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randomshyperson · 3 years

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THE SCARLET WITCH PROPHECY - Chapter VI - The Fourth Year (Final Part)

Gif is not mine, blessed are the gif makers.

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies. | Chapters Warnings: Heavy angst in this.

A/N: This took me a while, because i had writer block (and it's not over yet). Anyway, I hope people like this. Let me know if anything is confusing okay? Sorry about typos too.

Words counting: 11.344K

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//-//

The Fourth Year - Final Part

Wanda was avoiding you. Well, not just you, but all your friends.

You told Gamora what happened, but you didn't have the stomach to repeat the story to anyone else, so your sister passed the news on.

You were coping well in spite of everything. You missed her terribly the whole time, but you were pushing the feelings down and trying to stay positive about everything.

By trying to put yourself in Wanda's shoes, you understood why she did what she did. You just had to find a way to prove to her that what you felt was real, and for that you needed to find out more about your magical bond.

Your best alternative to the lack of books about it in the library was to talk to the professors. Judging from your experience with them, none of the teachers would tell you anything. But Fury has been acting very differently all year, and although you don't agree with the way he has been teaching D.A.D.A. lately, you have the impression that he would tell you anything you asked.

That's why after a particularly exhausting class where he made all students practice the shield spell until one of the boys threw up, you waited until the room emptied to talk to him, watching with curiosity as he turned a small bottle he kept in his pocket to his mouth.

"What is it Stark?" He asked still on his back. You wondered if behind the eye patch he had some enchanted eye to see around things, but the idea seemed too absurd to you.

"Sorry, Professor Fury." You say. "I have a question about advanced magic and would like to clear it with you."

Fury put his materials away in his bag, and beckoned for you to accompany him into the private office, and you followed him into the small room, watching him set the desk on a coffee table and move toward a glass cabinet of magic supplies.

"Have a seat and make yourself comfortable." He said with his back turned. "I need to prepare a potion, but you can ask me what you want."

You stumble half-heartedly to one of the empty armchairs, and then clear your throat.

"It's about magic bonds, professor." You recount. "I... well, I think I have one. And well, I'm not finding much material on it, and I don't understand how they work."

Fury makes a noise with his mouth in understanding, his hands wandering through the cabinets behind ingredients you don't recognize, but he seems to be paying attention to both you and the brewing of the potion.

"Are you familiar with the concept of magical bonds and connections, Miss Stark?" He asks and you deny it. The professor cuts something that looks like mushrooms on the table as he speaks again. "The reason you can't find books that explain to you exactly the nature of this magic, is because no wizard has been able to decipher these enchantments correctly." He explains. "The magical bonds are one of the oldest and most powerful enchantments in the magical world, Miss Stark. Extremely dangerous, yet immeasurably valuable for some purposes."

You swallow dryly, but do not interrupt. Professor Fury bends down to reach a tin cauldron and places it on the counter in front of him, on a small makeshift stove. He deposits some ingredients inside.

"Have you ever heard about any of these bonding spells?" He asks and you think for a moment.

"I think I've heard about the perpetual vow, sir."

Fury gives a small smile, nodding. He sniffs a small bottle before pouring the contents into the cauldron.

"Yes, the perpetual vow is a great example of a magical bond." He says. "But it is still an active spell, you need to recite an incantation and both parties need to voluntarily close the bond. Some witches believe it's a contractual magic, much more than a natural connection." Fury explains. "I particularly prefer to use another example, Stark. The life debt."

Fury has a smile at the corner of his lips, and a strange gleam in his eyes when he looks at you for a moment, but you don't have the courage to ask. He turns his attention back to the cauldron, lighting the flame under the metal with his wand.

"I don't know what that means." You confess and the professor doesn't take his eyes off the cauldron.

"A life debt is a magical bond created when a wizard or witch saves the life of another magical being." He explains. "And I say magical being, not just another wizard, because I've seen it happen once for a centaur to owe a wizard their life. But never the other way around."

"How does that work?"

"It's very simple really." He says. "If you save someone's life, that person or creature will owe you a debt. The bond is created, without needing an incantation. The act of preserving a life is magical enough to create that bond." He explains and his expression turns almost somber. "The best part is that the person saved needs to pay back."

"And how do they do it?"

"A life can only be paid with another life." He declares. By now, the potion is smelling. You don't know what it is, but it looks like lavender, and it makes you a little dizzy. "I have witnessed a quitting in my time as an auror, Miss Stark." He tells you, and you already imagine that what he is about to say is not something you should tell a fourteen-year-old witch, but you don't think to interrupt. "The debtor throws himself in front of the Reducto incantation to prevent the death of the witch who saved him once. I still remember the pieces flying around the room."

You looked away, uncomfortable with the mental image you were given. The professor didn't seem to mind.

"But of course not all debts are paid off like that." He added as if he hadn't just told the story of someone tearing themselves apart. "Stopping a friend from falling off his broom in a game of quidditch might be enough to pay off a debt. Or to create one too." He counters. " This kind of magic has always been very difficult to decipher."

You murmur in understanding, keeping your gaze on the floor. The professor sighs lightly, moving away from the cauldron to sit in the empty armchair in front of you.

"But I'm guessing you're not talking about any of these bonds, are you?" He hints and you swallow dryly, feeling intimidated by the watchful gaze he gives you. You figure that lying is not an option.

"N-no sir." You reply. "I wanted to know more about protective bonds. Like... like the idea of someone you care about getting hurt, causes you a really bad feeling. And it makes you ignore your own safety and makes you go too far e...."

"Impressive." The professor interrupts, his gaze almost fascinated on you, and making you swallow dryly. "And how far are we talking about, Stark? What's the limit? Would the wizard put themselves in front of an unforgivable curse? Would they offer themselves up as a sacrifice? If one were to get hurt, would the bruises show up on the other, or does the very idea make your insides turn? Or…”

"Fury." You jump in fright when Strange's voice interrupts the monologue of the other man, who was very close to you now.

Fury looks annoyed that he has been cut off, but he turns away with a smile. "Pardon the interruption. I need to have a word with you on a matter." Stephen said, but he didn't look happy at all, and his expression was one of concern and disapproval, probably from the discussion he witnessed.

You stood up awkwardly, taking a step back, your heart still racing from the things the professor told you.

"Of course, Professor Strange." Fury spoke as he stood up. "Stark, I hope that has cleared up your doubts. If there is anything else you wish to ask me, you may come to my office as needed."

You bit your tongue to avoid saying that Fury only scared you rather than clarifying anything, and nodded in understanding.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts may not be my class, but I am also available to talk with you, Miss Stark." Stephen added softly as you passed him in the doorway. You mumbled a goodbye before walking out of the office, ignoring the horrible feeling that settled in your stomach.

//-//

You were really disturbed by the conversation with Professor Fury. The story of the wizard casting himself in front of a spell gave you strange dreams, and you could no longer be sure that you wouldn't do the same for Wanda.

Your friends were equally impressed by what you told them, and you ignored the feeling of dissatisfaction at the pit of your stomach that you felt because you wish you were talking to Wanda about it, and tried to be more grateful that you have someone to talk to at all.

You were thinking of talking to Tony about everything, and you thought you'd look for him in the Slytherin hall, and to your surprise, he showed up in your common room. You thought he was there to spend some time with Steve, but he really came to see you.

"Daddy wrote for us." He explains as soon as he greets you. The letter already open in your hands as he throws himself on the couch in the communal hall. It is Sunday, but the room is very empty because with the amount of free time and foreigners in the castles, most of the students are socializing outside. You had dismissed your friends' invitation to practice Quidditch in exchange for a nap, as you were upset by the way Wanda left the main hall at breakfast when she realized you were sitting at the Slytherin table with her brother.

"Finally." You grumble as you sit down in the armchair across from Tony, stretching out your arm to pick up the letter. It must have been the first letter in three months or more. Last time, your father had said he was overwhelmed with work and would not send any news for a while. You thought it would be days, but it was months. Jarvis at least wrote to tell that he was alive, working in the basement.

Looking down at the paper, you began to read:

"Dear children, how is school going? I hope you are studying as I have always asked you to do. I have been busy with an important project at the ministry, an invention to improve the astronomical forecasts of the wizarding community. Please forgive me for the lack of contact these last months.

Tony, I received the letter about the detention, and I was quite upset when I heard about the bet. You are the older brother and you should protect your sister, not put her in danger. But I am glad that everything ended well and hope that this kind of behavior will not happen again.

Y/N, dear, I heard about your willingness to start studying Muggle Studies, and I'm very glad..."

You stop reading the letter halfway through, frowning and looking at Tony next, who was lying with his head on the cushions and his arm under his eyes.

"What kind of crap is this?" you ask with confusion and irritation, causing Tony to let out a short chuckle. "Dad telling us to study? What the...?"

"It doesn't sound anything like him, I know." Tony interrupts and then sighs, sitting down on the couch to point to the paper. "And see how he doesn't make any jokes about the dare, or any comments about your incident at the lake? It sounds so mechanical and vague."

"Do you think he hasn't read our letters? He only mentions the one from school." You say and Tony leans back on the couch, thoughtful.

"I don't know. It just doesn't sound like him." He says. "I wouldn't be surprised to find out that Jarvis wrote it."

"Why would Jarvis do that?"

"Because Dad hasn't spoken to us in three months." Tony retorts with irritation. "And well, you almost drowned and he didn't even bother to read about it."

"Tony..."

"No, it's fine." He grumbles, taking the letter from your hands and standing up. "Screw him." Cursed the boy in annoyance, tossing the letter into the fireplace in the room. You frowned, sighing. "We don't need him. I'll take care of you."

You were tired of this. Running a hand through your hair for a moment in frustration, you let Tony take your hands in his as he knelt in front of you next.

"I'm sorry I've been absent this while." He says surprising you. "I hated how all the adults were hiding things from us, and I did the same with you. I promise I will tell you everything from now on."

You nod in understanding, squeezing Tony's hand lightly.

"I need to tell you something too."

And you do. The whole conversation with Wanda and with Professor Fury shock Tony. And he has a frown creased in concern when you finish.

"I know it's a lot." You say. "But I'm terrified. I don't know what will happen to me if I lose Wanda, and all I can do is miss her."

"Hey, it's going to be okay." Tony says tenderly, releasing his hand to caress your cheeks and wipe away the dripping tears. "I won't let anything bad happen to you. I promise."

"What if you can't avoid it, Tony?" you retort softly, your voice whiny.

"I will." He assures you. "I will help you. We'll figure out a way to break this bond, and then you and Wanda will be safe."

You nod, deciding to believe his words. Your brother hugs you next, and you wish he is right.

//-//

Just like you, Tony was also unable to gain access to the restricted section of the library. But that is the least of your problems.

As the date of the last task approaches, you are a pile of nerves. Tony assures you that he will try to find something about ways to break magical bonds on the last trip to Hogsmeade in a local library, but you are barely listening to him, your thoughts wandering towards Wanda.

The other girl, on the other hand, continues to avoid you and your friends. Your only option is to ask Pietro about her, and he assures you that she is as upset as you are as if he is trying to make you feel better somehow. But all this information causes is a worsening of your distress. Pietro is not comfortable coming between you two, so you don't insist that he spend time with you or your friends, knowing that Wanda needs company. You also insist that Gamora and Nebula continue to spend time with the witch, but they comment that Wanda is not really sociable after the whole thing.

The rest of the school starts to notice the way the Maximoffs are no longer hanging out with you, and since everyone in the school loves a little gossip, the news that you and Wanda broke up starts to circulate very quickly.

You don't want your detention for the lake story to escalate, but it's hard to control the urge to jinx your classmates when their snarky remarks reach your ears.

"I heard they broke up because Wanda became a champion, and didn't want to be seen with a hufflepuff anymore." Said in a not so low tone, a Ravenclaw boy as you were walking ahead of them toward the Potions classroom.

"No, dude, that's not true. I heard that Wanda got pretty close to the other champion, Jean Grey, and obviously she'd go for a famous quidditch player than a nobody." Added a female voice, and you clutched the books in your hands tightly, but didn't turn around.

"Come on, the girl's a Stark." Retorted the boy. "I think Maximoff is a winner with either one."

The girl laughed lightly, and you wished you reach the classroom soon.

"I think you're right." The girl spoke up. "Maximoff has always been weird, I don't know how she got such great options."

Your attention wandered from the conversation when Mantis reached you. She went back to the dorm to get the potions book she had forgotten, and frowned at your annoyed posture when she arrived, but when she caught the words of the pair behind you, she threw them an annoyed look that made them fall silent.

"Don't pay any attention to that kind of gossip, Y/N." She asked gently and you just sighed.

"I just wish people would mind their own business." You grumble annoyed and Mantis agrees with a murmur.

Potions class was as difficult as it usually is. What surprised you was Professor Lensherr's tired appearance, but you imagined it must be because of the tournament finals that were being organized by the teachers.

When you were packing your materials, you almost knocked over the glass jar when he appeared in front of you.

"Stark, a word, please." He asked earnestly, and Mantis shot you a glance before hurrying to leave. The professor waited until the room was empty and then nodded to the door, which closed. "Wanda told me about your magic bond."

"Shit." You grumbled immediately, and Professor Erik raised his eyebrows. You cleared your throat, apologizing for cursing. "Look, sir, I don't know what else to say about it. I don't know where the bond came from, and I'm trying to find out..."

"I can help." He interrupts and you fall silent, surprised.

"Really?"

"Yes." He says straightening his posture and crossing his arms. "I obviously have more magical knowledge than you, and your nosy brother." He says and you understand that he is talking about the way Tony has been pestering the teachers to get information. "And if this bond affects Wanda, it is of particular interest to me."

You swallow dryly, nodding in understanding. You explain to him how you feel next, and Erik absorbs your words with a neutral expression.

"Interesting. I had my theories since you couldn't duel with Wanda in the second year, but since you became close, it wasn't my place to intrude.” He tells with a bit of a nostalgic face as you finish speaking. “I have a few questions, Miss Stark. I need clarification on the nature of this bond." He says with his arms still folded across his chest. "Last summer, Wanda had a cold. Did you feel anything?"

You thought about the vacation for a few seconds.

"No, sir." You reply. "I don't remember getting sick."

"I see." He says. "Tell me, have you ever had dragon pox?"

You nod in agreement.

"At how old?" The teacher asks, and you think for a moment.

"I don't know, four I think. Maybe five."

"Wanda had dragon pox when she was six." He declares, his gaze assessing you. You blink, trying to follow what he is trying to say. "It's not a very common disease in England, is it?"

"I don't think so." You mutter without understanding why the professor is looking at you like that.

"Wanda caught the disease in Sokovia, the country where she was born." He recounts. "We were on vacation and she came back sick. The last case of that disease here in England was almost a hundred years ago."

"I guess I'm unlucky then." You try to joke, and Erik almost smiles.

"The flu Wanda had last summer was not of magical origin." He adds, and you frown slightly, not knowing what to make of this information. "But dragon pox is magical in nature."

"Professor I don't..."

"Wanda broke her wrist at the age of seven." He interrupts as he uncrosses his arms, gesturing slightly. "She and Pietro were playing in the backyard, no magic."

"Okay..."

"I imagine Wanda has already talked to you about her exceptional magical abilities, Miss Stark." The professor continues. "Her visible magic, I meant. It started when she was three years old, when she was able to bring her toys into her crib and wrap them all in a magical cloud." Erik tells and you smile briefly at the image of a baby Wanda, but his expression makes you bite the inside of your cheek the next second. "I want to know how much of this you were able to experience, being on the other side of the country."

You swallow dryly, looking away and trying to think back to your childhood.

"I don't know, professor." You reply. "I was a child. Maybe Tony or dad will know something."

"Come on, isn't there anything you can tell me?" He insists. "Any specific memories, any strange dreams? Anything."

You think, and think, but none of your childhood memories seem relevant. And then you frown, remembering one.

"Actually... There was this one time I got really sick. I think I was about eight. Maybe nine, and dad took me to St.Mungus. I had a high fever, and I couldn't sleep at night with nightmares, but I don't remember what happened. They thought it might be the flu, but we never found out what it was. The next day I was better."

Erik was slightly wide-eyed and then he sighed.

"Before she came to Hogwarts, Wanda was afraid of losing control of her magic at school." He starts to tell. "I tried to calm her down, but she was very upset. She managed to convince Pietro to help her into my potions room and took an entire bottle of a brew for magical containment. Her magic seemed almost enraged, and she destroyed the greenhouse with a wave of energy. I've never seen her so out of control." He says thoughtfully, as if remembering the events. "She passed out from exhaustion, and didn't wake up until the morning. She was ten.”

"You don't think...?"

"That's exactly what I think, Miss Stark." He interrupts, "The dates match. Every time Wanda was in danger from a magical source, you were affected, because the nature of your bond with her is magical. And that was confirmed during the tournament by noticing the way you jumped into the lake during the second task. I imagine your little interaction with Professor Heimdall when Wanda was facing the dragon was about this as well?" He asks and you nod your head in confirmation. "Right. Well, that's a problem."

"I noticed." You grumble, but then realize from the professor's expression that in addition to what has been said, it seems to be a problem for another reason. "Why?"

"Regarding your safety, I mean." Explains the professor. "The last task of the tournament is going to be exceptionally challenging, and perhaps not the best of experiences for you."

You widen your eyes in anticipation.

"Professor, what will happen in the third task?"

"I can't tell you." He says. "But there will be many challenges. And Wanda may encounter difficulties, especially since she is only fifteen."

You sigh, trying to push the wave of worry down.

"I hate this tournament." You state in a mumble and Professor Erik gives a short little smile. "I hate to see Wanda in danger. If it's for the gold, she can have all mine."

Erik laughed, and you blinked in surprise at the sound.

"Believe me, I dislike this competition as much as you do." He says. "There is no pleasure in seeing Wanda in danger for something as superficial as eternal glory. But the goblet chose her, and she would have suffered a magical penalty if she didn't obey the contract. It was a difficult decision, but it was the best for her."

You mutter in understanding and the teacher is thoughtful for a few minutes.

"I would recommend you not watch the competition so you don't get so nervous, but clearly distance doesn't matter for the bond." He remarks. "I need more information about how all this works. I want to run some tests with you two."

You frown slightly, but before you can ask what kind of tests, the teacher speaks again.

"That will need to wait, of course. With the competition and the final exams, I understand that you are experiencing enough stress and I don't want to cause any more suffering." He explains. "Over the vacations, perhaps I can write to your father. It's time to see old friends again after all."

You are surprised that the professor makes this mention, but you don't bother to comment. He clears his throat, and signals that this is all. You thank him as you get up and then leave the room.

//-//

When the day of the last task of the tournament finally arrived, the whole school was in a joint peak of excitement.

You could hardly sleep, strange nightmares throughout your entire night combined with the anxiety at the pit of your stomach made you wake up several times during your sleep. In the morning you decided to ignore the buzz around the hallways about the task and the possible winner, and joined your friends for breakfast.

You wanted to talk to Wanda, but you didn't see her at the Slytherin table, and Gamora tried to cheer you up with news about a band you liked playing in London next month, but you could barely force a smile, feeling tired and irritated.

You heard a group of Gryffindors commenting excitedly that the occultation spell had been removed from the quidditch field, and that the gates of something that had been conjured for the last task were already visible, but before you could try to hear what they were saying, the boys were already leaving the hall and Pietro came to talk to you.

"Hey, good morning, how are you?" he asked curiously, taking a seat across from you at the table.

"Not well, if you want to know." You grumbled dejectedly, your fingers lazily stroking the piece of bread on your plate. "What about you?"

"Worried." He replied shrugging his shoulders with a small corner smile. "But I'm optimistic. Wanda is confident, and thinks she can win. And I'm trusting that everything will end well."

The mention of Wanda makes you sigh slightly and lean your chin on your arm on the table, looking at the boy in front of you.

"I miss her, Pietro." You confess upset and ignore the way Gamora and Nebula who are sitting next to the boy look at you with pity, but appreciate how Mantis strokes your back lightly. "She won't talk to me, and I can't blame her or even be mad at her."

"Wanda asked for some time, didn't she?" he asked slightly curious and you grumbled in agreement. "Well, I guess you have the right to ask the same."

You frown in confusion, and Pietro has a little smile as he pours himself some juice.

"What do you mean?" You ask.

"Ask her for, I don't know, five minutes of attention?" He suggests. "Five minutes to at least give her good luck. You look miserable, and I hate to see you like this."

You sigh, thinking about the idea. And then you smile.

"Thanks, P." You say as you raise your head.

"No problem." He says. "You can try now, Wanda should be on the lower floors. She wanted to talk to dad before the task."

You nodded in understanding and then said you would meet your friends outside.

It didn't take long for you to find Wanda. The girl was walking up the stairs as you were coming down, and well, she had no choice but to look at you.

You felt your heart race to have her looking directly at you after so long, but you ignored the sensation as you walked down the steps and stopped in front of her. Wanda swallowed dryly, but held her gaze.

"Hey." You greeted half breathlessly, smiling slightly.

"What do you want?" she asked uncomfortably, her gaze serious. You ignored the seriousness of her words.

"Talk to you."

"I already said I need time."

"I know." You said without hesitation. "But I also have the right to talk. Can you give me five minutes?"

Wanda looked away, and then at her feet. She sighed and nodded, and you waited for her to look at you again before speaking.

"I miss you, Wanda." You confessed and watched Wanda swallow dryly, her eyes filling with tears as she looked away. "And I wanted to wish you good luck in the last task."

Wanda sighed faintly, nodding in understanding, her gaze on the stairs. You raised your finger to her chin, gently turning her face so that she was looking at you. Wanda closed her eyes as you fitted your hand to her cheeks, your thumb stroking her skin tenderly as she leaned into the touch.

Her hand moved up to your forearm the next moment, squeezing before moving your hand away from her face as she pushed your arm away gently.

You sighed, ignoring the feeling in your stomach and the urge to kiss and touch her again.

"Please don't do that." She whispered. "Don't touch me as if you love me as much as I love you."

You gasped, widening your eyes at the confession. But before you could add anything else, footsteps approached and Erik was coming up the stairs behind Wanda. The girl took a step back, wiping her eyes quickly.

