind the door.

You laughed and rested your head on your pillow. 'Daisies huh?' You thought to yourself. You weren't sure how you were gonna pull that off this far from Earth, but if Dr. McCoy could perform miracles, why couldn't you? Of course, the flowers would have to wait until you were released from medical care. You didn't mind too much though, Dr. McCoy was going to be there to take care of you.

And he wasn't giving up on you anytime soon.

....................

Taglist: @shadowbriar

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Thank you for reading!

#bones #bones x reader #leonard mccoy #leonard mccoy x reader #star trek #star trek fanfiction #star trek x reader #x reader #bones mccoy #mccoy/reader #leonard mccoy star trek #leonard mccoy x injured reader #reader fanfiction #reader insert

[grimoireofhayley]

Colourful Mind

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're a visual arts prodigy, overwhelmingly talented and carefree; you have a vivid memory and you pay a remarkable amount of attention to detail. Everyone know's who you are; Eddie Munson is among those people and he's falling hard for you, though, you have no idea who he is until one momentous evening.

Word Count: 1.0k 

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of gore.

Part Two, Part Three:

There you sat, big-(e/c)-eyes fully immersed into one of your paintings; a massive red and gold dragon spewing fire atop a mountain of mangled corpses; knights were on horses, parading towards the serpent, pointing their sharp-tongued devils at the creature in an attempt to scare it.

Eddie watched from a distance, his Hellfire campaign had ended well-over an hour ago, so he took this time to wander around the school, not wanting to go home right away, and that's when he spotted you; the quiet, art-nerd who sat alone in an empty class, painting away at a fantastical masterpiece.

He scanned you; mesmerized by the intricate details that latched itself to the painting. The way your wrist flicked with ease, coating the mythical being in red fur and gold tips. Its talons curved to a point, glistening with copper, grabbing a knight in its grasp, pulling him a part, blood trickling out of the man like a river, his screams were visible, but died down with him. It was lifelike and stumbled with gore, however, Eddie was smitten by it.

In his eyes, the artwork looked as if it was moving, that he could see the dragon flapping it's wings, tearing down an army of knights; hearing the haunting screams of the damned penetrating the atmosphere around him as the eerie scene unfolded before his very eyes. 

"Christ." He murmured, his mouth ajar.

You jumped, startled by the outburst, dropping your pallet and paintbrushes to the ground, the paint splattering against the white tiles.

"Shit, I am so sorry!" Eddie voiced, rushing over to you, kneeling down to pick up the mess he had helped you make.

You smiled warmly at him, "N-no, worries." You stuttered, effortlessly swiping a cloth off your easel.

You went towards the sink, turning the tap on, mixing soap and hot water into the fabric.

Walking back to the mess, your smile never left your face, making Eddie's heart flutter in a worrying speed.

His face tinted pink, not knowing why he was suddenly feeling palpitations.

He slowly observed you as you twisted the cloth, wringing it over the splotches of paint, causing a flood of water to drain out of it and you swirled it around, cleaning up the paint.

"Eddie." He sputtered, "The name's Eddie Munson." He grinned, lending out a hand for you to shake.

You placed your hand in his, gripping it tightly, his ring-tousled fingers leaving small indents in your skin.

You shivered at the touch, gulping as you spoke your name, a sudden shyness enveloping you.

"I'm (Y/n), (Y/n) (L/n)."

Of course he already knew your name, you were infamous around here. You were a visual-arts prodigy, a new student with a formidable amount of talent, who already has an array of scholarships lined up for her, the best in the school, the best in Hawkins, Indiana. You're that (Y/n) (L/n); the one he admires from a distance, the one he eagerly craves to know more about.

"It's a pleasure meeting you, Sweetheart." He smirked, fluttering his big-chocolaty hues at you, and immediately you were enamoured with them.

Your ears flared and your pearly-whites grinned back, "The pleasure's all mine, babe." You winked, sending a wave of warmth across his features, your flirtatious personality bubbling to the surface. 

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, shuffling in his spot, a small smile tugging at his lips. "So, uh, what made you paint that?" He asked, gesturing towards your finished piece.

"I had a nightmare." You murmured, crossing your arms over one another, looking at it. "It was bugging me all day, so I had to paint it." You claimed, staring up at him, "It's nothing compared to what I usually paint, though." You smirked, bragging a bit, trying to read his demeanour, but to your prevail, he lacked any form of one. 

Nonetheless, he looked at you, a devious-but-playful grin on his face, "What do you mean, your usual puppies and rainbows paintings?" He chortled, looking you up in down, teasing you. 

You huffed, smacking his arm slightly, "No, they're much more gore-y." 

Eddies eyes widened, "You? Really? I find it hard to believe." He laughs, judging your outfit; which consisted of dark blue overalls, a white blouse underneath and red converse with floral pins engrossing the straps of your fit. You definitely didn't seem like the type who usually paints things like that.

You snorted, "Just because I like wearing colour, unlike you, doesn't mean my paintings are always happy, far from it, actually." You stated, a wave of sadness lingering, "Though, you're not wrong, I always add a little spoof of cuteness to my darker stuff." You giggled, pulling him by the hem of his Hellfire shirt, beckoning him to look closer at the painting. "Where there is darkness, there is always beauty." You entailed, pointing to a small detail that was in the flame; it was the same scenery, but the dragon was curled up with another dragon, but it was smaller in comparison. There were no knights, just a momma and her kin, enjoying the peace and quiet. 

"Wow." Eddie spoke in awe, "You really got in there, didn't you?" He eyes you, astounded by how detailed your painting truly was with his arms crossed. "I take it that the baby dragon was killed and that this..." He trailed, pointing at the darker version of it, "Is the mother's revenge." 

You nodded happily, clasping your hands in excitement, "Uh-huh." You exclaimed, your paintings always told a story, but it was up to the viewer to pick what that story was about.

"Atta girl." A broad smile taking over Eddie's face, "Colour me impressed." 

You giggled, causing Eddie's heart to flutter again, a new string of emotions tangling up in his thoughts.

God, you were so cute. 

"Would you maybe, uh, want to sit with me at lunch tomorrow?" He queried, staring at you, unsure of how you'd respond.

You nodded, "Of course!" 

#eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #one shot #artist #fan fiction #reblog #cute

[yanderenightmare]

Oh master, plez, DRAGON WARRIOR BAKUGO, my lord! I was thinking, if you please, a darling who is like clairvoyant, and that's why King bakugo needs her??? can you make it dark ;3 like like like whatever means necessary dark, like like like ill murder anyone who gets in my way, also also also it being really grotesque, I want merciless bakugo, BUT also kinda sweet when it comes to darling?? I don't know what exactly I want, but I know whatever you write I'll prob enjoy, Master Nightmare :3

DRAGON ! WARRIOR ! KING BAKUGO KATSUKI x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: abuse, violence, genocide, kidnapping, abduction, death, blood, murder, ableism, classism, anxiety, arson, narcissistic personality disorder, slavery, trauma, war

so, a little foreword, the darling in this story has a quirk (ik, I’m breaking my beliefs thinking Bakugo should have a quirkless reader! The insanity!) but it’s because in this au not it’s quite special to have a quirk. Quirks are achieved and not given so to say. So Katsuki has earned his quirk and reader has earned her quirk, and so has everyone else who has a quirk. Also the song is called “If I Had a Heart” by Fever Ray, it’s the theme song to vikings ironically haha.

PART TWO

MUTE AND NUDE

The King was in her village.

Word from the south spread quickly, like any wildfire would, especially when riding the wings of a dragon. The Kingdom’s seer was dead, and the almighty bruise-knuckled King required a new one. They called it misfortune, but give a child a toy, and the toy is destined to break. Some might say that that’s what they’re made for. The old toy had apparently done something so distasteful that it cost her own tongue. Unfortunately, or perhaps ironically the only thing she was useful for: on her knees, mouth open, worshipping her king.

She counted the smoke rising to the sky near the horizon. Hers would be the thirteenth village they came to, lest their quest was done. She thought she might have seen him in the cloud-coverage. Eerie shadows resembling what bats she found in the caves, but the sun was bright and could easily be mistaken for him, or the other way around, as she’s heard his coat is golden.

She heard the rumbling tumbling of hooves and paws and claws riding up the mountain-side. They were coming.

Their houses were made of rock, sturdy as they should be when placed on a mountain-top with constant winds howling at them, and handled the fire well. But people aren’t made of stone. The smell of burning flesh is awful, and though she had nothing to puke, she barfed nonetheless. People were screaming and she probably would have too if she could, she was most certainly crying and bleeding and heaving for breath like those unlucky others that were still left alive.

High mountains are a bleak habitat for animal life, partially why they lived up there: to be spared of being hunted, to escape fangs and claws. And now: people running for their lives, the aching in her ankles, a body not built for running, and a mind not used to being hunted. Yet, it was strange but, it wasn’t really foreign at all.

She’d been dreaming of things lately, and as death as well as dust and ash and blood settled and seeped into the mud around her, she couldn’t help but feel as though she’d seen it all before. In fact, there came a point in the middle of the fray she was certain she was dreaming as she stopped to eye the great golden mass in front of her. Scales sharp and silvery like mica on the mountainside, ruby-red eyes as though soaked with blood. Teeth long and sturdy like the jagged rocks of the tunnels, dripping not with water as they did in the caves but with blood and guts and torn clothes. And the talons, curved and shiny, black as night, digging into the gravel by his feet, treating the soil as though it were as thin as the air. But the wings… the wings are what had her falling to her knees, skin bitten by gravel. Greater then roofs, sweeping the sky as though he could pluck each and every star from the welkin, stud himself with them if he so wanted to, or swallow them if only to breath the light onto earth. He could shred trees with those wings, he could slice oceans apart, he could probably part the mountain, head in the heavens and roots with hell, the bridge that had stood for thousands of years, singlehandedly torn open by that great monster conquering both sky and earth as though they gave him life.

