#no beta we die like canon by my blade
Text
A Hollow Promise [25] chapter vi, part ii
{_[on AO3]_}
main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture
-
summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.
Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.
And this changes things.
Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.
(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)
-
chapter summary : astrid gathers her allies, and draws the attention of her enemies. loki pays a heavy price for a victory.
recommended listening : rebel soul, katharine appleton, maja norming
-
tag list: @femmealec, @mischief2sarawr
-
[PREVIOUS] | [MASTERLIST] | [NEXT]
-
Astrid had told the truth, as always. Ophelia was not her only appointment.
Neither was she the first, however.
Hours earlier, wrapped in a fine, black woollen pea coat and comfortable trainers, Astrid had been walking through the fog and frigid, sea-soaked air of the Cornish coastal town of Looe.
The historical fishing village was sheltered within a deep valley, prefaced inland by thick, verdant forests and winding country roads. Ivory villas and weathered stone cottages were built into the slopes of the cliffs, bordered by a riot of meadow-flora and hardy coastal shrubs, the settlement split in half by the river that decanted into the small marina, and the open, pewter waters of the North Atlantic.
The place held a kind of quaint, antique seaside charm that was ubiquitous to Britain, in Astrid’s experience- a nostalgia that was just slightly foreign to her, evoking the same feeling as the second-hand copies of those interbellum novels by Enid Blyton and Agatha Christie that she used to read on rainy days at home.
She could feel Loki watching through her eyes, dozing gently, shamelessly indolent as he clung to sleep.
Exhaling a smile, Astrid consciously drank in as much as she could. She drew the mouldering, salt-stained tang of seaweed and ocean shallows deep into her lungs, face raised to the damp air, clear-eyed and refreshed.
It was one of the many reasons to be relieved to be out of SHIELD’s custody: wherever she went, and whatever she saw, Loki could experience it through their link. And she was one of the rare, fortunate few who could go anywhere, at any time, with little enough effort.
A flush of affection bloomed in her, like a kiss at the nape of her neck, Loki reading her intentions like braille.
Astrid giggled, the ache of want in her chest ebbing slightly, and glanced out across the harbour.
It was the off-season; the tourism trade withered into hibernation with the last days of August, and first weeks of September. Even so, the picturesque village obviously received a fair number of visitors in the summer months. Across the town, there was an abundance of cafés, bakeries, fishmongers, local crafts shops, ice cream parlours, wetsuit and board rental stores. A sprawling car park had been cut at the base of the hill, and a number of small commercial pleasure boats were moored against the harbour walls, anchored between algae-stained tangerine buoys, advertising sea safaris and recreational fishing trips on printed boards affixed to the weather-rusted harbour railing. A few places were shuttered, but other businesses remained open even into November, catering to the permanent residents of the town.
As she chased the slope upwards, approaching from the narrow, eastern flank of the harbour, towards the ageing arcade and stone bridge across the river, a thought occurred to her.
“Loki. Do you like seafood?”
She felt Loki stir. Astrid could almost imagine his head lifting from his cupped hand- or rolling across a pillow to look at her, black curls spilling, eyebrows steepled in mild askance.
I tend to eat more game, I suppose, he answered cautiously. Hunts are too popular on Asgard for it to be otherwise. But I do like shellfish. Although it is seen as peasant food on Asgard. Cheap fare, common as mud, to be eaten at the harbour by tradesfolk.
“It used to be the same here, for centuries,” Astrid replied, the corner of her mouth twisting up sardonically. “Oysters were still delicious when they were only good for the poor.”
Loki laughed softly. It is ridiculous, is it not? The arbitrary standards of high taste.
He hesitated for a long moment.
I do like oysters, he admitted, almost nervous.
A lilt kicked into Astrid’s step, her mood lifting.
“Oysters, then.” Widening her stride into a loping gait, forming rolling bounce on the balls of her feet, she lifted her face to the headwinds, letting it blow her hair back. “Maybe mussels or scallops, if I can’t find any? Oh- and cream tea.”
Cream tea?
“It’s, ah- like a dessert version of afternoon tea, I suppose? It’s sometimes called Cornish tea.” Astrid crossed the bridge at a brisk clip, shoulder bag tapping at her hip. “You’ll love it. Black tea, served with split scones, clotted cream, and jam. Strawberry is traditional, but I prefer raspberry.”
At the mention of something sweet, she felt Loki’s interest instantly perk.
Astrid’s victory dimmed as Loki swiftly crushed down on his eagerness, cooling into reflexive indifference.
Then you should have raspberry, my heart, he replied mildly, like fingers skimming her cheekbone.
“Mm.”
Astrid strummed her fingers against the cross-strap of her bag, tension furling.
She wondered if she could just scream I want to give you this, let me give you this, I want to give you everything, be selfish with me, just ask me and it’s yours, yours, yours, just say the word, put me to the test, let me prove it across the connection, or if that would be too blunt.
She opted for a subtler option. For now. “Seeing as we’re breaking tradition, we could change the tea out as well.”
Peppermint?
“I thought you might prefer rosehip. Or something floral.”
It’s your tongue, darling.
Astrid nipped her lower lip.
“I like sharing my tongue with you.”
She felt his train of thought stutter, before heating.
You’re playing a dangerous game, Astra, Loki warned, dark and edging into primal, shifting into a voice behind her left ear that seemed spoken through gritted teeth.
Astrid startled, almost tripping, as she felt the sensation of the pads of his fingers swiping at her inner thigh.
Her brain short-circuited for a moment.
Hm. Are you curious, darling?
She bit her lip, restraining the impulse to goad him further.
Following Loki revealing how he could twist his magic into her through their link, Astrid had begun asking about the possibilities. The conversation had been mostly practical- but the thought had occurred to her, even if she had quickly become distracted when it struck her exactly how ingenious the method was, how brilliant Loki was, how blithely oblivious he seemed to that fact.
But now- despite herself, folding her lip between her teeth in an effort to pin her unravelling thoughts in place- Astrid lingered over exactly how far and how intensely he could project sensation into her, how much sensory feedback he received back through their link, and whether-
No. Nope. Nope, nope, no. Work first, North. We’ll explore that another time.
Despite the curl of delighted, thoroughly distracted mischief from Loki, he let the matter drop.
Astrid exhaled quietly, grateful.
Today, she was visiting an old friend. It would be unwise to arrive disarmed of her wits.
Astrid swung off the bridge and into West Looe, swerving in a hairpin turn back down the hill, sinking into the warren of the town. There were only a few figures out in the midmorning light, walking dogs or tending to their boats, the quiet seeming to echo against the rush of the sea. The narrow streets were barely broad enough to accommodate a single car, the cobbles uneven and worn smooth underfoot, none of the structures more than two or three stories tall; most of them were at least a century or two old, patchworked with modern features, dating to the days of smugglers and portside inns and the great age of sail, their timbers ancient and their walls full of ghosts and memories.
She came to a halt outside a particular storefront.
The entire street was built into the incline of the hill, its rowhouses sitting a foot or so below the edge of the pavement, squatting low. The windows of the ground floor were almost level with Astrid’s crown, the sills above within reach if she cared to make the short jump, walls a washed white between dark Tudor beams.
Astrid tipped her head up a millimetre, the aperture of her senses opening to sweep the interior, as she read the sign affixed above the door.
Witches’ Brew, it read, white font upon a rich violet backing. On the left side of the sign was the outline of a cat, paws upon the rim of a bubbling cauldron to peer at the contents.
Bookshop, was added underneath, in smaller, blunter font. Tarot. Occult. Café.
You know, Loki commented, there is an infusion made from íviðia blossoms called witches’ brew.
Astrid tipped her head. “Really?” She asked softly.
Mother sent some blossoms to my cell recently- if you care to share my tongue later?
She winced into a grin, knowing that he wasn’t going to let that go any time soon. “Mm, in exchange for cream tea?” She teased.
Astrid felt a pair of arms slip and loop around her midriff, a mouth skimming her crown.
She felt the gentle billow of his sigh, the phantom of his chest against her back.
You drive quite a bargain.
With a faint smile, Astrid stepped down to the shop’s door, and turned the handle.
A classic shopkeeper’s bell chimed overhead, jostled into motion, before the door clicked shut behind her.
She was met with the fragrance of incense- a thicker, heavier curtain of agarwood, compared to the delicately floral smoke that lingered in the training halls where she grew up, and which her father preferred- blended with the earthiness of burned white sage, and coffee grounds.
