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intothemultifandom · 1 year

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Auld Lang Syne || Chapter One

Pairing: Han Gyeong-Su x Reader

Summary: Class 2-2's Vice President: VP.

In which the sensible Vice-President does their best to keep their little band of survivors alive.

Tags/Warnings: reader insert, character death, swearing, canon divergence, pre-relationship, angst + more

Chapter One

Harabeoji lays on the hospital bed, unaware that the world continues without him.

You're his only visitor today. The room is cold, and his heart monitor fills the silence since you won't.

You don't know what to say, where to start.

Do you tell him that he needs to wake up? That since he fell sick, your step-grandmother used his coma as an opportunity to move everyone from your family home (sans yourself) and that her son, your half-uncle and proxy, is already making deals to have the line of succession passed to him instead?

Seoul is too far from Hyosan for you to visit him, to remind him to keep fighting and to keep vigil at his bedside, but they moved his treatment here anyway. Have already brought themselves a sky-line apartment right in the centre.

If you told him that they've left you alone, that they've left you behind, would that be enough to wake him up?

On your lap, you've brought a collection of Western comic books you've been reading to practise your English and since you need to fill the quiet somehow, you pick one out to read:

The Walking Dead, it says.

If Harabeoji finds your pick distasteful, he doesn't say.

(You wish he would).

In a class-room setting, the Vice-President is meant to ensure that there is strong communication between the Class Reps and the President. When the President is absent, it is up to them to act in their stead. To lead the class through ever-changing situations with a clear head and mature outlook.

At times, you enjoy being responsible for such tasks. The position gives you a sense of purpose on days when you feel set adrift, makes you feel more present as you tend to your responsibilities and resolve minor conflicts. Those are the days you feel like an ordinary student, responsible only for the happenings of your class.

Other times however, it's a bitter reminder. Of Harabeoji who's counting on you to do good, of the dynasty you're set to inherit in his name and of the interests you've had to sacrifice in favour of activities more appealing for Universities overseas. Like being Vice-President.

Joon-Yeong insists you should have been Class President when the positions are first announced. It's unfair Nam-Ra gets the position because of her Mother's bribery when you're not only first in class but have given up more to commit to your school's night self-learning programme and your new role.

He says it with an air of indifference as he crosses his arms, but his eyes burn behind his glasses. You think it's because losing the Presidency to a friend will make the loss hurt a little less, and because it would excuse you from not hanging out with him and the others as much as you used to.

You don't point it out to him, though. Joon-Yeong has to come to his own conclusion for things to stick. Instead, you make a show of pointing your finger right at his nose as you order him–and the others watching–to call you "VP" henceforth.

It's not much, but if you show that you're not upset with the position you're given then your friends have no grounds to be angry on your behalf. You just hope that overtime, they'll come around about the Class President you do have in the meantime.

You did in the end, hadn't you?

Speaking of your Class President, Nam-Ra always complains about the music playing on your headphones whenever she slides into her seat next to you, but it doesn't stop her from leaning over your textbook to assess your work.

You respond by turning your volume all the way up so the melody of Auld Lang Syne rattles your ears, mouth curling when she nods begrudgingly at your answers.

There isn't much she'll find to begin with, but it's routine; Nam-ra grumbles about your music in the morning as she looks over your work (way better than her rhythm techno beats, mind you), and you pretend this isn't her odd way of showing her friendship.

Silently, you offer her a piece of Poki from your half-opened bag, your own show of friendship, and she accepts the treat after a long, drawn out moment. Even though she doesn't say anything, you can see her face soften in the corner of your eye, and beyond the obvious, you're glad that she's not actually mad about your song choice for today.

"Wake me up when Ms. Park comes," you say after a moment, falling into your normal position as you cross your arms over your textbook, cushioning your head as you close your eyes. Nam-ra predictably grumbles at your command, but doesn't make a move to disturb you.

And drifting off, you hope that today is another calm day.

It's not.

Hyeon-Ju's bloodied entrance is too shocking for the day to be anything but calm.

Even when she's whisked away by Ms. Park, Su-Hyeok and a few others to the infirmary, the shock gives way to unease and the feeling settles under your skin before you can do anything about it. It makes you itch to do something, anything.

Ms. Park instructs you all to resume studying but hearing what Hyeon-Ju said and seeing her state in general, more than half the class group together to brainstorm what happened between your classmate and Mr. Lee.

Nam-Ra seems to be the only one actually studying and while it looks like you are too, with all your pens laid out and your head tilted down to your book, you're actually listening in on the chatter around you. Pulling out your stationary was just a show of solidarity, if anything.

From what you gather, no one seems to say anything that corroborates your unease or the sense of foreboding that's taken root. Dae-Su's idea is perverse, Wu-Jin is quick to slap him on the back of his head, and I-Sak returns with a troubled face before the others can chime in.

At once, everyone turns their attention towards her, even Nam-Ra, but the weight of someone's stare grows heavy on the side of your face so you turn to other side of the room instead, catching Gyeong-Su's gaze just as he snaps his head back to I-Sak.

You're sure he knows you caught him staring at you because the tips of his ears are pink, and his posture is rigid as he faces the front. If you weren't feeling so agitated, your skin still itching, you'd smile at his embarrassment.

How long will he wait before he confesses?

"–What happened? Is Hyeon-Ju okay?" Wu-Jin chimes. He kneels next to I-Sak when he asks, and you begin tapping your finger on your desk when she speaks, pulled back to the matter at hand.

When you saw Hyeon-Ju last, the poor girl was delirious as she stumbled into the room, eyes fluttering as she tried to stay awake. Her face was bloodied, her hair was matted and when she collapsed by Ms. Parks' feet, she could could barely move.

However, the Hyeon-Ju I-Sak left in the infirmary sounds like a completely different person.

Having to be restrained as she thrashed on the bed. Hissing. Biting.

She scratched Ms. Kim, I-Sak says.

There's a cold sweat running down the back of your neck the more you imagine it, different scenarios flitting through your head in quick succession, but when I-Sak mentions some weird shot Mr. Lee injected her with, the agitation you feel reaches a crescendo.

You stop tapping, deciding that you need to see things yourself.

Nam-Ra glances at you from the corner of her eye, and you hope the look you flash her doesn't belie your nerves.

It turns out though that the Class President must consider you more of a friend than you realised (the kind of friend that you cover for), because her mouth twists like she knows you're up to something but doesn't push.

"I'll find a mop to clean up the mess," you lie, grabbing your bag.

"Hurry back," is Nam-Ra's cool reply.

This is a multi-fic story.

I intend to post this story on Wattpad and Ao3 shortly. Maybe even Quotev and FF.net, too.

#all of us are dead #aouad #all of us are dead fic #aouad fic #kdrama #netflix #han gyeong su #han gyeong su x reader #aouad x reader #multific #choi nam ra #lee cheong san #su hyeok #on jo #oh joon yeong #dae su #wu jin #auld lang syne #auld lang syne fic

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intothemultifandom · 1 year

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– 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 || 𝐠𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠-𝐬𝐮

SUMMARY: In a matter of seconds, [Y/N] is infected protecting Gyeong-su, he is reminded of their 100 day celebration, and his heart is irreparably broken when you are forced to say goodbye. PAIRINGS: han gyeong-su x genderneutral!reader TAGS/WARNINGS: established!relationship ; character death ; swearing, angst + more

1.4k words

IT HAPPENS IN A MATTER OF SECONDS, so sudden Gyeong-su can hear nothing but the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears as you stagger away from Na-yeong, eyes wide in disbelief.

The shock and horror of what she'd just done had ended the cacophony of mania, everyone standing shock-still by the revelation that Lee Na-yeong had intentionally infected you right before them.

"Na-yeon, what have you done?" Miss Park asks quietly, eyeing the frantic girl warily as Su-hyeok and Nam-ra step away from her, the formers' hands clenched at his sides.

Your hand is still bleeding from where she'd dug her nails into the skin, your blood intermingling with the blood she'd swiped at you with her dirty fucking handkerchief and On-jo lets out a soft cry when a drop of red trickles from your nose.

"If you're so sure he's not infected, you can die with him", Na-yeon had cried, moving too fast before anyone could react.

"[Y/N], c-come here, you need to sit down," Gyeong-su manages to say through the tightness in this throat, breaking away from Cheong-san's side to stagger towards you.