Her arm was bleeding. It had dentures, no… puncture wounds it seemed the more she looked. A pretty crescent moon of red marking deep into the soft tissue of her meager muscles, dripping onto the dirt, creating streaks in the mud caking her bare feet. She looked up to see a wolf turn into a man, a large man with spikes for hair, red but not the same red she’d seen earlier in those eyes, red like poppies far away from the red flowing in her veins, from what was leaking out of her arm.

She looked forward and saw bodies… no, not bodies… mangled mockeries of the human form strewn about her as though they were trampled wildflowers on a field. She looked to her side and saw her reflection in the faces of those she’d grown up with but never truly knew. She looked behind her, not spotting what abomination of life she’d seen earlier, the one painting the sky, the one eclipsing the sun.

Every young, pretty thing was lined up on a row that stretched about ten meters long as they weren’t that many in her village, and she was surprised to be one of them. The auditions began in the early left side of the fray, boys and girl shaking on unsteady knees, holding onto broken arms and gushing wounds. Her bitemark was begging for a fist around it too, but she had not the focus to indulge the wish as her eyes caught sight of a blot of gold contrasting the otherwise grey figures, it being clear who he was despite having altered form. Although not the tallest in stature, one could see it as clear as day, he towered over the rest of the flock.

The tones ripped from their throats were scratchy, untuned; garbage. It would seem none of the kids in the village were gifted, but if the Gods were of mercy they would grant them the vocal cords to survive the night. She couldn’t blame them for allowing their fear to taint their song. Seeing how the drapes in which the hooded figures dressed were soaked in blood from past failures. Knowing well how their weapons would breach flesh and bone were they not of any use to them.

If she had a voice she would use it for speaking and not for singing. This would probably be her last night.

They rushed through the girls and boys rather quickly. Swiftly; as if they had done it countless times before, as if they could decide by the first utterance of their very first tone, that they were a disappointment, that they were as good as dead.

Caught in the middle of the small gathering; her turn came along. The man, standing in front, had purple hair and a nasty scar on his face, adorned with bladed eyes like a cat. Another blade, a steel blade, was held at her throat. Unnecessary, as the brutal scarring of his arms was intimidating enough for her to understand she could survive nothing compared to what he had already lived through. “Sing.” He commanded abruptly, an atmosphere of force settled on the word, as though compelling her, quite like how the wind shakes the trees in command to dance for them.

She did her hand gestures as smooth as she could under the pressure, lips remaining closed.

He threw his eyebrows up, scar shifting in its place like a serpent, the message had clearly gotten across. A condescending smile, a most sinister snicker and an unfortunate scoff was all the sympathy he allowed her. “No voice?” It wasn’t a question. “What a meaningless life.” He stated in a mutter, before moving onto the next girl.

The golden figure, who had followed discreetly, didn’t continue on with the scarred boy, he instead planted his clawedfeet in front of the girl, threatening to crush her barefooted toes, sinking into the red clay of the town square. “Sing.” His voice was fuller, and because of it she didn’t dare look up.

The scarred boy came to a halt, looking back to watch the girl repeat the hand gestures once again, she thinking that maybe the scarred boy had blocked the view the first time.

“No excuses.” His foot shifted in the mud, talons somehow growing longer as they impaled the ground, indicated he leant in closer. “Sing.” He said again, the sharpness of the demand sending a shiver to travel down her spine as it was accompanied with a growl too much like the sound of thunder to be called human. The girl furrowed her brows and looked up, her bottom lip visible quaking. Yet, what looked at her was no dragon, no… it was a man, a boy. And his skin was not golden like the rarity found in the mountain halls, but tan like sand, and his hair was only a shade lighter, nothing alike the mane of the sun. But those eyes had her quaking, those sharp slitted eyes that seemed to hold her soul in a chokehold, full of cultivated knowledge, merciless, red like wine, red like blood, red like hell. What’s a fate worse than death? She wondered and swallowed at the thought, her breathing picking up its pace. “Sing!” Spit flew to her face like venom with the roar, the tone reverberating through the ground, shaking in her knees.

She felt the itch in her throat, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t been feeling it more and more lately, the feeling of dead born words somehow washing away. Her whimpers, absent of anything except for breathiness before, now carrying a somewhat lilt of tone. She stared a little deeper into those blood-soaked orbs of the man that looked like the onset of death before her.

“If I had heart.”

The wind roared as if it were as surprised as she was, or perhaps it rejoiced, or perhaps it mourned.

She was silent, the wind crashing and flailing, whipping the rags of her dress, letting the ripped fabric lick her dirty and bruised legs, pulling the disheveled locks of hair out from her face. Eyes; terror-wide, looking into a pair of sharp ones, who seemed to be looking beyond her disheveled state, into something far more divine than she had ever seen, ever known. “Continue.” The red-eyed boy commanded firmly, a detectable form of lust in his voice.

Startled, feeling the gravel dig into her soles. “I would love you... if I had a voice, I would sing.” The people on either side of her looked to be even more distressed now, crying and screaming, looking like wraiths in those charcoaled rags they wore, hands covering their ears as though to protect themselves, terrified as they looked to the sky expecting it to come falling down upon them.

However, their insolence and disrespect wasn’t what angered him, he could allow them that much before he took their lives. But the conflict found in her voice, that’s what truly boiled beneath his skin. He reached out his hand, quick like a viper, the pressure in his fingertips simmering on her skin, sizzling with heat, only for him to dig his fingernails into her throat as well. “Forget everything you know, except for that your life is in the palm of my hand.” He said, securing her gaze, lifting her up to her tippy-toes, though still nowhere near leveling his height.

Awakened by his words and frightened to her bones by the searing look of his eyes, she did as she was told and forgot who she was, forgot what she was and gave into simply doing exactly what needed to be done to keep her alive, to keep what beast in front of her subdued, or perhaps also to satiate what fire seemed to have burst to life inside of her, screaming to be heard. “After the night, when I wake up, I’ll see what tomorrow brings.” Eyes glazed over by some infernal light. She roared, a howl of some sorts, and the trees seemed to shiver and shake in the outmost reverence. “More, give me more, give me more.”

Somehow the leaves stopped rustling at the sound of her abrupt finish. Overwhelmed; all she could do was breath, all she could to was quake, the wind making the tears ever present on her face, the blood of her arm drying and awakened again as new blood came gushing out of her wounds.

The swirling dramatics in his eyes died down into a calm yet eerie content look. “Found you.” He stated, taking his time for the awakening to soak in, bask in the glorious feeling of triumph, before breaking focus from her. He let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Burn the village.” The statement left her blood turning cold. “There’s nothing left for us here. Dispose of the disappointments.” He was quick with his words as though they had been said many times before, and the actions performed by the ones in grey were just as swift, just as merciless. Humans turning into monsters murdering humans.

“No!” She wasn’t aware the voice belonged to her, so many years gone by without being able to voice anything; an opinion; nothing more than a foreigner, let alone an objection.

The people beside her dropped to the floor like rag dolls nonetheless, her voice just as insignificant as if she was still voiceless, drowning in their own bloodied throats. Her throat didn’t match theirs, but had strong, calloused fingers wrapped around it instead, coated with blood, the stench of it becoming so familiar yet far from friendly.

“Forget them, they don’t matter.” His voice still sheer, despite the screams around them both, overwhelming in fact. She felt her mind slip away from her then, as though her sentience was squeezed out from her by the deadlock fist wrapped around her neck, a conquering drowsiness following, seeping into her like the crawling of darkness when the sun settles on the horizon, her vision blurring everything except for those red, red eyes, who; from this point until her death, would never leave her.

PART TWO

#yandere #yandere bakugou #yandere bnha #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bakugo #yandere katsuki #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere katsuki x reader #yandere bakugo x reader #bakugo #bakugou #katsukibakugou #bakugou katsuki #Katsuki Bakugō #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki #katsuki bnha #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugo fanfiction #katsuki bakugo fic #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n

[yandere-wishes]

𝕊𝕖𝕝𝕗-𝕃𝕠𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 🐚Yandere! leviathan X Reader🐚

I’m trying out a new writing style, so please let me know what you think! This story is rather abstract and switches a bit between reader POV and Leviathan’s POV.

WARNINGS: VERY DARK, suicidal themes, self harm, mild gore, verbal abuse, self-hatred, objectification and cursing.

🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚

ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴀɴ ᴏʟᴅ ꜱᴀʏɪɴɢ, ᴀɴ ᴏʟᴅ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ꜱᴀʏɪɴɢ: "ᴏᴘᴘᴏꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱɪᴍɪʟᴀʀ ʀᴇᴘᴇʟꜱ". ʙᴜᴛ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴀꜱ ᴀɴʏ ʟᴏɢɪᴄ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀʟᴍ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛʀᴇꜱᴘᴀꜱꜱᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟᴅᴏᴍ?

The two of you were the same, cut from the exact same depressing, aversion cloth. 

The two of you were mangled disjointed creatures with lanky brittle bones made up of self-loathing and mismatched hatred. Broken from displaced frustration and indecent, vulgar tendencies, that no one could snuff out of either of you. 