"Stark." The professor greeted politely. You had a hard time disguising how much Wanda's words stirred in you. "Wanda, you'd better hurry up for breakfast. The task will start soon."

"Yes, dad." Wanda agrees and she doesn't look at you as she leaves. Erik nods politely and you stand on the steps for long minutes, your heart racing in your chest.

Wanda loves you. And you can't be with her.

Ignoring your broken heart, you turn and walk back into the hall, following the crowd of students who are making their way to the site of the last assignment.

//-//

The third task was a maze full of magical trials.

You gasped as you reached the sight of the large grass ones that were raised at the entrance to the quidditch field and the matched grass gates.

The crowd of students spilled out onto the bleachers set up in front of the maze, and you began to look around for your friends, ignoring the urge to run to Wanda and tell her you loved her back, not wanting to upset her before the task.

When the crowd was fully seated in the stands, and some students were already raising their cheering posters in the air, you watched the tournament judges move along with the faculty as Agatha took her place to announce the start of the competition.

"Hey, it's going to be okay." Gamora whispered to you as the director made the announcements. "I bet Wanda will be back before you can miss her."

You try to smile, your stomach turning in nervousness.

Watching the field below, you see the champions positioning themselves at the entrance.

Jean Grey had the highest score, so she entered first. The Durmstrang students cheering loudly until she disappeared into the maze.

Soon after, Wanda entered. The Slytherin people conjured a serpent of artifice through the air that disappeared as soon as she walked into the maze.

And then Maria Hill last, the Beaubatox crowd clapping their feet until she entered.

Just like the second task, all that was left for the crowd to do was wait once the champions entered. So as soon as the gate closed, the students started talking animatedly among themselves, in addition to the betting chart that began to circulate.

You also noticed that the reporters of the Daily Prophet were asking the cheering people in the front row about the bets for the winners.

Trying to distract yourself from the sense of worry that had taken over you most likely linked to the fact that Wanda was inside a place dangerous enough to kill her, you tried to engage in some of the conversation with your friends.

//-//

With thirty minutes to go, a movement in the field below caught your attention.

"Y/N, isn't that your father?" Gamora asked poking you in the ribs to call you, but you were already looking down.

Your father was not alone. There were four other witches with him that you had never seen before, but judging by their capes, they were aurors from the ministry, as they were dressed exactly like the witches that day in the cup.

There was a sudden movement among the teachers, and then the aurors were opening the gate to the maze and Headmistress Harkness was talking to the judges, all looking extremely worried. The crowd was buzzing, and it didn't take long for the comments to reach you.

"They're saying they're going to cancel the test!" Told a Ravenclaw girl who had just leaned forward to listen to her classmates, and then he turned and said to you and Gamora, making you both widen your eyes. You looked around next, in time to catch Tony coming down the bleachers from the side until he reached your father.

"What do you think happened?" Gamora asked you.

"I don't know, but it doesn't look good." You replied already moving to leave in Tony's direction. Gamora and Nebula looked at you, but you just signaled for them to wait up there.

When you reached Tony and your father, they seemed to be arguing.

"You didn't think to send at least a letter?" Tony squawked angrily, but your father was distracted, looking around and especially back at the entrance to the maze.

"I can't talk now, Tony, please." The man asked. He gave you a short smile as you approached, and Bucky and Steve joined you all next.

"Dad, what's going on?" You asked, but before your father could say anything, the principal was asking the students to return to the castle and the crowd erupted in booing.

The tournament judges were commenting quietly among themselves, and you frowned when Professor Erik approached and whispered something in your father's ear, who made a worried frown.

"Go back to the castle." Your father ordered looking at you and Tony, but you didn't move and Tony pushed your father's hand away.

They began to argue, but you felt your whole body shiver all at once, and you looked back, thinking that someone had called your name.

Professor Erik looked at you curiously, but before he could do anything, you ran past him and into the maze.

//-//

Gasping for breath from the run, you blinked in confusion as you stopped at a crossroads. Your head was spinning slightly, and you looked around.

The maze was dark, and the walls were high and shadowed the path. You noticed that the noise of the crowd was muffled from the inside.

Taking the left path, you were not fully conscious, following only the magnetic energy that seemed to pull you around the correct path.

Your wand was raised to your hand, an illumination spell that you don't remember conjuring. You frowned slightly when you noticed another light, and then Maria Hill was standing in front of you.

"Who are you?" she asked, but you didn't answer, walking past her in a mechanical manner. The girl looked at you with confusion. "Girl, can you hear me?"

"Wanda." You whispered without stopping your walk. Maria hesitated but then began to follow you through the labyrinth.

"Are you hexed?" She asked curiously but got no answer. When she tried to hold you by the shoulders, you pushed her to the ground. "Hey, no need for that!"

You didn't answer and Maria sighed in irritation as she stood up, running lightly to catch up with you as you turned the corner.

The tugging on your abdomen began to get stronger, and then you reached the center of the maze.

"Wow, you found the center." Maria commented in surprise next to you. "But where's the cup?"

You looked around confused, feeling the pain in your head increase.

And then noises of footsteps and shouting became closer and a moment later your father and Professor Erik entered the center through one of the trails.

"Honey!" Your father exclaimed worriedly, but before he could reach you, you fell to your knees, a shrill cry of pain escaping your throat.

Your vision blurred and you had another vision.

It was the graveyard from your dream, but now much clearer than before. You were attached to something, and there was a tall wizard standing in front of you.

The man turned around and you could see his red eyes staring at you with hatred.

"Erik, what is happening to her?" You heard your father's voice sound muffled by the ringing in your ear. You were trying to breathe normally, lying on the grass with your hands on your head.

"Look out, Howard!" It was Professor Erik's voice, but you didn't have the strength to look up.

"Protego!" Someone shouted the incantation next to you, maybe it was Maria but you can't open your eyes to see.

The pain in your head seemed to subside slightly and you forced your gaze upward, not understanding what was happening.

There were two bright lights in front of you. The image was not very clear because of the pain, but you struggled to understand what you were witnessing.

A wizard you didn't know was exchanging spells with Professor Erik. And Bucky was standing next to him, his robotic movements exactly matching those of the mysterious sorcerer. Your father was dueling with the younger one.

The unknown wizard let out an angry grunt, and said something in a language you didn't recognize, and then a green light shot out of Bucky's wand and hit your father in the chest, knocking him backwards.

"Stupefy!" Shouted a female voice from your side, and the spell hit Bucky squarely.

You whimpered in pain again, and could stare no longer.

A few minutes passed before you gasped back to consciousness, or perhaps it was hours. Your tears wet your shirt, and you coughed helplessly.

You raised your eyes to a scene that you didn't understand at first.

There were three people lying on the ground. A man you had never seen before, Bucky and your father, and Professor Erik was kneeling beside the last.

You blinked in confusion and then Tony came running out of the other opening and he widened his eyes when he noticed father.

"Hey, can you stand?" it was Jean Grey beside you. Maria Hill was holding you in her other arm, and you blinked in confusion at both of them.

"Where am I?" you grumbled, and then looked forward again. Tony ran up to your father, and you widened your eyes.

"Dad?" Tony asked with his face wet with tears. "Dad? Wake up!

"Stark..." Erik started as he touched the boy's shoulder, but your brother didn't look at him as he pushed his hand away.

You forced yourself to get up and with the help of the girls you succeeded. You took two steps and then fell to your knees again, understanding what had happened.

You had just witnessed your father being murdered.

//-//

The maze was dismantled from the inside out.

The rest of the teachers moved to remove the incantations and the maze disappeared around you, while you and Tony were kneeling beside the body of your father.

Soon there were reporters trying to reach the center, but Principal Harkness ordered them to stay away.

The aurors from the ministry were also there and they conjured a containment spell around the man who dueled the professor.

"We need to get the children out of here, Harkness." You heard someone say, but their gaze was on your lap, the hand you entwined with your father's.

"We don't know how many of them then here." Another witch said.

"Darlings, let's go inside, okay?" Professor Erik asked you. You were too tired to contradict, but Tony refused.

He said something about responsibility, and they did not contradict him again. You were led out of the maze, however, and the place where the entrance was located was empty.

The reporters who had been thrown out approached you and the ministry's auror immediately as soon as they saw you two, and you blinked at the flashes of the cameras.

"Can you tell us what happened inside the maze Miss Stark?"

"How are you and your brother going to take care of the fortune now that you are Howard's heirs?"

The lack of sensitivity made your stomach turn, but you were too tired to cry.

The auror who was with you said something to keep the reporters away, and then you were taken back to the castle.

"Hey, kid, are you still with me?" The lady asked as she knelt in front of you, her expression concerned.

You sighed, feeling an urgency to close your eyes. You think she called you again before you blacked out.

//-//

When you woke up, it was warm. And when you realized that you were in the infirmary, it took you a few moments to remember everything that had happened. As you did so, you began to cry. Finally understanding that your father was dead.

Your pillow got wet, but you didn't care, finding it hard to see past the tears.

"Hey." It was Tony, looking extremely tired, standing at your bedside. You couldn't tell if he was already there when you woke up, or if he had entered the infirmary at that moment, but you didn't ask. He lay down on the bed with you next, and hugged you.

You know that he was crying too, even though you didn't look at him.

You eventually fell asleep between sobs, and when you woke up again, you were feeling better physically.

Tony was standing in the doorway of the infirmary, talking to the Auror who brought you in. When she noticed you looking, she nodded slightly to Tony and he looked at you, forcing a smile.

The two wizards walked over to you next, and you sat down on the bed.

"Hey, are you feeling better?" Tony asked and you shrugged. "Carol wants to ask you some questions."

You looked away from Tony to the woman, and she looked slightly embarrassed to have to question you after a situation like this, but she did it anyway.

"My name is Carol Danvers, Miss Stark." She introduced herself first. "I am an auror from the ministry of magic. I brought you to the infirmary, can you remember this?"

You nodded in agreement.

"I need to tell you some things, and then I'll ask you about what happened in the maze, okay?" She asked and waited for you to confirm before she started talking.

Carol explained to you how the dark wizard Korvac used polyjuice potion to disguise himself as Professor Fury all year long, and infiltrate the tournament organization. The real Fury was a family friend of the auror and was able to warn her in some way that she didn't tell you, and then the aurors used flu powder to get to Hogwarts. Your father was still an auror in secret to the ministry, and so he also joined the operation group.

When the Aurors arrived, however, Korvac had already entered the maze and they went after him. Neither your father nor the professor were supposed to enter the maze, but when you did, your brother followed, and consequently Steve and Bucky did the same. Your father and the professor went after, but the maze was enchanted to make everyone get lost, and that's exactly what happened. While you were guided by your connection to Wanda, everyone else was lost all around.

Carol told you that Korvac had found Bucky and used the Imperio curse to control him, so he was fighting on behalf of the dark wizard against both your father and your teacher. With Jean Grey's intervention, Bucky was knocked out and Professor Erik hit Korvac, but it was too late.

Everyone eventually found themselves in the middle and the maze was dismantled. Tony had already given his statement to the ministry, and Korvac was sent to Azkaban.

"Your brother told me that you have some kind of magical bond with one of the champions and that's why you went into the maze right?" Carol asked as you wiped away your tears. You sniffled slightly as you confirmed. "Miss Maximoff won the competition and she has also talked to my colleagues about what she saw in the cup portal."

"W-what?" you questioned with confusion.

Carol sighed slightly and then her posture changed. She looked back for a minute.

"Look, I trusted your father. He knew there was corruption in the ministry, and he warned me about it when he recommended me to work with him." She began as if telling a secret. "Let's keep that between us for now. I don't know who I can trust in that department."

Carol told about how the triwizard cup was bewitched to become a portal key, most likely by Korvac. She repeated Wanda's words to you, saying that the girl had ended up in a graveyard with the remnants of Mephisto's followers in place. Wanda also said that Mephisto himself had returned and that they faced each other. She managed to escape by touching the cup again.

What made you angry was knowing that the minister didn't believe any of her words, and refused to acknowledge Mephisto's return. The whole thing would be treated as a trial of the tournament that got out of hand, and Korvac, who had been captured, would be accused of all the crimes.

Carol didn't seem happy with the minister's decision either.

"I have nothing to say but tell the minister to go fuck himself, Carol." You informed irritated and the blonde smiled at you.

"You inherited your father's attitude." She comments and you think the intention is good, but it makes your heart ache. "I will close your statement then. Thank you very much for your time, Miss Stark."

You nod and Carol hesitates. She sighs lightly and touches your brother on the shoulder and your outstretched hand on the bed.

"I used to be friends with your father." She says. "Don't think you are alone, children. You have more family than you can imagine. And you can contact me if you need anything."

Carol smiles and walks away with a nod. You and Tony exchange a slightly surprised look. Tony sighs and sits down next to you on the bed. You say nothing, but you both know that this should be one more among your father's many secrets.

//-//

Nurse Cho released you from the infirmary that same afternoon.

Aside from the mental exhaustion, you were perfectly healthy.

Your friends, with the exception of the Maximoff twins, approach you in the dormitory. They hug you together, mourning the death of your father. You want to say that you feel a little better about this, but that is not true.

As you are seen in the corridors, students and professors stop you to say "my sympathies", and you answer them in a polite way. You can also hear the gossip after all.

Wanda did not obey the order of the minister of magic, and when the journalists of the Daily Prophet asked her about the tournament, she told her version. Nobody bought her story, and she was branded a liar after the minister denied the return of the dark wizard.

Professor Erik also greeted you in the hallways, and Pietro was with him. The boy hugged you tight, and you held back your tears.

"Stark, my home is always open to you and your brother." Erik said as his hand was on your shoulder. "I just want you to know that."

You nodded in understanding and then walked toward the communal hall intending to organize your belongings, since the school year would end that week.

//-//

On your last day at Hogwarts, you finally talked to Wanda.

Because your nightmares had become more frequent than ever, you had spent the last days at school without sleeping properly, and on the last night you gave up sleeping and decided to go to the kitchens.

You were in the empty halls when you heard the familiar noise of Drax monitoring the castle and stumbled to the first door you found, trying to avoid being seen.

As you waited for the hissing noise to become distant, you looked back and gasped in surprise.

There was a girl sitting on the floor and it took you a few seconds to realize that it was Wanda.

"What are you doing here?" You asked curiously, and your voice startled her. She stood up quickly, looking at you in surprise.

"Shit, you scared the hell out of me!" She complained and you frowned slightly as you realized she was crying, but Wanda quickly wiped her face.

Only at that moment did you notice the large antique mirror behind her. On the metal rim was a Latin phrase that you didn't understand.

Biting the inside of your cheeks, you looked away to the floor.

"Sorry to bother you, I couldn't sleep." You mumbled clumsily and Wanda shifted the weight of her feet before clearing her throat.

"Do you wanna stay?"

You raised your head in surprise, but then nodded in agreement.

Walking up to the girl, you stopped about four steps away from her, not knowing exactly what to do next.

"Are you going to tell me what you were doing here?" You asked again, and Wanda bit her lips before turning toward the mirror.

"I found this place in second grade." She counters. "That's the Mirror of Erised."

"I am supposed to know what that means?" You ask with mild irony causing Wanda to smile slightly.

"We studied that in fourth grade, so yes." She retorts.

"I haven't been busy this year, no time for books, if you know what I mean." You say with a smile and Wanda laughs softly. You stare at the mirror in front of you, but there is nothing special about it. It seems to reflect you and Wanda just like any other. "What does this mirror do anyway?"

Wanda turns her face to you, and you want to ignore the nervous feeling that settles on the edge of your stomach, but to no avail.

"Look closer." She says, and her gaze lingers on you for a moment before she takes a step to the side. You turn your face to the mirror again, and then step forward.

It takes a second for the image to change. It is you in the reflection, but you are not alone. Your father is standing beside you, smiling contently. You frown in confusion, gasping slightly at his sudden appearance.

Ignoring the lump in your throat, you continue to stare. The image trembles slightly, and you try to understand what the mirror is telling you. Nothing looks much different except the image of your father, but then you notice the wedding ring in your reflection.

You look down at your hand for a moment and then back at the reflection. Your image copies the movement with delay and you squeeze your eyes shut to read the letters on the ring.

Your face heats up as you read Wanda's name and you take a step back. The image becomes fainter, but doesn't disappear.

"What do you see?" Wanda asks curiously from beside you, and you startle, turning your head to her quickly.

"M-my father." You answer at the same moment, biting your tongue to make sure you don't say anything else. Wanda's expression tumbles, and she looks down at her feet. You swallow dryly.

"I'm sorry, y/n. I really am." She whispers, and you look away. There is something that is bothering you as much as your father's death, and it is the distance that seems to exist between you and Wanda now.

"Thank you." You mumble the response you have learned to give whenever someone says that to you. "W-what do you see in the mirror?" You ask next, trying to change the subject from you. Wanda looks surprised at the question and even in the low lighting, you notice the slight redness in her cheeks.

"My mother." She answers without looking at you. "And... myself. No magic. Just me and her, and Pietro and papa at a distance. We look happy and normal."

It is the most intimate confession Wanda has ever made to you. You want to caress her face, hug her and thank her for her trust, but you just nod in agreement, swallowing her words and pushing the desire to touch down.

"Have you been here many times?" You ask after a moment and Wanda sighs before confirming. "You never told me about this place before."

"I never told anyone." She retorts without sounding angry, just slightly weary. "I guess I wanted it to be something just mine."

"I understand." You comment as you look into the mirror again, the image of your reflection and Wanda's now visible. "A private space for you to visit your mother."

Wanda murmurs in agreement, and you think she won't say anything else, but she does.

"I need to tell you something."

You turn your head toward Wanda's direction, but when she turns her body toward you, she keeps her gaze on the floor.

"About the day of the task." She says. "About Mephisto."

"Okay." You mumble as you wait. Wanda takes a deep breath.

"I guess you've heard from the whole school that I fought with him." She starts with a sad smile, and you nod in agreement. "Well, there's a reason he couldn't kill me."

You frown with confusion.

"Right...why?"

"It’s better if i show you." She takes a deep breath, raising her hands between you. "Can I?" she asks, and you notice the red magic escaping her fingers.

"You can do that?" You ask impressed and Wanda nods with a shy smile. When you consent, she raises her fingers to your forehead and then you have another vision.

You see the moment when Wanda was teleported into the graveyard, and it's as if you're seeing everything through her eyes.

The moment when a hooded wizard appeared and locked Wanda in a spell against one of the tombstones. You watched the wizard walk to the center of the graveyard and conjure a rune on the ground that you didn't recognize. He recited a few words and then cast an incantation in the sky. The mark of a hydra.

Walking back to the rune, the sorcerer deposited a necklace on the ground. With a dagger he took from his pocket, he recited an incantation in a language you didn't recognize, and cut his own palm. When the blood fell on the necklace, Wanda gasped in pain.

The ground around the rune began to open up and a man crawled out of the earth. You imagined it was a necromancy ritual and they were resurrecting someone. You didn't have to ask to know that it was Mephisto.

When the wizard stood up completely, he laughed darkly. The man who helped him bowed.

"Master, you live!" Celebrated the wizard. Mephisto approached, a gentle flick of his wand wiped all the dirt from his robes, and you could see the metallic Hydra strolling along the entire length of his robes, as if getting used to being awake again.

"All thanks to you, John." Mephisto said his deep voice echoing through the room. "Your loyalty will be rewarded, my friend."

"Thank you, master." Said the man without raising his head. Mephisto touched his hood, pulling it back, and you looked at the kneeling figure. He was a man of about thirty, his blond hair was long and dirty. There was a deep scar across his cheek to the extent of his right eye, which was closed.

Mephisto raised his wand toward the young man's face, and a silver spell escaped from the tip along the scar. The mark didn't disappear, but when he opened his eye, you noticed the metallic glow of the reddish iris.

"Be my eyes again, John Walker." Mephisto commanded and the boy thanked him again. He continued kneeling as Mephisto turned toward Wanda, who was still attached to the tombstone. "I almost forgot about my guest of honor."

"Who are you?" Wanda asked angrily, you could almost feel her fear.

Mephisto smiled devilishly, ignoring the question as he took a deep breath. He raised his wand high and the Hydra's mark seemed to glow even brighter.

In the following moments, shadows began to appear in the sky, and only when the first one of them landed on the ground that you understood that they were wizards appearing.

There were at least eight of them, but because of their position, Wanda couldn't see them all. The masked witches remained static, waiting for their companions. Mephisto murmured softly, and after a moment without any movement in the sky, he sighed.

"It is only at our worst that we see who is really loyal to us." He comments somberly, before opening his arms to the crowd. "Friends! It's so good to see you all again, finally. So many years!"

Mephisto's smile doesn't reach his eyes, and then the wizards are kneeling, and recite together an "It is an honor, master." Mephisto laughs lightly, lowering his arms.

"Look at you folks." He comments with a psychotic look on his face. "You're not even ashamed that you abandoned me." He charges, but no one speaks up. Mephisto sighs impatiently. "No one has anything to say? What a disappointment."

"Master..." Started a wizard on the edge and then Mephisto raised his fist toward him hanging him in the air with his magic. Wanda's eyes widened, but the wizard let go just before the one in the air stopped struggling. As the wizard coughed to try to breathe again, Mephisto pushed his long hair out of the front of his face.

"I don't want your hollow apologies, Zemo." He says. "Nothing will erase the betrayal of all of you, cowards."

No one makes any mention of interrupting the speech, and Mephisto puts his cloak away momentarily.

"But a new era begins, and we need to leave the past behind." Says the mage. "I finally have my treasure where I wanted it, and nothing will stop me from reaching my power again."

Mephisto turns to Wanda now, a mental look on his face. The wizards look at her too.

"Master, is this...?" One of the masked men begins, and Mephisto interrupts with a devilish grin.

"Yes, my friend!" He says. "The Scarlet Witch."

The group loosely shares a buzz of excited excitement, but falls silent the next moment. Wanda wriggles uncomfortably against the spell.

"What is it, my dear?" Mephisto asks as he watches her struggle. "Is it tight? Try a coffin underground. I guarantee the discomfort is greater."