"We need to get you a tissue," he continues, almost in a daze.

We need to stop the bleeding. Put them in the recording booth. They're not gone yet. We can still–

Before he can reach for your hands however, you step away from him, pressing yourself against the door as you shake your head firmly at him.

There are tears gathering in the corner of your eyes, and your face flickers with a multitude of emotions before your features grow ladden with grim resignation.

"–Stop," you say roughly, and Gyeong-su just knows that you've made your decision.

Now that you've been infected, you're going to walk out the door, determined not to stay long enough for him to convince you otherwise.

Because doing so would only hurt everyone more in the end, and the last thing you'd want is for them to see you turn.

(I-sak's blood is still on On-jo's collar.)

For the first time since he met you, your boyfriend wishes you were selfish enough to stay, selfish enough to fight everyone to stay by his side the same way he would if the roles were reversed, but it's you.

[First name] [Last name].

Always doing the right thing, even when it hurts. Even when he doesn't want you to.

Because you and Gyeong-su both know he won't ask you to leave, and you're stronger than he'd like to give you credit for when you make no move towards him.

"Han, please just stay there...I don't want to hurt you," you say quietly, unflinching when he shakes his head with a scoff that sounds too much like denial. "I need to leave."

"N-no you wouldn't," he insists, mouth trembling as his chest gives way to a choked cry. "Please [Y/N], get away from the door. Let me help...please just move away from the door..."

The wounded sound he makes makes Ji-min and Hyo-ryung flinch on the other side of the room, hands held firmly between them. A sentiment shared by even the more quiet ones of the group.

The truth is, they've all lost people today–teachers, classmates, friends–but none have lost someone they cared for this way, to something as preventable as a contaminated handkerchief and the paranoia of a crazed girl.

More blood drips down your nose in quick succession then, and while it is the final nail in the coffin for everyone in the room and settles your resolve, Gyeong-su doesn't want you to go.

Not like this. Not after everything you've been through and not after you were infected protecting him from your traitorous classmate.

[Y/N], how can you be so calm? He wants to shake you. Why aren't you mad?

"Cheong-san, y-you need to get my bag...there's a box with butterflies on it in there..." Though you've addressed Cheong-san, you keep your eyes locked on your boyfriend, committing every plane and edge to memory as you tell your friend what to do.

For a moment, Gyeong-su has no idea why you're telling Cheong-san about your bag, about this small box with butterfly designs before the memory comes unbidden:

It was your 100 day anniversary, and Han had saved enough of his weekly allowance to take you out on a date after school. While most boys his age would aim to take their partner to a nice restaurant and shower them with even nicer jewellery, he could do only so much with what little money he had. Fortunately, while most people would've raised their brows at dining at a chicken restaurant (in his humble opinion, nothing could beat the exquisite taste of Cheong-san's family restaurant) and then being cart off to an Arcade to blow off the rest of their money, you were unlike most people. In fact, when Han had won you a back of Butterfly-themed plasters instead of the cute [favourite cartoon] phone charm at one of the claw machines, you had only laughed fondly as you placed your hands in his. Grinning as his cheeks grew flushed. "Hey Han Gyeong-su, don't be too serious," you teased gently, bumping his shoulder as you held the box of bandages. "I think these bandages are way better. Plus, I'll keep it in my bag in case I ever need it." Before he could apologise again, flustered by your earnest words, you tilted your head, brushing your lips against his as his flush deepened.

It's a nice memory, one of the more simpler ones, and Gyeong-su is sure you remember that day, too, because your breath catches as you move your hand to the door handle.

"It's a pack of bandages, Cheong-san. You need to cover Han's scratch, and keep him away from Na-yeong. He isn't infected, but he needs to keep his scratch covered. Please use it for the others, too."

There's a raspy quality to your voice now, more urgent now that there's black veins blooming from your injuries.

If he weren't so madly in-love with you, Gyeong-su would assume that your calm and poise was unnatural for someone on the verge of turning.

But you've always held a quiet strength to you, and this display of extreme will is only a testament to your character. He's glad the others seem to realise it too because no one makes a move to accost you, trusting you enough to know what you need to do.

Still, the finality in your plea seems to seep through the cracks in his heart, because this time he launches himself towards you more frantically than before, stopping only when Cheong-san wraps himself around his waist, holding him back from moving any closer.

"[Y/N] please, you don't have to do this! [Y/N]! [Y/N]! Cheong-san, let me go! LET ME GO!"

Desperate, your boyfriend bucks wildly in Cheong-san's arms, begging to be let go and cursing his long-time friend all in one breath as he punches uselessly at his chest.

Cheong-san has always been surprisingly strong, but when Dae-su and Su-hyeok join him–there's no way for Gyeong-san to reach you, no matter how much he tries.

"Han Gyeong-su," you rasp, your voice cutting through the loudness and chaos.

Saying his full name is enough to make Gyeong-su pause, gives you enough time to say what you've wanted to say to him since this whole mess started. "Thank-you for our time together. I...have loved every second being your partner."

For the first time since you locked eyes on him–hand frozen as he holds it out to you, one last attempt to reach you–you move your gaze around the whole room, hoping that as your eyes meet theirs, your classmates know there is no blame from you, or anger.

You do not look at Na-yeon, or Miss Park.

There is only sincere hope that they all make it out, and gratitude for everything they've done for you until now.

Wiping the tears that have fallen with your uninjured hand, you scrub at your face before nodding to yourself, turning to the door before you finally pull it open.

"Thank you for everything, guys. Please make it out of here. Really. And please take care of Gyeong-su for me..."

Behind you, Gyeong-su's anguished screams grow louder as you step out into the Zombie-infested hallway, the door sliding close with a soft click behind you.

Though it doesn't beat the sound he makes when he hears the first of your bones breaking from beyond the classroom door.

#all of us are dead #all of us are dead x reader #aouad x reader #aouad imagines #aouad angst #han gyeong su #han gyeong su x reader #gyeong su x reader #gyeong su imagine #all of us are dead one shot #gender neautral reader #all of us are dead hyoeng su #aouad hyeong su #intothemultifandom

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intothemultifandom · 1 year

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– 𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐀 || 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫

SUMMARY: If you were only ever created to serve Arishem, it did not feel like it. Not when you’d grown to cherish your people in the South Pacific and the entirety of Earth as reverently as you did and not when your heart, artificial or not, belonged to a man from beneath the sea. PAIRINGS: Namor x Eternal!Reader TAGS/WARNINGS: fluff ; light angst ; spoilers for Eternals (2021)

If you were only ever created to serve Arishem, it did not feel like it.

Not when you’d grown to cherish your people in the South Pacific and the entirety of Earth as reverently as you did and not when your heart, artificial or not, belonged to a man from beneath the sea.

In the aftermath of Ajak’s death, of Sersei’s frantic call that detailed what was happening–it didn’t take you too long to gather your belongings, to retrieve all the documents you needed just in case before you rushed behind your house, down the pathway and towards the secluded formation that was hidden deep behind your home.

In the cove you’d created decades ago, he waits for you as he always does. Somehow always finding his way back to your little hideout, again and again, as devoted as the waves that lapped at your shore.

Skin beaded with water, dark eyes pinned on you, always on you–the man you find does not match the names he’d been given over the past five hundred years, a fraction to your own existence.

K'uk'ulkan. Niño sin amor. Namor.

Legends only ever depicted him as one of two things: The merciless feathered serpent god worshipped by a long existing culture or the child without love, he who would light the world aflame if only he was not shackled to the ocean.

Here in this refuge you’d created, however, you’d learned that he was more than just that. Had spent nearly four hundred years unearthing every cavern of his mind, body and soul.

Without saying it, you know his worry has guided him through the currents today.

“I came to make sure you were unhurt after the Earthquake,” he says lowly, lacking the teasing lilt he often greeted you with. “But it seems you might know more than me already...”.

The armour you wear is dappered in metallic [favourite colour] with [complimentary colour] accents, something he has not seen before in all of your years together.

Wearing it not even a week after the world felt Tiamut’s movement is all the evidence he needs, a damning fact that the tremors felt all over the world are more than what they are.

Slowly, Namor rises from the water and as he does, sea-foam bubbles around him, the worry you weren’t even aware had begun to fester dispersing just the same.

“I take it this is not for pleasure?” he continues, his nonchalance contradicted by the twitch of winged ankles.