Instead of guts and intestines both you, the lowly human, and him, the feared sea serpent, had long strings of pity that coiled inside your stomachs.

Eyes as green as the ripest emerald blinded by endless, unchecked envy towards all things that so much as breathed.

Rotting pink brains filled with nothing but depressive thoughts and screeching banshee-like voices that never seem to cease. 

Yes, you and Leviathan were the exact same thing...

There's a certain aroma that floats and flocks around a person with such low regard for themselves. Where ever you walked a thick suffocating cloud of despair followed like a lost limping mutt. Pure unaltered self-disgust rolls off you like waves in the middle of a storm.

This is one of the things Leviathan loves about you, the intoxicating saddening aura that you wear like the finest perfumes. Although if caught like a deer in headlights, the sea serpent would just lie through his shark-like teeth and make some remarks about your pretty smile or shiny eyes. 

Truth is, he HATES when you smile. Hated when hope and joy and all things bright and good twinkle in your eyes like the flicker of a newborn star. 

Oh no, you're all so much prettier when you frown, when you look like your lust for life is all died out. When your eyes twinkle with that sort of sweet despair like all your hope has gotten engulfed by a black hole. 

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

There's something wrong with you. You don't know what, but it's there, you can feel it everywhere you go. 

Maybe it's the repulsive way your skin is stretched so suffocatingly thin across your bones. Or maybe it's the way you pick at your open scars, digging deeper and deeper past blazing red tissue until it starts to bleed again. 

Whatever it is you aren't sure, but something is most definitely wrong with you. 

maybe that's why, on a particularly bad, paranoid day, you finally decide to just end it. 

Although it's never that simple is it?

There's something no one ever tells you about the cessation of life. A mysterious negative hour that happens just as the last atom of oxygen is departing from your lungs. A negative one, a negative two, and if you get expressly unlucky than also a negative three. This is usually when you start to wonder if you did it right, if the rope is too loose or hung too low. The dam of reality breaks and all uncertainty pours through with no real regard for what it's destroying. Are you're really still alive? Or is this some post-mortem induced dream? Everything makes about as much sense as when you were alive, only now it's foggy and ambiguous and all so distant like a far off dream...

It's also the time when every good memory comes rushing back, spilling carelessly akin to the blood gushing from the vain you slashed a month ago. You're dying far too slowly and all too semi-lucidly.

This is far from how you thought your escape plan would go.

The plan shatters even more when you actually open your eyes again and realize that you're no longer dangling from the ceiling. Instead, you're wrapped in some sort of lukewarm blanket, trapped between glacial white walls that bite at your fingers why you try to push them away.

And staring down at you with a sort of raw envy that your human mind couldn't fabricate, was non other than the third born himself.

Up to this day you still don't know who saved you, the seven brothers treat the whole ordeal like Pandora's box, tucking it under volts of diamond and throwing the key into the abyss. As long as it stays out of sight, out of tongue's reach and ears range then it'll surely be out of mind. Everything will be just fine so long as lord Diavolo doesn't hear what happened to the precious little human. Everything is just fine if everyone ignores it.

Personally, you don't mind the outcome. You're restrained to Levi's room, being under his watch and alleged "care" for all hours of the day. It's to keep you safe Lucifer assures, although your own guilt likes to twist the words into something more like, "It's to get rid of a nuisance".

Either which way life starts to escalate just a tiny bit.

Funny how even self-loathing and inner hatred seem to fade away when there's someone to share the pain with.

Soon it's no longer "I wish I could die" or "why can't I just be God damn good enough!"

but rather "We seriously should split a suicide built" and "Wouldn't it be fun if we both dive off a cliff head first into lava?"

With someone just as aggravated and self-destructive as yourself, things start to look up...that is until you do the unforgivable, at least so it's written in Levi's demented book. 

You step too far, you start to ask things, start to pry into things that shouldn't matter to you.

And then you do it, the worst of the worst, you smile...

Straight after asking him such a revolting sincere question

"What do you think about life?" 

It's meant to be rhetorical, you TRY to make it sound rhetorical. But any social norms or form of sarcasm goes over Levi's head like the basketballs he's never able to catch. His attention snaps to you, like a snake being alerted that a predator is a near...or prey, again it's really impossible to tell.

 His neck cranes at an odd angle as his tail curls inwards. For a split millisecond, you can swear on your almost grave that you see his tongue dart out before zipping back into his toothy mouth. Predator, he definitely sees you as a predator.

"Baby, not much...I-i want to die"

Time doesn't stop, not even when all understanding and logic have tipped their hats at the door and disappeared into the great beyond. Leviathan's slit eyes stare at you, behind all the pain and broken anger, for just an instant you think you see the fragments of understanding shine, brighter than the never setting moon. 

He's just like you, 

You're just like him,

That's when the trouble creeps over. The corners of your mouth take a turn upwards and push your cheeks back, making way for a grin. It's faint and ghostly at best...up it's there.

It just has to be there....

That godforsaken satisfied smile. 

When you're attention flicker's to Levi again you notice his arm pulling back, throwing the controller across the room with anger worst than anything Satan could summon upon his worst day. 

"Don't fucking do that!"

You're stoned in place, eyes too scared to move from the sea snake, what went wrong? Why does something always go wrong?

"D-do what..?" 

It's not your fault that you're voice shakes and breaks, not your fault that the room starts to spiral out of control. It's his fault, all his fault...but is anything ever really his fault?

"Don't look happy! Or hopeful! You look so freaking ugly when you smile!"

His voice is shockingly low, like a mother trying to get her child to settle down after a tantrum. He's borderline cooing at you to "act" properly again. Never the less the venom and disgust are steel audible, glittering like a silver lining.

For once though it's not worth it to stop smiling, all the screams and yells and depravities of the world can't erase this smile from your face.

"Six thousand-year-old demon and you actually dream of death rather than eternal hell on earth or torturing the damned? You really are a broken one Leviathan."

The blue-haired sea monster just shrugs in reply before slithering closer, wrapping his slender bony arms around your waist, they feel like Thamnophis coiling around your midsection, sinking into your flesh. His heavy head falls onto your lap, you can practically hear all the outcries of jealousy and cries of purified agony. 

"What can I say...we're both two disgusting broken things that have no right to live or any claim to happiness...but well, fuck happiness who needs it...right?

Yeah, who needs a thing that only creeps into the heart under perfect circumstances and that floats away at the drop of a feather, who needs happiness and joy, when the two of you can forevermore rot in your own envy and depression....together.

Always together

Rotting forever.

"Right...screw happiness and all it's stupid worth."

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

#obey me #yandere obey me #obey me x reader #shall we date #shall we date obey me #obey me x you #yandere obey me x reader #yandere obey me x you #leviathan #leviathan x reader #leviathan x you #yandere leviathan #yandere leviathanx reader #yandere leviathan x you #obey me leviathan #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me leviathan x you #yandere obey me leviathan #yandere obey me leviathan x you #yandere obey me leviathan x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yancore #yandere #lovecore #tw self destructive behavior

[megumisbimbo]

- Four -

megumi fushiguro x reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

summary: (y/n) was nothing special. A human being who had no idea that curses walked the same earth they walked. But then they locked eyes with Megumi Fushiguro. Can Fushiguro focus on the task ahead or will he be distracted by the king of curses and his new love interest?

series masterlist

©️ @megumisbimbo — all rights reserved. Please do not repost, modify or translate my work. Reblogs and likes appreciated!

Credit for the main storyline and characters goes to Gege Akutami.

tags: @xreemie @kitkozume @noyakura @vanilnya20​ @tobi--o​

the songs are indicated throughout the story at certain points!

songs used:

put your records on - ritt momney

who dat boy - tyler the creator

goodbye - billie eilish

— put your records on - ritt momney —

(y/n) pov:

It was early in the morning when you were woken up by the sound of rustling. You turn and see Fushiguro frantically getting himself together.

“New mission?” You ask, voice deep and scratchy.

“It was a bit of an emergency, sorry I can’t stay today. But the rest of the sashimi is in the fridge.”

“I’ll be fine Megumi, I promise. You shouldn’t worry so much you’ll get wrinkles.” You say, causing him to let out a small chuckle.

“Are you ready to leave yet?” You ask

“No not yet.”

“Then can I play with Kou?”

Megumi gives you a puzzled glare.

“Kou?..”

“Your white dog. I named it Kou! Isn’t it cute!?”

“You shouldn’t get so attached to them you know.”

“Yes yes I know. Now can I play with it?!”

Megumi smiles and summons his white dog, who he noticed has taken a special liking to you. As much as he knew it would be a bad idea for you to get so attached to his shikigami, he couldn’t help but feel all warm inside when he saw you laughing. He finished getting ready and him and his white dog make their way out the door bidding you goodbye. You stare out the window again, noticing that you tend to do that often. Well you didn’t want to sit around all day bored as hell, so you decide to watch a movie on Megumi’s television and finish the sushi from the day before.

Megumi pov:

They looked so cute playing with my divine dog, how could I say no to that face.

“Snap out of it Megumi.” Nobara says waving her hand in front of my face.

“Were you even paying attention?”

“Of course I was.” I respond, slightly irritated.

“Thinking about (y/n) again?”

“WHA- WHY- WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT??” I say, startled by her question.

“I don’t know. Just a hunch I guess.”

Itadori walks outside and greets us with a smile. Reminds me of their smile...stop it Megumi you’re going insane.