The comment makes Wanda clench her jaw as the group lets out a chuckle.

"I'm not who you say I am." Wanda retorts with irritation and Mephisto lets out a laugh approaching. You wish you could enter the vision to get him away from Wanda.

"Your name is Wanda Maximoff." He says looking her straight in the eye. "You were born in 1989 in a dirty muggle neighborhood of Sokovia. And you are a scarlet witch by birth." He narrates and then his gaze changes to malice. "And you belong to me."

"Fuck you."

Wanda's rude response makes Mephisto smile.

"Perhaps you, my dear friends, were not aware of what really happened that night fifteen years ago." Mephisto says as he turns to the group again. "I can only imagine the lies the ministry of magic must have told the world, making sure to tell I was defeated by some of their pathetic aurors."

The group exchanges surprised looks and Mephisto laughs, walking ahead.

"I think everyone has a right to know what really happened that day, don't you, my dear?" He asks Wanda, and then lets out a wry laugh. "Oh, I forgot that you were just a filthy brat back then. I'd better tell them instead."

Wanda struggles against the grip again and Mephisto raises his wand toward her, causing the spell to tighten more and Wanda to grumble in pain.

"Hold still and listen to the story, little brat." He commands. "Didn't the blood traitor teach you manners?"

You know Mephisto is talking about Wanda's father, but the girl doesn't respond to the teasing.

"Do you remember how well everything was going for us, my friends?" Begins the wizard, and he waits for the group to agree before speaking again. "I should have known that the cursed muggles in your community would bring more trouble than I expected."

Mephisto looks slightly nostalgic, but no one is going to interrupt him. He gives a wry laugh before continuing.

"You know that I was seeking the power of a scarlet sorceress for myself. And well, with all the commotion in the ministry, I decided to capture the child without being accompanied by any of you." He says. "I was always the most powerful, but now that I look back, a companion would have prevented so much delay."

When Wanda makes mention of fighting again, Mephisto strengthens the spell.

"I went to take what was rightfully mine in that muggle pigsty that is Sokovia, and I never expected that a filthy muggle would be able to stop me." He tells you and you notice Wanda's interest in the words, curious to know what he was talking about. "Maybe the traitor lied and she had some witch lineage. We'll never know, since I killed her." He comments humorously. "Contextualizing my friends, I went up to the second floor to get the child of prophecy, and I ended up running into two of them."

Mephisto counters with a wry laugh.

"Crazy isn't it?" He says. "But of course it was easy to figure out who the right baby was, since the sorceress' power emanated in the child's aura. I had no function for the other one so I decided to discard it."

Wanda's eyes widen at the confession. Mephisto was going to kill Pietro. She gasps slightly, feeling her anger rising.

"But the muggle pig begged for mercy." He continues. "You know very well how much I hate muggles, but if she had stood in the corner as I told her to do, I would have done no harm. But of course she had to throw herself in front of the infant, become a pathetic martyr."

The group laughs at the narration and you feel like vomiting. Mephisto stared at his own wand for a few seconds.

"I should have realized the sacrificial bond that was created, but I did not expect such a thing from a muggle." He counters somberly, sounding bitter. "When I skipped over her body and repeated the curse, it came straight back to me."

The group let out a chorus of surprise, but Mephisto just smiled.

"Don't worry, friends. I'm here after all." He says. "But a death curse is powerful enough to injure a body. And so I needed to escape." He counters as he walks around. "I would return for the girl as soon as I could restore myself, but where there is one blood traitor there is always another."

The group listened to the story intently and you swallowed dryly, trying to remember all the details.

"The traitor Stark and that muggle slut he called his wife were waiting for me downstairs." Mephisto counters and you hold your breath. "I knew that in my condition I couldn't stand up to an auror like Stark, but he could be useful to me. It was the perfect opportunity to have someone look after my belongings."

Mephisto sighed lightly.

"I think muggles must have some sort of self-sabotaging lifestyles about throwing themselves in front of spells, folks." He mocked causing the group to exchange confused looks. "I aimed at Stark, commanding him to protect what was mine, but it was the muggle who received the enchantment." He counters and you gasp in surprise. "Stark was furious of course, but I used the moments he spent assisting his wife to apparate."

Mephisto's expression was no longer content.

"My body couldn't handle the power of the apparatation, obviously." He counters. "After the curse, it began to betray me. I was on the brink of death for months, until I finally succumbed. My consciousness shallowed, waiting patiently for my faithful followers to find me. And here we are."

The group lets out a small exclamation and Mephisto forces a smile, straightening his posture.

"But that's in the past, of course." He says. "My sorceress is here for me, and I can regain my full power now."

Wanda swallowed dryly as she watched Mephisto approach. The wizard made a motion with his wand and the grip around her neck shortened slightly.

"I never had any use for the witch's receptacle." He says raising his wand to Wanda, you held your breath. "It's nothing personal, dear. At least you'll meet that pig of a mother of yours in hell."

The green incantation comes out of the small wood next, but never reaches Wanda. A yellow energy bumps into the magic and deflects it almost hitting one of the wizards in the circle. The group moves in fright and Mephisto has a psychotic but surprised look on his face.

"The protective spell... How?" he asks, stepping forward. “The spell killed the muggle, I saw her body! How is it still there?” He angrily asks .

His followers look as surprised as he is, and Mephisto assumes an angry expression. He raises his wand again, and even without saying anything, the emerald incantation escapes and the same thing as before happens. Distracted in his frustration, he doesn't notice that with each attempt, the spell binding Wanda grows weaker, until the fourth time he tries to curse the girl, the golden light explodes in the air, ricocheting light startling all the wizards in the circle, as Wanda falls to her knees, free.

The second of shock from the group is enough for Wanda to cause a wave of energy with her powers that kept the wizards away as she reaches for the cup at her feet, teleporting back to the school.

You stumble out of the memory, your eyes watering.

Wanda looks at you, but you turn away feeling overwhelmed by the amount of information.

"W-what was that?" You gasp taking another step back.

"I'm sorry if that was too much." She hastens to say. "I-I needed to tell you. About your mother."

You wipe away the tears, moving further away.

"I can't do this." You grumble. "Not now. M-my father just died, Wanda. I can't. I'm sorry."

The words are a little disjointed, but Wanda understands. She doesn't stop you when you rush to leave the room.

//-//

Coming home is much more difficult than any other time.

The ride on the Hogwarts express is longer than ever, but you don't mind, wanting to avoid the moment when you and Tony will set foot home without your father.

Jarvis picks the four of you up at the station, and you are grateful that Gamora lets you eat all her candy left over from the trip.

The whole feeling of stepping into the house and looking around and seeing your father's objects all around is oppressive, but you try to get used to it. You think the conversation with Tony about your mother can wait.

//-//

Tag list ( let me know if you want to be tagged or removed idk haha) @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @myperfectlovepoem // @helloalycia // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia // @ichala || @madamevirgo

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wandaxreader #wandaxyou #wanda maximoff x you #wandamaximoffxreader #wanda x yn #marvel imagines #avengers imagines #avengers #The Scarlet Witch Prophecy

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fettsvette · 3 years

Text

Never Worn White (Part One)

Cloud City, Bespin. Boba Fett is on the hunt for a casual fuck before he cashes in on Han Solo’s bounty. You’re a naïve virgin, saving yourself for an adolescent fantasy… and it just so happens that he’s in town. Upon encountering the object of your infatuation though, you didn’t expect he’d be so willing to help you out.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader Words: 2.1k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Loss of virginity and unprotected sex

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

Boba Fett was in town.

There had been rumblings around the city for the past several days. Something big was happening, but nobody seemed to be sure of exactly what. You’d overheard people at the Shadow Market saying there was a beautiful woman who matched the description of Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan - well, formerly of Alderaan, now - staying in the guest quarters of the Administrator’s Palace, with a motley crew of attendants that included, of all creatures, a Wookiee. There were whispers of the famous spice smuggler, Han Solo, having been sighted as well, and even quieter mumblings concerning something called a ‘Skywalker’ (whatever that meant). An Imperial Garrison had been installed earlier in the week with no sign of leaving anytime soon, and the Baron Administrator himself, Lando Calrissian, had allegedly been seen meeting with Darth Vader himself.

Or so your roommate claimed.

“That big scary guy who works for the Emperor? The one with the magic powers who sounds like he breathes through a gas-processing vane?” You had asked skeptically when they’d burst into your shared flat with the news, the normally relaxed Aruzan acting infuriatingly bubbly at finally having gotten hold of the hot gossip in the neighborhood before you had.

The very same, they insisted; and the Baron hadn’t looked too pleased to be hosting such a powerful representative of the Empire, either.

They hadn’t seen anything themself, no - they’d heard it from one of their coworkers at Pair O’ Dice, who’d claimed their cousin’s friend’s uncle had seen them together, walking across the Apex Overlook with a squadron of armed stormtroopers trailing behind them… the amount of parties involved in this city-wide game of Comlink Operator seemed to go on and on and on. You couldn’t decipher what was true, and what was just garbled rumors and hearsay. And you couldn’t make sense why such a varied amalgamation of the galaxy’s most well-known creatures would choose to congregate at a mining colony so far away in the Outer Rim.

There was one thing you were absolutely certain of, however.

Boba Fett was here, in Cloud City.

You’d never been so sure of anything in your life. You knew it was true.

Because you’d seen his ship yourself.

It had been two days ago. You hadn’t been able to sleep, even after a long night waiting tables at K’cri’s Café, and you’d decided to take a walk down by the landing platforms in the wee hours of the morning, dawn still only a pinkish-orange smudge barely visible above the thick clouds. Whatever the time of day or night, there was always some action going on there - ships arriving constantly, bringing tourists from all over the galaxy looking to try their luck at one of Cloud City’s various casinos. You enjoyed watching the multitudes of different creatures disembarking off their various means of transportation - sub-aquatic Mon Calamari, blue-hued Chiss, reptilian Trandoshans; you’d even seen some gargantuan Hutts a few months ago, with their retinues of slaves and hangers-on, making their sluggish way across the concourse towards Yarith Bespin. It sometimes seemed that this city never truly slept.

You’d been about to finally call it a night, still not particularly tired but knowing that you should attempt to go home, draw your curtains against the burgeoning light of the sun, and get some shut-eye before your next shift the following evening, when a bizarre sound from above snapped you out of your reverie.

You’d heard the Slave I long before you’d seen it.

The ship’s engine gave out a strange whining noise, unlike anything you’d ever heard in a transport. It reminded you of a gigantic buzz-bug, and you resisted the urge to swat at the air around your ears out of habit, squinting your eyes against the hazy morning light to see what kind of damned contraption could be making such a racket.

The ship came into view as it banked around the clouds, beginning a slow descent towards one of the nearby docks, and you felt your heart give a walloping jolt from the shock of what you were witnessing.

‘No… it can’t be… not here…’

The ship was an ugly, mottled thing - a retired Firespray model of Old Republic make, the paint faded red and greenish-grey, much of it scraped away and adorned with deep gouges and obvious carbon scoring from firefights over the years. It had seemed to glide almost effortlessly through the air as it swept towards the docks, and as the transport grew closer and its image became more clear, your eyes widened, your blood screaming in your ears, your heart threatening to jump up out of your throat and flee from your frozen form. Its strangely vertical craft had suddenly rotated horizontally in the air, hanging momentarily as if suspended by a fine thread, and sank down to settle on one of the nearby landing pads, steam from the thrusters billowing around its now motionless form.

You knew the ship well, although you’d never actually seen it in real life. It was all over the HoloNet almost every time a huge sum of credits were posted on a well-known fugitive’s head, their eventual capture usually accompanied by footage of that very same transport leaving the scene. It was called the Slave I , and was owned by a man who wore a ragged suit of Mandalorian armor, and who made his living by hunting down and - sometimes killing - those who found themselves on the wrong end of a particularly influential creature’s business dealings.

Rooted to the spot, trembling from excitement, you’d stood on your toes and craned your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the pilot as they exited the durasteel behemoth. When the boarding ramp had finally extended, however, you’d turned and ran back to your apartment, a wave of anxiety at possibly seeing the owner - and them seeing you - having overcome your senses. And there you’d hid for the rest of the day, pacing the floor of your living quarters and periodically peeking out the window, expecting to see the old Firespray taking off into open space from the vicinity of the dockyards across the city. But as far as you knew, it was still there. You could feel in your guts that it was.

That was how you’d discovered that Boba Fett had come to Cloud City.

The deadliest and most effective bounty hunter in the entire galaxy, in your town.

And you wanted to meet him. You needed to meet him.

It sounded almost dirty, to acknowledge that maybe you had a bit of a crush on Boba Fett. Although merely calling it a ‘crush’ was quite an understatement.

You were infatuated with him.

You’d followed his career almost obsessively since your early teenage years, when he’d first erupted onto the bounty hunting scene and began making headlines thanks to the clean, efficient work he’d make of marks who’d been unfortunate enough to cross his path. He was highly dangerous and had a nasty reputation for being a ruthless killer, focused only on bringing pain to the creatures that could earn him as many credits as possible. On top of that, he had exclusive hunting contracts with both the Empire and the Hutts, which didn’t garner much support from communities sympathetic to the Alliance to Restore the Republic, such as your own. Much of the galaxy considered bounty hunters to be the lowest of scum, on the same level as the criminals and other dregs and vestiges of the civilized universe that they were famous for capturing. It was difficult to admit that it wasn’t the gorgeous Falleen who lived down the hall that you fantasized about sweeping off your feet and charming the Corellian hells out of you, but Boba Fett.

You couldn’t fully explain it, even to yourself let alone your exasperated and befuddled friends, but there was just something downright sexy about him. You felt weak in the knees whenever you saw his visage broadcast on the holocaster in the café, and your ears always tingled and burned when you caught his name being mentioned in a snatch of overheard conversation. You spent hours scrolling and typing on your holopad, searching for any and all information you could discover on this enigmatic figure who wore the regalia of an ancient warrior race. You’d made it a point to haunt the local nightclubs and bars on your nights off, always seeking out information on Boba Fett’s whereabouts in the galaxy, his latest jobs, encounters that the creatures constantly flowing in and out of the local entertainment establishments may have had with him during their travels. You’d heard how good of a lay - and a generous tipper - he supposedly was from several of the go-go dancers who worked at the Zero-G Club, and the idea of Boba Fett himself getting a lap dance in a seedy topless bar always sent liquid heat pooling to your core. One of your most prized sources of intelligence concerning Boba Fett was Rystáll Sant , the half-Theelian backup singer for the Max Rebo Band, whose frequent sets at the Blue Petal Bar you never missed for this express reason. Lyn Me and Greeata Jendowanian had their own Fett stories, but Sant in particular became very talkative about her famous conquests while touring the galaxy - always after a couple spotchkas, which you were more than happy to share with her.

Rystáll Sant was adamant that she’d had a casual physical relationship with Fett for years, and that he was, without question, the best fuck of her life. She hadn’t seen, let alone hooked up with him, in several months, no, but the band had a long-term residency at Jabba the Hutt’s palace on Tatooine coming up, and she was looking forward to finally reuniting with him there. He was one of Jabba’s favorite hired guns, after all. You always came away from your conversations with Rystáll feeling flushed and woozy, in a way that had nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol you both consumed while chatting. You’d always been too shy to grill her on any of the specifics of her dalliance with Fett, even though you knew she’d be happy to give them to you - what kind of a lover he was, if he was gentle or rough or a delicious mixture of the two, what he sounded like when he moaned, what he looked like both underneath his Mandalorian helmet and that mysteriously dented codpiece - but those unasked questions haunted you endlessly. You wanted to learn the answers yourself, somehow.

In short, you were helplessly drawn to Boba Fett, and found everything about him to be intoxicating - from the danger associated with his chosen career, to the mystery of what dashing good looks he had to be hiding behind that black-visored helmet… and the fact that he was experienced.

Because you’d never been with a man before.

Ever.

You were a virgin in every sense of the word.

You didn’t consider yourself a prude, or anything close - you just felt you’d never met the right person who you’d want to share that part of yourself with. Your virginity was something sacred in your eyes, something you wanted to give to someone special, not to just waste on a drunken, spiced out tryst after a night partying. Your prospective admirers on Bespin bored you to tears, and you found yourself constantly daydreaming of being whisked away off-world by a masked man in a shining suit of armor; one who would take you on exciting adventures and carry you bridal-style back to his ship afterwards for a romantic, passionate night together.

You’d never admit it to anyone, knew you’d be laughed out of the social circles you’d managed to cultivate during your years living and working in Cloud City, but Boba Fett’s was the only name that ever came to your lips as you laid in bed, your hands between your legs, bringing yourself to climax twice, sometimes three times during one of your nightly sessions. Just the mere thought of him drove you wild in a way that no other person ever had, and you constantly fantasized about him claiming your innocence for his own, leaving you trembling and mewling underneath him.

And now, like a bolt out of the blue, he was actually here , located in Cloud City on some unknown business, possibly entangled in whatever Imperial affairs that’d had the entire colony holding its collective breath over the previous days.

It almost seemed as if it were meant to happen, that you were supposed to seduce and sleep with him, despite your initial panic at his unprecedented arrival. You knew how it sounded. If anyone found out about what you were planning, discovered the details of your deepest fantasy, the one thing you truly wanted above all else, they’d have you admitted to the psychiatric medcenter at Cloud City Central.

It was true.

You were saving yourself for Boba Fett.

You were on a mission to fulfill that adolescent promise to yourself, consequences be damned, and you had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

#boba fett #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x reader

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lizbotw · 4 years

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hi!! can I ask for some shouto headcanons with a s/o who has frequent nightmares? ty! ily

Todoroki With a S/O That Has Frequent Nightmares

hi! wow, i really loved this request and enjoyed writing it! once again, it's a bit on the longer side and more scenario-like than just plain headcanons, so i hope you like it! tysm, ilyt!!! ♡

Todoroki Shouto

Everyone knows school is just plain hard and going to the top hero school in the nation meant things were… less than easy for you and your classmates.

All-nighters were common, especially now that everyone was living in the dorms together and were up to antics at all hours of the night, even despite the scolding of Iida (Aizawa admitted he couldn't care less what the class did as long as they kept it down and didn't cause too much trouble—just don’t interrupt his sleep and everything is all good).

It’s not like it was unusual for someone to complain offhandedly about being tired one day, or for your classmates to be spotted with eye bags, so no one ever thought to point out the sleepy look you seem to sport regularly from being kept up all night.

Everyone was basically kept up later than intended one way or another, whether it be finishing an assignment last minute or staying up to finish a movie, so they sympathized with your plight, assuming that it was similar to their own—but what they didn’t know was that the reason you were up was much different than any of their reasons.

While they slept peacefully only a few floors away from you, or sometimes even a few doors down the hallway, you were plagued by dark images, the type that twisted around in your mind, growing in ferocity and coiling around your heart with sticky, inky blackness so tightly that you felt as though you couldn’t breathe—any attempts against them that you took seemed futile and you always woke up gasping for air, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead as your chest heaved, heavy with emotion.

You'd gotten used to hiding it, having been dealing with them for quite a while now, and while you eventually learned to brush them off due to their frequency, in the dead of the night, whenever they struck you, you felt as powerless and hopeless as the very first time they arrived.

It was only in the light of day that you were able to be reasonable with yourself and in which the fears lost most of their power (they were never completely gone though, the thoughts lingering in the back of your mind and causing you to mull over them whenever there was a dull moment in class and your attention started to drift).

Perhaps it's because you had these nightmares that you made the most of the energy you had during the day, fighting in your own way in the light to prove that you were still powerful, even if you were stripped of that power every night.

You'd adapted to running on only a few hours of sleep and tried to take short naps throughout the day to make up for lost time (although it was still hard after particularly difficult nights where you got almost zero relief from the terrifying images), so by the time life in U.A. came about, you were able to tough it out and focus on your training.

Speaking of training, you were vicious in class battles, taking many by surprise and were able to render several of your weaker classmates immobile in capture exercises and swept them off of their feet relatively quickly in one on one fights, including a certain “IcyHot” boy (although the way in which you swept him off his feet was much different—it was hard to beat him in normal fights anyway, but when it came to matters of the heart he was forced to surrender).

Your pure power may have caught his attention at first, but it wasn’t until Shouto spoke to you more and your personality came out that he was truly faced with the fact that he was falling for you hard.

A series of mishaps and a fair share of intervention from the rest of Class 1-A later and you two were miraculously dating and even could finally rest easy—they definitely had their work cut out when it came to getting you two together, but they ultimately bit the bullet because they could not stand the mutual pining and hopeless romanticism that continuously went on between you two.

It may take a while for Shouto to realize that spending the night at each other's dorms is a romantic™ thing couples do and that he should offer that up. That would be a great alternative actually versus the current are arrangement of that whenever you come over to study during the afternoons with him (which quickly turns into night because wow, time sure flies when you're being tortured by textbooks), and once it gets late enough, he comments about what time it is and how both of you should start getting ready for bed—effectively forcing you to leave his dorm. Don't blame him—the thought just never crossed his mind.

It was actually Mina, wanting to pry in on all U.A. relationships and resident sucker for romance, that probably brought the idea to his attention.

Something about asking how you two spent time together turned interrogation when she realized he could be clueless about certain things and made it her personal mission to school him on all things romance.

And then came the question, “So, have you guys had a couple’s sleepover yet?”

“A what?”

“Mina, please stop, just leave the poor guy alone,” came Jirou’s chiding from somewhere in the background. Mina had dragged her along with her for unknown reasons, but Jirou had made it very clear that she did not want to be there, slowly distancing herself from the conversation and discreetly trying to slip away.

While Mina took up arguing with Jirou about the “necessity” of these questions and Jirou facepalming and asking Mina why she didn’t just bring Hagakure (second in command on all things romance) with her, Shouto took the chance to mull over Mina’s words.

“And what does this... ‘couple’s sleepover’ entail exactly?” he interrupted their bickering after a few moments of contemplation and being unable to come up with an answer himself.