The shop was quiet. Her steps were muffled by a dark patterned carpet, the space airy and inviting, despite the low ceilings and semi-subterranean position. At the right, the space folded into a geometric puzzle of tall bookshelves, walls paved with spines, the stacks labelled by genre with signs in blackboard and chalk, a few tables laid out with bricks of bestsellers and new arrivals. To her left was the register- unoccupied, with a bell to ring for service- and several tables and shelves, displaying various occult-themed wares. There were box-trays of tumbled, semi-precious gemstones, kitsch plastic goblets with dragons curled around their stems, dowsing crystals and decorative glass figurines, starter guides to palmistry and divining the stars.
Her eyes skipped past all of them, and up.
A large sign was placed at the bottom of a flight of narrow stairs. It advertised the café on the second floor, and tea leaf readings.
Astrid didn’t move to ring the bell on the counter, but the one at the door must have been enough.
“I’ll be right with you, dear!”
A woman’s voice called down from the upper floor. It was American-accented, almost neutral, but underscored with something in the region of Massachusetts.
Astrid smiled, folding her arms and turning away.
“That’s alright!” She replied, voice raised to carry as clear as struck crystal, twisting at the waist to speak over her shoulder. “Take your time! I’m here to see a friend.”
Movement upstairs stilled.
A beat passed, before Astrid felt the familiar crackle of magical wards being activated.
Loki reacted, his mana surging into her nerves with a precision that knocked the breath from her chest, pressing up to the surface of her skin, preparing to force his own counter-wards into her flesh.
Catching her breath, fingers fluttering at the foreign magic in her blood, Astrid sent him a gentle nudge of reassurance.
“Did you not hear the word friend, Agatha?” She yelled up, tone dry and hip cocking. “Your wards didn’t react when I walked in. Now would you please quit it?”
Before Loki tries to rip apart your spellwork and fracture your magical core in the backlash, she added internally.
Don’t tempt me, darling, Loki warned, poised like an adder to strike. Who is she?
The wards lingered, bristling like spines- before settling back.
A moment later, Astrid heard footsteps, and the creak of the ageing banister under new weight.
As I said. She’s a friend… of a sort.
Of a sort?
The subject of discussion halted, a few steps above ground floor.
Astrid remained with her back turned for several seconds, shoulder blades open and unguarded.
After deeming that her message had sufficient time to sink in- if it was going to at all- Astrid turned.
It had been about a century and a quarter, chronologically, since they had last seen each other- during the last of her father’s missions that Astrid had accompanied him on, before she had gone looking for answers.
The inciting incident that drove her to look for answers, in fact.
True to form, however, Agatha Harkness had adapted, and today was the very image of a modern, new-age witch.
Stocky, square-jawed, and casually confident, she possessed the mien and bone structure that would command the description of a handsome woman. Dressed in plimsoles, thick black leggings, and a cable-knit sweater the exact velvety depth of wolfsbane, she looked deceptively, cosily middle-class, her dark chestnut hair styled in a cloud of tight waves to her shoulders, framing her fair, round face and dark cobalt eyes.
“Well.” She draped an elbow across the rail, sleeves rolled back, sizing Astrid up with a wide, crooked smile and a gaze as hard as flint. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
Astrid was simultaneously reminded of a salacious, bored housewife with a mind like a steel trap, and a large crocodile sunbathing by the water’s edge.
“It’s good to see you, Agatha,” Astrid said sincerely, light as air. “You look well. I’m glad.”
She tried to sacrifice my soul to Mephistopheles once, Astrid admitted to Loki, deciding that it would be better to get it out of the way now.
She did what? Loki snarled, alarmed.
Long story. Daddy stepped in. She came to regret it.
She could feel Loki glaring into her. Because you made her regret it, or because she decided to regret it? Because that’s quite a distinction, darling.
Astrid almost laughed. His mind was always so quick.
Alright, fine. A little of both.
Jaw and mouth pursed tightly, Agatha’s eyes flitted sharply across and behind Astrid’s form, darting as dragonflies.
Astrid softened her stance, loosening her limbs and opening her posture.
“It’s just us,” she said reassuringly.
Conveniently, Astrid did not mention that us included the sorcerer-prince whose mind was currently linked to her nervous system.
Astra.
His tone was grim, steeled, but quietly restrained.
Astrid sensed the unspoken undercurrent underneath- that he wanted her out of that shop, now.
Astrid reached for him, slotting herself into his edges, feeling him shift to accommodate her.
Please trust me, Loki. I have this.
She felt him hesitate, her calm focus an emollient.
Besides, she added. You might find that you like her.
I highly doubt that, dove, Loki replied haughtily, even as he relented.
She kept silent. Something told her that Loki would refuse to see the similarities, even if she informed him of exactly how her long story with Agatha had ended.
Agatha’s expression had stiffened slightly, eyes narrowing to a squint.
“Just so that we’re clear,” she drawled, gesturing vaguely across her with a jabbing index finger, “you’re not here to check in on me, or- drag me away to some kind of tribunal, are you?”
Astrid tipped her head consideringly. “Have you done anything to warrant it?”
Once again, Astrid opted not mention that she already had a fair idea of the answer. She had made it her responsibility to know; confidence in her decision didn’t negate the gamble, and Astrid wouldn’t ignore her culpability if things went sour.
As far as she could tell, however, Agatha had been smart. She had spent the years since they had last seen each other travelling and researching and collecting, restraining herself to a few petty grudges, mild curses, and mostly harmless, mostly necessary fraud. All in all, nothing that Astrid had found worth getting into a snit over.
Besides. That thing with the carnivorous rabbit had been pretty funny.
Astrid could feel Loki trying to pretend that he wasn’t intrigued.
Agatha snorted. “Not in my book, but we both know that doesn’t mean much. Even my best behaviour means being a little badsometimes.”
“Mm. Well, so long as they deserved it, I’m happy to remain ignorant.”
Brows raised, corners of her mouth tugging into a shrug, Agatha looked pleasantly surprised.
“Huh. Well, in that case- it’s good to see you too, Little Miss Dante,” she said wryly, dragging out the old nickname as though she were dusting off a spellbook, descending the last few steps. “Now that we’ve got the formalities out of the way, how have you been for the past- oh, hundred and thirty years or so?”
“Not quite so long on my side, Madame Virgil,” Astrid admitted, satin-smooth as sugar ribbons, “but I’ve- been busy.”
The Divine Comedy? Loki noticed.
Mm, good catch.
He paused, quietly assessing- before relaxing slightly in realisation.
Aha. I see.
Astrid held down her smile, but sent its warmth in his direction.
“And what about your dish of a father?” Agatha asked.
“Not interested, Agatha.”
And still hung up on whoever gave him that watch.
“Huh. Pity.” Agatha paused, appraising Astrid with long, slow sweeps. One forearm folded against her lower ribs, the opposite hand raised, fingertips rubbing together. “Any luck, then, dear, with that little- soul-searching identity quest of yours?”
Lifting one shoulder, Astrid let herself smile abstrusely.
“Some. Thank you for asking.”
“Well, you know. I like to know who and what I’ve made a deal with,” she said, head lowered into an unblinking stare, as though wondering how Astrid’s liver might taste, “as a rule.”
“It’s a good rule.” She said mildly.
Agatha looked at her for a long moment, one corner of her mouth and eye tensing- then straightened, clapping her palms together and spinning on her heel.
“Well, since you came all this way- fancy some tea? I could read your leaves for you! I must say, I’ve gotten pretty good- or, well, as good as you can get, with fortune-telling. It’s always a bit of a crapshoot, you know. Less mess than the animal guts, though.”
Astrid adjusted the strap of her bag against her shoulder as Agatha began to head up towards the café, not even waiting for her reply.
“Why not? We do have a lot to catch up on.” She began to follow her up the stairs, drawing a shallow breath as she went in for the kill. “And I think I have a way to get Karmar-Taj off your back so that you can come out of hiding, so I’m sure you’ll want to-”
Agatha turned back to her sharply. “What?”
Her eyes were slightly wild, incredulous, and treacherously hopeful.
Reflecting briefly, Astrid supposed that she should feel a little bad.
That was, if not for the memory of choking sulphur, of her face and throat scorching with brimstone-heat, and the sound of dimensions ripping apart like adipose from muscle tissue and Agatha laughing broad and wild- just before Mephistopheles betrayed her, just before Astrid regained the strength to yank the witch away from the consequences of her own actions.
Just because she had forgiven did not mean she was inclined to be nice.
Besides. Agatha would respect her less if she was.
Loki watched her work, ruthlessly, using honesty as a weapon and the truth like she she owned it, cautious and amused and a little proud.
Astrid arched her brows, both at him and the witch standing before her.
“You didn’t think I’d come without a gift, did you?”
-
Some time later, a platter of a dozen shucked oysters in front of her, seated with a sea view and décor of scrubbed wood and clean white walls, Astrid made the first entry on her shopping list.
Tea leaves.