Ijichi-san’s black car rolls up beside us and we step into the backseat. He drives us to the Juvenile Detention Center in West Tokyo. We step out of the car and walk towards building two.

“Our windows confirmed a curse womb approximately three hours ago. Five inmates are currently trapped inside along with the curse. Curse wombs that grow and change shape can be expected to become a curse close to that of a special grade. You are not to engage.”

I know that a curse of special grade ranking should be dealt with by a special grade sorcerer. Where is Gojo-sensei?

“Satoru is currently on a business trip.”

Of course.

A woman comes running towards us, stopped by the gate guards.

“Is Tadashi...my son. Is my son ok?!?”

I turn and see Itadori’s face turn pale. He needs to stop letting his feelings get involved.

“We cannot disclose any more information at this point.” One of the guards explains.

“Fushiguro, Kugisaki. We have to save him.” Itadori says.

“Of course.”

Ijichi-san lowers the curtain and I summon Kou.

“If it gets close, Ko-... my dog will let us know.”

“Let’s do this.”

— who dat boy - tyler the creator—

We walk into the building and are immediately caught off guard. The whole place is a maze. I turn around looking for the entrance.

“Damn. Where’s the door?”

Kugisaki and Itadori panic but I explain that Kou would be able to sniff it’s way out, since it remembered the scent of the entrance.

“You’re so reliable Fushiguro.” Itadori says with a smile, a familiar glint in his eyes.

He reacts the same way (y/n) does. They really must be close.

We walk deeper into the maze and find the work yard where the curse had first been seen. A mangled up body lay across from us. Itadori walks up to the body and pulls on the shirt he was wearing.

Tadashi Okazaki

“Is it that woman’s son?” Kugisaki asks.

“We’re bringing this body back. His face isn’t that messed up. She won’t be satisfied if we just tell her that her son is dead.” Itadori responds.

I grab onto his uniform and pull him away from the victim.

“Leave him. We have to confirm that the other two are dead.” I say, knowing exactly who this man is.

“Everytime we look back the path is different. How’re we gonna get back here?” Itadori responds.

“I said leave him. I never said we were coming back. He’s not even worth saving alive, why would I save his dead body.”

Itadori grabs onto the collar of my jacket.

“What’re you talking about?” He says, anger laced in his tone.

“This is a juvenile detention center. I read about what he did to get in here. He was driving without a license and hit a girl who was walking home from school, and that was the second infraction. I know you want to save everyone, so they can die a natural death, but who’s to say that someone you save won’t kill someone else in the future?”

Itadori looks at me with a blank stare. Anger festers within him. I can feel his energy shifting.

“THEN WHY DID YOU SAVE ME!?”

I...can’t answer that.

Kugisaki’s voice tears us away from each others stare.

“Knock it off you two! This isn’t the time or-“

Her body being sucked into a hole on the ground cuts her sentence off. We both stare blankly at the spot where she was standing.

No way.

“There’s no way...my divine dog would have-“

I turn around and see Kou’s head sticking out of the wall. Completely dead. My heart sinks. (y/n).

“Fushiguro!”

I turn towards Itadori, fear building up inside me.

“Run! We’ll find Kugisaki after we get away-“

My words are cut off by the immense amount of cursed energy I suddenly feel beside us. The special grade.

I can’t move. Neither can Itadori...I think.

Itadori suddenly swings his slaughter demon upwards in hopes of at least wounding the special grade. It proves absolutely futile when both the slaughter demon and his hand fly through the air landing a few feet away from us. I look back at Itadori and find his arm gushing with blood.

We’ve lost.

“Fushiguro. Run. Find Kugisaki. Let me know when you get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you behind!”

“Fushiguro...Please...”

My heart sinks as I see Itadori’s pleading smile. I know he’s strong, but he’ll die if I leave him with this curse.

Wait.

I nod and find my will to move. I run as fast as I can through the building desperately searching for Kugisaki, my black divine dog leading the way. I finally reach her and, using my frog shikigami, pull her away from the curse that was holding her. We both manage to escape from the building. I drop her off with Ijichi-san, and my divine dog lets out a howl, signaling our escape.

Please let him make it out.

Ijichi-san explains that he’ll take Kugisaki to a doctor, and insists that I come along with him. I refuse and opt to wait for Itadori outside the building. I ask him if he could do his best to bring a sorcerer higher than a grade one when he returns. Although it isn’t likely he will, he agrees and drives away with Kugisaki safely tucked in the backseat.

I wait for what feels like ages. Suddenly, I notice the expanded dormitory has disappeared, which means the special grade curse has died.

Now if Itadori would just come back.

My thoughts are interrupted by a familiar sinister voice.

“If it’s about him, he’s not coming back.”

My whole body tenses up at the sound of that demon’s voice.

“Don’t worry, I’m in a good mood right now. Let’s talk.”

Where’s Itadori? He should have switched back by now.

“He seems to be having some trouble, but it’s only a matter of time before he’ll switch back. So I thought about what I could do in the meantime.” Sukuna says, an evil grin creeping across his face.

I watch as Sukuna buries his fist inside Itadori’s chest and rips out his heart. My eyes widen as I watch him hold Itadori’s still beating heart in his hand.

“I’m taking this brat hostage!”

He can live without the heart but...Itadori can’t. He’ll die if he switches back.

“Itadori will come back, even if his death is the result...that’s just the type of person he is.” I say, my heart racing.

“You think too highly of him. Just a while ago he was so scared while on the verge of death. He was a mess you know. Talking about (y/n) and why he’s sorry and how he’ll miss them. How pathetic.”

(y/n). Dammit.

My mind is racing as I stare at Itadori’s body, covered with tattoos and gushing red hot blood.

I’ll try and make him restore Itadori’s heart before he comes back by convincing him that he can’t win with a heartless body. I have to. But is that even possible? For someone who couldn’t even move in front of a special grade curse. Doesn’t matter. I’ll do it.

“I’m finally outside, Let’s make use of this space!”

I quickly summon Nue to fight Sukuna. Although I’m using my shikigami, I’ll fight him myself as well. I think I manage to land a blow, but it’s quickly blocked.

“Put some more curse behind your blows!” Sukuna says before punching me in the face.

I summon my Serpent and with the help of Nue, I manage to restrain Sukuna.

“Don’t give him a chance!” I yell to my shikigami, hoping that I’d be able to hold him long enough to land a critical blow.

I watch in shock as Sukuna rips my Serpent apart, freeing himself. Without a second to think, I find him grabbing onto the back of my shirt, flinging me into the air. He follows me up into the sky and hits me hard against the back of my head. I fly aimlessly through the air, but Nue scoops me into its wings and softens the blow of the landing. I turn and pet it’s head.

Nue is at its limit. I have to undo the spell before it’s destroyed. I carelessly used my shikigami and now my Serpent and Kou are both destroyed.

Sukuna lands in front of me.

“Your shikigami use shadow as a medium, don’t they?” He asks.

“So what?”

“Hmmm, you don’t get it do you?

I give him a questioning look, still disoriented from the beating I just received.

“What a waste of talent...in any case, I’m not going to heal the brat. He’s not even worth fighting for.”

“Well I save people...unfairly.”

I let out all of my curse, allowing the blue tinted energy to flow through and around me.

“You’re going to get fired up now? That’s good! Well then. Entertain me Fushiguro Megumi!!”

I begin reciting a chant usually done by shinto priests that is believed to summon the dead. Also known as “The ten sacred treasures.” My thoughts are spinning, disorienting me more.

(y/n). What would they think of me? How could I face them if I lose Itadori.

— goodbye - billie eilish —

I stop, realizing the only way to win is to pull Itadori out of his own head, no matter the cost.

“Itadori, I know you can hear me. I didn’t have any logical reason to save you and (y/n) back then. Even if it was dangerous, even if they are a liability, I couldn’t watch good people die. I had some doubts but... ultimately I made a selfish choice driven by my emotions. But that’s fine. So to answer your question...I saved you because...because I’m not a hero. I’m a sorcerer. I never regretted saving you two. Not even once.”

The tattoos on his body begin to fade, and Itadori’s face resurfaces.

“I see...You’re smart Fushiguro and I think the way you live your truth is right. But I don’t think I’m wrong either.”

Itadori’s chest gushes blood and his body becomes limp.

“Ah, it’s almost time for me... Kugisaki and Gojo-sensei...I guess I don’t have to worry about them anymore. Live a long life Fushiguro, and tell (y/n)...I...love....the-“

His body hits the ground creating a puddle of blood. Tears form in my onyx eyes.

I have to go home to (y/n)...what will I tell them. I’m sorry (y/n). I couldn’t save him.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro x reader #jjk anime #jjk megumi #jjk angst #itadori yuuji #gojo satoru #nobara kugisaki #ryomen sukuna

[honestsycrets]

Little Crow [ Ivar x Niece!OC (Platonic), Ivar x POC!Reader ]

❛ pairing | ivar & sigurd’sdaughter!niece (father figure relationship), implied!ivar x POC!reader, thora x hvitserk x amma

❛ type | platonic, family oriented oneshot

❛ summary | after ivar murders sigurd, his guilt keeps him from keeping his niece. but-- he can’t help himself from trying to crawl back into her life.

❛  tags | verbal arguments, osteogenesis imperfecta issues, fighting, referenced death, referenced murder, orphan child, adoptive mother, adoptive relationships, family dynamics, mention of polygyny.

❛ sy’s notes | this fic implies Bjorn sailed away to Sweden after avenging Ragnar, Aslaug does not die. 