“I’m afraid not,” you reply in lieu of your normal greeting.

His eyes linger on the glow of your hands, of the way your shoulders and arms are taught in a way he is unfamiliar with and you’re warmly reminded that he is not the only one who has been made bare before in this cove.

As detailed as you can, you explain to him what you had learned in the past few hours: Arishem had created your family to evolve the human species, not for their own betterment; but so their progression could provide enough energy for a Celestial to emerge from the Earth’s core once the Deviants were eliminated.

The world is ending, you reveal, almost choking on the cold, ugly truth.

When Sersei had explained it the first time, between rasped breaths and soft cries, you didn’t allow yourself time to lament what it all meant.

But now, seeing what you’ve come to consider the architect of your very being in front you, the truth unravels in a way that you cannot deny what it is.

An anchor that will drown you, or has drowned you already, considering all you’ve lost before. The people, memories, the love.

"We’ve never fought a Celestial before,” you admit, thinking of Thena, anguished and desperate, the echo of infinity seared into her gaze, before you think of your people and of him. “But we want this planet to be our last. I want it to be my last.”

It is not the words, but they might as well be.

In an instant, Namor grips your wrist, pulling you back into him as you huff with surprise.

His arms band around your waist, keeping you caged where he can nose along the column of your neck, hear the hitch in your breath at his closeness.

“If this is then true, tell me why I shouldn’t persuade you to stay with me?” he growls lowly at the base of your throat, easily shifting between calm and not, as fluid as the sea. “I could compel you to stay here where it’s safe, where you can stay here with me,”.

You can’t help but groan under the ministrations of his teeth on your skin when he begins to nibble, hands moving towards his face as you summon every ounce of sensibility in you to turn his head away. A hard feat, given the way your blood sings as slivers of his siren melody bleed into his words.

“Because though you would rather see the world burn, you would protect your people by any means necessary,” you gasp, feeling your fondness for him swell when he stills, caught.

For Talocan, Namor would protect his Kingdom by any means and at any cost. Even if he despised the rest of the world and would gladly burn the surface asunder, he would not condemn his people to burn, too.

You and your family, as splintered as they’ve come to be, are the greatest gamble he can take to save them and everyone else. Even if it means he can’t join you.

Silent in his defeat, Namor–sweet, enchanting Namor– tilts your head to his languidly, leaning forward and bringing you in a kiss that makes you both want to leave and surrender yourself to him all at once.

Humming, he slots your mouths together even more as he shifts you in his arms, and you have to swallow the moan the bubbles in your throat once he pulls away, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

“The ocean has given me many miracles, mi puksik’al. But it has also given me many tragedies...” he says hoarsely, after a moment.

Leaning his forehead against your own to stare you deep in the eyes, it’s a wonder he’s only ever been called cruel and monstrous things when he all he is is bewitching. Wondrous even as he pleads: “I cannot afford one more, [Your Name].”

As he breathes, you press your nose against his and do the same. Feeling your heart break and mend all at once as you take life from his breath.

When you first landed on Earth, you found that there was no greater resource on the planet than its ocean. Deep, vast and endless. A force that could give as easily as it took away.

You’d revered it and its various forms the same way you did the man before you. Perhaps less than him now, you admit in this moment, when he leans back and brushes his lips against the crown of your head.

“Come back to me,” comes the murmur. “Meent’ uts”.

Closing your eyes, all you can do is nod as you take in the scent of salt and tears, rasping, “E lele le toloa ae ma’au i le auvai” as you surge upward to breathe him in once more.

NOTES:

Since all the Eternals all belong to different ethnic groups, Reader is Polynesian. I imagine her living somewhere on the island of Niue, as it is a coral atoll and has natural coves and chasms already though you can imagine otherwise.

The way Reader “takes life from his breath” when pressing their forehead against Namor’s references the Maori people and the action of the hongi, which recalls the Māori legend of the creation of the first earthly woman, Hineahuone. She was formed from clay by the creator god Tāne, who then breathed life into her nostrils.

“E lele le toloa ae ma’au i le auvai” is a Samoan proverb meaning that life may take someone far from home but they will always return. Case and point: Reader and Namor.

E lele le toloa ae ma’au i le auvai = The toloa bird flies far, but will always return to the water.

I am not an expert in the Mayan/Yucate language, which I believe is the main language Namor speaks, but I’ve taken the following translations from various online sources and apologise sincerely if its not quite right. Please correct me where I’m wrong and I’ll note it down for future reference. I’d also appreciate any reputable linguistic sources for all my fanfics moving forward, but anyway:

mi puksik’al = my heart

Meent’ uts = please

#black panther wakanda forever #wakanda forever #black panther: wakanda forever #black panther imagine #namor #talocan #namor x reader #polynesian!reader #eternal!reader #mcu eternals #mcu black widow #mcu imagine #poc!reader #talokan #namor imagine #k'uk'ulkan #mayan #intothemultifandom

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intothemultifandom · 1 year

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– 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄 [𝟏/𝟑] || 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐚

SUMMARY: In the aftermath of The Blip, you and Attuma–warriors turned interim leaders–bond over loss, grief and the weight of two different worlds. When the second blip occurs, those who’ve returned decide to wage war. Unaware of the relationship you’ve forged in their absence. PAIRINGS: Attuma x Reader, Wakandan!Reader, T’challa + Shuri Sister!Reader TAGS/WARNINGS: angst ; hurt and comfort

You lost your siblings during The Blip.

T’challa had turned to dust right before Okoye, Shuri scattered somewhere out on the battlefield; and a weight unlike any other (the weight only your brother knew) settled around shoulders when the wind did not claim you, too.

At only seventeen, you had been reduced to an only child by the snap of a Madman’s fingers. Expected to ascend the throne now that your older siblings could not. Not that you would, given your distaste of politics and the UN Embassy in general.

Where T’challa was King and Shuri led your scientific division, you had trained under the tutelage of the Dora Milage. Had become one of the best warriors of the country in spite of your youth, expected to surpass Okoye once you reached her age.

Your natural skill had fuelled your desire to join the War Dogs before N’Jadaka had come into the picture (as Princess, you could not join the Dora Milaje officially), a dream you had to contribute to the safety of your Kingdom and your brother’s reign under the aloofness of being the youngest child.

In the eyes of the world that remained, however, this was not possible when your existence, your survival, received constant praise by Nations who hungered for someone young and naive to ascend the throne.

To their displeasure, you’d assumed leadership over the secret division of your country instead, entertained by the thought of Colonisers dictating what you did with yourself. Your amusement further peaked as you presented yourself publicly as Wakanda’s Consulate General alongside your natural title as Princess.

With your Mother maintaining the throne and dealing with politics, you’d spent the first three years working diligently to forget your siblings’ absence. Your own grief and shame.

Someone had to stamp out the political unrest in your country, had to re-establish Wakanda’s spy-network in the midst of mounting political tension around the world.

And you had done it all at from seventeen to twenty, held together by the love of your Queen Mother and spurred on by the council of your closest confidants, Okoye, Aneka, Ayo and, surprisingly, the Jabari’s own M’Baku.

The success of your network around the world had earned you the respect of many, though nothing cemented your legacy more than what happened during the Wakandan three-day-Massacre:

The Marube Tribe were a relic of time, isolated from the rest of your country when they denounced the advancement of your technology.

Deep in the Mute Lands, they’d practiced old customs and studied even older texts where, in the shadow of Thanos’ terror, they’d turn to ancient techniques to make their warriors strong. Stronger than even the Black Panther.

Since they could not ingest Vibranium through the heart-shaped herb, a group of their men had etched it into their flesh. Tattooed the raw substance into the planes of their body so they could flow better with nature.

And for a brief time, it worked. The process had given them unnatural durability and strength, the ability to run faster than the wind and yet capable of moving the Earth with a stomp of their foot.

Only, Vibranium itself is radioactive unless tempered with a substance only Shuri and her division knew how to make.

And with your sister and her team gone, ashes in the wind; the Marube tribe, without knowing the consequences, inadvertently kickstarted what might’ve been the doom of your people with the creation of the Madmen.

As Vibranium had become one with flesh, the radiation did not blister skin nor melt flesh from bone. Instead, it drove the person to madness, to a murderous rage that would not end and was made even worse by the indestructibility of their bodies.