-
[PREVIOUS] | [MASTERLIST] | [NEXT]
#a hollow promise#cross posted on ao3#marvel fanfiction#avengers fanfiction#loki fanfiction#loki fanfic#loki x original female character#loki x ofc#loki odinson#loki laufeyson#loki friggason#mcu loki#post-avengers 2012#fix it au#no beta we die like canon by my blade#writing#chapter update#ao3 fanfic#ao3 writer#ao3 link
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
LONG-TERM EFFECTS OF SUFFERING
Blade X Reader | 1.8k
𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: gothic lit, dark fantasy, eventual smut.
𝖈𝖜: none, as of the moment.
𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘:
“When will death come for me? My patience is wearing thin.”
A skilled swordsman, hunter, and consumer of blood, Blade’s name is feared with a body count of over fifty thousand deceased hunters in the battlefield. From hundreds of enemies, he stood amongst other Stellaron Hunters for his ability to ingest blood and guts of mere mortals, something not expected of his kind. Kafka knows this, in fact all his fellow hunters and swordsmen have long figured out his insatiable hunger for the weak and frail.
But in spite of his endless meals since he found the world, he has embarked on a personal quest. That is, to find the perfect mate worth consuming (and perhaps, killing) for the sake of lifting the curse that brought about his immortality.
Blade never played soft with his intentions, and he never portrayed himself as a sweet man with whom he went in for the kill. He was never gentle, not even in his pursuit of the little old you—a fragile princess protected by the security of your father’s kingdom.
You were but a princess confined to four walls for you held on a special ability which was able to slowly kill whoever got ahold of you. After accidentally poisoning your soon-to-be husband in a wedding, your father decided to lock you far away in his other castle, doomed to never experience the beauty of marriage or intimate affairs.
Blade craved death far more than you needed air to breathe, and upon Kafka’s discovery of your existence, she alerts him of a potential cure to his immortality—your soul.
The man himself keeps this in mind, and will stop at nothing but to hunt you down, granting he draws his final breath after one night with you.
𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊:
Just a heads up, because I have yet to admit this, but I don’t, and actually never played Honkai Star Rail. So perhaps you can expect some OOC Blade and canon divergence, though I also did some research. However, seeing this man made me go through some kind of brainrot. It’s official. I have the HOTS FOR THIS MAN. So I cooked up this fic.
Minors and ageless blogs don’t interact. I whipped this up last minute because I have a lot of spare time with my hands.
Not proofread. No beta we die like men!
CHAPTER ONE — CHAPTER TWO.
Chapter One || Haunted By Yours Truly
“Bladie…..ravaging your opponent at this point may seem a little….uncalled for. Perhaps you should take some time off.”
A tall, dark-haired man bent over to take a closer inspection of the body laid before him. Stretching out his arm forward to check on the corpse’s eyes, they turned out to be rolled all the way back, signifying that the body was lifeless indeed. Going by the name Blade, he looked up at his fellow Stellaron Hunter Kafka with those ferocious, feisty eyes of crimson hue.
“And what if I don’t?”
Kafka’s smile dropped, Blade hinting at the slightest sign of annoyance as she kept watch on his every move.
“Bladie….we can’t be stuck around dwelling on what’s already been ruined.” Kafka sighed. “You’re out for the princess, remember?”
“Suit yourself. I have yet another soul to devour, should death approach me upon consuming it. Out of my way.”
Thick air engulfed the dark hallways, Blade and Kafka standing before corpses that laid bare on the floor as a result of their attack on your beloved kingdom. After single-handedly killing almost every guard with their lethal weapons, they ensured no one shall be spared. That is, if it means finding the antidote to lifting Blade’s curse.
He was far too stubborn, just far too stubborn. Blade leaned closer onto the corpse’s neck, locating sensitive areas worth having his teeth to sink in. He searched far and wide for an erogenous zone with minimal difficulty, marking his territory by entering a halt once he found the right spot. His face leaned closer to the corpse’s neck in a rather intimate distance; the heat of his breath felt upon as he opened his mouth wide open.
And in that moment, Blade’s sharp canines sank and buried itself into the thin layer of skin. He bit hard enough in a way that sent piercing, prickling pain to the receiver, granting the corpse was still alive to feel the sensation. The approach was harsh, without falter. His teeth sank under and bit hard enough to draw blood. What wasn’t there, however, is its ability to kill upon consumption.
Blade dipped his tongue onto the wound, savoring the beads of blood that leaked out of the fresh cut. Bleh. The taste was nasty, leaving no room for Blade to keep suckling further. Instantly pulling away, he coughed at the sight of the mess he just caused.
“Too much iron. Not a good sign.” Blade scoffed. “Not the best way to bring about the limits of the flesh.”
“Bladie, we don’t wanna waste time. If all you’re searching for is the cure for your condition, I believe it is best if we start looking elsewhere for the princess.” Kafka announced.
“Tch. Fine. But convince me the search will be worth it.”
Kafka and Blade left the blood-stained halls as they embarked on a mission to find remnants of your presence. It was quite a long and tedious journey, traveling across different regions for the sake of finding a worthy cause for Blade’s incoming death.
It was but a miracle that Kafka has established some connections with the divine and spiritual—she recently made friends with a wandering witch amongst the people who told her of a possible cure to immortality. Upon remembering her comrade, she made it an essential task to tell Blade of the good news. Not even the members of the Astral Express knows about this plane of existence, but since Kafka believed helping Blade gave her a sense of fulfillment, she made it a goal to seek an antidote if it meant risking certain abilities. Thankfully, there was not much required of her upon meeting and consulting the witch for help.
“No one here,” Blade observes. “It seems as if this place is abandoned. Not even the Aeons know what happened in these ruins.”
“Let’s just keep searching, alright, Bladie?” Kafka winked.
“Halt!” yelled a guard who stormed out of nowhere.
Blade drew his sword, ready to charge his blade towards the guard only to suddenly stop upon an interjection.
“Wait, please!” the guard retorted. “I can explain!”
“Oh?” Kafka crossed her arms, smiling. “Very well, Bladie, let’s hear this man out, shall we?”
“If…..if you’re looking for the king and his daughter, they’ve moved to another castle!”
“Pfffft. Is that so?” Blade sneered. “Well then, show me the ropes. Where can I find this kingdom?”
“I-It’s….it’s located on the far north within the Xianzhou Loufu, I-I promise it’s not too far away! I’ve pers-“
“Enough talk. Let’s go, Kafka.”
“Wait, about the princess!” the guard exclaimed. “The princess is currently on lockdown, so it’ll be forbidden to visit her chamber, just a heads up!”
“Whatever. We’ll make sure to have a word with her.” Blade replied.
“But you don’t understand! If you try courting the princess, the king will kill you! I could go on about how the princess’ father is quite strict! He’ll come after you if you ever tried to harm his daughter!”
“Tch. Whatever. Let’s go.”
The guard’s wails waned as Blade and Kafka left the halls, footsteps echoing amidst the darkness. The sun set hours ago, the castle’s windows lighting up to mark the sight of night engulfing the sky like a wide blanket. Inside the castle were you and your father. You wore a cream-beige gown that faded to white at its base, much to your father’s choice of clothes. It’s not like you had any other choice, your father prohibited you from wearing anything skimpy and revealing, so as to not attract the eyes of unwanted men.
“Daddy, am I going to bed this early? I’m thinking it’s a bit too early.” you asked. “What if I’m not all that sleepy?”
“Your mother said so.” your father, the King of Xianzhou Luofu, replied. “While she’s out of town, you better meet her expectations of getting the most rest, for you shall need that energy when you reign Queen.”
“I’m not that sleepy,” you retorted. “I’m sure she’ll understand that. It’s not like I’ll loiter around the kingdom again.”
“You don’t get it, [Name].” your father frowned, looking at you with a dead serious expression on his face. “After you were scheduled in marriage with the man who has kissed you with his bare lips, his slow, agonizing death was uncalled for. We do not want to risk the lives of other men as well as your womanhood.”
“Is it….is it because of my special ability, dad? Why was I cursed with it anyways? Why am I cursed with poisoning whoever gets a taste of me?”
Your father was bombarded with numerous questions. He didn’t want to spill the secret there and then, but he had to. He bowed his head and started to speak hesitantly as you could only helplessly stare at him with that innocent curiosity.
“Fine, I’ll tell you everything.” your father frantically spoke. “Me and your mother…..were unable to conceive a child. It was obligatory for us to preserve the bloodline, so we had to contact a witch to actually carry out a remedy. She stated that provided we are granted a child, we must face the consequences—it is that you will be cursed with a fatal kiss that can only be healed through the right man’s touch. We were also reminded to never tell anyone of this curse, if we do not want to face bad luck.”
“And it turned out that the man I married during my wedding wasn’t the right one?” you asked.