In everything, anger is a release of tension. That is as true for cooking instruments as life. Water boils with the anger of a flame and chucks its lid off to release itself all over the kettle or pot. Likewise, the moment the axe left his hand, Ivar felt the rush and the release of tension. It was gratifying. It was what he wanted. For it all to stop.

“Are you sure?”

He looks back, once, past the flickering flame to the little hands pushing and prodding her pale skin. She looks happy here, free of the realization of a few months ago, before the sail back to Kattegat, before Bjorn sailed away to Sweden, before the accident. There is security in a warm longhouse with nothing but beautiful, strong women. Here she could learn.

Ivar kisses her palm and doesn’t look back.

For her coming of age, he sends her a gift. It’s quiet. Until it isn’t.

“She’s renamed her Aslaug,” his mother came into the throne room one day, standing before him with soft eyes as he sat in his mother’s chair. Ivar bounced clicked his fingers along the arm of the chair.

“Ironic,” he noted, and his hand dropped from his lip. “She has your old name.”

“The crows come to see her.”

Odin is taking care of her. Ivar hmphs, a small noise, almost unmoved until his mother steps up to set her hand on his shoulder. It stings different. “Why don’t you go see her? She is very beautiful.”

He’s not sure if it’s his niece she’s talking about-- or the carer out in the fields. It’s better this way. Less of a risk for her to be involved with such a family. Ivar stares, plain and long, trying to isolate why his mother was speaking like this.

“Why are you pushing me?”

Her lips curl into a knowing smile. She heads down from the throne to the backrooms.“I’ve invited them to eat dinner.”

Fantastic.

Mother was right. She is beautiful. he can’t tell which of the women he’s speaking about.

The young girl, who is no more than twelve, with cool blue eyes plagued with the spiral of jörmungandr, or her mother who isn’t really her mother. Not in the flesh, anyway. Her skin is far too pigmented, her eyes too deep to belong to the sea serpent, but maybe the deepness and depth of the soil that nurtured the chunk of a pig on his plate.

“--I came after Ragnar’s victory in Paris,” he catches the tail end of the statement. His father’s name is old but familiar. He hasn’t been back from Europe so long.

“That was not so long ago.”

“It’s long if you’re a slave.” There was nothing he could say to that. “Thank you for that Ivar.”

What you mean to say, is for the coin that set you free, from Ivar’s pocket. He took a little more than he should have after his father came back. Perhaps it wasn’t with just this in mind-- but who knew when a young boy like him would come upon such money again? At the very least, he put it to good work.

“I can’t stand to see beautiful women as slaves.” He gestures, and you tease him further, that if you were ugly he would not?

No, he reminds you, women are his soft spot. He’s kissed more than one woman’s hand-- and they weren’t all young. “He’s a woman’s man,” Aslaug brought her knuckle to his high cheekbones. Little Aslaug stares off in annoyance between the bantering, complaints of how he had no wife-- and maybe, a tease at the prospect in the future.

“In its time,” he remarks to the two of you. Ivar sat idly chewing on it when his eyes caught with little Aslaug’s across the table. Her eyes flicked down, to his plate, then up again. “Still hungry?” he asks lowly, a soft draw with gentle eyes.

She reaches for it. It being his plate and drags it over to sit in front of her. Your idle chatter with Queen Aslaug is cut off by the abruptness of the motion when you set your eyes on Ivar’s. “Aslaug.”

“No, no.” Ivar waves, reaching for a chunk of fruit. “I am not so hungry today.”

“You know better than that.”

“And why?” Aslaug pulls a strip of meat off the meat. She looks at him past the wave of her long brown hair tumbling to her flat chest. “He sent me away. He should be so lucky to have me here with him.”

Aslaug leans over. Ivar-- if he could have given her a look sooner-- might have stopped what was about to come from his mouth. “He sent you away to save you. Mismanaged girls don’t often grow into women.”

“If you’re their mother, they don’t. I grew up just fine on my mother’s farm. No drownings, or almost drownings, or visions of hurricanes. No cursed mothers of the water.” Little Aslaug flicks her bone onto the plate, bobbing her head in a way that seems to be just like looking in the reflection of a golden plate, right back at him.

Aslaug reclines back in her chair.

There’s nothing you can say. In the absence of words, you lean over and press a kiss to her soft hair. Little Aslaug turns to your long braids, pushing the wooden beads away from her, because there’s something she wants to say-- and she’d say it. She was like her father, like her uncle. It’s something that he quickly realizes when she mutters something he can’t understand and leans over that long table, her crutch under her arm.

“I needed you and-- you sent me away. Like shit under your mangled legs.” When she hobbles out, leaning into her metal crutch, Ivar is left with a closed fist and a dozen questions. You spare him a look of pity on your way after her.

“I need help.”

Sigurd never needed help. Not from him. Not from really, anyone. It happened long ago that he stopped asking for help. So when the news came, he wasn’t altogether sure what he was hearing from his brother. Only that he knew what it was about.

When he set his little niece down, Ivar knew. She couldn’t even move.

“Set her down,” Ivar gestured toward the ground. Dusty, but clean for him to crawl upon. She’d broken her legs not once, or twice, but thrice. Once on the ground, he knew that the little girl was scared to move. So he showed her how, limp legged and tense armed, he dragged himself a hundred times around her.

And she giggled. And for the first time in a long time, Ivar and Sigurd laughed together.

He could have walked away. Theoretically, of course. Pretend he doesn’t have a niece. Or anyone. But he finds himself plagued with the knowledge of abandonment and reflecting on his own abandonment. And that’s how he ends up in the merchant’s square, looking for the particular women.

Ones that brought up other women’s children with long draping skirts, braids woven tighter than the fates written by the Norns, and baskets carrying goods upon their heads. Moorish, beautiful women.

“Sorry,” his brother Hvitserk slides by, jumping jovially beside him. The many different groups of Kattegat all traded in harmony. The ones of the east with the ones of the south, the ones native to home. Hvitserk bounces while walking backward. “Brother! Amma and Thora say they trade beads at the edge of the marketplace.”

“Why do you even have two wives,” Ivar grumbles, jutting his crutch into the soft ground, holding his hand over his muscular leg for balance. “Is one not tiring enough?”

“I have love to give.” Hvitserk rattles his laughter. “Why should I close myself off to another?”

“And one can’t be deserving enough?” If it were him-- he’d surely love one, and only one, because that was the sort of man he was. He doesn’t need more. He would have all that he needed and that would be enough.

“Your trouble is that you haven’t fucked enough,” Hvitserk says pointedly. “If you fucked that woman from the other day--”

“This isn’t about her.”

“You wouldn’t be so wound up all the time. Here you are attacking me, for instance.”

Ivar doesn’t respond. At one time, maybe, he thought that he could have it all and more. He could be happy with a wife with fifty children and that would be good for him. Now that it wasn’t… feasible, he supplies in his mind, this should be enough for him.

They kick up dirt as they arrive into the hearth of the marketplace. Honey, furs, slaves. Those were the good things there. His interest was less so in the simple things and more with the luxurious items at the very edge of the trade center. Expensive things like beads, jewelry, clothes. Things you traded on your rich red throw on the ground.

“Two Ragnarssons this time, I must have the blessing of Frigg this cycle.” You sat among young children, retelling a story he’s cut in on while weaving beads into a blonde-haired woman’s hair. “Something tells me you aren’t here for me.”

“You might be correct.” Ivar looks among the heads of young girls. Light-skinned, dark-skinned. Blonde hair, orange hair, black hair. None look like his little niece. “Where is Aslaug?”

“Searching a new name.”

“Alone?” he demands.

You pull a loose golden strand through your fingers. Then, looking up, you laugh at him. “You make for an overbearing father.”

Warmth floods into his cheeks. You whisper something into the ear of your daughter selling beads, and she drags them off to the side. With a pat of the blanket, Ivar slides beside you. “I’ll let you know something, Ivar, for when you have a child of your own. There are some times you press them…”

“Or dress them up,” your customer looks over. The orange beading seems to pronounce her slight freckles dotting over her cheeks and around her eyes, sunspots that indicated she worked outside the home on occasion.

“Or know when to leave them alone.”

Hvitserk shifts his weight onto one leg and shrugs. “Women are complicated,” he gestures. “Girls too.”

“You aren’t someone she wants to see.”

“I’ve gathered,” Ivar says, bringing his hand to his temple, rubbing the stress free. “I should never have sent her away.”

“You shouldn’t have.” He bows his head and looks over the soft beads. He finds himself comparing which would look the best, and you seem to know, running your fingers over the rich green that reflects like bits of grass. “But you can make it right. I would take… six of these. Fashion her a necklace. Go see her in the valley where the crows gather.”

“I don’t take it you’re giving them to me?”

“Not men,” you quip playfully, patting him square in the middle of his chest.

“No deals for men!” the young girls tease all around. He supposes, in a place made up of beautiful women, that he has no choice but to be cheated out of his coin. Hvitserk crouches at eye level, picking out two for his wives. “I’ll cash in that favour now.”

Make that eight.

What you failed to tell him was just how far this so-called valley was. His legs began to ache sorely with the calibers weighing down every step. His legs hurt, his hand hurts from supporting his wealth of muscle, and so does his head with the memory of what little Aslaug had said. In the dusty grey sky, crows fluttered overhead. Their black bodies obscure what little light peers through fat bulging clouds.