Mina absolutely lit up at that and turned to him once again, scuffle with Jirou long forgotten. “I am so glad you asked! Well, first of all-”

“She just means spending the night at each other’s dorms,” Jirou interrupted before Mina could go off on another tangent. Shouto turned to look at Jirou now and found her boredly examining her nails before then switching to nervously clinking the ends of her earphones jacks together when she noticed he was watching her.

“Then why-”

Jirou interrupted him this time. “Why did she call it a ‘couple’s sleepover?’ I don’t know, why don’t you ask Mina herself?”

It only took her a fraction of a second to realize her mistake when Mina opened her mouth to unleash the lengthy explanation she had prepared and Jirou immediately cut her off again before the damage could be done.

“Actually, never mind, don’t ask her. I don’t think I have to explain the sleepover part. Just spend the night doing fun things, like playing games or watching a movie or something, I don’t know. Typical sleepover things. And the couple’s part is because… well, you’re dating aren’t you? Bam, a couple.” She did unenthusiastic jazz hands at that. “Hmm… and I guess that means the sleepover activities will be more romantic than a typical sleepover too.” She scrunched her nose at the idea, not even wanting to imagine what that sort of description would entail.

Mina was getting antsy next to her, desperate to jump into the conversation with her own input and Jirou finally seemed to notice it. “Looks like Mina wants to go-” (“What? No, I don’t-”) “So see you later, Todoroki.” She grabbed Mina’s arm with one hand and gave Shouto a small wave goodbye with her free hand—one that he returned—as she pulled Mina away. “Oh, and don’t worry too much about it,” she said over her shoulder, “It’s literally just spending some time together and you do that already, right? The only difference is that this time it’ll be overnight, so just act natural. It’s not some big fancy event despite what Mina’s name for it might suggest.” And with that the two were gone, disappearing down the hallway in a fit of distant, mumbled bickering about how Mina is no longer allowed to give unsolicited love advice and how Jirou needs to learn the ways of love to truly understand, leaving Shouto all alone with his thoughts, trying to decipher what the fuck just happened.

Truthfully, he was always sad to see you go after a day of hanging out, wishing he could spend more time with you. For some reason he thought that as soon as night came, you deserved to head back to your own dorm for a proper night’s rest. He was just being concerned for your well being, isn’t that what proper boyfriends did? He considered the idea once of what if you spent the night together?, and despite that literally addressing all of his issues from before, he still brushed off the idea because it was preposterous. Shouto, where are your thinking skills???

After a while of back and forth with himself over the wisdom Mina and Jirou had bestowed upon him, he made the decision that next time things would be different.

Another late night study session had you packing up your things once you noticed the blinking alarm clock on Shouto's desk had stuck 11 P.M., the process routine at this point and you no longer waiting for your boyfriend to end the study session himself.

You rose and starting gathering the papers sprawled across his floor into a neat stack in your arms, absentmindedly talking about the things you had to do tomorrow as you went—it was like you were just inputting some closing remarks before calling it a night and Shouto fell easily into the conversation as he slipped stray pens and highlighters back into his pencil case.

You two usually cleaned up amongst the quiet hum of your words—discussing how you felt about the upcoming test, subjects either of you needed more help on next time, and what you were looking forward to eating for breakfast in the morning—but this night had Shouto's eyes straying away from the mess at his feet to you. Your back was to him most of the time, but even when you were facing him as you gathered up your books, your attention was focused on said objects, rather than him.

You guys didn't look at each other much as you cleaned, he realized—it was an obvious observation, but he still had the thought as he watched you, taking note of how this was just the perfect chance to admire you.

When you turned to him at one point though, gaze piercing, he quickly averted his eyes, shifting them to a highlighter that lay in front of him in your general direction, reaching to pick up. He ran his thumb over the smooth, bright yellow cylinder of it as you walked over to him, crouched down, hands planted on his shoulders, and leaned in to brush your lips against his. His eyes fluttered close and he leaned into the kiss, pushing back against you. He moved to deepen it, about to grip onto the fabric of your shirt for leverage, the highlighter rolling out of his grip, but the kiss was over in a matter of seconds and he opened his eyes, finding your smiling face right in front of him. You gave him a brief kiss on his cheek, as though to sign it off, and he had to admit that the heat of your face against his felt nice.

“Night, babe,” you said as you got up and turned to walk over to your bag that lay by the door.

“Night…” Right, that was just one of your normal goodnight kisses. That was also part of the routine but… something about the idea that that was the last kiss of the night didn’t sit right with him.

Shouto studied you once more, tongue in cheek, as he watched you stuff the papers and books you had gathered up back into your bag. The contemplative look never left his eye—it seemed as though you hadn’t noticed his staring from earlier so he was a bit more bold and confident about doing it now—and he almost lost himself to a trance of watching your methodical movements of picking something up from the pile of books you had lain at your feet and slipping them into the bag one by one.

When you slung the bag over your shoulder and moved towards the door, turning back to give him a final wave goodbye, he stiffened, remembering his plan.

“Wait-” He scrambled to his feet as you watched him in confusion, hand already on the doorknob. “Um… do you want to stay the night?” He flinched internally at the unsureness in his voice and straightened up, crossing his arms to create some semblance of nonchalance. “I mean, only if you want to. We don’t have to keep studying. I have a… movie? If you want to watch that together?”

Shouto’s eyes carefully tracked your movements, trying to gauge your reaction.

You tilted your head in bewilderment at the sudden offer, but then you grinned brightly and dropped your bag back at your feet, it landing on the ground with a thud from all of the heavy books inside. “Okay,” you beamed and Shouto was sure he was about to faint.

He followed Jirou’s advice to a T, or at least he tried to. He meant to ask if you wanted to play Monopoly but Kaminari had stolen it from the dorm’s game closet and refused to hand it over because his plans for the night included kicking Sero’s, Kirishima’s, and Bakugou’s asses at the game (Mina was there to be the unbiased banker because the boys were so sure that one of them kept stealing money out of the bank whenever no one was looking and Jirou was just there to bask in the chaos that was sure to ensure—when Mina and Jirou caught sight of Shouto, they both gave him a knowing look).

The loss of the Monopoly board meant you two instead played with the dingy Uno card deck Shouto found buried in his school supply drawer (he was pretty sure it was Midoriya’s and in his mind sent him a silent thank you—as for if he was going to give the desk back or continue “borrowing” it… well, that depended on how much you enjoyed playing with him).

You won three times in a row, but also Shouto seemed to keep getting distracted by something (spoiler alert: it was your smile) and you realized he wasn’t even playing his best cards most of the time so you easily crushed him. You clapped your hands in celebration at every victory and Shouto noticeably increased his speed while shuffling the deck whenever you did that (oh yeah, he was definitely keeping these, sorry, Deku).

You two eventually got around to watching the movie he had brought up before on his laptop, you slotted comfortably under his arm while it hung around your shoulder, and even had a late night snack run per your request (snack run = sneaking into the kitchen and stealing the plate of hot pockets Kaminari was making to supplement his game night—better yet, you made Shouto do the stealing with him timing his crime perfectly and waiting for Kaminari’s back to be turned.)

(You supervised the whole thing by peeking around a hidden corner, barely containing your laughter, and then jumped in to distract Kaminari right when he was about to turn around before quickly taking your leave once Shouto was out of sight. Kaminari’s screams once he realized what had happened could be heard down the hallway as you two rushed back to the elevator, stolen goods secured and you laughing freely.)

(You’re pretty sure you heard Shouto mumble, “How’s that for Monopoly, you electric bitch,” and while you’re honestly not sure what he’s talking about, you support his energy nonetheless.)

Soon it was time to actually sleep and you two were curled up under his blanket, limbs tangled together. You had taken brief naps together before so this wasn’t exactly anything new (even though it was, judging by what a big deal everyone had made of it, including you two), but you found yourself appreciating once again how Shouto was the perfect person to sleep against—he regulated his body temperature exactly how you liked it and you found yourself nodding off to sleep easily in between the quiet whispers about nonsensical late night topics between you two.

The brief concern about your nightmares had completely slipped your mind at this point—you found that short naps meant that they didn’t have much time to strike and since said naps were what you were used to with him, you forgot that this was a full night ordeal. When he had first proposed the idea of a sleepover, you had thought it would be good to have someone else there to comfort you, but then felt guilty about being selfish and wondered if your reaction to the nightmares would scare him off—although you eventually pushed those thoughts to the side because no way would you turn down spending some quality time with your boyfriend, and the night of fun had led to never returning to mull over that internal conflict.

You two fell asleep at some point without even realizing it, peaceful in each other's arms—that is, until a few hours later when disaster struck because of course something just had to ruin your perfect night.

Shouto blearily blinked his eyes open, confused at the sound that reached his ears and brain slow to comprehend what exactly was going on. It took him a moment to suck in a breath to clear his mind and decipher the situation, shifting in place—that is, until his arm brushed against yours and he stilled, mind suddenly clear as it recalled the events of the last hour he had been awake. You were spending the night with him.

Carefully, he sat up, head pounding a little. He brought up a hand to rest on top of his head, fingers curling around his hair and massaging away the beginnings of a headache. And then he heard it again—the sound that had woken him up. A quiet whimper maybe?

He was back to being confused, except now his eyes were darting around the room suspiciously, ready to go on the defensive, especially because you were next to him. U.A. had a proper security system, didn't it? He shouldn't be worried. Although, then again, his mind kept returning to those thoughts of uncertainty and how villains had been able to endanger his classmates time and time again recently.

The shuffling of blankets and a sharp intake of breath had him refocused within a second and he looked down at you. Eyes now adjusted to the darkness, he could make out your face against the backdrop of his pillow, your features twisted into a troubled expression, teeth pulling on your bottom lip. Your hands gripped the blanket in a tight fist, your arms shaking a little.

You continued squirming under the blanket until you eventually kicked most of it off of you, almost as if there was someone there that you meant to hit. Your mouth curled into a silent scream, ragged breaths coming out in huffs as your chest rapidly rose and fell. He could tell you were mumbling now, voice low enough that he couldn't exactly make out what was being said—the syllables coming out in quick bursts and half formed as your focus seemed to jump from topic to topic, each of them bringing you increasing distress.

Shouto had been watching you in horrid fascination, unable to take his eyes off of you as much as his mind screamed at his body to just fucking move, but when a sliver of moonlight coming in from his window—peeking out from behind a gap in the drapes he hadn’t pulled together close enough—caught the glint of tears brimming your eyes, he was quick to react, gripping your upper arm and, as gently as he could while still being firm, shook you. "(Y/N)!" he hissed, not wanting to startle you, "Wake up, please. What's wrong?"

It took a few tries—him wanting to snap you back to consciousness right away, but also afraid of hurting you or making things worse—but before a minute had passed you were coming back to reality, forcing your eyes open as you realized the images plaguing you hadn't been real. You sat up quickly, almost bumping your head against Shouto's (not that you even noticed he was there), your breaths coming hard and fast.

You completely forgot where you were for a moment, just focusing on calming down, and it wasn't until Shouto managed a quiet, "(Y/N)?," concern clearly lacing his voice, that you whipped your head around to face him.

And then your eyes slowly traveled around the rest of the room, recalling where you were. If he hadn't been there, the unfamiliar environment probably would have made you feel alarmed when you came to and make you start wondering if you were stuck in another nightmare again.

You heard Shouto clear his throat as he looked at you curiously, and your eyes snapped back to him. Just the sight of him had your eyes watering and before you knew it, you had flung yourself into his chest, fingers finding purchase in the loose fabric of his shirt.

He easily managed to steady you two from the momentum of you crashing into him and wrapped his strong arms around you, squeezing you to him as you sobbed into his chest.

It would take a little while for him to calm you down and although he was incredibly concerned, he made sure to be the rock you needed and let you take all the time in the world to stabilize yourself.

You would probably be a little embarrassed to tell him about your dream, especially now that you were more lucid, and may even start apologizing for your behavior earlier until he cuts you off because you had every right to react as you did.

After a bit of coaxing, along with you realizing you felt comfortable around him and that you shouldn't worry about him judging you for something as trivial as this, you opened up and told Shouto about your frequent nightmares. He would play with your hands as you talked to let you know it was okay and a silent kiss—soft lips against yours—would confirm that he loved you no matter what.

Shouto wouldn’t mind staying up late into the early hours of the morning with you if you wanted to talk about what you had experienced and may even suggest that you two sneak down to the dorm kitchen and get something to eat and drink (now that was fun—teasing him by pretending to be on a spy mission and forcing him to glance around all of the corners with you, as though you were suspicious about someone catching you? absolutely gold).

Just laying together and talking because you didn’t want to go to sleep would be fine with him, even if you insisted that he should get some rest. He didn’t want you to feel bad about the situation or think that you were a burden, so he did his best to take your mind off of it.

If you wanted to stay up longer, you might watch another movie or even play a few more rounds of Uno (Kaminari, the bastard, still had Monopoly locked in his room for some reason and hadn’t returned it to the game closet—now not to say that Shouto considered leaving an anonymous tip to Iida about the blonde breaking the unwritten rules of the dorm by not returning the game as soon as he was done with it but… yeah, he definitely considered it).

Expect sleepovers to become a lot more common between you two from then on, especially after you admitted that having Shouto there made things a lot more bearable. Whether it be in your dorm or his, both of you were always open to falling asleep in each other's arms whenever the other person asked.

At your next late night hang out session, you two even played Monopoly!

(Shouto had frozen Kaminari’s feet to the ground when he saw him running towards the game closet to snag the game again, and then calmly walked off with his prize after plucking it from the shelf while Kamianri wailed in distress and tried to unstick his feet and pull them free. Shouto couldn’t help but crack a small grin to himself in victory as he walked away.)

Per your request, you two invited some of the other students to play Monopoly because it was always fun with more people (for some reason, Shouto expressly stated that Kaminari was not to be invited and while you were confused, you just shrugged and agreed, even when you heard him say something about forcing the blonde go through “Monopoly withdrawal” as a punishment—you decided not to question him on that point), and a few of those who didn’t want to play just came to watch as well.

(Midoriya was one of those who came to play and while he was glancing around the room, his eyes landed on Shouto’s desk and he squinted in confusion, scrutinizing the little deck he saw tucked in the corner.)

(“Hey, Todoroki, are those my Uno car-”)

(“Nope. Oh look, you just landed on Boardwalk and Uraraka has a hotel there. You only have $200, right?”)

(“Wha- oh, fu-”)

Shouto had to deal with his fair share of nightmares as a child and if you ever want to talk about what the latest disturbing image that had haunted you was, he’ll always be available. In turn, he feels ready to open up about his own fears to you, all while soothing away yours. Talking with him feels natural, just like anything else involving him, and not keeping everything bottled up has definitely helped you more, causing your performance both in class and out in the battlefield to improve.

Your chest definitely feels a lot lighter these days and your dark circles seem to be fading. You probably owe those to your wonderful boyfriend turned portable heater (what? he’s perfect for when you want to take naps and now that he knows about your nightmares during the night, you no longer have to explain to him why you like to sleep so frequently during the day).

Shouto is nothing short of supportive and if there’s anything you ever need to ease the nightmares and lull you off to sleep—whether it be him buying you a diffuser you saw online, getting you a custom sleeping mask, or just you needing him to whisper sweet nothings into your ear and pepper kisses along your temple to help you fall back asleep after being jolted awake again—he’s always there to provide it.

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reolf · 3 years

Text

No Escape

@deliriumsdelight7 I was your secret Giver! This story is for you💕

The cabin was absolutely charming, just a small wooden home backlit by the setting sun. Belle got out of the Cadillac and shielded her eyes to get a better look, and walked around the car to hug Gold as he got out.

“Oh, I love it, Lyall! We get to spend the whole weekend here?”

Gold couldn't help but smile. "Yes, sweetheart."

“Are there hiking trails nearby? And I saw a river as we drove in, can we go fishing?” She kept talking as they climbed the three steps up to the porch.

He chuckled as he took out his keys from his pocket. "We can do whatever you want, but I would prefer to also spend some time inside."

“Hmm… and what will we be doing inside?” she asked, stepping close enough for their bodies to touch. She held his gaze with a naughty smirk.

"Oh you know, reading by the fireplace, eating dinner, snuggling in bed..." He winked at her and opened the door.

“Oh darn!” She affected a pout. “I forgot to bring any books.”

He made a mocking shocked face. "You? Didn't bring any books? My, Miss French, I would never have guessed that!"

“And I’m not hungry. At least, not for food.” She nudged closer still and wrapped her arms around his neck. “So I guess that just leaves snuggling in bed.”

Gods, this woman.

Gold felt his heart make a leap in his chest. How could he ever do this? How could he go through with this while his heart beat so strongly for her? Damn that brilliant mind of hers and her ever present thirst for knowledge and curiosity.

He shook his head and patted her waist. "Get inside you, or we’ll never make it to a bed."

Smiling, she stepped over the threshold and got her first look at the interior of the cabin. The main room combined a seating area with a small, basic kitchen. Doors on the other side of the room led to bedrooms and bathrooms, she assumed.

“I love it,” she said again, turning to give him a kiss… and stopped short at the look on his face. His entire demeanor had changed, his body still and eyes dark with intent, but not the sexy kind. His mouth, that had been smiling and teasing her a moment ago, had gone flat. One hand was in his pocket, and that made her more uneasy than anything else. “Lyall… what are we doing here? Really?”

He felt a pang of self-hatred and disgust. He was making her afraid. He couldn't do that. Not right now. He couldn't see fear in her eyes, ever. He took his hand out of his pocket, away from his gun.

"What are you talking about?" he said. "We are here to enjoy ourselves, are we not?"

He smiled, taking his hand out of his pocket, and she relaxed. Maybe this weekend, he’d finally tell her what he’d been keeping from her. Maybe that was why they’d come here, so they could have privacy to talk things out.

“Why don’t you show me around?” she suggested, taking his hand and bouncing on her toes a little in her eagerness.

He could wait a little longer.

Later that evening, they were lying in bed. Gold was on his back, while Belle was laying on her side with her head pillowed on his shoulder, her hand caressing his chest and circling his nipples. He had one hand on her hip and the other was stroking her back. Looking at the ceiling, his mind was spinning with worry and doubt.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Belle murmured. “What’s on your mind?”

Stretching the time, he kissed her head. Why couldn't he just be present in the moment and relax? Now was not the time.

"Just thinking about what a lucky bastard I am. How about that dinner?" he whispered in her ear.

She sat up, scooting back so they were no longer touching, and pinned him with a direct gaze.

“I don’t want to eat right now. Not till you tell me whatever it is you brought me up here to say.” He looked away, uneasy, and sat up against the headboard. “I know you’re keeping something from me, Lyall. What is it?” She leaned forward, putting one hand over his. “You can tell me anything.”

He squeezed her hand, taken with her endless comprehensibility. She could always see right through him, but he could not do this here. Not like this, right after they just had shared their bodies.

"I know, sweetheart. But maybe we can talk during dinner? After we have taken a shower?"

“Alright,” she agreed after a moment. “As long as we talk during dinner.” She leaned forward to kiss him, and whispered against his lips, “Dibs on first shower.”

She scooted off the bed quickly and ran laughing to the bathroom door, where she paused to look back at him. She couldn’t decipher the look on his face. There was appreciation, definitely, as he looked her body up and down. Amusement, as well… but behind that was something else. And her own smile faded as she realized what it was. Sadness, of a kind that she’d never known in her life. What could put that darkness behind his eyes?

He climbed out of bed and joined her in the doorway, putting his hands on her waist again and kissing her ear.

"Shower and then I can tell you everything.”

She nodded, and retreated into the bathroom to clean up quickly. She was starting to dread whatever he was going to tell her, but it would be better to know, so they could deal with it.

Once she was dressed in comfortable pajamas, she traded places with Lyall, sending him to the shower while she finished dinner. Surveying the room, she decided to pull the love seat over to the fire, along with a coffee table. They could eat in front of the fire, cuddled together. It would be a relaxing setting for their conversation.

When Gold returned to the living room, he saw how Belle had arranged the furniture and his heart swelled with warmth again.

But feeling the gun under his jacket, he was reminded once again of what he was supposed to do. He was torn between his loyalty to his job and the love he felt for her. It hit him. He loved her. And he couldn’t do this.

Normally he didn't need to think about these kinds of things. He just did them. It was what had brought him so far in life. But this was different, and yet everything he had built so far depended on this. He cursed fate on what she had seen and what she knew.

She had her back to him right now. In normal circumstances, he would have already raised his gun and fired the fatal shot. He could not do that now. He didn't want that, it was the coward 's way. But that was what he was. He couldn't look Belle in the eyes and kill her. He could not kill her at all.

Slowly, he stepped forward to the fireplace, looking at the flames and how they licked at the wood. Small sparks flew around a bit, trying to escape. A fitting image of how he felt.

“Hey.” Belle’s arms came around him. “Where did you go? Feels like you’re a million miles away.” He turned around so he could embrace her properly. She patted his chest, and fiddled with his pocket square. “Why are you dressed like you’re going to work? You’re making me feel extremely underdressed.”

A fitting description, he thought. He certainly wasn't in relaxing weekend mode anymore.

"I guess you could say that."

“So I’m guessing that what you need to tell me, has to do with your work?” He nodded reluctantly. “Come here. Dinner will keep. We need to do this now, so we can move forward.”

She turned toward the love seat, moving the pillows so they could sit close together. She froze when she heard a very distinctive click behind her, and straightened slowly. Turning, she saw the gun he held loosely in both hands, turning it back and forth restlessly.

He had made the click on purpose. He saw an opening and had grabbed his gun quickly. Now he had it in his hands, he made his decision. He wasn't going to kill her. He needed to explain himself and tell her the truth. Then he would see what would happen.

“Lyall… you either plan to use that on me, or you’re going to finally tell me your secrets.”

She stood before him calmly, even though her heart was racing. They were standing three feet apart. If he chose to shoot her, he couldn’t possibly miss. Her life was in his hands now, so she waited for him to make his decision.

He admired her bravery. Not that he ever doubted it.

"Do you remember our conversation about what happened behind the library?"

“Of course.”

He nodded. "I know you know what happened over there and what you saw. You told me enough details about it. But I knew about it before I talked to you. Before I met you. And the reason I knew all about it, is because I’m the one who ordered the hit."