“I’m afraid so. It is but a rare condition, I can’t imagine having to deal with such a burden. So hear this, you’re better off without anyone as of this moment. We are still on the lookout for offering you the right man to be your husband.” your father replied.
“Are we finished yet, miss [Name]?” a servant appeared from behind.
“Ah! Yes, yes…..!!!!”
“By the way, there’s a gift waiting for you outside the palace, my Lord. I assume it’s one of your favorite drinks.” the servant said, tapping the shoulder of your father. “Blueberry champagne.”
“Ah, hand it over, please. I’ll drink it before bed.” your father requested. “Who might be this guest?”
“I’m afraid there is no label from where the product came from,” the servant replied. “But a commoner called Kafka introduced herself before delivering it to the castle’s main entrance.”
“Very well then, might I invite Kafka to stay here some time. I would like to thank her for knowing my taste in liquor.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
The servant left, leaving you and your father to dine. The conversation was pretty much nothing out of the ordinary—it was just another day of being showered with wealth and splendor exclusively celebrated by the royal families. You immediately got up from the dining area after a heartfelt interaction with your father, rushing to your room and changing into sleepwear. Your father always liked buying you dainty chemises, for he believed they suited your doll-like figure best.
Sounds of plates and glasses were being arranged along with other miscellany as the clock struck ten o’ clock. A princess like you was recommended at least ten hours of sleep, as to get rid of your dark circles and to prep you up for your everyday, luxurious skincare routine. It was only a week after you and your father moved castles. He spent all his wealth trying to cast you away from unwanted men peeking at you, let alone court you. Your father was surely an overprotective man who didn’t want his daughter engaging in unlawful acts, provided every man you hooked up with ended up poisoned.
The servants have already rushed to their rooms after a long day of tending to the dishes. You didn’t wait until midnight to drift off to sleep, it was only ten thirty when your eyes sealed shut without a care in the world. Your father was the one that stayed up, his sleeping schedule remaining inconsistent. But it wasn’t as if it mattered. After all, he makes the rules of his own castle.
A man of muscular, yet lanky frame took notice of your father still at the dining table from the windows. This man was revealed to be the one who has purchased a bottle of your father’s favorite champagne, your father not knowing it was drugged with a powerful sleeping pill.
“Ah, more glasses of champagne, please.” your father requested.
“As you wish, my Lord.” complied another servant.
Fizzy bubbles of champagne filled the glass, offered to the King like the drunkard he was becoming. The servants didn’t care much, some of them chuckling at the King’s gullibility. The lights at the dining table were dimly lit, and it wasn’t long before the King fell asleep, drugged at the dining table.
#hsr blade#hsr x reader#blade x reader#blade x female reader#x reader#blade x you#honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x you
67 notes
·
View notes
Text
• STAY A WHILE •
pairing: kas!vamp eddie munson x (she/her) reader
summary: an unexpected guest tends to put a kink into things…
warning: 18+ content, mdni, adult language; canon divergence, enemies to lovers trope, season 4 spoilers; first half is straight up porn, previous series parts mentioned, internal dialogue, hardcore vamp shower sex, blood, gore, y/n count: 2, fluffy fluff, trauma responses & bonding, physical fighting, (unprotected) p in v, grief, violence, etc.
word count: ~8.6k
reblogs & thoughtsies are so appreciated pweaze 👹
• stories of eddie munson • season two • previous part •
note: this is for you, anonymous ♥️✨some influence from true blood & other vamp media, i ain’t gonna lie! also here are some smut resources I used to up my game; instead of & this spencer reid edit (so fahking hot).
thank you to @nackrosor for taking the time to beta read this part! you and your thoughts are so so appreciated and you truly helped make this part 10x better. ii think we make a great duo and i am very thankful. my loves, please check her out - her stories and, particularly, her smut is to die for...
Ten minutes. Ten minutes have passed. Ten minutes have passed and the water remains heated. You find it baffling. A shower surprisingly still warm to the touch. It feels good, better than you had imagined. Just like how his arms are still wrapped so tightly around you. Tightening with every second that passes. It feels good, better than you had imagined.
Ten minutes have passed and his arms are still hot to the touch. He hasn’t moved his forehead from your shoulder. His breath still a light breeze against your back. Your cheek rests upon his temple, digging deeper into the comforting embrace. His hair smells of honey. It’s soft, softer than you remember.
“Kas,” you coo. Kas’ head immediately perks up, but his arms continue to grip around you. “Why does your hair smell like honey?” you ask with all sincerity. He smiles as he returns to his rest. You can hear the soft laughter before a slow inhale. “You know, I’m not really sure.” He finds the topic random, but enjoyable. He wouldn't expect anything different from you. He would do anything, any thing to help you feel better.
You look over your shoulder, pinning your chin against your muscle. He pulls away naturally. Your eyes rake over that gentle face, pausing at each feature - taking him in. “Did you find a conditioner out there or something?” you ask but a laugh interrupts you. An unspoken understanding of how odd the conversation topic is and yet, it’s better than talking about your new-found reality.
Kas huffs, truly thinking about the concept. “No,” he shakes his head. “I was more focused on food than my hair to be honest.” You gasp, making him jump. He chuckles at his startled reaction. “How could anything come before your hair?” you inquire. His smile matches yours as he places a kiss upon your shoulder blade. Your eyes close as his lips press gently onto your skin. You soak in the sensation as though it may be your last.
“Okay, maybe I found some gel somewhere,” he admits with a tilt of his head. His front teeth biting into his lower lip. You turn your head back to the faucets, leaning further back into his chest. “For the bandana, right?” you mutter. “Yeah, for the bandana.” He adjusts his hands, but pulls you in closer as you rest between his legs. The water now rushes against your stomach.
Kas tucks his chin into the nape of your neck. He places a peck on your skin before nuzzling in some more. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks hesitantly. You let the words float, contemplating a response. You note how your chest feels more open, that you can actually breathe. Your head feels centered and balanced, no longer light.
You could talk about it, if you wanted to. And yet, “Talk about what?” He lets out a breathy laugh as he hugs you tighter. Each squeeze gives you an ounce of your life back, an ounce of control. “Nothing, darlin’,” he says with another light kiss. You center your breathing, taking a deep exhale as you lean further into his embrace.
You stop - you feel something. It's not physical. It's not sweet. Your eyes closed and your heart opened, enough where you were startled awake again. You find comfort in him, in his hold. This time, fully aware, that these arms are not Eddie's. This chest is not his, nor these kisses. What you are loving, appreciating in this moment - these are Kas' actions. Kas is opening your heart...
“Should we-we should probably stand,” you suggest. Your hands reach the lipping of the tub. You push up as his arms fall to his side without retaliation. Kas follows behind with eyes to the shower’s floor. “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he mumbles as he steps out. His soaked black jeans limit his movements almost comically.
You reach for his wrist, wrapping your fingers around it. The action not tethered to your conscious, but here you are having to explain it. His eyes land on your grip and then trace up your arm and to your face. “You can stay,” you whisper. His eyes slightly light up as he takes in a breath. “I-I need help getting my back,” you quickly lie. A smile pulls to his right side as he nods. “Of course.”
Kas leans onto his other leg, still being drenched by the water, but you quickly stop him. “Those must hurt. You should take them off,” you suggest. Your eyes lift to his. Innocence fills them, and that same innocence he sees. He likes this side of you. He nods before taking off his jeans and boxers. You could see where the denim had irritated his iridescent skin. With a deep breath, you quickly raise your eyes. "A-and your bandana too."
Something changed between you both. Why fight it?
Kas stands before you, completely bare as you are for him. Your eyes travel from his lips, to the nervous swallow of his adam’s apple, to his collar bone. Your body craves his skin, craves a bite and a kiss against those bones. You revel over Eddie’s tattoos. The spider that you aimed for any time you fell asleep on his chest. The light brown happy trail that leads to his finely groomed bush. Your heart races at the sight of his cock. You try not to let your emotions show, but you take in a sharp breath through your nostrils.
You missed his body. You have missed it every second since that night.
As you finally make your way back up to his eyes, you realize he has been watching you the entire time. A smile thick upon his face. Despite your blush, you grab hold of the soap and lather your hands. "You coming?" He softly chuckles as he takes a step into the tub. He faces you, awaiting your love. “Turn,” you instruct while guiding his body to turn around. You were not yet ready for any head on act.
Kas watches you through the corner of his eye while you massage his back. You recognize the little beauty marks you like to trace here and there. There was always one to mirror the other. A pair of beauty marks on his left shoulder blade. One at his mid-back, a mark on either side of his spine. But your hands stop at the rough surface of his lower back. The scars you do not remember. The scars that are not his. They are Kas’ scars.