It was a day like this, not too long ago -- at least in his memory, that the accident happened. Not his loss of control or the flare-up of anger that transferred from father to uncle, to niece. But a grey day of crawling through the valley with legs that did not work and a storm that was too sudden. The sodden ground led to a sick two-year-old-- and a sicker, plump wife. Not his wife, that was.

“If you can’t keep her safe, don’t keep her at all.” It was those words, mixed among a heated exchange, that stuck with him. He sat dripping water on the new planks of Sigurd’s bedroom-- looking toward where Sigurd disappeared with his giggling girl. Sigurd meant that.

“You’re thinking too much.” Hvitserk is kind of like a bird. The kind of bird that you want to knock out of a tree when he’s following you, chirping obvious things, even when he wasn’t asked. Not that my opinion matters but… Or I think you’re an idiot… the usual.

“Shut up, Hvitserk.”

They find her in a clear valley where the bones and the spears of decades past are still lodged into Midgard. Hvitserk glances between the remnants of a long old battle, scavenger hunting for goodies, while Ivar ascends the hill. She’s more your daughter than his, Hvitserk says, because he’s so much help.

There she was at the top of the hill. Her arms were folded, a scowl slapped across her face, deepening with his every drag to an eventual stop beside her. He collapses at last beside her and sets his crutch across his tired legs.

“Mother sent you to find me.” She states. There’s a crow between her thin legs. That makes sense. She pets its head.

“Hm?” Ivar reclines back on his forearms. “Not this time. Something about space.”

“Like I said. Mother sent you to find me.”

So maybe you did. Ivar came to that helpful realization with a necklace wrapped around his wrist and a much lighter pocket. You’re no con woman, but you aren’t a stupid woman either. He reminds himself that a woman-- a once was slave -- was a crafty woman when looks alone just wouldn’t roll the stone.

“Do you hate it?”

“Maybe.” She answers quickly. “I don’t know why she wants me to see you. You--”

“--sent you away. I know. I thought I did it for you. Maybe I--” he pauses then, searching, thinking. “Did it for me.”

“I never would have guessed.”

Ivar unwinds the necklace from his wrist, staring at the beads as if they were bones he could shake-up for the right answer, like a seer. Instead, he finds himself asking why when she interrupts. “It’s one thing to kill my father.”

He glances up.

“I think… all of Kattegat knew one of you would kill another. So I hear from my mother. Baby, and all.” She says pointing to all of herself. “It’s one thing to do that. Another thing to abandon me.”

“Would you have preferred to have no mother?”

“No,” she clicks her tongue, turning her head away. “I love my mother. All of us do. She is much better than my grandmother. But you left.”

It’s a statement he doesn’t imagine he’ll stop hearing soon. Ivar rubs his temples and turns on his side just as she tugs her legs around, heavy in the calibers he had sent her for her coming of age, the thing that incited everything. He leans over, fisting the necklace, and sets it in her hands.

“Forgive me then, Aslaug.”

“Kraka.” She takes the necklace, fitting it around the crow’s head, who strangely doesn’t move. He must be seeing things now because she fits it under her arm like a ball and stands to her feet. “I want to be called Kraka. Now hurry up. With your legs, we won’t be home before the rain falls.”  

Its a different name, one that she’ll probably change again and again. Or maybe none at all. Maybe, he thinks, this is what being a parent to a young girl is. Finding himself in the same way she found herself. He doesn’t feel so angry now.

“I hate to remind you, but yours are no different, Kraka.”

And somewhere, in the field, Hvitserk chirps-- I found a coin!

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071​ @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer​ @medievalfangirl @sallydelys  @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt​ @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever

#Ivar x Reader #Ivar/Reader #Ivar x OC #Ivar/OC #ivar the boneless x OC #ivar the boneless/oc #vikings imagines #vikings imagine #vikings/reader #vikings x reader #honestsycrets fics

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [22/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N: I have started my first original gothic story (it'll be much darker than this fic but can I offer you werewolves, vampires, 1970s Europe aesthetic as an incentive?). It's on Wattpad and I intend to update it every Wednesday, but I never stick to update schedules so... Here ya go: OUR LADY OF DARKNESS

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

The end of the abyss—that frightful stream of continuous fall and forceful uplift—it finally had an end. It was a large door. Smell of rain and storms, with the slick glisten of wet rock hugging the archway. A dark type of stone, jagged and natural, the door seemed to be carved into the side of a mountain. But the mirage ended where the rock began, there were no walls. No infrastructure. Just the green of the mirror world and two hunkering doors. The archway was carved in the shape of a snake; same as the kind that embellished the rigging of ships, tongue curled, eyes made of rings within rings.

A sequence of lettering—foreign, yet oh, so familiar—hovered in the mist, your mind scrambling to make sense of the words.

“Oracle, what is this place?”

The whisper was quiet, for a brief moment you worried that you were truly on your own in this stretch of emptiness.

I sense… something has been concealed from me. Its magic is fevered, dusted in loss. Pain. Desire. It is out of place. Out of time. The conjurer’s magic has the same energy as yours, only… stronger.

“Stronger?” You shuddered at the thought. After a pause, you asked: “You don’t see the door?”

Door? What door?

“What of the letters?”

I—No, I see nothing. Describe it to me.

“There’s a serpent on the door.”

A serpent? Does he eat his tail?

“No, his head marks the start of the archway, but his mouth is facing the ground.”

Then it is incomplete. An incantation must be needed to complete the image. What of the lettering?

“These letters, they’re different than common tongue or Asgardian runes. They aren’t Jotun either. They look… I don’t know. They look so familiar.”

Reach for them.

“What?”

Familiar magic has a tendency to want to be understood, that is why it feels familiar. Touch it.

You stuck your hand up, jumping on your tippy-toes to try and grab the incorporeal words floating above your head. In defiance, they simply rose higher up, further out of reach.

Do not reach with your body, Child of the Sky. Reach with your magic.

With an exhale, you stuck both hands high up in the air, conjuring the bristle of energy that raced across your spine during spellcasting. Remembering through muscle and memory of what it was like to be in control of your magic. Of what it was like to revel in its deliciousness, its wildness, its link to Loki. A swirl of warmth took shelter in your belly, that warmth you’d grown to love before it was ripped from you and replaced by the cold of Odin’s incantation.

Suddenly, the words began to sink, lowering themselves like feathers, at first, then with the heft of an arrow, and finally, a stone.

With a crash, the words burst into fire and embers, each ember digging into your skin in a sensory overload that formed echoes in the mist.

A version of you,—the shade whose voice you heard in the abyss—older, magic glowing a different hue of blue, in strange clothing, stood by the door. You were witnessing the construction of the doorway. Every splinter, fibre, rock and sand particle materialised as though you were undoing the wroth of a sandstorm to make way for a rock giant. A woman, with firebrand hair and soft features, stood beside you, she looked drained, weary. She had magic too, it was the colour of blood. The colour of fire. It flickered in and out around her body, as if fighting to take over.

There was a young boy clasping onto the shade’s hand. Aloof in expression, a scaly growth the colour of white sands on his elbows, ankles, neck and cheeks. He was a beautiful child, hair as soft as down, curls that fluffed in a way you could never get yours too. Eyes of a pure and deep blue. Ocean surface during a thunderstorm blue.

He looked at the shade the same way little Sigrid had when she’d waved her plump, little hand goodbye before following after the hunters. It made you yearn for something so pure with a fierce heart.

“There, that should do it,” the shade said as the door materialised from thin air. “Now, we need a seal so no one who wanders can know of this place.”

“Is this absolutely necessary?” the woman asked, hugging her frame as if she were cold.

“I don’t like it any more than you do, but this is the only way I know for certain that what we’re doing now happens.” The shade’s voice felt dark, wizened in years, the same way Frigga spoke of grave matters. “This fortress is the only way he survived in my time. If we can’t change things, as the sorcerer said, then the least we can do is ensure things continue on their set path.”

“He’ll be trapped… for who knows how long? Centuries? Millennia? He’s just a boy.”

“He’s more than that,” the shade got down on one knee to look at the boy. From that angle, you could see the mangled, L shaped scars over each of her shoulder blades. They resembled the scars birds would suffer when their wings were ripped for medicines. “This is the only way he stays safe. I’ve already cemented the other enchantments. Time will not be felt here. He will not feel sadness or regret or the bitterness of solitude. He will sleep, as I once did, except… he will not be aware. And he will dream of only happy things. Then, when the time comes, I will jump. I’ll take him back with me.”

The firebrand woman showed doubt for the first time, “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve already done it.” The shade touched the other magic bearer’s shoulder, a comradery there. A closeness built from time and triumph, much like that kindred fire you shared with Sif. “Now, a phrase. A word. Anything to bind this lock to. Something unique.”

“Why don’t you choose it?” “Because I know myself. It has to be something I’d never choose so that she never knows it, and no mind reader can ever guess it should they stumble upon this place.”

“Vision,” the woman’s lips quivered with loss, but there was a bloom of hope in the tweak of her lips as your shade repeated the word.

The biting of the magic ended, and suddenly, you were alone again.

What happened? Child of the Sky? Are you there?

“I’m right here, Oracle,” you choked out, a tightness in your throat.

You were gone. One instant here, the next… nowhere. Somewhere. Between.

“I know how to open the door,” you took several steps back and then cleared your throat. With conviction and authority, you calmly said: “Vision.”

What did the magic reveal to you?

Your head was spinning from the fabrics of this mirror universe being so amateurishly tailored, so lacking in its design and purpose. The more you discovered, the more you began to doubt if this world was ancient; or if it was barely into its adolescence. “I do not quite understand it, yet. You said you were imprisoned here?”