In a single night, the Madmen decimated nearly their entire village before they took to their neighbours.

When the missive came the following morning, your Queen Mother demanded only for the Dora Milaje to go, for them put an end to the madness before it reached the Golden City.

What she seemed to forget was that the last Madman you fought murdered your siblings, so you could not, would not, simply remain in the Palace.

And so as stealthily as you could for someone who’d learned many tricks from Nakia, you followed your warrior-sisters beyond the throne room, grateful that Okoye turned a blind eye when she caught you amongst their numbers.

The battle against the Madmen had been a ruthless and bloody affair.

The people who fought with you and against you were your own people; the land you fought on once roamed by your Ancestors; yet no amount of familiarity could diminish the brutality of war as the Madmen slaughtered your people in masses, pushed your team deeper into the battlefield and towards the centre of their ruined Tribe like wolves surrounding sheep.

Just as you thought you had reached your end, had stood back-to-back with Okoye, Aneka and Ayo and readied yourself for death, Bast had smiled on you that day as the survivors of the massacre–women and children who’d hidden themselves beneath the ground–opened a hidden hatch and welcomed your group into their refuge.

The Marube people may have denounced modern Wakanda; but they were Wakandan all the same.

For almost half an hour, you and the warriors huddled with them in the dark of their underground cave system where you’d grieved and planned, prayed for your Ancestors to see you through another day even when the Madmen waited for you above.

It had been one of the Elders who survived, a woman named J’Kobe who weakly presented the idea of someone undergoing the same process as the men above to turn the tides of the battle. She who suggested bestowing a great power upon someone, anyone, so that they could end the Madmen’s bloodshed once and for all before madness took them.

It would be a sacrifice, went unsaid.

As the determination settled on Okoye’s brow and Ayo and Aneka shared a sad, resigned smile (they’d realised too that the Madmen could not be beat as their weapons bent under the pressure of their strength)–you had stepped towards J’Kobe with the memory of your family and your people, the smile of a toddler who bared your brother’s name, as you knelt at her feet and offered yourself before they could.

Your siblings had been gone for three years, and in those three years you’d found no dignified way of joining them until then: ...though of course, you didn’t actually die as you thought you would.

Even now, you could not remember what had happened down in those tunnels, how long your friends had argued against your decision before you laid on your back and then your stomach, the pain immeasurable as they and J’Kobe embedded the Vibranium along different areas of your body.

Tattooed by your countries most fearsome warriors and one of the last practitioners of old, you did what many thought was impossible when you ascended the tunnels with fresh tattoos that glowed purple and a newfound strength to greet the Madmen as an equal match.

On the third day of the three-day-Massacre, you gave your people a new protector as you stood over the Madmen who lay at your feet, defeated:

Olumo, J’Kobe called you.

Molded by God.

After the battle had been won, and you’d marched with your Warriors and the survivors home to prepare to be put down, to apologise to your Mother one last time before calling Nakia; like the wind that did not claim you when your siblings disappeared, death did not take you in the end, too.

Because your Father, his Father and so on, ingested Vibranium through the heart-shaped herb, they’d altered their genetics and granted their children and lineage invulnerability to the radiation of Vibranium.

Meaning you would not be lost to madness from the procedure after all, a stroke of luck for your friends who considered sacrificing themselves.

Since then, you’d fought many battles as Olumo, the disciple of Ptah and Kokou. Had succeeded in many minor and major battles that helped you carve your own legacy as you fought for True Wakanda, your Vibranium tattoos a symbol of your service and devotion.

There were days, of course, when the power you’d been bestowed stirred uncomfortably. Days where you felt restless in your own skin, plagued with the undeniable urge to move, run and fight.

You’d always been a warrior than a leader.

The Dora Milage, adored as they were, were supportive in this regard; always ready to give you an outlet to rid yourself of this feeling as you fought and sparred them in the safety of your Kingdom.

Even M’Baku and his warriors, through a rare sight in the Capital, sparred with you when they could.

It wasn’t until you met him, though, that you felt more alive than you’d felt in the past three years. Felt seen and understood in a way that your friends and Mother could not and would likely ever understand, given the power and responsibilities you now held.

His name was Attuma, and he called himself the greatest warrior in the underworld.

NOTES:

• This is Part 1 (context; your POV) of a three-part-story.

• Part 2 (snippets of you and him during moments in-between; his POV) will be coming soon.

• Your background is inspired by the BLACK PANTHER #7 (Origins of Vibranium) + BLACK PANTHER #3 (#200 Legacy)

• Ptah the Shaper is considered the god of metal alloys, mainly Vibranium whereas Kokou is considered the Wakandan god of War

TAGLIST:

@tommymcartney ; thanks for inspiring me to keep writing! 📝

#attuma #attuma x reader #marvel #mcu x reader #black panther wakanda forever #black panther: wakanda forever #wakanda forever #wakanda #dora milaje #talokan #namor #shuri #mcu imagine #black panther imagine #attuma imagine #intothemultifandom

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intothemultifandom · 1 year

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in spite of what critics are saying about the last few episodes of the the walking dead’s 11th and final season, there were a few things that just hit different especially with the finale:

SPOILERS FOR TWD “REST IN PEACE” 11.24!!

daryl barricading judith in the hospital the same way shane did to rick in 01x01 – like father, like daughter and even brother because he also carried her the same way rick carried carl when he got shot

actually, daryl carrying judith into the hospital to save her life vs how he carried beth out after she was killed. the FEAR he must’ve felt given the last time he carried someone in/out from the hospital.

any scene between them + carol (keeping this short bc i can write a whole novel about their scenes)

luke dying & being comforted by magna, yumiko, connie & kelly (his og group) during his final moments; even though he wasn’t seen for most of the season, dan folger’s acting + that of nadia hilker, eleanor matsuura, lauren ridloff & angel theory was TOP-TIER

people always die in twd, but up until luke, the newish members of the group didn’t really suffer a sudden and harsh loss like the group from earlier seasons until now

that’s why his death + the group’s raw grief hit different when you consider how this is the first time we’ve seen them have to mourn one of their own so suddenly and with walkers literally banging on their doors

the team up of eugene porter & gabriel stokes = the two characters who, at one point of the story, were the weakest and most cowardly members of the group. i mean, the parallels of how they started vs. how they ended are insane:

eugene, who lied to abraham and rosita about knowing how to cure the infection almost making himself a martyr by telling the truth about the common wealth’s corruption, and

gabriel, who locked his congregation outside his church to die being the first to open the gates for everyone even when pamela’s people had their guns pointed at him

if twd did anything right, it was the development of these two characters

even if i didn’t know christian serratos chose rosita’s ending, i still would’ve thought she had a fitting end as one of the original (and last) big hitters for rick’s group on the road

it wasn’t painful and gory like abraham or glenn, shocking like sasha’s or even bittersweet like carl’s in the midst of war– rosita dies a dignified and otherwise peaceful death after all the bloodshed is said & done

she sees her people are safe, knows her daughter’s in good hands and finally lays to rest after fighting on the frontlines for so long

even with her gone, her final interaction with eugene at her side really cements that he is her and abraham’s legacy because “i’m glad it was you at the end”

(someone make baby rosie looking up to older coco because her mom was her namesake + uncle eugene canon right now)

this post-war celebration dinner mirroring the what-if dream dinner from 7x01 about what could’ve been (credit to this article for the pic: here) also makes rosita’s death so poignant to me because negan had likened the dream as something that wouldn’t ever happen

it’s not the same exact group and it wasn’t exactly her dream, but the sentiment remains the same

in the end, peace was possible for the alexandrians after all & i’m so glad rosita got to see this before she went & re-joined the others who are no longer at the table

negan & maggie now established as two sides of the same coin: motives, beliefs and and now shared trauma of being unable to stop their partner from being killed (or almost killed, in negan’s case) as they’re about to start a family

maggie was never going to forgive him for what he did, but that in itself gives so much more substance to their spin-off and i can’t wait to see it happen

rick “we are the walking dead” grimes + michonne “it’s true. forever” grimes – welcome back.