Despite its healing, the wound remains pink with ripples of dark red. It rips around his waist and to his stomach. You have seen it, this huge break in his skin, but you haven’t been able to study it. To really see the pain that caused and followed the injury. You are careful to touch it, careful not to hurt him. He has been through so much.
You lower your hands onto his butt cheeks without hesitation. Kas lets out a sheepish giggle as he steps forward, as though he didn’t expect it. His reaction catches you off guard, leaving you with confusion and a chuckle. “You ticklish?” you ask as you grip against his cheeks again. He yelps as he presses his palms upon the tiled wall. You laugh alongside him. Did you find his weakness? His ass? “I just didn’t see that coming,” he murmurs out of breath. “I’ll move on I guess,” you lead as you tauntingly giggle. You crouch as your hands fall to his thighs and down to his calves. He drops a harsh breath as his finger taps against his outer thigh.
As you raise, your hand trails up his soft body. Your fingers light upon his skin as you trace them up to the crook of his neck. You step aside to allow the hot water to splash against his pinking back. Your hand still travels his body, slowly making its way to his devilish jawline. A fingertip lands at his chin, guiding his face back towards you. The smile has now disappeared. He peers down at you with a flat lip. His eyes scream for your attention, but you are stuck glaring down on his cock standing straight as ever. “So predictable,” you murmur as you step forward. His dick now resting at your hip as your finger brushes a curled lock behind his ear.
Your eyes return to his, expecting his sex gaze that usually ends with a leaned in kiss, but you are left surprised. His brows are perplexed as he places space between you two. No sex in his eyes. He looks at you as though he was finally able to see you, to examine you just as you had with him. His finger brushes against your right ribs which rips a wince from your lips. You turn down to see a purple, yellow bruise beneath your breast thickly spread across your side. His eyes turn to the side of your face.
His finger guides your chin to the right as he observes the harsh red line wrapping your neck. It is almost as though his attention pulled your own. The unfortunate act that now has you feeling every ounce of pain within your body. With a shift of your weight, you can feel all your joints screaming and on fire.
“I’m sorry he hurt you,” Kas mutters as he reaches for the soap. He rubs it across your chest, desperate not to make eye contact with you. His eyes are down like those of a child who’s done wrong. He lathers the soap across your skin gently. He pays special attention to the beaten parts of you. However, you could barely notice his level of care. Your gaze had deadened, blurred to all hell, once reminded of your injuries. Somehow, you find comfort in knowing that your pain matches his. That you two are tethered together. Your bodies telling the story of your combined tragedy.
He breaks your train of thought with five simple words. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he says flatly. His touch still delicate on your body. This time you purposefully seek out his eyes, ducking down to find them. Once met and he could not longer hide, you can see the tears welling within them. You can stare into his brown, red flaked eyes without worry. Your hand instinctually floats to his cheek. Your thumb caresses him and he leans deeper into your palm. The silence feels comfortable, natural, enjoyable between you two, as though you have done this for years.
You lean into him with eyes closed. He watches you like a deer in headlights. Your lips lightly land upon his, a soft kiss that causes electricity to fire throughout both your bodies. The sweetness distinct as you open your mouth and take his tongue in. Its strong force thick upon yours. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer and closer into you. He crashes even harder against you. His hands gripping onto your hips before wrapping around your mid back.
Kas pins you on the cool tiled wall. Your fingers dig into his back. He quickly tucks his hand beneath your thigh, hiking your foot up and onto the tub’s ledge. His moans reverberate upon your lips and you pull him deeper and deeper. Your fingernails digging into his skin. Both of your breaths hot, fast, and harsh.
“Kas,” you whimper as his kisses travel down your chin and onto your neck. Your hips rut against his throbbing cock. He moans above your skin as he grinds opposing your force. The water rushes between you two with such pleasure. Your hand reaches for him, tightening your fingers around his girth. A thumb brushing across the threshold of his tip. You bite into his bottom lip as he breathes heavily against you. He pulls back into a smile, ripping away and leaving blood in both your mouths.
You rush your movements, taking the sight of him in. Those furrowing brows. Those fluttering eyelids. That hanging mouth and rising chin as he feels every bit of bliss from your touch. You swear this breathing halts. He struggles to speak, inevitably licking his lips and forgetting his words. God, how you enjoyed turning this strong man into a puddle! His forehead presses against yours.
Kas' forehead presses against yours lazily. “Fuck, y/n,” he exasperates. You hastily pull away, almost throwing yourself against the wall. He stares back at you with widening eyes. His hands falling from your body just to raise slowly, in case he did something he shouldn't have. But he didn't do anything, it's the name. Your name that has suddenly become unfamiliar. A name to reference a life lived and a life lost. The name of a girl who only knew innocence and barely met love. A girl who died when her soulmate passed away saving the town and avenging the death of a friend.
A girl who no longer exists.
“Just-,” you start, unclear of where the sentence may end. “D-don’t call me that. Not anymore.” His head tilts as he attempts to place a comforting hand at your side, but you push his arm aside, refusing his coddling. His eyes fall again, taking a deep swallow as they do. “What should I call you?” he asks in a whisper.
Your brows pull, tight and furrowed. The question is perplexing. You have just realized that you no longer identify with yourself and now, what? You have to come up with a name? You shake your head, hoping to erase the memories like an etch-n-sketch. “Just keep calling me ‘darlin,’” you whisper. "You're good at that."
Kas hesitantly raises his hand to your cheek. At first, you dodge him with a quivering lip, but he decides to press forward, landing his palm upon your cheek. “Yes, darlin’,” he murmurs as he meets your gaze. He understood what was happening without another word needing to be said. You nod along exhaustingly. Your hand meeting his hip and trailing up towards his neck.
You pull him roughly against your mouth, wanting to end the conversation as quickly as possible. His tongue adamantly slides past your lips as your nails dig into him once again. His hand presses against your hip, pushing you harshly against the wall. You could feel his body tensing atop you. You cannot think of a better place to be.
Both bodies move with grace. Kas lifts you with strong hands at your ass while your leg curls behind his. His cock at your entrance as he slowly lowers your waist onto him. His breath on your face as you mewl from the euphoric sensation. He thrusts firmly, causing gasps to drop from your lips. His girth reaches all your crooks and crannies. He fills you up and you are dying for more.
Your back slides up and down against the wall. Your wet hair snarls together. He buries himself in you. Deep, dark thrusts that make you want to scream with pleasure. He heaves against you, struggling to sustain the kisses on your neck as your tightening walls pull his attention. His hot breath upon your skin leaves you aching, aching for something more. Something you don’t yet know.
“God, fuck,” Kas grumbles against you. His ruts become harder and harder. "You feel so g-good." Your nails dig deeper, ripping up his back without care. Eyes beginning to roll as he quickens. Moans fall from your lips as you press the crown of your head upon the wall. Your neck extends as you do.
A seething breath rips from Kas, halting his movement. He still holds you close against him, tightly wound as he’s stiff within you. “I-I,” he whispers as he pulls from your neck. His eyes turn up to the ceiling as he lets out a shaking exhale. You study him. How his mouth hangs open. How his body stills, tenses, and pulls away.
“No,” you plead as you bring him closer. He keeps his head away, trying so hard to keep his eyes up despite your strong pull. You loosen your grip at his efforts. “Help me understand,” you whisper. “I just need a second,” he answers quickly, finally closing his eyes. He takes another chilling and shaken breath. “It’s hard not to,” he mumbles. “Not to what?” Your eyes seek for the answer.
Kas slowly opens his eyes and leads his gaze towards your neck. He takes a deep breath before shutting his eyes and kissing the exposed, sensitive skin. You understood as soon as you felt his touch. He wants it. He wants you, but not in a way that anyone has wanted you before. “Do it,” you whisper, tilting your head to the right. Not a second thought runs through your mind. He raises from your neck, proud of himself before reacting to your words with worry.
“Come on,” you urge softly. He shakes his head with a stiff lip. Why is he making this harder on you? On him? With a huff, you pull him closer once more. Your hips simultaneously grinding upon him. The friction explodes between you two. You both moan into each other's mouths, dying from absolute pleasure. His eyes shutting tight before roughly opening back to yours. "Tell me what you want," he says sternly. "I want a reason to give it to you so badly."
A gasp escapes you in response to his abrupt demand. It forces you to finally acknowledge the burning desire to be consumed by him in a way that truthfully scares you to your core. “Bite me, Kas.” He stares into you, almost into your soul, to determine whether or not you are serious. And without a second passing, he pulls your hips harshly upon himself. He sends rough and quick thrusts, burying himself within, that roll your eyes to the back of your head.
As soon as your eyelids close, Kas sinks his sharpened teeth into your neck. You let out a gasp filled moan. The pain excruciating but it quickly subsides. You can feel the dense, warm liquid trailing down your chest. He rams harder and harder with each bite. His mouth and tongue delightful against your sensitive skin.