Yes. I have been without body or memory for as long as I can remember.

The snake on the door began to slither till its mouth was at the top, and its tail was tucked firmly in its jaws. Then its eyes glowed the same colour as the child’s, thunderstorm blue. With a groan and a strike of something loud, the door peeled back. Beyond its threshold was a mutation of worlds, all collided in exquisite syzygy; aligned, misaligned, human, Asgardian, Jotun, and even the liquid blackness of space with pepper spots for stars.

“And how long ago was that?”

I—I do not… Centuries? Millennia? Aeons?

To busy your mind of doubt and fear as you stepped past the threshold and heard the door seal shut behind you, you toyed with the idea of understanding more of this world. “You said you could hear the beginning of your name… What was it?”

The whisper grew soft, warm. It sounded like ‘see’. Or was it the sea? Sea? Sea. Sea!

A garden shifted into the plane, then with a breath, a lake, then a cave, then a temple, then a waterfall, then a tower made of metal and glass. The world wasn’t fixed to a temporal setting, nor a specific location in space. It was like watching fire tell a story; brief, bright and constant.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

At the epicentre, laying on a stone tablet with a curtain of gold—that same curtain from the healing chamber—wrapped around like a fleece, was the child. Unaged. Beautiful. Asleep. He had no scaly growths like in the visions.

You took your steps with trepidation. Almost afraid to make a whisper even though the Oracle chanted ‘Sea!’ over and over. Its voice morphing into the very faint intones of a voice you knew all too well.

The world began to peel away the closer you got to the child. A presence was syphoning the magic, transmuting it for another purpose. A purpose that you now realised was meant to happen. Soon, a figure of pure light, with large wings of utmost magnificence, formed from the siphoned magics of the world. The Oracle was gaining form. The fleece turned grey and the boy began to stir. The magic of the sleep spell was broken.

You approached him slowly. Hands seeking out his aura. Then, in the most silver of voices you’d ever heard, he said, “You came. You said you’d come.” A smile of familiarity adorned his freckled laugh lines.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

“Do you know me?”

He nodded.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

 “How?”

 “From now.”

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

“What’s your name?”

He seemed confused. Reeling back from the line you’d cast him for with that question. Bait in hook, he fished in the muddy waters that were your consciousness. You could feel his magic, abrasive as sand between toes, cool and wet, but also warm and sea-salt thick. He replied, “You haven’t given it to me yet. But you will return hers to her.”

He pointed to the Oracle’s figure, pulsating into a more corporeal form. The boy opened his hand and you knew instantly what he needed you to do before you thought to ask. A reflex. His magic extended to yours, carrying thought, and the very genesis of thought in its energy. You placed your face close so his hand could cover the cavity where your eye used to be.

Sugar. Berries picked from the wild thickets. A prick into padded thumb. Ooze of blood. A slight sting, then a scab and finally nothing, no marks, no evidence of the thorn in your thumb. He was projecting images of what he envisioned as he healed you. What the berries would taste like; apples. “You can open your eyes now. It was gold when we met. I kept it the same.”

Feeling no different than before, you opened both eyes for the first time since you stepped into Verdenspeil. With a tickle, the runes drawn on your hand and forehead sloughed off like skin cells. You could see the world without them. You could see through both eyes again. The shifting world shifted to a hexagon of mirrors. One, the sky shifting blue of your mother, the other, the ancient, world piercing gold of your father, your face held two eyes again.

“It’s… beautiful,” you looked down at the boy with your eyes. He showed teeth with his grin, pleased with himself. Pleased with your laugh of awe. “There was a boy in my village. Half as beautiful as you are. Half as joyful, with a smile and constellations marking his nose and cheeks too. He showed me kindness. His name was Baldrick. I shall call you Baldrick.”

 “Now that you have spoken my name, remind her of who she is,” the boy said, glancing at the Oracle. “You know. You know but cannot believe.”

A gasp left your mouth. A mix of hope and disbelief. With the new eye, you could see the face of the Oracle beneath the light, beneath the enchantment that kept her hidden.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

“S-Sigrid.”

The Oracle hushed before exploding into a million, tiny pieces of energy. Out of the explosion was your mother, winged as the Valkyrie from legend, wearing the armour you had seen in the mirror prior to entering Verdenspeil.  

“Y/N,” she said, lowering to the ground. Her hand cupped your face. You could barely feel her. “I have waited so long for this moment.”

“Mother,” you hugged her close.

A swirl of black formed once the mirrors of the world broke. Sigrid looked at you with panic.

“Listen, there isn’t time. Take the boy, “Sigrid removed a bracelet and cast it into the black-hole. A portal began to form, leading to what looked like a stone temple. “Take him and jump, it’ll lead you to the one with answers.”

“I don’t understand! Why can’t you come with us? How are you alive?”

“I’m not alive dear, sweet child. But I can promise this isn’t the last you’ll see of me. We will meet again, soon. I promise. But you must go, the world has fulfilled its purpose. There is no reason for it to exist anymore. It has already began to unravel.”

The mist began to turn sour, choking like poison.

You coughed, breathing through your sleeve, “But, as the Oracle, you said I had to take you to the source.”

“You are the source. You and the boy. Your magics are entangled. The maze was a lie, one devised by you. This world isn’t ancient, it is young. A deception. I am the deceiver. My purpose was to ensure none but you found the boy and the portal to Mímir’s tomb. You enchanted this world so all would walk along the lighted paths until they reached a portal that would return them to a random space within the nine realms. You enchanted this world with your memories, so only you could follow them. Hear them.” Sigrid handed you a four-pronged dagger, “Take this you’ll need it.” She kissed your cheek, then her form started unravelling with the world too. Through transference, she gave you her armour, it was lighter than you'd expected, and it fit to cover your proportions through magical effect.

“Why can’t you come with us?” you reached your hand out to Baldrick. He took it with ease.

“I am not meant for the lands of the living,” she lamented. “Go! Before the world takes you with it.”

You rushed to the portal, but before you could step through you asked one last question: “What did you mean by ‘sins of the father’?”

“The war,” Sigrid fluttered her wings to hover in the green mist. “It was a lie. The Jotuns, they didn’t start it. We—the Himmel Kvinner—there’s a reason why only the women in our family inherited the gift. It’s not just power. It’s essence. A woman’s essence. Odin didn’t know we would develop magic from the artefact, but none of us were able to understand the complexity of her spell. Until you. You will discover the reason behind it all. You told me you did. I suspect it is because you are not fully mortal." Bitterly, she added as her body turned to mist as well, "You will bring the heavens to its knees. And your fate is that none shall remember it.”

One of Sigrid’s wings dissipated, she faltered in the air, then shouted: “Go!”

“I love you,” you whispered before hurtling through the undulating expanse of the portal.

“I know…” you heard her whisper back as Verdenspeil was destroyed.

#loki #loki x reader #loki marvel #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson #tom hiddleston #himmeløyne #norse mythology #loki x you #loki x y/n #marvel imagine #loki imagine #tom hiddlestone imagine

[thebadgerclan]

The Fourth Champion-Chapter 16

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x reader x Harry Potter

Chapter Summary: The Third Task.....

Today was the day, the day of the Third Task.  Because the task was happening at dusk, classes were cancelled and the students were enjoying the day on the shore of the lake.  You, Harry, and Cedric were in his dorm, pouring over books and scrolls, helping them prepare for tonight.  “Okay, what’s the spell to find your bearings?”  “Point Me,” Harry said, not looking up from his books.  Cedric was muttering incantations under his breath as he read, apparently formulating a strategy.  

House elves brought the three of you meals and when it was time to head down, Professor Sprout herself knocked at the door.  She seemed completely unphased to see Harry and you on Cedric’s bed, rather looking as if she expected it.  “It’s time,” was all she said, apprehension in her voice.  Harry and Cedric grabbed the wands and slipped them into the sleeves of the jerseys they’d been given.  You pulled Harry’s quidditch shirt over your head and wrapped Cedric’s Hufflepuff scarf around your neck, taking both of their hands as you made your way down to the pitch.

“You’ve got this,” you said as you exited the castle.  “I know you do.  We’ve reviewed every spell you could possibly need in there.  And I’m going to be in the front of the stands cheering you on the whole time.”  The rest of the walk down the hill was spent in silence, and you paused when you arrived at the entrance to the makeshift stands.  Amos and Celia were waiting for Cedric, Mrs. Weasley and Bill were there for Harry.  You turned to Cedric.  “I love you, you can do this.”  He pulled you into his arms, kissing you sweetly.  “I love you more.”

Harry was focusing on a point in front of him, his shoulders shaking slightly.  “You can do this, Harry,” you said, taking his face in your hands.  “I know you can.  I love you so much.”  You pulled him into your arms, holding him tight for a moment.  He nodded when he pulled away, squeezing your hand as he walked over to Mrs. Weasley.  You entered the stadium, taking a seat next to Ron and Hermione.  “You okay?” she asked as you sat, and you nodded.  “Yeah, I’m good.  A little nervous, but good.”

“Earlier today,” Professor Dumbledore announced to the crowd.  “I placed the Triwizard Cup in the center of the maze, only I know of its exact location.  Our four champions will enter the maze in the order which they placed in the Second Task.  At the sound of the canon, Mister Potter and Mister Diggory will enter, followed by Mister Krum and Miss Dealcour!”  He spoke with the champions before they took their places at their respective entrances.  You blew a kiss to each of your boys before they entered the maze, the hedges closing the gaps behind them.