#the walking dead #twd #season finale #episode 24: rest in peace #twd 11x24 #the walking dead spoilers #twd spoilers #rick grimes #rosita espinosa #eugene porter #gabriel stokes #yumiko #magna #luke #connie #daryl dixon #judith grimes #negan #maggie

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intothemultifandom · 2 years

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𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 || 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐱

PROMPT: You’re the supernatural mate of one of the most elite members of the Volturi guard. SPECIES: Revenant, The Old Guard (2020)

FIRST MEETING

➔ Despite being the only one without a gift, there is a reason Felix is a permanent member of the Elite Guard.

➔ The skills that once served him as a Roman General and Gladiator has served him tremendously as the Volturi’s executioner and as the decades pass, so too does the thought of ever finding his mate.

➔ When serving his Masters guarantee him a new opponent he can battle, fight and conquer with every deserter and law-breaker he delivers to true death, it doesn’t exactly occur to him that he wants a mate.

➔ And then he finds you amidst chaos and bloodshed, holding weapons he has not seen nor held in decades and roaring in a language even older than himself as you cut down men thrice your size, body bathed in red, and he is mesmerised.

➔ As a vampire, he always though of himself as more of a simple one. More eager to fight and feed than fight and fuck.

➔ That is until you grin at him through a blood stained mouth as you stand in the centre of the battlefield and more than just venom burns through his veins.

➔ You’re cut down eventually, and before Felix can speed towards you from where he is (and oh, how he rages), the sword pierced through your stomach slowly falls out as your skin stitches itself back together and you’re back on your feet again. Fighting and maiming as if death were a mere friend catching your attention.

➔ Felix, not for the first time since he stumbled upon you, wants.

YOUR RELATIONSHIP

➔ When you do get together, instead of traditional dates, you and your Goliath-sized mate can often be found in the training room, sparring.

➔ Instead of basic hand-to-hand combat, it comes to the surprise of newer guards when they stumble upon the two of you fighting each-other with different types of melee weapons.

➔ Their surprise soon turns to intrigue as steel clashes with steel, thunder booming across the Castle and they witness what looks to be an unstoppable force colliding with an immovable object: She who meets death as a friend and he who serves him faithfully.

➔ Of course, 9 out 10 times the intrigue soon turns to embarrassment and mild disgust when Felix eventually gives in to the wanton stirring in his venom as he disregards his weapons in favour of a completely new battle in mind. He wants more than he’s ever wanted before and with the fervour in your response, you want just the same.

➔ Beyond sparring, of course, the two of you are more reserved with your PDA and often wise can be found in Master Marcus’ grand library on more quiet days.

➔ There, you teach him languages of ages he’s never heard of whilst he educates you on Vampire laws and the Lycanthrope species (Oddly, another supernatural species you’ve never come across before) before you talk about your lives thus far.

➔ Between each lesson and study, there are fervent kisses and ardent touches and giving yourself so vulnerably to Felix means that for every piece of you he gets, he gives himself completely in turn.

➔ And so falling more in love with him becomes an easy thing.

➔ The uniqueness of your relationship is that for all that Felix delivers others unto death, Death cannot claim you. Not completely and certainly not when you are possibly the greatest warrior Felix has ever come across.

➔ Even though being what you are means you do in fact “die” for a short period of time, your mate has learned to remain unfazed knowing that it is not for certain and that you will return to him always; ready to take on the next big battle (or whoever it was that killed you first), together.

#twilight #twilight drabble #the volturi #volturi #volturi x reader #felix volturi #felix #stephenie meyer

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intothemultifandom · 2 years

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– 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒 || 𝐛𝐞𝐧 + 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜!𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐬

SUMMARY: The thing about Klaus Hargeeves and the titles he had was that, for all the bad and bloodied ones he’d accumulated over his weirdly-long-but-should-have-been-shorter lifetime– nothing hurt more than becoming a stranger. PAIRINGS: Klaus x Reader (Platonic), Sparrow!Reader x Sparrow!Ben (Romance), Past!Reader x Umbrella!Ben (Romance), Klaus x Reader x Ben TAGS/WARNINGS: angst ; romance

Klaus Hargeeves had accumulated more than his fair share of titles over the course of his weirdly-long-but-should-have-been-shorter lifetime.

Before the first Apocalypse, he’d been Klaus: Number Four. The Séance. Family fuck-up and resident weirdo.

When he’d ended up smack-dab in the middle of the Vietnam war, the list only grew from there: Private Hargreeves. Soldier. Murderer.

The titles were no less bloody than his first few, and maybe if he’d saved Dave the additions might’ve been an easier pill to swallow.

But Klaus lost Dave anyway and though he wasn’t into the swallowing business nowadays (of pills, that is), the dog tags he wore beneath his torn shirt were a bitter reminder that death and misery would follow him always.

Even after leaving The Umbrella Academy.

When he and his family failed to save the world the first time (which, according to a very snappish Five, was not technically the first time; very tensed up man-child, mind you)–Klaus, as always, did what he did best.

He accepted the cards he’d been dealt with, and he settled.

And for the most part, things were okay. Delightful, even.

Amongst his Cult, he’d been a Messiah. God.

As if God wasn’t already fucked up for putting him through all the shit he’d been through, Klaus accepted the monicker with a grain of salt and revelled in the false sense of security it gave him.

So long as he was God, nothing would touch him or his people.

Because, for all that Klaus was unlucky, for all that he was unfortunate when it came to too-bloody-titles and titles that were false in every way, somehow he’d ended up in 1960 with not only Ben, but with you, too.

From 1960 to 1962, the years you shared together–you, consoling him first after an argument with Ben before astral projecting yourself between worlds to coax your boyfriend back; Ben, always disagreeing with anything to do with Destiny’s Children until you’d concede sweetly in turn; and him, teasing Ben mercilessly for making him a third-wheel but purposely making him more tangible so his love-struck brother could rest his head above your heart–reminded Klaus of the only good titles he had alongside his name.

To the world (old and new), Klaus Hargreeves was known as many things. Weird things. Bloody things. But to Ben, his Benirrino, Klaus was his brother.

He could be overwhelming to a fault, he knew, but Ben–angry, bitter and emo Benny boy– loved him all the same. And Klaus would’ve died a happy bastard knowing he had at least one sibling with him 60 years in the past.

With you, [N/N], Klaus didn’t quite know why you’d stuck with him after Ben had died in the original timeline. Until the epiphany came to him between nights you sought each other to grieve and days you went looking for a new high that he’d never had a best-friend before.

He might’ve been responsible for half the stress you were constantly under, but you had accepted him anyways and always in the ways that mattered and for that, Klaus would make do with a sappy Ben if it meant having you there with him, too.

After two glorious years of just being Ben’s playful brother and [Y/N]’s chaotic best-friend, Klaus thought he could well and truly live if he only ever had to answer to these two titles.

And then, Five re-appeared.

The rest of his family, too.

And suddenly, the world was back on a timer.

Klaus had to be Number Four again. Had to be The Séance, the Soldier.

If they wanted an edge over the Temps Time Commission, he had to bring out the whole shabam and play into everything Daddy-dearest ever wanted of him in order to do anything and return to a timeline where he was all these shitty titles (some shameful, some not) and then some.

And while he could’ve done it, could’ve accepted the bitter reality-check like the good little Solider that he was–it became a little harder for Klaus to just settle with the cards he’d been dealt with when Ben dies saving Viktor.

It becomes even worse when, just as the two of you are almost out, almost back-in-your-original timeline, you decide to shield Allison during a barrage of gunfire.

Klaus had seen you first amidst the chaos–eyes wide, hands trembling–and had cheered in a moment of drunken stupor before Five called your name. Had called for you as though he couldn’t see you even though you were standing right there...

He barely manages to process what’s happened and the fact he’s lost his brother and best-friend all in one sweep (He sees Dave in the distance, and blood roars in his ears) before Viktor’s at his side, gently holding onto his hand with the echo of grief in his eyes as Five opens the briefcase.

The last image he sees of 1962 is the small, sad, smile of your apparition as he falls forward in time and into a world that spits at everything he ever was.

Because there, in 2019, is Ben.

Alive. Breathing. Whole.

“Dad, who are these assholes?” his brother’s voice echoes through the long room, Klaus’ stomach lurching as Ben considers them without a hint of recognition.

His heart swells and the breaks again because with that question, his brother dies again.

“Come on Ben, play nice...” To the collective surprise and horror mounting amongst his family, your gentle voice cuts through the air as you step out from behind his brother to place a hand on his shoulder.

Flushed and lively despite being dead only a few moments prior–he’s not the only one disoriented seeing you in front of them.