You could not imagine his touch feeling any better and yet the added light headed sensation pushes you closer and closer to exploding and reaching the high you desperately crave. “Oh god,” you choke out as your fingers rake through his hair. Your bodies bounce off of one another. A devilish and wet smacking echoing within the room. The now cold water feeling refreshing.
He pulls up for air, inhaling deeply, as he lays his love drunk eyes upon you. Blood drips from the sides of his mouth and the tip of his nose. It's crimson flows in tandem with the water and spirals its way down the drain. Naturally, you attempt to turn around, trying to offer what you consider is the best of yourself. “No.” He stops you with gentle hands at your waist. “I want to see you. All of you.”
Innocently, Kas brings a thumb to his fang, pricking it ever so lightly. He offers it to you while sustaining slow, powerful ruts that make your knees buckle. You open your mouth without delay. He places the finger at the curl of your tongue. You wrap your lips around him as you suck in his intoxicating blood.
With a hiss, he murmurs, “Take it like a good girl.” He slams his hips against you, and you swear you will have more bruises by the end of this shower. The euphoric feeling drops your head in the clouds, desperate for its never ending status but sadly, your body can only take so much. “Fuck,” you purr. “I’m gonna…”
“Wait, darlin’,” Kas hushes. “Almost - I’m almost…” Thrust. Thrust. Thrust and …. You feel his body tense against you. Incoherent words mumbling out as he curls into you, his head on your neck yet again, but “darlin’” comes out clear as day. You love the idea of his seed within you. The pulsing feeling pushes you to reach your high right alongside him, dissolving into pleasure. It sends shockwaves throughout your body, making you weak as you cling onto him with sinful screams.
Pornographic sounds leave both your lips as you collapse into each other. Both bodies slide down until they fall onto the tub floor. They land where they began, holding each other underneath the streaming water. Heaving breaths escape you both as you lean onto one another for support.
Five minutes. Five minutes have passed. Five minutes have passed and you rest against his chest, lying between his thighs as the water crashes upon you both. At one point, he had placed his still bleeding thumb against your bite marks. They have since healed. The water washing away the evidence. It washes away the transgression.
“Darlin’,” Kas whispers just before kissing your forehead. “I know, we should probably get up,” you mutter. You rest your weight on your hand as you raise from his hold. He watches you with adoration in his eyes. If his pupils could switch shapes, they would be pure hearts. You would be lying if you didn’t think the same of yourself. Something changed here in this shower. What if things go back to normal once you leave?
Kas stands beside you. He places gentle hands at your hips, guiding you up and ensuring you’ve gained your balance. He steps out of the shower, breaking the seal before you could stop him. You watch him with eyes of wonder, waiting for him to revert to the asshole he was.
But he extends his hand to you. You take it curiously. He grabs hold of a hanging towel and wraps it around your shivering body. He rubs his hands up your back, trying to keep you warm. “Thank you,” you say. He smiles as he reaches for the other towel. He wraps it around his waist and quickly returns his hands to your back, rubbing as he does.
“I’m feeling like a nap,” Kas grumbles as he guides you out of the bathroom. You hum in excitement at the idea of sleep. You forgot how much you needed it. The reminder hits you like an 18 wheeler.
Entering the bedroom, you’re reminded of the disastrous sight before you. “I don’t think I can sleep in Reefer Rick’s sheets,” you shudder at the thought. “Hold on,” he says as he determinedly walks to the bed. He rips off the cheetah print and the stained checkered duvet. He drops them onto the ground and begins to dig into the dressers.
“Ahah,” he exclaims as he shakes a roll of burgundy sheets your way. “You get that end?” you suggest with a laugh. He nods and shakes out the fitted sheet. You grab hold of your side, tucking it under the corners of the mattress.
Kas lands atop of the bed in celebration of clean sheets, but immediately begins to roll like a wave. “What the hell?” he mumbles with his arms spread out. You laugh as you land a hand against the bed. “It’s a water bed, Kas,” you giggle. “The fuck?” he asks, struggling to sit up like a cat stuck in water.
You lay down, grabbing the pillows and stripping their sheets. “Can you grab me the pillow covers?” you ask as you point towards the dresser. He nods as he fumbles out of the bed. You burst into laughter watching him drop onto the floor. “I’m good!” He reaches into the drawer and throws the cases your way.
As you switch them out, you peer outside the sliding door to the patio. The purpled, deep mist still thick on the water. “Do you think that fog will ever let up?” you ask as you pat his pillow down. “Let me see,” he says as he struggles to open the door. It clearly hasn’t been used in some time.
Kas walks out, carefully stepping upon the rotten wood. He takes in a deep breath as he looks out into the fog. You stifle your giggle, trying to understand what he was doing. He turns around with absolute confidence, nodding his head hastily. He closes the door and dives back onto the water bed.
You smirk, working on your own pillow case. “Well?” you ask with a chuckle. He peers up at you, his neck all twisted, as he rests on the mattress. “Darlin’, I have no idea.” You laugh alongside him. He reaches for you, guiding you beside him as he rests his head upon your chest. Your fingers naturally run through his hair, tracing little circles on his temple.
“You know, I might just be alright dying here with you in Reefer Rick’s bedroom,” Kas murmurs as he digs deeper into your embrace. “You know, I might not be cool with you dying,” you say with a bit of awe. He smiles, but remains curled against your breast. “I actually want you to stay for a while,” you mutter under your breath. Embarrassment fills your cheeks with hot red. His hand tucks underneath your hip, pulling you closer. “Always,” he replies.
You fall asleep, tight within his arms. His light snoring is music to your ears. His warmth and weight on your chest is the best weighted blanket you could ask for. Sleep with Kas is easy. You feel safe with him by your side.
A series of crescendoing knocks echoes from downstairs.
You jump at the sound, instantly putting Kas in defensive mode. Both of you startled from your 45-minute sleep. "Did someone see us?" you ask with panic in your voice. The words come out automatically. His eyes squint with furrowing brows. He slowly shakes his head as he pushes up from the mattress. "I don't think so," he whispers as he makes his way to the dresser one again. His hands plunge into the drawer until they find a pair of black cotton shorts, something Eddie would never wear. He slugs them on before walking out the door with determination.
You rest hiding in your sheets, wondering if you should stand. A few silent seconds pass and you roll yourself off the water bed. You look into the still opened drawer. You can see where his hand brushed through all the rolled clothing, unfolding it. A large graphic tee decorated by MTV's logo catches your eye. It flows over your head and shoulders without difficulty. You have grown quite fond of oversized shirts in the last few weeks.
As you raise a pair of jeans atop your hips to see if they would fit, you hear a loud bang downstairs. Your heart drops as your palms grow sweaty. You were halfway down the staircase before you realized you were running. The noises never stopped. It sounded muffled, like items being tossed to the ground. You didn't start rushing until you heard glass crash.
The sight before you left your body frozen. Kas had someone pinned against the wall. His palms pressed heavily against the intruder's inner wrists. Glass shards are trickled throughout the carpet. The living room was quite the mess before, the only difference being the now escalating altercation in its midst.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" Kas yells. He raises the intruder's arm just to slam it back against the wall. You could barely see the person beneath him, but you try your best to grab a glimpse. "I-I-I," you hear stuttering falling from the smaller individual. Your hands' grip tightens against the banister.
Kas growls aloud as he pulls against the person's arm and drops them onto the floor behind him. He slowly turns around with a stone cold face you only recognize from the night prior. His eyes red, red once again, as he yells down at the intruder. "Tell me!" He gradually lands onto a knee beside the person's waist. His tightening knuckles gripping harshly at his collar.
Your eyes drop to the, now identifiable, boy as Kas straddles him. The curly brunette hair almost matched Kas', just a shade lighter. He is smaller, much smaller in stature and overall size. He cries, begging for him to stop. You hate yourself for not rushing to his aid but you are glued to the steps. Your body does not even give you the option.
As his head fell back onto the burnt orange carpet, the boy's baseball cap drops on the floor. You find yourself entranced by it, by its color. Kas lands a hard punch against his cheek when you finally make your way onto the carpet. You feel as though you were in a trance, as though the violence before you was just a blur in the background. All you wanted was to hold that cap, to take a better look. There was something about it. Something you didn't understand. Something that drew you to it.
You bend down to reach for it. The boy raises his hands, begging Kas to stop, but another punch lands against his face. The cap's hard visor rests between your two fingers. It's bright turquoise blue eerily familiar. As you turn it your way, you read "Thinking Cap" aloud. Finally, it makes sense and the whole world returns to its high definition.