Her eyes widened, but she gave no sign of interrupting him.

"You see, the thing is, what you saw was dangerous. Dangerous information to know. I know because I’m the leader of Storybrooke’s underground crime organization. Nothing illegal happens in Storybrooke without my input.”

“So I know too much. And you brought me here to… to eliminate me.” She shook her head, trying to absorb everything he’d just said. “Is that the only reason you took an interest in me? All the romantic dinners, the roses, all the pretty words? Were just an excuse to gain my trust, so you could bring me here and kill me?”

“It started like that, yes,” he admitted. “But now, I have genuine feelings for you. Belle… I can’t pull this trigger. Not on you.” He held the revolver by the muzzle and extended it out to her. “Take it.”

She hesitated, looking from the gun to him. He spoke to her again, his voice soft.

“Belle, I brought you here to decide your fate for you, but I can’t. Instead, you’re the one who will decide mine. My fate, and my heart, are for now and all the future, yours. Do with me as you will.” He extended the gun again, and she took it carefully, pointing it away from both of them.

“No.”

"I don't understand. What are you saying?"

“I’m saying I trust you, with all my heart.” She smiled at his shock. “If you were going to kill me, you would have done it long ago.”

She was right. Of course she was. He had known from the moment she kissed him for the first time.

“But I’m… a leader in organized crime. No one escapes from that life.”

"So you’re saying you’re a mob boss?"

He nodded.

"And what I saw puts you in danger?"

Another nod. "Me and my son."

"Bae? What has he got to do with this?" she asked.

"What happened there in the alley was in the protection of Bae." Gold's fist clenched." They were threatening my son and for that they could not stay. "

Belle knew how protective Gold could be. To be honest, that was one of the things that had attracted her to him.

"And you were afraid for what? That I was going to need to testify against your… organisation?"

He hesitated. "I suppose I did in the beginning, but as time went on, I think I was more afraid of what you would discover about me and you would hate me. I am still afraid, but I trust you. "

"Alright," she paused and then looked him in the eye."Marry me."

He stared at her with his mouth open.

“I’m sorry? Did you just say…?”

“Yes. It’s quite simple, don’t you think? We’ve already trusted each other with our lives, we know we love each other. The only thing standing in our way, is the fear that I could be forced to testify against you in court. If we get married, no court in the country can legally compel me to testify against you. It’s called spousal privilege.”

“I’ve heard of it,” he said faintly. His head was reeling. “And you… really want to marry me? After everything you’ve learned?”

“Well, we do need to have a discussion about, as you called it, everything. I doubt that knowing about that one incident in the alley means I know everything. If we’re going to be married, I don’t want any secrets between us.” He stepped back, dropping her hands. “What is it?”

“I’m afraid that if you know everything I’ve done, you really will leave me. There must be limits to even your forgiveness.”

"One way to find out." She stepped forward. "But I do love you, Lyall. Will you marry me?"

"Yes,” he said, his voice shaking."For as long as you’ll have me, yes!”

“How about… forever?”

She stepped closer again, pulling him down for a kiss. In the morning, they’d have to find somewhere to do a spur-of-the-moment wedding, and then go back to Storybrooke and face the reality of their lives together. But for now, they both wanted to live in the moment. There was time for everything.

#rumbelle fic #Rumbelle gift swap exchange

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hysterialevi · 3 years

Text

Reið - A sequel to Naudr

Fanfic summary: Sigurd visits Valka after having a vision about Eivor, and finally admits his love for the man.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: WOW. I can’t thank you guys enough for the support you gave on my other fanfic, Naudr. I wasn’t planning to write more for that one, but quite a few people were asking for a sequel, so here it is. It’s a bit longer than the first part, but I really wanted to conclude the story between Sigurd & Eivor. Hope you enjoy :)

RAVENSTHORPE

AFTERNOON

Hovering his fist over the door to Valka’s hut, Sigurd found himself frozen by hesitance as he pondered whether or not this was a good idea, admittedly tempted to turn back around.

He wanted to find the answers to the endless list of questions that had been troubling him lately, but with the amount of possible outcomes that could’ve transpired from this visit, Sigurd couldn’t deny that he feared whatever awaited him in the future.

What if the dreams were right? He wondered. What if they signified that of which he already suspected? What if he didn’t need Valka’s interpretation to begin with?

For an entire month, these incessant dreams had kept him preoccupied. They crept into his thoughts; dug into his life. They distracted him during a time of war, and drifted him away to a place where there was no reason to be found.

And even worse, there seemed to be no remedy for them. No matter how much mead he drank, or how many extravagant tales Dag regaled him with, they always seemed to linger in the back of his mind, clawing at him like an itch that just wouldn’t go away.

It was exhausting, at this point. Sigurd could hardly get a wink of sleep at night anymore, and with the same questions repeating themselves over and over again in his head, he felt desperate to find some sort of clarification that would put his mind at ease.

Fortunately, there was one more option that he had yet to try.

And it was waiting for him on the other side of this door.

Finally deciding to go through with his plan, Sigurd briefly knocked on the wooden surface and patiently waited for a response, pacing back and forth in anxiety.

He had no idea if it was foolish of him to open up about his inner conflicts like this, considering how controversial they were, but Valka had never been a woman to judge him based on his private thoughts.

He just hoped the seeress would have some answers for him today. These visions had disrupted his life for long enough, and the longer he allowed them to fester beneath the surface, the more Sigurd feared they would eventually break through.

Odin willing, it would never come to that.

“Sigurd Jarl,” Valka’s voice suddenly said from behind, causing the man to whip around. “What a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

Sigurd smiled at the völva, trying to hide the unease he felt within. “Valka. I didn’t know you were out. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

She held up a reassuring hand. “Have no fear. I was simply collecting ingredients for my rituals. Normally, Eivor helps me gather them, but the man appears to be occupied with other matters today. I did not wish to disturb him.”

Valka stepped closer to the jarl, tilting her head in an inquisitive manner. “But set all that aside. What brings you to me, Sigurd? I must admit, it is a great curiosity to find you on my doorstep. Are you in need of my services?”

The viking sighed in fatigue. “I’m afraid so, old friend. I’ve been having... dreams, lately. Visions. They haunt me in my sleep, and consume my thoughts during the day. Their meaning continues to elude me, but I suspect there is something of great importance behind them. I’d like to hear your opinion.”

Valka nodded in understanding, eyeing Sigurd with a newfound interest. “Indeed. I sense a great burden resting on your shoulders; a battle being fought inside your heart. It would be wise to unravel the messages your dreams are attempting to convey, for one cannot fight while a war wages inside them.”

She beckoned Sigurd, gesturing to the hut’s door. “Come, my friend. Let us see if we can decipher your dreams together.”

Walking through the entrance, Sigurd stepped into the serene atmosphere of the hut as he followed Valka from behind, craning his neck downwards in order to fit through the short archway.

Inside, he was immediately welcomed by a strong mixture of aromas that consisted of incense and herbs, and the delicate clings of multiple wind-chimes could be heard dancing throughout the breeze.

It was peaceful in here, Sigurd thought. Valka always seemed to give off a meditative aura wherever she walked, and now that they were in a more secluded area, he felt better suited to share his thoughts.

Though, that didn’t mean he was free of his skepticism just yet.

“Now, then...” Valka said, placing her freshly gathered ingredients down, “let’s talk about your visions, Sigurd. How often do you experience them? And when do they come to you?”

Sigurd leaned against a wall, crossing his arms in a casual manner. “They plague my dreams every night, I’m afraid. In spite of all my efforts to block them out.”

Valka rubbed her chin in thought. “And what of the images you see in them? Are they always the same?”

“Mostly. There are slight differences every once in a while, but ultimately, they seem to be variants of the same vision.”

“Then it would be foolish to ignore them,” Valka concluded. “One does not experience such persistent dreams as a coincidence. Especially ones that seem to be so strongly connected. The gods are trying to speak to you, Sigurd.”

The jarl shrugged in confusion. “But what are they saying?”

“Well,” Valka approached the man, “why don’t we find out? Tell me what happened in your most recent vision. And please, be as descriptive as possible.”

Sigurd took a deep breath and thought back to his latest dream, trying to recall every single detail.

“I remember... it started in a forest. The trees around me were tall and dense, and the space between them was filled with a fog so thick that it obscured everything in its path. It felt as if I was walking through the depths of Niflheim itself. I didn’t know where to go, or how to find my way out, but eventually, I came across a wild boar. It was alone in the forest, and... it seemed to be beckoning me. So, I followed it.”

Valka raised a brow in curiosity. “Oh? And where did this boar take you?”

“It led me through the woods, as if it knew the way out. But our journey was not without delays. First, the boar took me to an opening in the forest. There was a group of runestones there, all of them arranged in a circle. And in the middle stood a statue of the god Forseti, gazing down at me.”

That piqued the seeress’ interest. “Forseti? The god of justice? Most curious...” she paused for a moment, contemplating the vision. “Tell me, where else did this boar lead you?”

“Its next destination was a great bridge,” Sigurd remembered. “It spanned across a large river, and was thatched with glittering gold.”

“Gjallarbrú.” Valka instantly recognized. “The Bridge to Hel.”

Sigurd agreed with the statement. “That’s what I thought as well. But what could it mean? A boar leading me to the gates of Hel?”

The völva shook her head in uncertainty. “I do not yet know, but the message behind your dream becomes clearer with every word. Please, continue. Did this boar take you anywhere else?”

The man nodded. “Yes, there was one more location. In fact, the events that happened there are the reason I come to you now.”

“Then tell me, and let us hope that it offers some form of clarity.”

“Well, the boar led me deeper into the woods,” Sigurd carried on. “By now, the mist had become so thick that I could hardly see where I was walking. I had nothing but the sounds of the forest to guide me, and the boar had abandoned my side, leaving me alone. After a while of wandering though, I found myself standing in front of an ominous cave. The inside was shrouded in darkness, and the nature around it seemed to be devoid of any life.”

Valka posed a question. “Did you approach this cave?”

“Yes,” Sigurd answered. “I meant to search it. But before I could enter, I heard a horrible squeal coming from the inside, as if the boar had just been attacked. The stench of blood filled my nose soon after, and just as I reached for my blade, I heard a menacing growl rumbling from the shadows. Before I knew it, the head of a black dragon had emerged from the cave’s mouth, and its teeth were covered in red. But instead of finding the boar in its grasp as I expected...”

Sigurd paused, admittedly feeling somewhat disturbed, “...I saw myself. Dead, and clamped between its jaws. That’s when the dream ended.”

Taking in everything the jarl just told her, the seeress fell into a concentrated silence and paced around the hut for a moment, gazing blankly at the floor as Sigurd waited for a response.

“...Valka?” The viking said, walking closer to her. “Do you have any idea what this could mean?”

The woman turned to face him, briefly explaining her thought process as she analyzed his peculiar vision.

“Indeed. This dream speaks very plainly to me, Sigurd. Though, I must warn you -- you will not like what it has to say.”

The man sighed in nervousness, bracing himself for her interpretation. “I can’t say I’m surprised. These dreams have always given me a grim feeling. Very well, then. What do you think the message is?”

Valka walked him through her observation, addressing each of the key moments. “This forest you spoke of -- the one shrouded in mist -- it sounds like a labyrinth. A maze with no clear beginning, and no clear end. It seems to me that you are feeling lost, Sigurd. That you are uncertain of your direction in life.”

“...As for this boar,” she continued, “boars are often a symbol of fertility. Or love. They are even sometimes sacrificed during weddings to ensure good fortune for a new marriage. So the fact that this animal was the only way you could navigate the forest intrigues me...”

The seeress gazed out one of the windows in thought, speaking mostly to herself as she unraveled Sigurd’s vision.

“And the appearance of Forseti -- that is no coincidence. As I said before, he is the god of justice, so I believe his presence indicates a feeling of being judged, or tried.”

Valka faced the jarl, placing her hands on her hips. “Do you feel remorse for something you have done, Sigurd? A sense of guilt, perhaps?”

The man shrugged. “No, for I have done nothing wrong.”

“Not yet,” the völva corrected. “But you will.”

Sigurd couldn’t deny that he was alarmed by the statement. “And... what exactly do you think I’ll do?”

Valka skipped to the end of his vision. “Well, in order to answer that, we must first understand this dragon you encountered. You said it attacked the boar when you arrived at the cave, yes?”

“Yes. But as I later revealed, it was my own corpse being held between its teeth.”

“Hmm... then I believe this dragon was Nidhogg.”

“Nidhogg?” Sigurd repeated in surprise. “You mean the dragon that resides in Hel?”

Valka gave him a firm nod. “Yes. As you know, Nidhogg feasts on the corpses of the souls that occupy Hel -- specifically those who have committed the most egregious crimes. These crimes can include murder, oath-breaking, or...” she threw a glance at the jarl, “...adultery.”

The seeress stepped in front of Sigurd, closing the distance between them as she explained her final conclusion to him.

“The message is clear. You are in love with someone who you know you shouldn’t be. Someone who isn’t Randvi. You feel disoriented in life because you do not know how to confront these emotions, but you know that this person is the only one who can clear the way. Unfortunately, however...”

Valka’s tone softened with sympathy, “...since you are spoken for, you understand that it is forbidden to chase after these feelings. This explains the presence of Forseti, and why Nidhogg would feast on your corpse.”

Valka placed her hands on Sigurd’s shoulders, looking him in the eye. “You are fighting a war against your own heart, and it is destroying you. You know you cannot endure this battle for much longer... and that is why you will betray Randvi.”

Sigurd’s eyes widened in shock at that. “What...?”

He pushed the völva’s hands off, backing away from her. “N-No. I wouldn’t do that. No matter how strong my feelings may be. Randvi is a good friend. I would never hurt her like that.”

Valka crossed her arms, unsurprised at the man’s defiance. “You would not be the first to fight against the Nornir, but heed my words, Sigurd. It is an effort doomed to end in futility. You will betray Randvi, and you will do so in the name of whomever truly has your heart.”

Still, Sigurd refused to believe her. “But I am a jarl, Valka! I have duties to carry out. People to take care of. There’s an entire community depending on me! Surely, I would not sacrifice it for something as... as reckless as this! No matter how strong the temptation is.”

“A man’s love can only be restrained for so long, Sigurd. You must learn to accept this. For your own sake.”

The viking’s shoulders slouched with worry. “But we are talking about adultery, Valka. One of the most severe betrayals of a person’s trust. My love may not rest with Randvi, but even then... I could not harm her in such a manner. I could not jeopardize this clan for my own passions.”

The seeress let out a sigh, worried for the future of her jarl. “The gods have spoken with this vision, Sigurd. The more you struggle within the threads of fate, the more you will simply hinder yourself.”

Valka returned to the ingredients she collected earlier, preparing them for her next ritual.