“But he does have a point,” you continue onward, uncaring of the sharp breath Allison takes (your blood is still splattered on her face) or the way Diego’s eyes dart between you and Ben; side by side, even in another life.

“Who are you and why are you here?”

#tua3 #tua s3 #the umbrella academy #sparrow academy #ben hargreeves #sparrow academy x reader #sparrowben #umbrella ben #umbrella academy klaus #klaus hargreeves #umbrella academy #tua s2 #klaus hargreeves x reader #number six #number four #klaus and ben #ben hargreeves x reader #intothemultifandom

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intothemultifandom · 2 years

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even at the end→ umbrella academy (allison, five, and viktor)

→ Coming from a complex family means dealing with complex emotions. Fortunately, you’re not the favourite sibling without reason. Or, even at the end, you’re there when they need you most.

[warnings: season 3 spoilers!]

how you comfort them – allison, five and viktor

☂ Having the power to manipulate reality literally on the tip of her tongue meant that for most of her life, 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 was used to getting what she wanted. And then the world ended. And though she outran the doom twice–she feels like she’s died each time.

Claire doesn’t exist, Ray is dead and she is alone in her despair.

The pain she feels is worthy of two Apocalypses, and it only worsens when she tries to manipulate her daughter and husband back into existence only to fail. When nothing happens, your sister chokes on a sob as she bites her tongue, ignoring the iron that floods her mouth as she stumbles into the bathroom.

Swallowing her agony, she knows, is the only way to make sure she doesn’t manifest anymore into existence. Only, when she sees herself in the mirror, sees a woman who not only had it all but lost it all–she cracks.

Her heart swells and then breaks again. Her anger spikes. And suddenly, she’s pummelling the mirror in front of her so that it can match her own splintered self before you’re storming into the bathroom with a tight mouth and fierce eyes.

In a matter of seconds, you have her wrapped in a hug that promises safety and refuge and actual reprieve as the familiar warmth of your power blankets her. “It’s okay, Al,” you encourage quietly, after the entire warmth of your power seeps into her bones. “You can let it all out now”.

With her power muted, her tongue no longer laden with what she now knows is a gift curse, your sister shoves her head from the crook of your neck and screams.

☂ After wasting away in an Apocalyptic wasteland where your family died, becoming a time-travelling Assassin so you could save them from their fates– 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 knows there are far worst things than death.

One of said things is the realisation he’s failed, and that this time, there isn’t anything he can do.

As the loss festers and he watches the universe begin to tear, he doesn’t notice you plonking next to him until the smell of peanut butter catches his attention.

Rightfully stupefied, your brother takes the peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich from your hands and blinks at your smiling face.

It’s a reward, he knows.

Your brother only ever treated himself with the snack when he thought himself deserving of a slice of goodness after winning at something. So the knowing look he catches in your gaze makes his mouth tremble as he takes the sandwich, his vision beginning to blur.

It takes one bite for him to cry, for you to pull him towards you as the years worth of bloodshed and chaos feel like an infinity ago as a single memory eclipses every other hell he’s ever lived through: all of you clambered in the Kitchen, together, testing the combination for the very first time as Mom and Pogo smile at you all from the wings.

Luthor and Allison are grinning, Ben ducks between Diego and Klaus as he hides behind Viktor and you’re right next to him. Peanut butter on your cheek as sunlight catches your hair.

He wants the memory to be the last thing he sees.

☂ 𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑 always wanted to be involved with the family. From what the others told him, he’d grown up practically non-existent in the the Academy with his “non-existent” abilities, always the outsider looking in. And then, he’d caused the end of the world in 2019, and again sixty years before. Still, he tries to help as he pretends Allison doesn’t really mean it when she says she’ll never forgive him.

But with the world ending and time running out, he doesn’t want to spend his last moments failing at the one thing he’s only ever wanted so he finds a little windowsill and sits alone. That is, until you join him at his side and asks if he remembers the time you all broke Klaus out of the Mausoleum to get Griddy’s Donuts, or the time you both caught Diego and Ben sniffing paint in the basement.

When he tells you he can’t really remember since there are still gaps in his memory, something in his chest loosens and he sits a little straighter as you start telling him stories of all your times together. The stories you tell him vary from chaotic shenanigans to moments of rare peace, though in every story, he finds that there is one thing that is constant: He is there with you, always.

He’d always been part of the family.

It’s a humbling, beautiful, realisation–one that comes in the form of tears he blinks away and the feeling of utter completion that softens his shoulders and face. You’re equally blinking back something and though it kinda looks like sleep, your movements are alert and calculated as you gently take his hand.

“I guess it’s your turn now, hmm?” you tease lazily, eyes glinting. “Tell me about Dallas.”

Thinking, it takes only a moment for your brother to tell you about Sissy, and how the very first time they met was when she plowed him down with her car.

#tua #tua3 #tua x reader #allison hargreeves x reader #viktor hagreeves x reader #umbrella academy x reader #tua headcanon #umbrella academy drabble #five hargreaves x reader #Allison Hargreeves #Viktor hargreeves #five hargreeves #The Umbrella Academy

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intothemultifandom · 2 years

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– 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 || 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐜 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢

SUMMARY: Though there is nothing funny about meeting your destined mate on the opposite side of the battlefield, you had to admit the irony of him having cherub-like qualities when you were the half-Angel was pretty funny. PAIRINGS: Alec Volturi x Nephlim!Reader, Female!Reader TAGS/WARNINGS: afab!reader ; DeepL generated translations ;

A year ago Heaven fell into chaos; the Archangels battled, the Battalion scattered. And you had landed on Pacific Northwest soil in pursuit of what was decidedly the new last seal.

The thing about being a Nephlim–more powerful than the other Angels but still beneath the Archangels–meant that, for all the power you held, you couldn’t exactly pinpoint where your Father had disposed of the relic.

All you could tell was that it was somewhere in Forks, Washington. The rest, you wrangled from the man himself.

In a moment of panic, the youngest Archangel transferred the magic into a mere stone before he fled. A stone he’d supposedly chucked down to the Earth with only a “faint hum of magic” to differentiate itself from all the other stones that littered the wilderness surrounding the town.

If your Father was known for his mischievousness and tricks, it did not feel like it.

Not when you had to drudge through a thick blanket of snow as you followed a literal whisper of a hum, and certainly not as you stumbled into an open field where, wide-eyed and panicked, a young woman had slashed her wrist open with the exact stone you’d been looking for.

If the magic seeping into her bloodstream wasn’t an indication that your Father’s plan had already failed (effectively making her the new new last seal), you wanted to laugh hysterically as Shapeshifter and Vampire turned towards you, teeth bared.

Real funny Dad, you thought.

The young woman was named Bella.

And she held the seal within her blood for only a couple months before it passed on naturally to her daughter, Renesmee.

Between those months, after you’d proven yourself not to be a threat to the Olympic clan and La Push Pack, you couldn’t deny the young woman and her family had endeared themselves to you.

After only ever seeing war amongst your own people, to see Vampiric creatures defy their very nature to live peacefully amongst humans was a beautiful thing.

And now knowing Renesmee’s birth and Bella’s death meant the seal had been passed on and not broken, you’d officially settled in the comely town and accepted your new life as Aunt [Y/N]–Renesmee’s guardian (half) Angel.

Literally.

For the most part, there wasn’t much you needed to do when the little girl was already so fiercely protected by her family and the Pack. But as Renesmee was Bella’s daughter, this easiness didn’t last long when she’d been dangerously misidentified as an immortal child...

Across the long field, a blur of red and black assembled into one unified front as the red coats arrived to pass judgement.

Law enforcers, Edward had cautioned.

Murderers, had hissed the Russians.

The Volturi, you’d come to know.

At the arrival of the infamous group, a sudden and pleasant hum reverberated through your being and a warmth unlike any other licked at the bottom of your spine.

(Near the front, Edward stared ahead, shocked).

It was, admittedly, an odd feeling considering the threat the red coats possessed but now that they were fully assembled, the hum you felt had grown louder and more insistent.

Intrigued, your eyes flitted between each member as your curiosity morphed into anticipation.