Your raising eyes land upon Dustin Henderson and his bleeding, bruised face. Kas pulls him up by his collar just to plunge his sharp fangs into his neck. "Stop!" you scream as you lunge towards Kas. Your hands press harshly against his chest, pushing him off Dustin's body. Dustin gasps as he quickly applies pressure upon his wound. He inches away, fueled by adrenaline, but is still too weak to crawl.
As he stumbles back, Kas' eyes look through you. There was no emotion. No recognition. He was purely in a kill mode and nothing will pull him out of it. He reaches for Dustin once again, but you step in his way. "Stop," you lead. Your hands slowly raising. "We can talk about this." His gaze is stuck upon the cowering body behind you. "Do you know who that is?" he asks with a chilling tone.
You are forced to remember the stories of Dustin's betrayal. You try your best to keep in mind that you may not have had a reliable source, but those stories still make you sick to your stomach. "I know," you whisper under your breath. Kas scoffs, taking a step forward. "Then there's nothing to talk about."
You place your hand upon his chest - a simple gesture that you hope he will respect. He turns to look at you, this time with a look of disgust. Those red eyes pulling him further and further from the Kas that you have come to know. "Move," he demands with a chilling, deep voice. Your eyes begin to well as fear strikes your chest. Despite stifling your sobs, you shake your head in refusal. He pulls his eyes from you, scoffing as he peers down at Dustin.
With an abrupt movement, Kas pushes you out of the way with his hand. Your body crashes harshly against the glass display, cracking it behind you. You fall to your hands and knees against the shards thick within the carpet's fabric. Your blood rushing between your fingers. A whimper escapes you as you pull out the biggest pieces, but all you can hear is Dustin's breathless pleads. "Stop, Eddie, this isn't you." His voice quivers, terrified by the bloodied, murderous sight before him.
You wince at the sound of his name, knowing it would just cause more pain. Kas winds up a kick before digging it into Dustin's ribcage. An animalistic yell falling from his lips. You can hear sobs as the boy crumbles into himself. "Please," he whispers. The words almost as painful as the microscopic shards in your palm.
Despite the glass, you pick yourself up. Harsh exhales as you push off the ground. You know this isn’t Kas. Not the man who held you in the rolling hills, and certainly not the man who you’ve come to care for. No, this is a boy who only knows pain, loneliness, and abandonment. The boy with red eyes, who only comes out when brutally faced with memories of the past.
Your body moves independently, no longer connected with your consciousness. There is no guilt or second guessing. You need to protect Dustin, not for him or Kas, but for Eddie. You do this for Eddie Munson.
Your fingers wrap around a lamp post resting on a side table beside the filthy couch. You yank it from its place, pulling out its plug recklessly. With a single swing, you crash the lamp against the base of Kas’ spine. He falls down immediately, knocked out. His face flat and smushed against the floor across from Dustin’s. You still see his chest rising and falling. You hate the relief you feel from the sight.
“Dustin,” you whisper as you fall on your knees beside him. He is hurt, badly. You rush to apply pressure against the bite. You can feel his pulse beneath your finger tips. It’s strong. It gives you hope. He grumbles as you tilt him onto his back. “Dustin,” you plead. “Talk to me.” He lets out another sob, one that shakes you to your core. He turns back onto his side, reaching out for Kas’ unconscious body. “Eddie,” he cries softly.
You are hit like a tidal wave filled with emotions. Dustin’s cries have mirrored your own. You are terrified to think of what he will soon learn. How reality will hit him - hit him harder than Kas did.
“He’s okay,” you soothe. Your worried eyes peer back at Kas. His hair thrush against his face. His arms cross upon his chest as he sleeps off the hit. “Y/n?” he asks through sobs. His eye quickly swelling, only leaving him with his right. You take a deep breath, trying to stay in the moment with him.
“Yeah,” you let out with an exhale. In this context, your name feels right. "You found him," Dustin whispers with a hint of a bloodied smile. A breathy chuckle falls between you both. "He found me," you utter. His hand weakly falls from his neck. "He always said he would..." he trails off.
You drop your eyes to your hands. The pressure isn’t enough. It wasn't enough with his hand. You needed more, more than this. You can’t split your attention. He needs help. “Dustin, I need you to keep your hand right here,” you say, grabbing his hand and placing it firmly on his neck. He struggles to remain conscious but manages to keep pressure where needed.
Quickly, you crawl over to Kas. You carefully raise his head and place it within your lap. “Kas,” you whisper as your hand taps against his cheek. Your fingers push back strands of dark locks from his face. “Kas, you gotta wake up.” Another tap and his eyelids lightly flutter. Excitement and relief pour over you as you look back at Dustin. You just might be able to save him.
His lazy eyes open and land upon your face. His chocolate irises warm your soul. A small smile appears on those delicate lips. The man you know is back. You hold your hand to his cheek, leaning down towards him with your own beaming grin. “Hey darlin’,” he whispers but winces at the sudden pain on the base of his skull. “Hi Kas,” you murmur.
Kas’ eyes light up at the sound of your voice. Slowly, you watch his memory return. A twitch of his brow and his breathing increases. He attempts to sit up but you hold him down with a hand to his chest. “Kas,” you say softly. “I need you to trust me. Can you do that?” You can feel his heart racing beneath your palm. His jaw clenches as he slowly nods.
You smile, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Dustin,” you say but he immediately pushes against your hand. With a quick inhale, you continue, “Dustin is here. I know what he did to you,” you whisper. “But we need answers. We need to know his side of things.” The reality is that Kas only knows what Vecna told him, as far as you know, and you both have already caught the skinless fuck in a lie. You need to know exactly what happened to Eddie. You deserve to know.
Kas takes in sharp breaths through his nostrils. You try to calm him by brushing your hand through his curls. “What do you need me to do?” he asks reluctantly. He struggles to hold on to his anger when you provide him with the comfort and love he has been craving since he woke up in this hellhole. “Give him your blood, like you did for me.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he pushes up from the ground. He sits up beside you, keeping his eyes upon yours. “If he’s anything like you, he’s going to pass out for days with how much he needs,” he mutters with annoyance. “Good,” you offer. “It’ll give us some time to talk.”
He shakes his head as he finally pulls from your gaze. He bites into his wrist as though he was being asked to complete the biggest chore. He quickly grabs your palms and squeezes his hand into a fist above them. Drops fall and you whisper your gratitude while spreading the blood upon your cuts. He then crawls over to press his inner arm against Dustin’s mouth. As soon as blood touches his tongue, Dustin begins to reach for Kas. He holds his arm tight at his mouth, sucking more and more.
Kas finally rips his arm from Dustin’s grasp. His limp body falls backwards without another word said. Kas stands and walks up the stairs without looking back towards you. You rush to the boy’s side, quickly checking his neck. It had already healed over. The swollen eye slowly returns to its normal state. He finally looks like the boy you always saw seated beside Eddie at the Hellfire table.
With a smile, you reach onto the couch to retrieve a pillow and blanket. You place it under Dustin’s head and carefully tuck his body in. You are too scared to move him, but thankful he fell far from the glass. He needs rest to recover. You just wish that Kas’ blood healed mental wounds too.
You rush upstairs, wanting nothing more than to talk to Kas. You are worried, concerned. There is like a flick to him, some switch that gets triggered any time he is met with someone from Eddie’s past. When those red eyes appear, you have learned that Eddie nor Kas is present. It's a trauma response, a different personality - you don’t know. You just know that the man with red eyes is dangerous and should be avoided at all costs.
As you walk into the bedroom’s doorway, you find Kas staring out into the mist again. You stand beside him, just before the sliding door. Your arms crossed over your chest. “He’s alive,” he mutters. You nod, knowing better than to try to make eye contact with him right now. “Thank you.”
He turns to you. You immediately note the tears in his eyes. “I saved him for you,” he whispers. You give him a reassuring nod, placing your palm at his cheek. “I know, Kas. Thank you.” He leans into your palm with brows furrowed. “You know what he did to me,” he painfully whispers as his eyes fall. “He left you,” you answer, raising his face back towards you. “But why? We don’t know why.”
Kas pulls away, rushing back to his side of the bed. “Why should I care?” he yells. You follow behind him but continue to respect his space. “Because you don't know the whole story. That asshole might've spun you a bullshit tale, telling you he left you on purpose,” you start. He shakes his head, whispering “no” on repeat as he paces in the room. “What if he had to leave?" You brush a hand through your hair. You truly hope that the reasoning falls along those lines or else you might actually be an accessory to murder.
"You don't remember anything?” you ask with sincerity. “I don’t remember!” he yells as he kicks the dresser. The wood snaps and breaks into shrapnel across the floor. You gasp at the sound, covering your mouth with your hand, but slowly you lower it. His face is pained. His fingers tapping against his head as his mental state crumbles before you. It hurts to see him like this.