“I have given you all the aid I can. Do with my words what you will, but remember... the gods are always guiding us.”

~~~~~~~~~~

ONE WEEK LATER

NIGHTTIME

Sitting quietly on a wooden crate, Sigurd watched the soothing movement of the river in front of him as its waters gently rippled past the harbor, filling the air with a soft trickle that seemed to harmonize with the chirping of nearby crickets.

At the moment, the rest of the clan was celebrating the success of a recent raid and helping themselves to an abundance of food, all of which had been freshly provided by the newfound facilities in their settlement.

Joyous laughter could be heard echoing in the distance, and despite the overwhelming darkness of the blank English sky, the longhouse only seemed to shine brighter in its shadow, radiating like a beacon.

Unlike his fellow clan members however, Sigurd had little room in his mind left for celebrating. His thoughts still lingered on what Valka told him the previous week, and in spite of all efforts to fight against his feelings, Sigurd knew deep down that what the völva said was true.

He was in love with Eivor. And there was nothing he could do about it.

That man was just... everything he wanted.

His personality, his spirit, his passion for poetry -- it all clicked with Sigurd in a way that he had never felt with anyone else before. There was a certain warmth that filled his heart every time he laid eyes on the man, and with each passing day, Sigurd found it harder and harder to hide his true emotions.

But why couldn’t he forget about this? Why couldn’t he just bury his thoughts and ignore them like he always did with previous men?

Why couldn’t he just... be normal?

Gods above, Sigurd cursed to himself. what would Styrbjorn have thought about him if he could see him now?

The last time he saw his father, he had left him behind to deal with the politics in Norway right after scolding him about giving up his birthright. He had forced Eivor and the rest of the clan to follow him into a hostile territory, and now, he was about to ruin his own marriage for the sake of his love life.

Everything was falling apart in his world... and as much as he may have wanted to scream at the gods for allowing him to go down such a path, Sigurd knew it was ultimately his fault.

And someday, the consequences would catch up to him.

“...Sigurd?”

Jolting his head in the direction of the sudden voice, the redheaded man turned around to see who had approached him, only to find none other than Eivor himself watching from a short distance.

“Brother.” Sigurd greeted bleakly. “I should’ve known you’d find me sooner or later.”

The younger man smiled, attempting to lighten his sibling’s foul mood. “What are you doing out here, silly bird? Everyone at the feast misses you.”

The older man brought a hand up to his temple, rubbing it in stress. “Now’s not a good time, Eivor.”

Still determined to cheer his brother up, the blond viking paused for a moment before taking a seat next to Sigurd, gazing at him with a humorous twinkle in his eyes.

“...What about now?”

Sigurd sighed. “Eivor, please.”

The younger man frowned, suddenly worried about what was going on.

“Not even a chuckle, huh. Must be pretty serious.” He leaned closer to the man, his voice quiet with concern. “...Care to share your thoughts?”

Sigurd let out a breath, unsure of how to broach the subject with him.

“No. Not really. I have much on my mind right now, and I fear it would not do either of us any good to put them into words.”

Eivor’s expression sank with unease. “If that is what you wish. But I must admit, Sigurd... I’ve been worried about you lately.”

That caught the older man’s attention. “Oh?”

“Indeed. You’ve... changed this past week. And not for the better. You’ve become more distant. Reserved. Sometimes, I feel as though you’re trying to avoid me.” A realization crossed Eivor’s mind. “...Have I done something to upset you, brother?”

Sigurd shook his head, quick to reassure the man. “N-No, Eivor. It isn’t you.”

Eivor’s brow remained furrowed. “But it is something.”

The redheaded man turned away from his brother, annoyed with himself.

“Listen, Eivor... I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I need to be alone right now. My thoughts are caught in a haze at the moment, and being with you does nothing except tangle them even further. So, please... just leave me be.”

The younger man fell silent at the response, admittedly somewhat hurt by Sigurd’s words. Was he truly that much of a burden?

Picking up on Eivor’s discontent, Sigurd instantly felt a tinge of guilt tugging at his heart as he took a moment to recompose himself, hoping to reconcile with the man.

“Forgive me, Eivor...” he said softly. “I... I did not mean...”

Eivor slowly began to separate himself from his brother, not wishing to provoke him any further.

“...I understand, Sigurd.” He murmured sorrowfully. “I’ll... I’ll go now.”

Sigurd immediately rose from his seat and gripped Eivor’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“Wait!” He urged. “I...”

The older man trailed off into silence, uncertain of how he was going to explain his feelings.

“...I had a vision.” He finally admitted, deciding to open up. “Many of them, in fact. They had been bothering me ever since we left Norway, and so I asked Valka for clarification. I hoped she would be able to put my mind at ease.”

It didn’t take long for Eivor to catch on. “...But that’s not what happened, is it.”

“No. She was able to decipher my vision, but the message behind it was... unnerving, to say the least.”

The blond man turned back towards Sigurd, patiently waiting for him to continue.

“Speak plainly to me, brother.” He encouraged in a comforting tone. “What happened in your vision? Why are you so troubled?”

Sigurd took a deep breath, unable to hide behind this facade any longer.

“I’ll spare you the details of my dream,” he said, sitting back down, “but Valka claimed it was a warning of what was to come. She believes it indicates that I’ll... betray Randvi. That I will commit adultery.”

Eivor sat beside his brother, clearly surprised by the explanation. “Adultery? That’s a serious crime, Sigurd. Do you know whom you’ll commit it with? Did Valka say?”

The older man shook his head in a dour manner, his expression heavy with heartache.

“No. But she did not need to. For I already know the answer.”

Lacking the willpower to explain his visions any further, Sigurd simply brought his gaze to Eivor and stared at the man with a prominent sense of despair in his eyes, wishing desperately that he could rid himself of these feelings.

“Eivor...” Sigurd whispered, not knowing how else to describe his emotions, “I...I think I’m in love with you.”

Taken aback by the sudden confession, Eivor froze on the spot and felt his body turn to ice as he processed what he just heard, admittedly unsure of how to respond.

“You’re... in love with me?” He repeated, still in shock. “But when I kissed you that night in Norway, you said--”

“--I know what I said.” Sigurd interrupted, his shell cracking with every word. “But I was wrong. I realize that now. The truth is... I’ve loved you for a very long time. I think I’ve always felt this way, even before our conversation in Fornburg. But I was never willing to admit it.”

Eivor listened intently. “And now?”

“Now...” the older man choked up, despite his efforts to conceal it, “I... I don’t know. I don’t know what to feel. I don’t even think it matters.”

Sigurd turned to face his brother, his tone sharp with frustration. “I’m a married man, Eivor. And a jarl. I have responsibilities to take care of. Matters to attend to. There is an entire clan watching my every move; reflecting my every thought. It doesn’t matter if I love you or not. The simple fact is... I can’t. I was never meant to.”

Eivor sensed the pain in the other man’s words, wishing he could help. “What do you mean you were never meant to?”

Sigurd chuckled, though not out of amusement. “Isn’t it obvious? We are both men, Eivor. When was the last time you saw a marriage between a couple like us? Or a jarl waltzing around with his husband in tow? It doesn’t happen because it was never supposed to.”

He dragged a hand down his face, shutting his eyes in embarrassment. “Can you imagine what my father would think if he saw me now? His only son -- the man who would’ve taken his place as king -- throwing away the marriage that he arranged for the sake of being with the man he adopted. What a joke.”

The younger man offered some insight, trying to heal his brother’s wounds.

“...I understand if you’re concerned about betraying Randvi, Sigurd. But there’s no shame in loving another man. You wouldn’t be the only one who’s felt this way. And you won’t be the last.”

Sigurd remained obstinate. “That doesn’t mean it’s right. I need to set an example for our clan, Eivor. I need to be the one to guide them through this war. How can I do that when I feel like this? When I’m...” his voice began to tremble, “...when I’m in love with you?”

The redheaded man rose from his seat, pacing around the pier in annoyance.

“I just don’t understand why the gods would afflict me with such a nuisance. Is this my punishment for leaving my father’s side? Is this their way of testing my resolve? I know it isn’t right for me to feel this way, but...” Sigurd’s eyes became misty with tears, and he looked hopelessly out at the river, “...it’s just who I am. And I don’t think I can change it.”

Standing alone at the edge of the harbor, Sigurd buried his face in his hand as he silently stared down at the water, feeling as though he were already drowning in it.

What kind of mess had he gotten himself into? Not only was he on the verge of endangering his marriage with Randvi, he was also one step away from turning Valka’s prediction into a reality.

He couldn’t love Eivor. He just couldn’t.

Too much was already at stake with the war against the Saxons -- and considering how they had next to no allies in Mercia at the moment, Sigurd knew he couldn’t afford to divert his focus.

But his heart had a mind of its own. No matter how much he tried to suppress these emotions, or pretend they didn’t exist, they always seemed to come right back up. Like a tide crashing against the shore.

Eivor was the only one he wanted. The only person he had ever longed to be with. There was a type of love between them that Sigurd had never felt anywhere else, and with the Nornir constantly pushing him to confront his fate, he wondered if there was any point in resisting it by now.

But it was a feat much easier said than done. Even though Sigurd knew this was something he couldn’t simply wish away, he was still hesitant to face it head-on.

There were too many risks. Too many unknowns. The future remained obscured by fog -- just like the forest in his dream -- and the deeper he found himself venturing into this dilemma, the less Sigurd was certain he’d be able to climb out of it.

Snapping back to reality, Sigurd’s head perked up in surprise when he suddenly felt a pair of arms wrapping themselves around his chest, drawing him into a tight embrace.

Eivor’s head was resting on his shoulder at the moment, and despite the harsh words Sigurd threw at him before, the man didn’t appear any less determined to help him through this.

“...I understand how you feel, Sigurd.” He reassured. “If I’m being honest, it wasn’t too long ago that I felt the same way. I hated myself for how I saw the world, and I wanted nothing more than to be like everyone else.”

Eivor gazed up at the sky, watching calmly as a blanket of stars flickered above them. “I remember I used to dream of the day when it would all make sense. When... everything would fall into place. But it never happened, because I was never willing to make the sacrifices that came with it.”

The younger man looked back at Sigurd, holding him close.

“The truth is, brother, there is no easy way out of this. The journey ahead of you is going to be full of denial and judgement, and there are going to be times when you’ll wish you never said a word about this to anyone. But when you find yourself trapped in those moments, just remember...”

Eivor brought a hand up to Sigurd’s cheek. “The best gift we can give ourselves is acceptance. It won’t always protect us against those who may wish us harm, but it will offer us peace. And sometimes, assurance in our identity can guard us better than any amount of armor can. After all, it is difficult to harm a man who does not fear pain.”

Sigurd took in everything his brother just said, admittedly a tad overwhelmed by it all, but feeling more content.

“...You always know the right thing to say, Eivor.” He replied with a small smile.

The younger man chuckled, separating the hug. “Not always. But as I said before, I understand your struggle. And I know a few other people who do too. You are not alone in this, Sigurd.”

The redheaded man placed his hand on top of Eivor’s, gripping it securely.

“Thank you, Eivor. I mean it. It will take me some time to fully accept this, but... I think I’m ready to try.”

Eivor beamed brightly at the statement. “It gladdens my heart to hear it, Sigurd. You know I’ll always be here if you need me.”

Sigurd stepped towards the other man, his voice gentle with affection.

“I know.”

Pulling Eivor’s face closer to his, Sigurd suddenly placed a loving kiss on the man’s lips and held him tight, embracing him under the soft light of the stars that dusted the sky above them.

Every fiber in his being was screaming at him to stop, but in spite of the protestations, Sigurd felt more at peace than he had ever felt in his entire life.

There was a genuine sense of love between them. A sense of security. Everything about Eivor made Sigurd feel safe, and the shell he once wore had completely fallen apart.

Though, he knew he was going to regret this, come the next morn. The world always seemed to realign itself with the arrival of daybreak, and Sigurd had no doubts that their relationship would summon a storm in the near-future.

But this was what he needed. It was what he wanted.

A new path had finally revealed itself in the mist that often clouded Sigurd’s dreams, and even though he knew it would be full of obstacles just like the one in his vision, he now understood that it was necessary to traverse it.

No matter how harshly people judged him, or how drastically their view of him changed, Sigurd was prepared to face the challenges that lay ahead. He may have carried a heavy sense of dread in his heart, but now, he realized that Eivor was the key to his happiness.

That man was the greatest gift Freyja ever gave to him, after all.

And he had no intentions of letting him go.

#assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #ac valhalla fanfic #eivor wolfsmal #eivor wolfkissed #male eivor #sigurd styrbjornson #sigurd x male eivor #sigurd x eivor

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fablesrose · 4 years

Text

Of Kings and Shadows XXV

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Notes: On Wattpad –> Here

Series Masterlist

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

The next day Loki came and tapped on my little corner with enthusiasm.

Guess what I brought!

I hope, for your sake, that you aren't holding something up for me to see, 'cuz that would be embarrassing since I can't see it.

Loki started to sputter a little bit, I'm not an idiot Y/n, honestly!

Just making sure.

He projected an image to me unexpectedly, which gave me a headache momentarily since I was still focusing my sight through my eyes. It was a little blurry while I tried to focus on it and not the smudged splotch of color on the floor the same color as my face and hair. Luckily it didn't take me long to recognize what he was showing me.

My phone? Don't tell me you've been keeping up with my Tumblr... Do you even know what that is?

You wound me.

I snickered at him.

No, I did not go through your social media. Rather, I thought you would enjoy listening to your playlist.

A feeling that can only be attributed to a favorite song washed over me at the thought of it. The radio that Loki had put on in the down-time was great and all, but nothing could compare to the playlist you made with your heart and your own hands.

I spoke quietly, Yes, I would like that. I would like that very much.

He wordlessly connected my phone to the speakers and put it on shuffle. I instantly recognized the song, but I had to wrack my mind for the name.

Out here in the fields I fight for my meals I get my back into my living I don't need to fight To prove I'm right I don't need to be forgiven

I smiled and hummed along, occasionally mumbling a line or two when it came to me. Loki stayed silent, but I could tell he was listening in contentment.

Don't cry Don't raise your eye It's only teenage wasteland

I just let the music surround me in a way I haven't felt in years. I almost forgot the situation I was in.

Sally take my hand We'll travel south cross land Put out the fire And don't look past my shoulder The exodus is here The happy ones are near Let's get together, before we get much older

It was going by so fast, but at the same time, time seemed to slow.

Teenage wasteland It's only teenage wasteland Teenage wasteland Oh yeah, teenage wasteland They're all wasted!

I could feel the end of the song coming all too soon and I still couldn't remember the name of the song, or even the artist. I became angry, at myself, Henry, the world, everything! I was angry that this was so sad.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to sob and to scream. Why couldn't I remember? Why couldn't I remember something I loved so much? It hurt. It hurt so damn much that I slammed myself against the wall that's caused me so much grief. The barrier held strong, it was as if I was running into a brick wall.

That's when Loki stepped in. He wrapped his magic around me, to keep me still, to calm me.

Hey hey, it's okay, you're okay. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you.

I noticed he had stopped the music from continuing to the next song. I took a moment to calm myself, No, you didn't upset me, Loki. It's just... I... If I'm forgetting things that I loved so much, what else am I going to lose? What else have I already lost?

Loki paused for a second, Well, that's what I'm here for. We can work together to get you better alright? I can help you remember.

I sighed, Okay... What was that song? It hurt to ask, but what else was I supposed to do?

Baba O'Riley by The Who

I let myself soak in the name... It sounded so familiar. Maybe I felt more whole for a moment. Maybe I just identified another hole. Whatever the feeling was, it was a comforting discomfort that I wasn't sure I wanted to feel again, but I knew I needed it.

So that was what we did. For days Loki would come and play songs from my playlist. He would tell me the ones I couldn't remember and celebrate the ones that I did. It was a slow and embarrassing process, but I could tell I was making progress. Loki was being so supportive... Almost too supportive.

Loki?

Yes, my dear?

Why... Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, I appreciate it very much, but we weren't really on the best of terms when I disappeared.

We weren't on the worst, though.

He made me chuckle, but still.

He sighed, I suppose I found you intriguing...

Past tense? I couldn't help but poke fun.

He chose to ignore me, But then you disappeared and I never got to study you.

I'm flattered.

You should be.

There was a comfortable pause before I asked another question that's been on my mind, Loki?

Yes?

Why has no one come to visit me?

There was a short pause that I quickly filled.

I mean, I know I can't answer them back if they try to talk to me, but people visit and talk to comatose patients. We don't even know if they can hear them, but I can hear them... and... I trailed of pathetically. I really shouldn't be upset, this is more than I ever let myself hope for. Isn't it great to be so selfish?

It's nothing of your doing Y/n. Director Fury wishes for me to be your only contact until he begins the reports. They will all be in attendance then.

That's... That's good to hear.

He hummed in response and we moved on to other topics.

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

The day came when I was supposed to give my report. I still had no idea how this was going to work, but I trusted them to come up with some sort of solution. I waited patiently for them to arrive, but it seemed to be taking forever. The room was deadly silent for what must have been hours. There wasn't a voice or a footstep that broke it.

Y/n, are you ready?

Loki startled me with a sudden address.

Is everyone here already? I thought I would have heard Thor's lumbering footsteps!

He didn't even chuckle when he began to explain how it was going to work, No, we are in a nearby room as to limit the Queen from hearing anything.

I found it interesting that he called Noxy the Queen. When talking to me he usually called her Noxy. It occurred to me that he might be speaking out loud for everyone else's benefit.

I will hold an illusion of you to speak through. You alone will be able to hear and see the conversation. The illusion will mimic your motions and intentions that you portray. Do you understand?

Yes, Loki.

It felt like a tether was attached to me, the other end I didn't know, but I assumed it was the "control cable" for the illusion. There was a moment where nothing happened, but then I screamed.

My mind couldn't decide on what picture to focus on and it caused me an immense amount of pain. It kept flickering back and forth between the white floor of my cell and a blurry group of people in front of me. I clutched in upon myself to try and block off the instant migraine. I was surprised to hear my own voice saying, "Turn it off! Turn it off!"

Just as suddenly as it happened, it stopped.

Are you okay? Loki sounded worried.

Instead of answering his question I told him what had to change, I can't do the vision. It just... hurts.

Of course.

This time the tether attached seemed smaller, and after a moment I could hear the sounds of people idling. The shuffle of feet, the quiet breathing. It was relaxing. Nobody actually spoke for a while, so I had to break the ice, "Hi."

"Agent L/n."

It was a little hard to decipher voices with the combination of not being able to see and the amount of time that's past since hearing them, so I spoke tentatively, "Director Fury?"

"Correct. Do you understand that you are here to give a report so that we, Shield and the Avengers, may come to know of the nature of your capture so that we may prevent future incidents?"

"Yes, sir." Before Nick could continue I asked, "May I ask who is here since I cannot see?"

"In order to not overwhelm you the only ones here are myself and the members of the Avengers who you know."

I nodded, or felt like nodding.

Nick cleared his throat, "Alright, is there anyone who would like confirmation that who we are talking to is indeed Agent Y/n L/n?"

There was silence. It stretched out awkwardly, "Is anyone raising their hand? Loki are they raising their hands?"

"Ye-"

"NO!"

"So do you guys need confirmation or not?"

I could hear a number of voices mumble out a, "Yes, we would appreciate it."

I chuckled a little awkwardly, "Uh, was there a code word that I was supposed to remember? Cuz I very much do not remember it if there was."

"Y/n would never forget a code word!"

I was offended, "Fucking hell, Clint!"

He gasped, "She would never talk to me that way!"

"Woah, woah!" Who I thought was Tony cut in, "First off, Clint? You don't have any code words!"

He grumbled in response.

"And two, Y/n your filter is gone."

I smiled, "Damn straight."

Tony sighed, "Okay, so we all want confirmation that is actually you, so lets have you tell us something only we would know."

I took a moment to think it over, "Do you guys remember when..." I kinda chuckled at the memory, "When I video called you when I knew you had recently got off of a mission and had no plans and I asked you guys over for a movie night at my apartment?" It was a fond, if not totally embarressing memory. "Steve awkwardly declined for everyone, saying that you had a lot of work to do after the mission. I was totally disappointed, but hung up before anyone else could say anything or show that I was disappointed. I mean, I already had the movie picked out, popcorn popped, a number of snacks set out, and I even rearranged my living area to fit everyone in it!" I wished I could see their faces, see the recognition, maybe their smiles.

"But, over the next hour, every single one of you came over, not together, mind you! Clint and Natasha first, then Tony, surprised he wasn't fashionably late, Thor and Bruce with Loki dragging behind, and then Steve, with a slightly red face." I surprised myself in remembering those details.

I, my illusion, was probably smiling from ear to ear while recanting the story, "We watched Ghost Rider and mocked how totally cheezy it was and yelled at the screen when the 'monster' scene came on." I huffed with amusement, "That was a very good memory I liked to look back on..."

I didn't hear anyone say anything or even the shuffling of feet, "Uh, hello? Does anyone need a personal story? A reassuring joke? I hope not, because I very much did not have access to the internet."

The silence wasn't even broke with a chuckle. I began to grow scared. Did they leave? Do they not believe me? I'm sure my smile cracked.

"I believe a personal story or two could be beneficial to their conscience, Y/n." Loki's voice was soft, but rigid.

I made a soft popping noise with my tongue as I thought about who I could talk about first. This was a cool illusion to make a subconscious sound. I came to a stop when I just decided to talk about what first came to mind for each of them, "Natasha, I remember when you first walked in the door of my apartment for that movie night, you pulled me aside and said some very comforting things to me as well as some choice words for others." I laughed, "and I swore that those things would stay between us, so I am going to keep it that way."

That got the ball rolling so I just started to pour out everything, "Clint, when I first met you, you could have showed off to impress me, but instead you used your skills to make me smile. I- I really appreciated that, and that might have impressed me even more than you hitting every bullseye."

I was glad I wasn't actually talking because this was a lot of talking, "Thor." I grew serious, "I really appreciate you sharing your food with me that one time. And all the other times you don't know about."

I heard a quick inhale of air and I took that as a signal to move on, "Tony, the care you took with me, guiding me through breathing exercises, taking me to the infirmary after... the Loki incident. I'm forever grateful you were able to show that to me."

"I remember one mission where there was a lot of chemical and radiation components that needed to be understood. Unfortunately, I am not that proficient in that area, but fortunately I was able to approach Bruce. He walked me through everything I needed to know for that mission even late into the night in his lab," I smiled.

"And finally Steve." I willed my illusion to look him in the eyes. I hoped that's how it worked and hoped that Loki would make it happen. "This is very important. I absolutely hate running with you."

At this point the silence was beyond unnerving. "So either nobody likes me enough to talk while I'm blind, Clint is signing at me like an idiot, or everyone just left and Loki is keeping the illusion up for no other reason than his enjoyment. I can see you doing that Loki, I know you can hear me."

There were a few snorts around me before Natasha spoke up, "Uh, Clint just said that you'll get along with Sam just fine."

"I have literally no idea who that is, but I'll take that as a good sign."

"Hey," Tony cut off the laughing, "we didn't hear a story about tikes turtle over there."

There was a beat of silence.

"Wha--who?"

"Yeah, not my best idea. Loki. We haven't heard a story about Loki."

Loki quickly cut in, "I don't believe that will be neces-"

"I must give the people what they want!"

"You really don't."

I started anyway, "My fondest memory of the jolly green giant would be when I was high off of cold medicine and pulled some wicked ninja moves to steal chocolate from our dear Rapunzel while crying over rom-coms. He nearly blew my cover. Happy?"

There were a few "Very"s thrown back my way before Nick had had enough.

"Alright, is everyone convinced that this is indeed Y/n?"

"Yes."

Nick cleared his throat, "Okay, so Agent L/n, you know how this works. According to our calculations, you were a prisoner for two years before you emerged as the asset we know as Queen, correct?"

"Uh, sure."

"Agent L/n..."

I sighed, "I trust your calculations, sir, as I had no sense of time while in captivity. I could have been in there anywhere from six months to six years and I wouldn't have been the wiser."

Nick grunted, "What exactly did they do to you in those two years?"

I mentally straightened my shoulders in preparation of the story I was about to tell. I guess I should have known, I guess I should have been ready. But here I was, trying to control my thoughts.