Of course, it wasn’t until you passed a petite blonde and met the gaze of the dark-haired male next to her that three things happened in succession:

The hum you’d felt earlier reached a crescendo as it burst from your body, the boy dropped to his knees with a sharp breath and the discussion between Carlisle and the First Volturi King halted as–

“–Sei un sogno che prende vita,” said the boy, unaffected by the shocked silence that blanketed the field in the wake of your power.

“Un sogno che ho aspettato.”

When his stare was the most searing of them all, you wondered for a fleeting moment if was his own realisation about the bond between you that prevented him from turning back to his battalion, his sister and to his Kings or your heavenly essence that so clearly ensnared everyone else.

(When his people fell out of their stupor and the Third King held a hand to the First, still, the boy did not notice and you did not care).

Eyes drifting back to him with his cherub-like beauty and explicit reverence, you were more focused on committing each line of his face to memory as you offered him a small, shy, smile.

“Mi dispiace di avervi fatto aspettare,” you greeted in turn before you cleared your throat. In the corner of your eye, you’d caught a glimpse of bronze curls and wide eyes. Renesmee.

“Continuiamo quando questo è finito?”

☰ TRANSLATIONS:

Alec: 1. You are a dream come to life; 2. A dream I have waited for You: 1. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting; 2. Shall we continue when this is done?

#alec volturi #alec volturi x reader #the volturi #volturi x reader #witch twins #twilight imagine #twilight fanfic #mates #nephlim!reader #twilight drabble #mate #la tua cantante #breaking dawn

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intothemultifandom · 2 years

Text

𝐊𝐄𝐘: angst - 🗡️ || fluff - 💞 || romance - 💋 || multi - 🫂 || family - 🍀

𝐓𝐕/𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐀

all of us are dead

🗡️ in a matter of seconds [gyeong-su x gn!reader]

umbrella academy

🗡️ titles [ben x reader x platonic!klaus]

🫂 + 🍀 even at the end [allison, five & viktor]

🗡️ you leave a first impression [sparrow!ben]

💞 you leave a first impression [marcus hargreeves]

𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐒:

twilight

💋 divine beings [alex x nephlim!reader]

💋 + 💞 you’re a supernatural being, too [felix]

eternals (mcu)

💋 + 💞 the end is near [druig x eternals!reader]

black panther: wakanda forever (mcu)

💋 + 🗡️ servitude [attuma shortfic]

💋 le toloa [namor x eternals!polynesian!reader]

#masterlist #fanfic #drabbles #the umbrella academy #eternals #twilight #the volturi #sparrow academy #sparrow academy x reader #umbrella academy x reader

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intothemultifandom · 2 years

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you leave a first impression → sparrow academy [ben]

Warnings: Profanity

Imagine yourself having the powers of an Empath combined with the tracking abilities of Demetri Volturi [Twilight].

Ben || Number Two –– THE SCHEMER

⮕ Ben isn’t used to people staring at him the way your group does.

⮕ Is he used to star-struck admiration? Yes. Poorly concealed lust. Oh most definitely.

⮕ Fighting crime in the limelight for years had propelled the Sparrow Academy into celebrityhood overtime, to the point where it felt like they were more commodity than people most days.

⮕ With bus loads of fans gathering at their fence each day, and hoards of women and men throwing themselves at him for almost anything, all Ben had ever known was fan-crazed obsession and shallow affection.

⮕ So when he sees the mosaic of expressions that aren’t admiration or greed on your group, he’s already on alert:

⮕ The Big Guy and Stubble are wide-eyed at the back, almost slack jawed as the woman with the long coat stumbles back into them.

⮕ She’s quick to school her expression as she shuffles away, but Ben notes the way her hand trembles as her eyes rove over him in disbelief.

⮕ Their reactions has The Monster™ unfurling itself inside his stomach, but Ben ignores the sharp pain that follows in its wake as he turns to the smallest of your group.

⮕ Their faces are twisted with an expression he can’t quite decipher. It looks like grief, longing, and hope all mixed into one but the look is too fast and too fleeting for him to make sense of anything.

⮕ Short Pants, in particular, brings in his pointed finger into a clenched hand at his side.

⮕ Sundance, comparatively, looks the most at ease as he holds a hand against his chest with a dramatic flourish. It’s as though he’s already comfortable with what’s going on, comfortable with being in a room with them him, that Ben’s brow furrows.

⮕ In spite of his nonchalance and near-friendliness, he can’t help but think that Sundance’s smile could be bigger–all toothy or some sort of mischievous shit–and that the smile he’s wearing now is half-hearted at best.

⮕ Of course, it isn’t until he catches you hidden behind Sundance, eyes pinned to the floor that something that feels like desperation reverberates through him as he waits for you to meet his gaze.

⮕ The Monster™ pounds at his stomach lining, begging to be let out.

⮕By that point, Marcus and the rest of his siblings descend from the second floor, strategically mirroring your own formation as he addresses The Big Guy so Ben forces his attention elsewhere.

⮕ This shit can wait 'til after, he decides with a huff.

⮕ With seven on each side, the confrontation becomes an even standoff. And while it seems the whole situation might come to a peaceful resolution at first, Stubble and Jayme fall into an argument that inevitably kicks things into gear.

⮕ Ben, naturally, unleashes The Monster™.

⮕ Only, instead of attacking Sundance or Shortstack–being the two closest to him–you side-step into view, now meeting his gaze for the very first time.

⮕ To his shock? horror? disbelief? The Monster™ stills just before it can tear into your side, stopping only for a few seconds before gently (what?) caressing (the fuck?) your dirt-stained cheek.

⮕ From behind The Monster™, you stare at its tendrils and at him with a look unlike the others. It makes him feel bare and exposed, vulnerable in all the wrong ways, like he’s a live wire waiting to be put out. The way you look at him... Ben would only describe it as reverence.

⮕ Complete and utter reverence.

⮕ Eyes wet and mouth trembling, the sharp intake of breath you take as you look at him, really look at him, makes him think back to earlier and how he’d felt a flash of–

⮕ “–I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, the words slipping out before he can bite his tongue.

⮕ At his words, your expression ripples into something more bitter, something more than words Ben can even come up with and louder than your group as you press your lips into a thin, resigned, line:

⮕ “Too late,” it comes out soft, barely a whisper. But Ben winces as though you’d screeched into his ear.

⮕ Before he can do anything more, say anything more, you dart around his tendrils and brush a finger against his face.

⮕ All of a sudden, his limbs grow heavy with fatigue, The Monster™ retreats back into his skin with a harsh slam and the world tilts on its axis.

⮕ White-hot betrayal washes over him as he hits the floor, and as he begins to lose conscious, just on the precept of going under, Ben realises one thing about the sensation as it settles and aches, an open wound:

⮕ The feeling does not belong to him.

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intothemultifandom · 2 years

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you leave a first impression → sparrow academy [marcus]

Imagine Makkari [Eternals, 2021] as a reference for your Gift.

Marcus || Number One, THE LEADER ––

⮕ When he’s the leader of a team of super-powered individuals, there isn’t much that can surprise Marcus, let alone overwhelm him.

⮕ His abilities make him strong, a Titan of a man. Even though at times, the pressure to be constantly unwavering on the battlefield and in public makes him feel like Atlas, holding the weight of a fragile world–

⮕ Marcus, ever the prodigal son, pays no heed.

⮕ He’s Number One. The Leader. He is unbeatable– absolute.

⮕ When you and your family arrive, Marcus doesn’t notice you at first because he pins his gaze on the biggest guy in your group and decides:

⮕ Beating the blonde-haired guy will be the easiest way to get your group to submit.

⮕ Only, when Marcus manages to pummel The Big Guy™ within only a few minutes and is just about to deliver the final blow, he’s surprised when you intervene.

⮕ Gold energy crackles around you as you speed around him, carrying The Bug Guy™ out of sight before returning with a blow to his chest that cracks a rib.

⮕ “Bet you didn’t see that coming?” he hears you snicker, voice distorted as you move around him.

⮕ If Marcus is immovable, then you are unstoppable.

⮕ It’s clear from your entrance alone that you are fast. Insanely, inhumanely fast. As if him being unable to land a hit as you strike him repeatedly isn’t damning enough. He can barely clip you as you literally blur around him.

⮕ He should be mad. Furious even.

⮕ But Marcus is shocked. Unnerved, really.

⮕ Despite not sharing The Bug Guy’s™ strength, the force of your strikes combined with the speed of your attacks make you lethal. Dangerous.