***

It was  unnaturally dark inside the maze; that was Cedric’s first thought.  He held his wand at the ready, but was still taken by surprise at the sight of a Chimera snarling before him.  He quickly stunned it before moving on, making sure to put as much distance between himself and the beast as possible.  The branches of the hedges tried to knock him off his feet several times, but were quelled with a simple blasting curse.  He continued, feeling as if he’d walked past the same stretch of bushes three times.  Suddenly, three masked figures appeared, wands drawn.  They were quick, but Cedric was quicker.  He raised his wand to cast the body-bind curse, but the figures dissolved into three hissing serpents. “Vipera Evanesca!” Cedric cast, and the snakes vanished.

***

So far, Harry had only encountered a few angry bowtruckles that attempted to scratch his eyes out.  He’d stunned them and moved on.  Before him sat a statue of an eagle, not unlike the one outside the Ravenclaw common room.   “What runs, but cannot walk?  What babbles, but cannot talk?  What has a bed, but cannot sleep?” it asked, unfolding its wings.  Harry thought for a long while before answering, “A river!”  The eagle stepped aside, letting him pass.  This isn’t so bad he thought, but just as the thought had formulated, Harry thought he may be ill.

Yours and Cedric’s bodies lay on the ground before him, bloody and mangled.  Your eyes were open, Cedric was reaching for you, even in death.  Harry began hyperventilating, he couldn’t see straight, he felt too hot.  He began swaying on the spot, and it was all he could do to draw his wand and raise it to the sky.  “Vermillious!” he cast before dropping to his knees, tears pouring down his cheeks.  In a matter of moments, Professor McGonagall entered accompanied by Madame Pomfrey.  “Oh Potter,” he muttered, helping him to his feet.”  “It’s alright, it’s not real.  Riddikulus.”  Your bodies turned into a cat chasing a fake mouse, and Madame Pomfrey along with McGonagall helped him out of the maze

#cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory x you #cedric diggory x reader x harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter reader insert #the fourth champion #the badger clan

[avengerdragoness]

Children of The Gods Ch. 4 - Demigod AU [Jason Todd x Reader]

A/n: Here’s ch. 4! I hope you guys like it because I was a bit nervous to post it. The last chapter didn’t get as much action as I hoped and it kinda dampened my spirits. This chapter is a bit shorter and goes more toward the reader’s state of mind. Hope you love it and I appreciate any feed back loves! Thank you! (Chapter 5 will have some action!)

Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 5 - Ch. 6

Tagging: @memento-scribet @cherryignacio @queen-of-all-the-fandoms @annoyed-kitten11 @4evahevah @keepjasontoddsafe @aworldwideapart @shortycraft13 @nerdy-and-ginger @bat-lakota @left-boob-chris @tim-help @zuni21798 @hamsterforlive @books-netflix-and-pizza @sad-horchata @star-wars-5555 @abluepenguinlove @so-little-time-to-many-fandoms @ultralillylove @holywinchesterness @miraisnotavailable @marvelsimaginess @axa-vega @heyitsilverwolf @elysiannostalgia @kazuha159 @kamuithedragonlord

Italicized = Dream

_________

Upon returning to the campsite you found the others fast asleep still, not having been bothered by your absence. It didn’t take Jason long to follow in their footsteps and pass out leaning up against a tree. Though you couldn’t help but watch him and the others, and just think. Your eyes wandered from person to person, thoughts rushing through your head about the trials to come.

Are you cut out for this? These people are your friends and they trust you with everything they have. Trust you to lead them, to protect them. How could you protect them? You’re all in this mess because of your inability to protect Garfield, and now he’s with the Sirens. Scared and alone.

Sighing you ran a hand through your [h/l] hair. The ends snagging in your fingers. Taking a glance at the case that holds your father’s lighting bolt you think, ‘Maybe he’s right. This is something I should’ve fought on my own.’ Your eyes fall on Jason again, the moment you just had still ever present in your mind. What is it about him that changes things? You’ve met other offspring of Athena, some male and others female, but there’s just something different at work here. Perhaps it’s his story about being resurrected or something else entirely.

Though one thing you knew was now is not the time for these thoughts. You have a mission at work here, focus is key to success. Focus is what you will need tomorrow, and being tired hinders that. Laying back against your bag you stare up at the stars, allowing your eyelids to become heavy and eventually pull you into the addictive trance of sleep.

It was all dark. The only sound heard was a faint dripping of water droplets. You stood silent, the other sound reaching your ears being your own slow breathing. In and out, in and out. It’s calm rhythm never faltering. Where are you?

Staying still until torches lit out of nowhere, making your guard fly up higher. Hand reaching for the hilt of you sword, only to find it and all weapons missing. The torches led down a narrow hall, the only way out of the circular room you were in.

Hesitantly, you began down the corridor. Ready for any sort of attack. As you walked faint humming, almost singing, could be heard. The song was familiar, a lullaby your mother once sang to you. Coming closer to the humming, it grew into soft singing, luring you closer. The voice was almost familiar.

Coming to the end of the hall you entered a room. It was similar to the one you were just in, the humming being louder than ever. Turning around you saw the hallway gone, replaced by a solid wall. Looking into the room again, it had changed.

Your blood ran cold at the sight. Each member of your team lay bloodied, battered, and lifeless. Some with their eyes wide with terror, others with mangled limbs. It was truly horrifying. A cry seeped from your throat before you quickly muffle it with your hand.

The cry made the singing turn to laughter. “Poor little hero. Couldn’t save your friends, your mother, or your unspoken love. You were never cut out for this, I guess even the mighty Zeus can be wrong.” The voice’s tone was light and airy, a beautiful pitch and tone to it. Your gaze scanned each of your comrades again, stopping on the slight rise and fall of a chest. Eyes trailing up to see Jason’s blue eyes widened in terror. Rushing over you noticed the blood pooling around him. His eyes darted to yours, he heaved a breath “We.. Trusted.. You” gasping before falling limp. “No, no, no. Jason!” Turning you saw Kaldur next, coming to his side you shook him, “Kaldur! Please!”

“No use little hero. They’re all gone. Thanks to me and you.” The voice giggled, feeling a finger run across your back. Whipping around you saw nothing. Another sound added to the voice, a heavy panting and growling.

“4 days left” the voice said as heavy footsteps came near you. The animalistic panting and growls almost right on top of you. “You’re running out of time.”

The noises stopped in front of you as you rose to your feet, as if an invisible beast stood there. Feeling the exhale of something blow against your face, a low growl accompanying it.

The voice giggled again, “If I were you, I’d wake up little hero… WAKE UP!” the voice screamed a deafening screech as the unseen beast roared in your face.

Jolting awake to the feeling of someone shaking you and yelling for you to wake up. Instinct took over as you pulled out the knife in the holster around your ankle and flipped the person on their back. With a knee to their chest you held the blade to their throat, all done in a single swift motion. Your breathing heaved as you stared down into a familiar face. Dick.

“Whoa hey!” He yelled, surprised at your attack.

Realization hit and you scrambled off him, backing away. Breathing still labored and mind reeling from the nightmare. “[F/n] calm down. Breathe.” Kaldur said placing a hand on your shoulder. Nodding you regulated your breathing, wiping away the thin layer of sweat from your forehead. “Dick, I’m so sorry.” Apologizing once having gained your head again. “It’s alright, are you okay?” Worry laced in his tone.

You nodded, “Yeah, yeah. I just. I don’t know what happened.” “You were yelling in your sleep” Kori informed you, coming up to the other side of you. “I was? Sorry, I guess it was just a bad dream.” Kaldur looked at you, concern showed in the way his brows furrowed together. Your nightmares were rare, and only happened in times of extreme stress, he knows that. You shared a glance with him, “I’m fine. Really.” He sighed in defeat before handing his head. Standing he replied “Alright.”

You nodded and stood up as well. Clearing your voice, you instructed for them all to pack up their things. As they did so you thought about the nightmare you just had. Who was that voice? What was that creature? These questions bombarded you all the way up to your moving out of the campsite.

You were silent again while leading. The entire team watching you carefully, wondering what had happened in that nightmare. Conner cleared his voice, “[F/n] do you know anything about this first trial?”

Looking back, you nodded. “Our first trial is to get the map that leads to the adamantine. We will face a creature called the Drakon Kholkikos, or the Colchian Dragon. A ancient watchful serpent of who used to watch over the sacred groves of Ares and protect the golden fleece. It’s known for the magical properties it’s teeth contain along with the fact that it is sleepless on its own. Making it the perfect guard. It’s a worthy adversary, keep your guard up and never give it an inch.” Instructing while spotting the entrance to the cave you must enter.

“Then our second trial will be to obtain a special sword that could help with our final trial. It’s said to be the sword of Theseus, the one used to slay the Minotaur in the labyrinth. It could be of use. In the second trial we will face the Chimera. But let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.” Explaining while looking at your group. “Do you know the third trial?” Roy asked curiously. You shook your head, “No, the trial is a mystery to everyone but the gods.”

“Now let’s focus on the task at hand, here’s our plan. Jason and Roy, you’re our best marksmen, use the bows to take care of long range attacks, but Jason be ready to step in with a sword if need be. Conner and Kaldur, you’re in charge of keeping its attention. Keep its focus. While you’re doing that Dick, Kori, and I will work on weakening and taking it down completely, there is a weak point below it’s head. Sound good to everyone?” Asking the entirety of the group. Exchanging glances they all nodded. “Alright, then let’s give ’em hell.”

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