"The majority of those two years were spent doing two things: being locked in a cell made of concrete walls, and being shoved into rooms with another prisoner. There were two rules when we were put in that room: don't start before they told us, and... and I quote: 'fight like your life depends on it, because it does.'" I took a moment to steady myself, "like a gladiator arena, it was a fight to the death, with our bare hands, only one of us would leave the room alive."

"So we can safely assume you won every round?" I wasn't sure which of the guys had spoke since I wasn't really paying attention.

I chuckled darkly, "That's the thing... My honest answer would be a no. I got beat to a pulp, but they stopped my opponent before he could kill me. My first fight... I lost."

Maybe that's what made it that much worse. I was saved to commit worse atrocities.

"So yeah, between the experiments, the locking me away in the latter part of it, and the immense amount of pain, I lied in a small cell with a roommate I called my friend, and killed other prisoners to weed out the weak ones for hell knows what."

I didn't have anything else to say about the matter so I stayed quiet until Nick was prepared with his next question.

"There was another agent who went missing the same mission that you did: Ichabod Laime. Are you aware of his status?"

"Yes, he is dead."

"What was your relationship with Agent Laime?"

"I would have called him my friend."

"How do you know he's dead?"

Before I could answer Steve mumbled, "Shouldn't you have asked that question before?"

"Don't test me Rogers!" Nick snapped at him roughly.

"Easy, sir. I'm the one who killed him."

There was a quiet sputtering going on around me.

Nick recovered enough to ask, "Did they force you to?"

I left a pause where I would have breathed, "No, I killed him of my own free will."

I felt the tether flicker and pull a little bit. It confused me. It felt like something was missing, or different all of the sudden.

It didn't help that I couldn't see anything. I thought I heard whispering in the room. Fuck me for telling the truth I guess. I was going to be locked up forever.

"Let's call it a day. We'll continue this another time Agent L/n." Nick sounded almost rushed.

Before I could respond the tether was cut and I was left in silence, not even left with a goodbye.

Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gY5rztWa1TM

TAG LIST: @kitkatd7 @snarky--starky @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog

#loki odinson #lokilaufeyson #loki fanfic #loki #loki x reader #marvel #avengersfanfiction #Avengers #avengers x reader #clint barton #natasharomanoff #Steve Rogers #tony stark #bruce banner #thor #x reader #Nick Fury #Of Kings and Shadows #chapter 25

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themockingcrows · 4 years

Text

Whisper Just For Me: Ch. 16: Beyond

All good things must come to an end. Sometimes, though, the end is just the beginning. CW: Major character death This chapter is available on AO3!

((The end of the fic! Thank you so much for reading, it’s really meant a lot to me. And I’m so sorry the ending took so long to get out! Between the surgeries, recovery time, mental health and school, things have been hectic to say the least. If you stuck around, you’ve got my love forever. <3 Ryn, over and out.))

By the time the cast came off and you’d started doing physical therapy at home, you felt it was time to try explaining to Dave all the things you had found. Life had returned to normal more or less, with Jade and her research keeping Dave’s returning strength and habits dialed in to where they could be tracked again. Everything was looking positive, and you couldn’t be happier. Your family was whole again, and life was good.

Now to rip the bandaid off, you supposed. Now when it was private and quiet, when Jade wasn’t around and it would just be the two of you.

With Dave zipping around the room rustling papers one day, you decided it was time. If he passed on… well. You had confidence you’d see him again somehow. Your beliefs had expanded over time to well beyond what they were before, and with it came a sense of serenity in things. If you could find Dave again after all that had happened, if fate itself seemed intent on making sure that you could be reunited somehow, then surely it made sense that it would keep going even longer afterwards into the unknown.

You knelt down carefully, still babying your formerly broken leg as it got stronger, and rummaged under your bed for the things you’d brought back from Dave’s Bro. The raglan shirt, the different drawings, the picture of the smuppet, the photograph of Dave on the sofa. With a deep sense of inner peace, you set them all out on the floor and sat back on your ass to look them over when you felt the warmth near your shoulder.

“Do you see all these clearly?” you asked, wanting to be sure.

… Yes …

“...Do you want to touch them?” you asked, offering control of your arms again. “I don’t mind. They’re… they’re yours, after all.”

Did Dave recognize them, or not? He seemed intrigued, if nothing else. He didn’t take control of your arms, but remained near your head and shoulders, hovering and staring intently at the different things as if he were a mongoose staring down a snake. You reached for the picture of him on the couch and smiled.

“You still look this good, I hope you know. Just more red.”

Dave was silent, but he smiled. Okay. He could recognize himself at least. Or he couldn’t and he could take a compliment when he heard one. Sometimes it was a little hard to tell how Dave’s brain worked, but it was generally positive so whatever.

Setting the picture down, you pulled up the image of the smuppet and ran a thumb over the surface of the polaroid as if imagining the texture of the fabric, trying to pretend you could feel it, could smell it. Trying to practically will it into existing in the same room.

“Your uh. ...Your brother said this was one of your favorite toys growing up,” you explained, smile faltering a bit. The warmth went chilly for the briefest of seconds, wavering, before it warmed again. Dave was reaching for the picture with his transparent fingers, imitating the stroking motion you’d done right beforehand.

...I remember…

Okay. That was a start. He remembered and was still there. Good.

You felt a chill in your stomach that made you want to put everything away, suddenly. A deep instinctive urge to hide, to keep things safe, to buckle down and ignore everything around you for a while. To keep Dave safe.

Safe from what? If he moved on… then it was what he was meant to do. He’d be at peace. You’d meet again. And that was all theoretical anyway, stop panicking! Ease up, Egbert, it’s a picture of a smuppet.

You reach for the shirt next and hold it after displaying the pattern on the front, grinning at Dave again despite the growing panic in the back of your chest.

“Your shirt’s kinda dorky, but apparently you liked it a lot? You liked videogames too, and music… I think Jade has some of the songs you used to like to listen to, we’ll have to ask her to play them later.” You’d been avoiding them for some reason since getting Dave back, just letting things go back to how they’d once been instead of adding even more new things into the mix. Too much too fast was bad, you assumed. ...Yet here you were, discussing an entire short life in one go.

...Better than yours…

“Hey, my clothes are great thank you.”

As if to make a point, Dave darted away to the drawers and opened them, tossing out socks and shorts left and right while you protested, before rattling things in the closet and darting back in a red haze like a flash.

“Okay, okay, geeze. Either way, we’ve got this now. Do you want me to set it out somewhere for you? Or.. like. I don’t know, should I wear it when you’re in charge sometime?”

Would it be weird to wear your dead boyfriend’s shirt that he used to wear when he was alive if you never knew him when he was alive to begin with? Something in your head said that was probably kind of weird, but then again you’ve been wrong before so… who knew anymore. Things were complicated when you were dating a ghost.

A lot of societal rules and standards either didn’t apply or needed to be invented on the spot.

Dave did a lazy turn in the air like an otter before rustling the other items like a breeze to catch your attention once more, apparently enthralled by his own work. You picked up the cartoony image with a smirk, having to hold it sideways at an angle to read it properly as if it were some secret code and not the oldest shitpost you’d ever seen in your fucking life.

“You made this, huh? What’s it of? Like, who are these guys?”

...Sweet Bro… Hella Jeff… Geromy…

Instinctively, you’re aware of who each of them probably are, and you’re pleased when a quick verification with Dave proved you were correct on the first shot. It was brilliant really. Strange, surreal, silly, and nonsensical in just the right way to make you wish there was an entire book of these drawings. If Dave had lived, maybe there would have been and that’s the only way you’d have known him: as an adoring fan among many to an older man with a talent for drawing funny cartoons. ...If you could even classify these guys as cartoons.

They kind of defied description in the way a jpeg artifact tended to bounce around on shitty video clips that dropped pixels faster than you could drop yourself down the stairs on roller skates with a running start.

The more realistic art, the sketches, you hesitated on most. Finally, you picked one up and cleared your throat uncomfortably.

“This uh. ...You know who this is, yeah?”

Dave was quiet again, and you had to look over your shoulder to try judging if this was a bad idea or not. He was still, quiet, staring. His face was hard to decipher, mostly because it seemed to be fading in and out from the red mass to the wispy figure you knew and loved.

...Bro…

“Right,” you said, clearing your throat again. It felt like you had heartburn, a cold sweat on your brow and acid roiling in your stomach. “We uhm. Jade and I met him. We talked a lot about things. About you. He’s the one who gave us most of these things. We heard about when you were a baby, and when you were a teen.”

There came the unsteady lump of panic again. Where had the serenity gone? The sense of peace and calm that said this was a good idea earlier? Long gone.

“We also uhm. ...We learned how you died, Dave. Do.. do you remember?”

Stupid question. Dave looked tense, uncertain, and even more wavery than before. Of course he didn’t remember, that was one of the main reasons he was still around, wasn’t it?

“It…”

Were you ready for this? You could feel tears in your eyes. It was now or never.

“It was your heart, Dave. You had a heart problem, and passed away really fast outside. Nobody knew it was coming or that anything was wrong. Your… Your Bro’s sorry. He’s eaten alive about it, wishes he’d never pushed you as hard as he did in the heat. He misses you. He-”

The red light was brilliant to your eyes, bright enough that you needed to shield your vision for a moment with a hand, peeking between your fingers to try finding the source. Dave. It had to be Dave. Where was he? Where was he in this sea of red? The warmth that had been radiating off of him dissipated till it was cool and comforting instead. Soothing as a balm to fevered flesh, soft and gentle as touch.

When the light faded, Dave was standing to your side. Physically standing, not floating, looking solid as anything. His face was pale with a splash of freckles, hair ruffled as if wind had been playing through it, red eyes bright as rubies. He was wearing the same shirt you’d brought out from under the bed, making you double take back to it to make sure it wasn’t in fact the same shirt. Black jeans smoothed down skinny legs with the baggy ends threadbare in the back where his tennis shoes had been scuffing them to Hell and back. His chest wasn’t rising or falling, but he had color to his cheeks, and a smile on his lips.

You scrambled to your feet once you registered what the fuck had happened, or… at least were trying to understand what the fuck was happening.

“Dave? Dave what’s going on. I don’t like this,” you say, before even registering what came out of your mouth. Your skin felt soothed, your body felt light, even the residual ache in your leg was gone. Peace was in the air, but you felt like you were having trouble breathing, leading to the conclusion that you were, in fact, panicking.

This was a panic attack.

“Dave? Say something, Dave, what’s happening.”

You knew what was happening. You reminded him how he died. He knew now. He remembered. He remembered everything, remembered his former life, remembered himself and his world and time. Remembered his Bro.

“...John,” Dave said, his voice just as solid as it felt when he talked inside your head, but the rush of blood in your ears was making it harder to hear over the whooshing. You needed air. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, you didn’t want this.

Except you did. You didn’t want to be selfish and keep Dave in limbo forever. You didn’t want to keep him hidden in your pocket till your own death, leaving him potentially trapped. This was the right thing to do. In your heart of hearts you knew this was the right thing to do.

“John,” he said again. “Thank you. For everything. For every single second,” Dave said to you. He reached out with his too solid hands and clasped yours with both of his, giving them a squeeze. He was cool to the touch, like weather worn fleshy marble. When you didn’t squeeze back, he released your hands in favor of hugging you tight around the middle, nuzzling his face against the side of your neck like a cat seeking somewhere warm to perch and snuggle.

“Why are you thanking me for that?” you asked. Fuck, you were crying. You could feel the snot running down your throat already, the tears stinging your eyes. “I love you, Dave. I only did what I’ve done because I love you.”

“...I love you too, John Egbert” he said, and you knew in your heart of hearts that he meant it.

Finally remembering that you could lift your arms, you clung tight to him, digging your fingers into the fabric of his shirt as if it would anchor him in place and keep him from going anywhere. You hiccuped for breath, head spinning. Too much was happening at once.

“Am I going to see you again?” you asked. “You’d know better than me, right? I will, won’t I?”

“John..” Dave said softly, not answering the question. It wasn’t helping the panic or the sadness ripping your heart in half.

“Tell me!” you demanded. “This isn’t the end, is it? This isn’t happily ever after, I don’t accept it. We’ll be together again, right?”

“Wait for me, John,” he said softly against your ear. The panic died as if it had never been there, so suddenly that your knees tried to give way. Dave held you tight and kept you upright, kept you from falling to the ground. In that brief moment, Dave was the rock and tether that you’d been for so long.

“How long do I have to wait?” you asked, clenching your eyes shut to focus on everything you could while you could. His smell, the way his skin felt under his shirt, the way his hair felt against your neck. Things you had gotten hints of all this time, whispers of, but never anything this solid.

It wasn’t fair.

Why were you able to get everything you wanted right as it was leaving?

“How long,” you croaked again, but Dave either didn’t have an answer or couldn’t answer. Instead, he looked towards the door of your room, watching it open on its own to display the hall to the living room. You could hear music playing distantly, and warmth of a summer that wasn’t there was coming in with the soft afternoon light. “Please. Please tell me. Dave, please, how long…”

“You’ll know,” Dave finally said, giving another hard squeeze around your middle, hesitating leaving. Did he want to stay? Or was it just a residual tug of want? Who would give up their ever after just to stick around in someone’s necklace in an incorporeal state forever?

Nobody. Not even you, not even for Dave, and you knew it even if you hated it.

“When I come for you, I’ll have to whisper so you know it’s me,” he said quietly by your ear again. Only loud enough for you to hear, trying to burn the words into your memory. You’d know his voice when it was softer than when it was louder, it was true. He’d been a ghost so long, that whispery, barely there tone was what you expected every time you woke up or went to sleep.

How were you could to live without that.

“Yeah. I’ll listen for you. I’ll listen for you every day,” you said. You didn’t need to promise. It’d be instinct by now, holding out hope that he’d come back.

When Dave released your middle, he reached his hands up to clasp either side of your face so he could kiss you properly. Your teeth got in the way briefly, clicking together with his smaller straighter ones, but it didn’t deter him in the slightest from deepening the kiss almost immediately. You held your breath to make it last, taking a deep breath when he finally pulled back and took a step away.

“I love you, John.” He said it again as if willing you to remember it. “I always will. Listen for me.”

He turned and walked to the hall, towards the living room. The door suddenly slammed behind him, prompting you to unfreeze from position and rush forwards, yanking it open to the proper season and lighting that was meant to be there again.

No Dave.

Dave was gone.

Your pendant was cool on your neck, the air of peace and nearly Heavenly compassion was in the room. Your house was cleansed and clear of all spirits, and rested empty and lifeless for the first time in decades. Everything was peaceful, except for the storm in your chest. You made your way to bed with the raglan shirt pressed to your chest and cried harder than you thought you ever had in your life. It was the same place Jade found you later. It was the same place you stayed for the better part of a week, grieving what you had.

Love hurt, and life wasn’t fair, but you knew one thing at least: you loved Dave Strider, and you were waiting to hear his voice again. ...You also knew this wasn’t what he would have wanted.

Life would have to go on, even if it felt like it shouldn’t.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Your name was John Egbert.

You had been a leader in the field of parapsychology and the paranormal in general. Along with Jade Harley, you had made many advancements in the field of science along with your own research into spirits and their habits. You had worked together to make devices to track spirits voices, making the inaudible audible to the naked ear, you’d helped come up with ideas to further make the invisible visible.

You lived a good life. The classes at colleges you taught lectures at were always full to the brim with curious people, and the true believers were always excited to shake your hand. It was charming, really. An honor.

Every day your routine had been the same, for decades now. Wake up, hold your pendant, and check for a voice. Always before bed, hold your pendant, check for a voice. There had been no voice, and so many times you’d wanted to give up listening, but you couldn’t help yourself.

New loves had come and gone, nothing staying for very long. You were happy with your life, though. It was a fulfilling life full of good times and smiles and laughter. You hoped Dave could see some of what was happening to you, even if the machinery never picked anything up around you that had the same signature Dave used to have. No red mists, no impish blondes darting around rustling your papers. Just normal poltergeists and spirits stuck in their routines, the rare intelligent haunting that you could help find the light the same way you’d found Dave’s for him.

You didn’t regret freeing him.

...But fuck did you miss him.

Your name was John Egbert not long ago.

You’d gone to bed with an upset stomach and some tingling in your arms, deciding it was a leftover of the flu you’d had recently instead of anything to worry about. Early to bed, early to rise. Jade had a meeting planned in the morning, some new developments were underway to fine tune the audio scanner with some new technology that had recently been invented, something that would halve the size of the current devices and amplify their power by at least twofold. Couldn’t miss that.

You lay down, clasped your pendant, and said Dave’s name like a prayer to ward away the boogeyman.

Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray my ghost my soul to keep.

Your chest felt kind of funny when you lay down and it felt harder to breathe, but nothing too dramatic. More flu shenanigans. Something felt.. ...Something felt... strange though.

Your name was John Egbert.

And then it wasn’t.

You were laying still and watching the ceiling before sitting up, feeling ten times better than how you’d lain down earlier.

“...John...”

You froze and looked around.

“Dave?” It had to be, that voice was familiar to you even after all this time.

“...John…”

You got out of bed at a jump and paused, frowning. When had you last been able to do that? It’d been ages. Slowly, you looked back towards the bed where John Egbert lay still as if sleeping.

Your name used to be John Egbert, but you suppose it still is. You’re kind of new to this being dead thing. Were there two John Egbert’s now? The dead one and the more lively dead one? Was the soul still considered the same entity right now? So many questions from your research clouded your mind that your first instinct was to call Jade to discuss it with her, before you felt the touch to your shoulder. Spinning around, startled, you nearly slapped Dave in the face with a flailing arm.

He smirked a bit.

“John.”

“Dave? ...Dave. Dave,” you said, voice breaking briefly before it came out as a croak. Ghosts could cry apparently. You didn’t feel the unpleasant sensation of breathlessness, but you could feel tears on your cheeks before laughing. “You asshole, you made me wait so fucking long.”

“You were busy, thought I’d come back later when you could use a break,” Dave said, reaching up to grasp either side of your face, kissing you before you could think too hard on it.

“Dave I’m. I mean I. But I. ….Oh God, Jade’s going to- Oh. ...Dave, oh my God I’m dead. Dave I died,” you said, staggering through the sudden wash of sorrow as it hit you. There was still so much to do, one life wasn’t enough for everything you had planned. “I never finished writing that piano piece, and Jade’s.. Fuck…”

He held you as you processed things, letting your mind catch up. Letting you calm down. There was nothing but time now, wasn’t there? Or.. wait.

“Am I… am I going to stay here as a ghost?” you asked, worrying. Were you going to be separated again? Was it your turn to exist in flux?

“No. You get to come to the chill place, if you want. It’s pretty sweet. Bro was pretty shocked when he turned up too, but he wasn’t as up on shit as you are.”

“If I want? I get to choose?”

“For a bit. If you’ve got business left, I mean,” Dave said. “Like with Jade. ...Your Dad’s excited to see you again, too.”

“Dad,” you said quietly. You’d been so focused on listening for Dave that you hadn’t even considered how big of a family reunion you were in for when you finally met your maker. Your Nana, your Dad, your aunt and uncle, your grandfather you’d never met. Hell, even Sassacre probably.

“How long do I have?” you ask, giving another look to the John on the bed. He seemed peaceful, relaxed. It’d been quick and painless.

“Long as you need to finish up business,” Dave said. “...Should I amscray while you take care of shit o-”

“Dave, if you disappear now of all times I’m going to figure out how to haunt people and haunt you till you die again.”

“Okay, okay, shit, chill. I was just offerin’.” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets with a smile. “Want some company while you do errands?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

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

Your name is Jade Harley, and man do your joints hurt, but the flowers aren’t going to tend themselves are they.

You heft some of the potting soil into the pot and gently stroke it over the previously exposed roots of the flowering plant as if you were tucking in a baby. Next came the water, a steady shower from above till the soil was damp, and then came the time to heft everything to the other table.

John’s funeral had been a month ago, and while you were still sad… you also knew better than to fret. For one, your research had calmed your thoughts to the beyond years ago already. Matter can neither be created nor destroyed. For another, getting to know more about Dave had been an adventure in your youth that shaped the entire world from scratch.

For yet another, you got a personal goodbye from the John you used to know in your younger years, hand in hand with a pretty young blonde man you knew from a photograph and images on screens from early developed machines of your own creation.

Sometimes, you could swear you still were being watched by the pair of them, but you were too lazy to go find your equipment to double check. What would you even be double checking? If he was having ghost makeouts or something?

You wipe your brow and look over your work with a smile. The funeral home had given some depressing little potted plant, and a sickly looking tree sapling as a memorial. This was better by miles.

“You see, John?” you said aloud to your guardian angel. “Perfect.”

If you were John Egbert, you’d have to agree. It was a handsome plant in a handsome pot, and it would blossom like crazy because Jade was the one who’d tended it.

But you’re not John Egbert.

You are Jade Harley, and John Egbert’s story has ended, arm in arm with the spirit he’d been chasing for so long and finally caught.

#homestuck #johndave #john egbert #dave strider #my fic

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ohmyprodigalson · 5 years

Note

I saw you were taking requests, and was wondering if I could get a fic where Malcolm's s/o has a night terror at the precinct, and ends up attacking him when he tries to wake her up much like he did to Dani, and he has to calm her down. (Maybe a bit of father figure!Gil too) Just some hurt/comfort please! ❤

Of course! Thank you for giving me my first ever request!

Prodigal Son - Malcolm x Reader

Trigger Warning: Descriptions of gore, mutilation, and murder of women. Night terrors.

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Image by brightwhitlys

(Y/N) was sitting in the room alone, surrounded by the whiteboards with pictures of evidence taped to them and folders with more evidence strewn out across the table in front of her. She had been called to consult on this case, like she had many times before. She actually met Malcolm on her first case, and they'd been dating ever since.

She was called as a consultant because of her skill in deciphering codes and other cryptic messages. The killer in this case was leaving behind notes completely written in math. It was (Y/N)'s job to translate these notes into English for the team.

But this case was different. (Y/N) had seen dead bodies before in all of the other cases she helped with, but this one was particularly gruesome. The victim was a woman in her 30's, crucified with her intestines tying her to the cross. Her tongue had been removed and her eyes gouged out. The scene was truly jarring, and pictures of it lie in front of (Y/N) on the table. She tried to look at them as little as possible because they were so disturbing.

(Y/N) hadn't slept well in about a week. Her insomnia kept her awake, and she barely got more than 3 hours of sleep per night. Now she was fighting off her fatigue in the middle of the precinct. Her eyelids became progressively heavier and she found herself feeling faint. She closed her eyes to regain her composure, but she accidentally fell asleep in the process.

Malcolm happened to look into the room and saw (Y/N) hunched over a bit, head resting on her hand. He smiled to himself, thinking of how adorable she looked. Falling asleep in a public place was extremely unlike her, and he found it comical. But then he saw her tremors. She had begun to shake, and Malcolm's eyes grew wide as he realized what was happening.

(Y/N) hadn't wanted to admit to herself how upsetting this case was for her, because she wanted to be a strong member of the team. They were counting on her to decipher the notes left behind, but she was absorbed by the images of the crime scene. They reminded her of her mother, and the murder that took her away from (Y/N).

(Y/N) was the one to find her. She was 4 years old at the time, and her mother was in her early 30's. (Y/N) found her in her bedroom, left behind like an art piece by one of her patients that had turned violent. (Y/N) had come home with her dad from the park on a sunny Saturday afternoon and was looking to show her mother the pretty flower she picked for her. When (Y/N) found her mother, she was splayed out across the bed. She was naked, her jaw completely removed from her head, her eyes gauged out, the tissue of her upper arms cut and put on display to look like wings, and her breasts cut off. This would be a traumatizing sight for anyone, but it was especially so for the little girl. (Y/N) screamed and cried as she fell to the ground. She cried so hard she threw up all over herself. She was too young to completely understand the concept of murder and how this related to her mother, and had no grasp of mutilation either. This was a situation that could not be explained to her at her young age.