⮕ Fortunately the rest of your group aren’t faring too well and The Kid™ calls for a retreat.

⮕ A part of him is glad for the brief reprieve he gets as your group begins fleeing, before you get one last hit that has him sprawled on the floor.

⮕ Now that you’re no longer a blurred vision, Marcus sees you properly as you lean over him and can’t help but stare.

⮕ “Don’t worry Big Guy, you almost had me,” you tease with a grin, eyes gleaming before you zip away with a laugh.

⮕ When Ben snarks at their siblings about their failure in the end, spits at him for also being bested by one of the enemy–not even their own Number One–Marcus rises from the ground and meets his siblings with a contemplative stare.

⮕ The Titans, he remembers, had been usurped not by each other, but by the Olympians in the end.

⮕ The analogy makes his siblings frown as he heads to the Medbay, thoughts circling back to you, your smile and the sheer power of your Gift.

⮕ That night, he dreams of himself, the Titan, holding the weight of the world and you, the Olympian, crashing into him as everything shatters at his feet.

⮕ In spite of the ominous dream, there’s a part of Marcus–the more enamoured part of him–that thinks:

⮕If there were ever a God he would kneel to, it would be you.

#tua #tua3 #umbrella acedmy #the umbrella academy #sparrow academy #tua x reader #umbrella academy x reader #sparrow academy x reader #tua drabble #marcus hargreeves #marcus hargreeves x reader #number one #luthor hargreeves #five hargreeves #alfonso hargreeves #ben hargreeves #quicksilver reference bc i will always stan #sparrow academy drabbles #umbrella academy drabble

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intothemultifandom · 2 years

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– 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐑 || 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐠

SUMMARY: The gift of foresight had served you well, until it doesn't. Rescuing you from an unpleasant vision, your love knows exactly what to do to bring you back to the present. PAIRINGS: Druig x Eternals!Female!Reader TAGS/WARNINGS: romance; angst

Since you could remember, you existed for one reason and one reason only:

SERVE ARISHEM. ELIMINATE ALL DEVIANTS.

It had been one of your earliest thoughts when you first woke in The Domo, second only to the name Arishem–celestial supreme–had bestowed unto you:

Y-O-U-R-N-A-M-E.

"I am [Y/N]," you tested aloud, awed by the smooth tone of your voice.

Across from you, a large figure entered your line of sight and as you raised your head to consider the new-comer, you were taken aback once you saw who it was.

Out of all the males you’d awoken with, the stranger was perhaps the youngest of them all.

He was tall, nearly a head taller than you, and while your uniform was dappered in metallic [favourite colour] with [complimentary colour] accents, his uniform consisted of blacks and reds.

The colours he wore were a stark contrast to his skin, pale as though kissed my moonlight and complimentary all the same against the sharp lines and contours of his face.

"[Y/N], is it?" An equally low voice greeted in turn, a mischievous glint taking root in piercing blue eyes.

The young man had drawn close the moment he started speaking, your tongue growing laden as he paused in front of you. "Beautiful name for an equally beautiful girl."

If you were genetically engineered not to get sick, it certainly did not feel like it.

In his presence, it felt as though your breath had got caught in your chest and in spite of the regulated air pressure circulating through the ship, you couldn’t help but feel the air around you both had become almost electric. Dizzying in an almost familiar sort of way.

"–My name is Druig," the young man said, grasping your hand in his.

Smoothly, he pressed his mouth against your pulse, lips curled into a small, disarmingly warm, smile as he lifted his head.

"It's so lovely to meet you."

––The third and most encompassing thought you had on The Domo the day, was of him.

Druig.

In addition to celestial energy and your natural athleticism, the gift of precognition was perhaps your greatest asset in battle, one that often put you on par with Makkari.

Where she could outmanoeuvre herself out of any situation with her speed, your foresight gave the team the upper-hand to strike Deviant nests before the creatures would even decide to attack first.

Ironically, it seemed that for all you could see the future, seIdom could you recall the past.

You could not remember whether or not you had kin waiting for you back at Olympia, or if there was a special someone waiting for your return.

Instead, where you imagined the comforting embrace of a mother you had come to picture Ajak, with her kind eyes, soft touch and motherly affection. She had guided you many times, had offered you redolent views and insights so you could learn to understand the world around you.

When you thought of the proud smiles of the great Gilgamesh and mighty Thena after an intense training session, you thought of how mortals considered the kin before them and found yourself honored you had your very own Uncle and Aunt to learn from.

And when you thought of the rest–of Sersi and Ikaris, side-by-side and in their own little world; of Sprite and Kingo, often causing mischief amongst the mortals; and Phastos and Makkari, always sating their burning curiosity–you thought of how too few mortals could say they had this many siblings, and how colorless your mission would've been without them.

Of course, at the centre of what was slowly becoming your universe, was Druig.

From the very first time you had met, there was something about the brooding-Eternal that endeared him to you, and supposedly, you to him.

After your initial introduction he had become a constant presence in your life, always seeking you out in the quiet corners of The Domo, to moments of reprieve between battle and chaos. Teasing. Touching. Always falling back into orbit as though you were twin stars, destined to gravitate towards the other.

Beneath changing skies and through the rise and fall of multiple civilisations, falling in love with him felt like the most natural thing in the world.

In fact at times, it almost felt as though in some past life, you’d already loved him befor–

The sky was red, your skin feverish. Still, you tugged at him him, mapping each crevice and plane you’d explored many times before as he did the same.

Desperation made your touch ardent, made his lips linger on the crown of your head even when the contact burned.

“I’ll find you again, [Y/N]” he’d said fiercely, teeth red as blood dribbled down to his chin.

“I’ll find you,” he said more quietly, almost to himself as he settled around you. Your final refuge.

The ground shook again. The dirt splintered with a boom.

Distantly, you thought of Makkari–of how she’d always been quiet–and hoped that she’d manage to outrun it all before you peered up.

Sprite had stopped screaming; Sersi had only started.

The end of the world grew too loud, the chaos turned to white noise but oddly enough you could still hear him.

Druig.

Maybe it was because he was right in front of you, or maybe it’s because you’d always been attuned to his frequency, but as you zeroed in on his laboured breathing, you couldn’t help but rasp:

"And I, yo–

–Beautiful, beautiful, [Y/N], you’re missing the festivities,” his ochre voice said, breaking you out of your reverie as a maelstrom of emotions flooded you.

Maybe I’m ill, you thought, reeling.

Druig had come up behind you, wrapping broad arms around your frame as he nuzzled his face into the curve of your neck.

You could practically feel his sly smile against your skin.

His touch burned.

“Do we bore you that much that you’d rather return to your paints than me, oh great [pseudonym]?"

Shaking yourself from your daze, you lifted your gaze to meet his, swallowing the unease that had lodged itself at the base of your throat with a small smile.

“You could never bore me,” you said immediately, forcefully rolling your eyes as to quell whatever thundered in your chest.

What you had seen, it couldn’t have been the future.

Half-heartedly, you placed the paint brush you’d been holding back with the rest, turning fully to fold yourself properly into his embrace.

Druig, ever attentive, must’ve felt the tension in your frame and sensed the trouble plaguing your mind because gently, he pressed his lips to your head.

It was his way of grounding you, you knew, his way of comforting you when words failed him.

“I know,” he hummed after a moment, brushing his fingers along the curve of your back.

His touch, this time, tingled pleasantly.

“Let’s get back to the others then, shall we?” he continued, unwinding his arms as to hold out a hand.

You knew he wanted to ask what had happened, knew he wanted you to lay your burdens bare before him.

But Druig was Druig, and while he was often snarky, he was not unkind.

This was not the first time you had seen something unpleasant, something horrifying.

You would talk, later, when the festivities had ended and you could confess what you’d seen between fine sheets and in the comfort of your room.

But for now, all you wanted to do was forget what you’d seen. And because Druig loved you, he’d make it happen.

“Kingo’s promised a woman you’ll sculpt a statue in her like,” he baited, almost slyly. It was a no-doubt way to do exactly as you wanted.

Fondness swelled in your chest at his meddling and at him, and laughing, you slotted your hand within his.

On papyrus paper the size of a crate of wine, you had painted a red sky. A burning field. Two people, lost in the flames, at the very centre of it all.

And further,

further,

further in the back–

a hand emerging from the Earth.

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