(Y/N) was inconsolable for weeks, and she would often cry herself to sleep. She kept asking for her mother even though she knew she was gone, and this had become an extra layer of torture for her father, who was left to raise (Y/N) on his own. He did everything in his power to help her. He took her to therapy and tried to support her in every way he could. This kept her from completely falling apart, but she was still an impressionable little girl. She was left with emotional scars that would never fade and night terrors that would never cease.

(Y/N) thankfully hadn't had a night terror in quite a while, certainly not in front of Malcolm. But he did know about her mother and how it still pains her when she sees a mother holding her daughter's hand as they walk down the street. It never occurred to him though that the current case they were working on held so many parallels to her mother's death.

That's why, when he saw (Y/N) start to shake in her sleep, it hit him like a brick wall. This case was bringing her terrible memories to the surface of her mind, and now she was going to suffer from it.

He ran into the room just as (Y/N)'s shaking became violent and she started to moan loudly. Malcolm grabbed her upper arms tightly as he tried to wake her up. He gave her a few shakes while he said her name with force. She didn't wake up, so he escalated to shouting. After a few shouts of her name, (Y/N)'s eyes flew open, but she was still in her dream. She started screaming and shouting, "Mom!!!" She scrambled at first before starting to hit Malcolm. "Let go of me!! I need to see my mom!!" She produced gut-wrenching cries as Malcolm tried to hold her in her seat.

"(Y/N)! (Y/N)!! It's me, it's Malcolm. You're having a bad dream, it's ok. It's ok!"

His words went unnoticed as she continued to fight and claw at him. Then, in her desperation, she punched Malcolm on the right side of his face. For the smallest of moments he looked stunned before falling backwards onto the floor, unconscious. With Malcolm no longer there to restrain her, (Y/N) bolted out of her seat and headed towards the door.

At this point Gil had noticed what was going on and had reached the door before (Y/N) could. He braced for impact just as one of (Y/N)'s heels slipped on the floor and gave out from underneath her. She hit the ground hard, which stopped her in her tracks both mentally and physically. She sat up but stayed on the ground as she rubbed her left shoulder. This was Gil's chance.

He knew she was probably still caught in her night terror, and the traumatic memories of her mother's death, so he played what would have conceivably been his part in that narrative.

Gil bent down on one knee in front of (Y/N) so that their eyes met without effort, just like he would with a small child. Then he spoke softly and calmly. "My name is Gil. What is your name?"

With a sniffle, she responded with a meek and quiet voice. "(Y/N)."

"Hello (Y/N). I work with the police." Gil paused as he tried to read (Y/N)'s eyes. He decided to test her concept of reality. "Do you know where you are?"

(Y/N) looked around herself shakily. She saw the windows with the shades, the table and chairs, but she was thankfully too close to the ground to see the evidence on the whiteboards. Still, something clicked in her mind as she realized where she was. "I'm at the precinct..."

"Good!" Gil gave her a reassuring smile and continued. "Do you know that man over there?" Gil motioned towards Malcolm, lying on his back, mouth agape and a bruise already starting to form on the right side of his face.

(Y/N) thought for a moment, searching her mind for the answer to Gil's question. This forced her to stop and slow down. It began to pull her out of her dream. After a short moment she whispered, "Malcolm..." She turned her face back towards Gil to see him still smiling at her reassuringly.

He reached out and placed a hand on her right shoulder. "Are you ok?"

The tears started to fall as (Y/N) came back to reality. A reality where her mother had been brutally murdered. Gil scooted closer to her on the ground and wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in his shoulder and cried. Gil placed a hand on the back of her head and whispered to her, "I know... but it's ok now. You will always feel this heartache, but you are surrounded by people that care for you. We will always be here to help you through this pain."

After a few minutes (Y/N) pulled away from Gil, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes. She sheepishly looked at him and croaked out, "Thank you."

"Of course," Gil said with a smile. "Now, what are we going to do about him?" They both looked in Malcolm's direction to find that he had not moved a muscle this whole time.

"I'll take care of him. I feel so bad..." (Y/N) watched his slow breathing. At least he was getting a nap out of all of this.

"I'm sure he'll understand." Gil paused for a moment before standing up. He patted (Y/N) on her left shoulder and she winced. She must have hurt it when she fell, and Gil noticed her pain. "When he wakes up, both of you go home and rest. You need it after today, and we've got this covered." He motioned vaguely towards all of the whiteboards in the room. Grateful, she nodded and gave him a small smile. She would never forget the calming comfort Gil provided for her that day.

*Sorry, I couldn't figure out how to do a 'keep reading' break because I'm on the app. If anyone has some pointers it would be greatly appreciated!*

#prodigal son #malcolm bright #malcolm x reader #gil arroyo #fanfic #imagine

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daresplaining · 5 years

Note

Are there any instances where superhero’s would give Daredevil something to look at and he has to wing it/ tell the truth that he’s blind?

Yes, there are! This happens all the time, and not just with other superheroes. My favorite example is a major moment in DD history: when Ben Urich uses this exact strategy to get Daredevil to reveal his secret identity.

[ID: Excerpt from McKenzie’s Daredevil run. Daredevil is wearing head bandages and a hospital gown (over his costume). Ben Urich sits next to him, a lit cigarette in his mouth, and holds up a photograph.]

Ben: “It’s the story of a lonely little boy blinded by a freak accident. And it’s the story of how he overcame his handicap to become a successful lawyer and a Man Without Fear. It’s your story, Matthew Murdock, and I can prove it!”

Matt: “Now just a minute, Ben! You can’t seriously believe I’m–”

Ben: “Well, if you’re not Matt Murdock and if you’re not blind, just describe this photograph to me and I’ll leave. I’ll forget the whole thing.”

Matt: “Photo–? Ben, I… I really don’t feel like playing games. I’m not Matt Murdock, I’m certainly not blind– and I don’t see why I have to prove anything to you. It’s none of your business… who I am. It’s… it’s… it’s true…”

Daredevil vol. 1 #164 by Roger McKenzie, Frank Miller, and Glynis Wein

I love this interaction– the facial expressions, Matt’s flustered struggle to come up with an excuse, its significance as the start of a beautiful friendship, the fact that Ben barged into Matt’s hospital room (while smoking!) to get this interview– and it’s a testament to how vulnerable Matt is to this sort of situation. Years later, after Matt has faked his death and reappeared as a “new” Daredevil during Chichester’s run, Ben uses this same ruse to check if his friend is actually still alive. Sadly, what could have been a moving/hilarious recreation of this iconic scene is ruined by some silly sensory writing.

[ID: Ben confronts Daredevil, who is dressed in the black and red armored costume from the end of Volume 1, on a darkened rooftop. Ben hands Daredevil his wallet, which contains a photo of himself and his wife Doris.]

Ben: “Tell me about this picture.”

Caption: “Ben Urich has played this bluff before, to prove Matt Murdock and Daredevil were one and the same. Make a blind man describe a photograph. It worked then. Murdock can’t afford to let it work again.”

Matt: “Sure… okay. Bring it over here in the light were I can see it…”

Caption: “Light and dark areas absorb degrees of heat from the lamp above. Enough difference to paint a crude picture for hypersensitive fingertips. Some deductive guesswork on the photos a man might carry in his wallet. All adding up to enough for a stab in the dark.”

Matt: “That’s you… and she’s your wife?”

Daredevil vol. 1 #339 by Alan Smithee, Alexander Jubran, and Christie Scheele

Sigh…

In any case, as I mentioned, Matt (as Daredevil) is frequently confronted with these types of situations, thanks to people’s assumptions that he can see. The degree of success he has in maintaining that illusion of sightedness varies. Below are a few of my other favorite moments.

This is another major one, and another rare instance in which Matt decides he has no choice but to reveal that he’s blind. During his early adventures in San Francisco, he develops a brief alliance/friendship/romanic tension with the cosmic hero Moon Dragon. When she gets seriously injured, Matt is the only person around to operate the machine that will save her life. Unfortunately…

Matt: “Moon Dragon… there’s no way I could grasp this–”

Moon Dragon: “Please… just… do exactly as… I say… Begin… with the… yel… yellow… dial… turn to… Dare… devil… what is… wrong? Begin…”

Matt: “I– I can’t!! Moon Dragon… I–I’m blind!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #106 by Steve Gerber, Don Heck, and George Roussos

Being a cosmic entity, Moon Dragon deals with this inconvenience by casually restoring Matt’s vision. He asks for it to be removed again shortly afterward because he finds it annoying.

I pointed out Matt’s hand-wave-y deciphering of Ben’s photo (and Matt also mentions feeling colors in the Moon Dragon scene), and while that sort of thing has mostly been abandoned, unfortunately it informed many of these types of moments in early Daredevil stories. Rather than acknowledging the limits of Matt’s perception, the writers would simply skew and amplify his other senses to explain the problem away, as in this moment in Roy Thomas’s run:

[ID: Daredevil is leaning on Foggy Nelson’s desk. Foggy hands him a newspaper, and Daredevil (with his gloves on!) runs his fingers over the front page.]

Matt: “Tell me– who were the joy boys?”

Foggy: “This paper will explain things…! Read it and weep!”

Matt: “Let me pore over this for a minute! (–’Specially since I’ve got to do my speed-reading casually– with my fingers doing the walking!)”

Daredevil vol. 1 #68 by Roy Thomas, Gene Colan, and Artie Simek

And this even more extreme example from the same run:

[ID: Daredevil (still with his gloves on!) is running his fingers over a framed photograph, while a tearful Karen Page watches.]

Karen: “How could you have known that we needed you… when even I didn’t know it… until a few moments ago?”

Matt: “I’ll… explain all that later, Karen! Right now, let me study your father’s picture! (And I do mean study… not see! But she’s too upset to notice that I’m using my fingertips to learn her father’s appearance!)”

Daredevil vol. 1 #56 by Roy Thomas, Gene Colan, and Artie Simek

Matt reading newsprint is fine; there’s a ton of precedent for it, it makes a certain degree of sense, and it’s been a part of his power-set for a long time. Matt reading newsprint with his gloves on without Foggy noticing anything weird is much harder for me to believe. And don’t get me started on his perceiving a framed photograph by touch with his gloves on.

Fortunately, more recent writers have moved away from these types of shortcuts, and are willing to acknowledge that Matt’s other senses can’t fully compensate for his lack of vision. The usual outcome is that Matt manages to improvise an excuse/alternative approach that allows him to maintain his secret, or he’s lucky enough to have someone else inadvertently help.

[ID: A bystander shows Daredevil an image of a man (labeled as John Powers) on his tablet screen. Daredevil’s radar sense perceives the screen as a blank rectangle.]

Bystander: “Except this guy! He’s not one of us!”

Matt (caption): “What?”

Bystander: “I’m not on the list, but he is! See? Who is he? Do you recognize him?”

Matt (caption): “Ummm…”

Judge: “John Powers. Does anybody here know that name?”

Daredevil vol. 3 #31 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, and Javier Rodriguez

[ID: Daredevil is standing by as a man feeds a key card into an old-fashioned computer. The address “13 Wall St.” appears on a small screen.]

Matt: “Can you determine what building this key is for?”

IT guy: “Certainly! That data is coded into the key with magnetic particles which our computer can decipher– and there’s the address as you can plainly see!”

Matt: “Uh– yes. Are you sure there is such an address?”

IT guy: “Thirteen Wall St.? Of course!”

Matt: “Thanks! (I wonder what that technician would think if he knew Daredevil was blind and couldn’t ‘plainly see’ anything!?”)

Daredevil vol. 1 #144 by Jim Shooter, Lee Elias, and George Roussos

[ID: Matt (in civvies as his alter ego Jack Batlin) is “watching” a muted TV with his friend Stithy. The TV appears as a vague box shape in Matt’s radar. On the screen are the symbols of the U.S. government, the Fantastic Four, and the Avengers.]

Stithy: “Maybe I start makin’ ‘em for Uncle Sam though, huh? Plenty o’ need in the Big Apple now!”

Matt: “What do you mean?”

Stithy: “See for yourself…”

Matt: “I… uh… turn it up, will you?”

Stithy: “Picture there doesn’t say it all? Lazy S.O.B.!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #329 by D.G. Chichester, Scott McDaniel, and Joe Andreani

[ID: Daredevil is inside a building. On a table in front of him is a bomb, with several wires exposed. He is communicating with Steve Rogers (Captain America) via communication devices.]

Steve (off-panel): “We’re all right. I can talk you through defusing it. You’re looking for two wires. Green and yellow.”

Matt (caption): “Damn. He doesn’t know you’re blind.”

[ID: Daredevil dives out the window, comes back in with one of the guys who set the bomb, and slams him down on the table.]

Matt: “Turn it off.”

Daredevil vol. 5 #4 by Charles Soule, Ron Garney, and Matt Milla

And finally, my other personal favorite category, in which Matt deals with this problem by just… leaving:

[ID: Daredevil is standing on a city street, talking with two cops.]

Cop: “Nobody recalls anything… except running to escape… from something.”

Matt: “Then, Lieutenant, we’ve got a first class menace on our hands.”

Cops: “Can you give us a description, DD? Hair color? Eyes? Distinguishing marks? We’ll put out an A.P.B. on him right away.”

Matt: “I’m, uh, still a little shaken, I think… Let me get some rest, okay…? Collect my wits. I’ll be in touch.”

[ID: He runs and swings away.]

Daredevil vol. 1 #101 by Steve Gerber, Rich Buckler, and George Roussos

[ID: Daredevil is standing in the middle of a diner. Two bystanders are sitting at a table next to him, reading a newspaper article that reveals his secret identity.]

Bystander: “Hey, Daredevil… Hey, uh, Daredevil… what color’s my shirt?”

[ID: There’s a moment of awkward silence, then a loud boom from outside. Daredevil runs out of the diner.]

Bystander: “He didn’t answer…”

Daredevil vol. 2 #35 by Brian Michael Bendis, Alex Maleev, and Matt Hollingsworth

While Matt has worked hard over the years to maintain his secret identity and hide his blindness as Daredevil (with… varying success), it’s definitely a relief to him when the people around him are in on the secret and he can be honest about his limitations.

[ID: Daredevil and a cop are on a rooftop at night. The cop shows Daredevil a smartphone screen.]

Matt: “Someone want to describe to me what’s on that phone?”

Daredevil vol. 4 #8 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, and Matt Wilson

#Daredevil #Matt Murdock #Asks #Sensory Shenanigans #Adventures in Continuity

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kadenatherstoneposts · 4 years

Text

A Guest Needed To Be Fed.

"That's right run you motherfucker!!" I yelled while bending over and placing my hands on my knees, the humid night not alleviating the pain in my lungs as I gasped for air. He'd run me a merry dance, the only reason I'd slowed? I was sure my ankle snapped on the last rooftop jump to the warehouse floor, giving a small wiggle of the joint confirmed it as a pain shot up through my shin bone and down through my foot. I collapsed on the asphalt. My life wasn't supposed to be like this; I wasn't sure what it was supposed to be. I could have been a fighter pilot, a fireman, hell I could have been a door to door salesman. Instead, I sat here, removing my boot on the floor in a derelict warehouse. Fucking vampires. Training sucked, I fucking hated it, I'd vowed never to become this from the first day I found out what 'this curse' was. Stalking dark places to put an end to obscure things, it was a damn movie script, not a life. This had not been on my "List Of Things To Do Before You Reach 40.'

There are few milestones in a boy's life he isn't aware of until it happens. The first time you wake up with your dick rock hard, and the damn thing won't go down regardless of what you do. The first time you wake up with your dick cemented to the bed sheets and anything else within the crotch region. When you turn eighteen, your father hands you a gilded gold book, and a card with some words on that are in some language you've never seen, let alone spoken. The first two I'm not even going to get into, let me tell you if you've got a son for fuck sake explain it to him before it happens. Therapy is expensive. The third one just happened to be me; I was the lucky one. So my father told me.

The book. It's history. The history of Hunters, yes it says that on the front. Imaginative, I know. Imagine being an eighteen-year-old, not a very mature one at that. I still laughed when Grandma farted every Christmas, how was I supposed to know at the time that 'fart humour' wouldn't go away. I was told to read it. I thought the Bible was big, this far outweighed anything I'd seen before. Two years it had taken me to read every page, every handwritten note in the margins, even the neatly scribbled out parts which took some deciphering, I should have sent it off to those women who broke codes in the war. Here I was eighteen years later, sitting on my ass with a throbbing foot. Fuck. My. Life. My fist slammed into the ground with frustration; asphalt started to spray into the air as I continued. I wiggled my foot, gave a grunt, stopped pummelling the ground and slipped my foot back into the boot.

"Okay, you fucking asshole, I'm coming for you." I leapt to my feet, checked my guns, the sword that sat across my back swayed slightly as I took off into the night. The vampire hadn't tried to run too far, dumb fucking shit, wasn't like he needed to stop because he was out of breath. I dropped down from the balcony I'd been on; after I'd run along the rooftops. It was an easy way to get around and to stop from being seen by an average human. I released the baton I kept in my boot as I hit the floor, skimming his knuckles with the wood; in return, he gave me a sneer. The vampire adjusted his stance then blurred so quickly he seemed to disappear. I stood stock-still, listening carefully, I could hear his footsteps as he began circling me, silence replaced the steps, and as it did I dived out the way before his hand connected to any part of my body, twisting mid-air as I hit out with my foot. My foot came to a stop as I felt the vibration down my leg of the hit. The vampire stumbled and by doing so gave me the chance to bring the baton closer to him as I swung, he didn't let it phase him, his arm came up, and his fist hit my face. His foot followed and hit me in the ribs, I grunted as the whole inside of my body shook. I spat out the blood that had filled my mouth from the punch while adjusting my stance. I held the vampire's gaze as he bared his fangs, then dropped to my knees. I brought my hand up over my shoulder and pulled out the sword which sat there, as my knees hit the floor I brought the sword up, the blade sunk up to the hilt into the vampires groin, it wouldn't kill him, but it would slow him, as I quickly stood I brought the sword with me, splitting the vampire from crotch upwards. My arm removed the sword from his body, the vampire hissed at me, but I cut that short by bringing down the sword onto its neck, slicing through the skin and bone like butter. His head rolled across the ground as I caught my breath. Bruised but not too bad, nothing I knew wouldn't heal quickly I collected the head and threw it with the body, pulling a lighter from my pocket I set the fucking remains on fire and headed home.

I'd come across the empty nuclear bunker on one of my scouting missions; now it was my home, and it held everything dear to me. I needed to clean up, a change of clothes from my excursion and encounter with the vampire. So that's where I headed. The place was desolate, an empty field, nothing around for miles, I had no clue as to whom owned the bunker, so I'm guessing if there had been a nuclear war the stupid fuck wouldn't have made it here anyway. The baron walls, the labyrinth of tunnels, even the cold water, everything had become familiar quickly, also wandering around in the partially lit passageways had become second nature. The slap of my bare feet echoed around the concrete walls as I made my way from the bathroom to my bedroom, my ankle now perfectly healed, all bruises, cuts evaporated as though they didn't exist in the first place.

An urge pulled at me as I walked passed the table set in the corner of the room, my fingers reached out and touched the book that sat in pride of place, for a second I stood looking down at it, images running rampant through my mind. I allowed myself to relish in those images of carnage, horror and pain, inhaling a gasp as I felt the elation from the perpetrator of those images. I enjoyed the feelings of excitement; goosebumps ran wild over my body, a surge of sexual desire wrapped around me, my dick hardened, a moan fell from my mouth. I removed from fingers from the book, as quickly as the feelings had overcome me they ceased, with a glance I reached out again, but quickly pulled my fingers back, the emotions were becoming addictive. I couldn't recall when the words had started to affect me, but they had. The descriptions are written of what had been done, and I felt every one of them, the agony, the exhilaration, the rage, the stimulation of causing pain and the need to receive it, the claustrophobic feeling of being closed off.

I grabbed a pair of shorts and pulled on a t-shirt, slipping my feet into my unlaced boots. I left my room. The corridor I took went on for miles; it's what made it the perfect place to my guest. My footsteps echoed in halls of silence; the massive six-foot thick lead door opened much more fluidly than you'd expect as I scanned my palm. The room I entered dark. As soon as I flicked the switch light shone down into the middle of the room, there hung on a cross, was the remnants my first demon. He was still alive, just. The radio in the corner of the room exploded to life. I had police radios in every place I used. There was a body, I had to get there first.

"You'll have to wait." The demon looked at me with unfocusing, half-lidded eyes. As I left the room, the lights switched themselves off, and the door closed.

Over time I've come to accept what I am. I even have to admit that I get off hunting down the fucking things that hide in shadows and go bump in the night. That doesn't mean there still aren't times I wish I was in my bed wrapped up, warm and not on the streets at three am. Fucking bitterly cold winters nights are the worst. The street lights here were out, some clever little bastard taking potshots I guessed. The cloudless sky was allowing me to by moonlight; I'd take what I could get. At least I couldn't read all the graffiti on the walls. This area was mainly filled with filthy warehouses and factories, the odd house dotted here and there, how did people live here? Grunting at the mere thought. The freezing wind slapped me around the head as I rounded a corner, lifting the collar on my coat and slipping my hands in my pocket, as I stride towards my destination. I reached the back of one of the warehouses quick enough, the silhouette of a body coming into view. "Motherf..." My voice cut off as I came face to face with the body. Bending I took a closer look. A human male, late forties I guessed by his weathered features. His hands had been situated as though praying, and there was no blood on his clothes. The blood instead was making a vast pool near his neck; actually, it was pooling just where his head should be. Did I mention his head wasn't on his body? I stood and moved around his headless corpse. Again I stooped to my haunches scrutinising the skin on his neck; this wasn't a clean wound, some sort of serrated edge had been used. Before I could get any more information from the dead man, sirens screeched with accompanying blue lights coming into view. Standing up, I threw myself at the wall, scaling it to the top. As if I didn't have enough to deal with already. The dead body I'd left behind was an enigma; it wasn't a vampire that had removed that head. The only solace to the whole situation was that the head stayed placed next to the praying corpse, at least the cops would be able to identify the body and give his family some peace. I was still antsy when I got back to the bunker. My muscles twitched with energy, my whole system was still on overdrive, and there were only a few things that could sedate this feeling. Hunting was out as the police were everywhere, I'd already been to the gym three times today, that left one thing. I didn't shower or change before wandering the maze of tunnels in the bunker; I didn't need to. What was waiting for me in one of the rooms didn't care and neither did I. Standing before the door; a small grin curled on my lips, I closed my eyes, allowing the energy to run through my body, the adrenaline to pump into every muscle I had. Placing my palm on the touchpad on the wall, it flared to life, the sounds of the locking mechanism opening echoed down the desolate corridor.

"Kaden." The voice that greeted me a little shocked, giving away he wasn't prepared to see me. I gave just a nod in reply to my name. The male's eyes honed in on my face; I heard the small gulp as he swallowed and stood up.

The tanned skin of his wrist looked perfect inside the black wrist straps, his legs held open by the same devices too, all the straps connected to chains which gave him a little leeway to move, for now. Standing in front of the naked, chained male, the leather strips from the whip I had in my hand trailing on the floor beside me. My fingers tightened around the handle as my arm lifted, the sound of the whip hitting his skin heaven to my ears, new welts appeared with each lash, the muscular, tanned abs now zigged zagged with exquisite patterns of pain. The male's dick had hardened and was standing to attention; bringing the whip further down his torso to incorporate his hips, bringing his dick the attention it deserved with leather, his arms and legs now pulling against the straps that had him in place. Sweat was starting to roll down my back, my dick pressing against the confines of the jeans I wore. Yanking the shirt I wore over my head in one pull but refrained from removing anything else, the pain he was in didn't stop him looking at me salaciously. I dropped the whip to the floor, moving forward undoing the straps holding his hands in place, my fingers reached up grabbing his hair and as I did his legs gave way, he knelt in front of me, giving a small nod, he knew what to do. His welted arms reached up, my fingers still entangled in his hair, his shaking fingers undid my jeans, and as he did my dick sprung from them, his tongue sprang from his lips, licking at the head of my dick. His mouth formed a perfect 'o', and his cheeks indented as he sucked my full length into his mouth, the tip of my dick passed the back of his throat as his hands reached up to my ass, his fingers digging into my skin making my hip thrusts harder. My hand continued to pull his hair back and forth in rhythm with me, now and again I'd stop with my dick deep in his throat, enjoying the warmth of his throat and the gagging sound. I fell forward, one arm reaching out to the wall to which his legs were still chained. My hips bucked wildly and unhindered as my balls tightened, I could feel the throbbing of my dick against his sucked-in cheeks, my ab muscles tightened, my fingers dug into the brick as I shot my load down that sweet throat of his. He stayed on his knees, not removing my dick from his throat, his tongue licking me clean. My attention now refocused elsewhere as my hand reached up to just above where he'd been stood, I retrieved what I wanted. My fingers reached down and wrenched his hair, his head springing back, forcing him to look up at me, baring his neck, the smile I gave him had no warmth in it at all. I brought down the knife I had picked up, slicing across the soft skin, I slipped my dick out of his mouth before it closed, the gargling sound he made as he gasped for air arousing me again. Blood squirted from the slash covering me, and as my fingers released his hair, I took a step back, and his body fell to the floor with a thud. I had to feed the demon I kept somehow.

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