“Okay, okay,” you murmur. You slowly approach his pacing rhythm. Your moves are hesitant and careful, knowing that any wrong touch could trigger his upset. Only a step away and you can feel the heat resonating off of his skin. He whispers to himself as his fingers tug onto the roots of his hair.
Your hand reaches for his bicep. Slowly, desperately slow as you trail your palm up to the back of his neck. You guide his forehead to your chest as you wrap your arms around him. His hands crash around your waist as he falls into your embrace. “I don’t want to remember,” he whispers against you.
Your hand pushes through Kas’ hair, shushing him as he cries soft sobs into your chest. You take a quick breath and clear your throat, trying to gather your thoughts through these intense emotions. “You don’t have to remember, baby,” you soothe. “You don’t have to remember. It's going to be okay."
You guide his head away from you so that you can hold his gaze. His eyes red and swollen from crying. You brush his tears away with your thumb. “You are safe. Here with me," you start. "But you have to let go of that anger and think for yourself.” He pulls away from you, sniffling as he does. “You almost killed him and you don’t even know why, Kas,” you plead. He throws his hand up, scoffing. "I've killed worse for less."
You aren't sure if he intended to upset or shock you with this statement. Regardless, you have decided to no longer accept the dangerous and disastrous emotions that a skinless chicken, Vecna, has decided for Kas. If he doesn't want to remember, that's his choice but he certainly doesn't get to act based off of emotions that a psychopath thinks he should have.
You grab his hand and pull him to a sit on the mattress. You recognize how lucky you are that he’s even allowing you to touch him, but you move confident and unbothered. “I understand not wanting to remember the bad stuff, trust me,” you mutter. “And that kid… if his actions lead to him not coming home, I-I would have no issues leaving him alone with you down there, but the fact is, he mattered.” You point to the boy through the floorboards, seething with your tears. “He mattered to Eddie and that is why we need to hear his side of things.”
As soon as you say his name, Kas’ head perks up again. His face turns into that familiar disgust as his lips pull and he begins a low growl. “Oh, don't start with that shit," you spit out. "Eddie talked about that boy like he was his fucking prodigy! He mattered.” He rolls his eyes, sucking his tongue against his teeth. “Why should I care who mattered to him?” he asks with revulsion.
“You care about me, don’t you?” you yell out hastily. You are caught off guard with the amount of vulnerability you threw to the wind. You accidentally put yourself in harm’s way, leaving yourself open for an attack. In this, you recognize that Kas can hurt you. He has the ability to hurt you to your core, something you did not expect or could have wanted. You are terrified of this situation, knowing how careless he truly could be with your heart. He could simply say "no" and your whole world would crumble.
Kas’ finger makes its way to your chin, raising it to his eye line. “Of course I care about you,” he murmurs. A twitch of a smile escapes you. You push away your happiness to finish your point, dropping the smile as quickly as it appeared. “Dustin mattered. Eddie wouldn't just care like that about anyone,” you say. “The why matters to me too.”
He takes in a breath, unintentionally pulling back and placing distance between you two. He slowly nods, showing his understanding. He may not like it, but he understands. It is just like that moment, when he could have let Vecna kill you. Eddie saved you that night, not Kas, and yet you'll never know.
“What do you need me to do?” Kas asks as he reaches for your hand. You gladly intertwine your fingers and bring both hands to your chest. “Let him tell his side. No more fighting. Just talking,” you plead. Your brows raise as you beg him to accept. He nods again, still not happy about the situation. “We’ll listen, and then I'll decide what to do with him,” he mutters. He pulls back his hand and stands, making his way to the door's threshold.
You turn, calling him back to you. “Kas.” Both your eyes meet in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. He leans against the doorframe. His body still and gorgeous. God, you wish you could take a picture of this moment. A keepsake to always remember his beauty. “I care about you too. You matter to me. I need you to know that,” you state plainly.
Kas pushes off the doorframe to walk your way. His hands are tangled in your hair before you feel him crash against your lips. A kiss so passionate you feel lightheaded, as if you could see the stars through the ceiling. He pulls away at just the right moment, leaving you dying for more, whimpering for his return. His lips only inches away when he whispers, “I love you too” just before walking out of the room.
As soon as he leaves, your eyes widen to an unmeasurable size. He loves you too? Your heart stills at the thought of him loving you. A hopeful feeling that raises your chest, but also makes you forget to breathe. It is a complicated feeling, but you wouldn't trade it for the world. Although, it's nothing compared to the panic you feel when you attempt to analyze the "too" part. Does he think you were telling him that you loved him? No, you were just telling him that you cared - that he meant something to you. Fuck, what if he's right. What if there is a "too?"
You quickly stand, shaking your head. A simple "nope" falls from your lips as you steadily make your way out the bedroom. This is not the time, nor the place to analyze your feelings. You make your way down the stairs with wide opened ears. Silence. You peer around the bannister and note that Kas sits upon the couch facing Dustin's unconscious body. He stares, not a blink to be seen.
Breaking his gaze, you purposefully walk before him while on your way to the kitchen. You happily feel his eyes upon you as you open one of the cabinets. Food will probably be difficult to find, but maybe you could find something edible. You reach up on your tippy toes to see the top shelf, fully aware that your oversized shirt raises up to your waist and exposes your panties. As you land back onto your heels, you look over your shoulder to catch his adoration. He coughs and quickly turns back to Dustin. You giggle, shaking your head.
Making your way to the fridge, you finally land upon an incomplete pack of Eddie's favorite brand of beer. Despite your crouch, you drop your head and take a deep breath. Tears well in your eyes but you blink, hoping they will disappear. With a deep breath, you stop to appreciate the sight. Eddie was here. He touched these beers and he touched this very fridge. "I miss you," you whisper to yourself. "Things may look a little weird from where you are, but I'm still crazy about you, baby. I will see you again."
With a sniffle, you reach for two bottles of beer - leaving three left for Eddie to finish somehow. You stand, slowly closing the door as you take slow inhales. You walk back towards the living room with both beers hanging between your fingers. Kas' eyes light up, a smile shortly follows. You sway the bottles, dancing as you do. "Oh yeah, darlin'," he encourages with a clap and a seated dance himself.
You hand him one, crashing beside him on the couch. Almost habitual, his hand reaches for your beer. He twists off the cap just as Eddie used to and hands it back to you. You take a sip without a second thought. He kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, leaning back into the cushions. His arm wraps around your shoulders as you burrow into his chest.
As your eyes land upon the black screen of the TV, just beside Dustin's sleeping body, you hum to yourself. "Wanna see what's on?" you ask, peering up at him. Kas shrugs while taking another sip. You reach for the remote on the table and click the on button. Two men appear on the screen wearing white opened suits and brightly covered undershirts. "Oh, Miami Vice," you call out. "Have you seen it before?"
When you turn back to him, his chin is tucked within his neck. He watches the two men in disgust as he takes a swig of his beer. You laugh uncontrollably at the sight, landing a hand at his chest. "They look like douches, but they're pretty cool - fighting crime and shit," you share. "Let's watch five minutes of it and if you don't like it, we can change the channel?" He huffs, nodding at the idea. "I'll be counting down the minutes," he mutters.
And there you two sit for the next fourteen hours watching Miami Vice. Kas is completely invested in Detective Crockett and Tubb's storyline. He almost didn't want to leave to get food with you, but he managed to pull away from the TV to hide in the shadows while you were in the store and walk you back to Rick's. You decided to clean up the shards, which then turned into the entire living room, during a few commercial breaks. However around hour ten, you struggled to keep your eyes open and fell asleep on Kas' chest. It didn't help that he was running his fingers through your hair as you cuddled upon his spider tattoo.
Dustin still sleeps soundlessly upon the ground, tucked in his blanket and pillow. Kas has steadily relaxed within his presence. You have even caught a small smile when Dustin stretches out within his slumber. The world finally seems alright. You are beyond thankful for this quick break from your new reality. This is the only pure happy thing that has happened since Eddie passed. You will enjoy every second.
note: what'd you think? what's gonna happen next? are they in love, or are they just stuck in some twisted vecna love triangle? is kas eddie or is eddie kas? and who's this red eyed demon and how do we feel about 'em? sooooo many questions & more parts to come...
next part • the spider queen •
comment or reblog to join the taglist! [join our kas cult]
taglist: @babeyglo, @dotslabyrinth, @wheaty-melon, @mattymurdocksbitch, @sammararaven, @onlyfengs22, @perle1990, @ms1oftheboys, @ghosttownwherenoonegoes, @tayhar811, @bbyhargrove, @hiscrimsonangel, @ali-r3n, @secretdryrose, @stranger-messenger, @ohmeg, @username7430, @seatnights, & @bit-of-a-timelord
• nav • no-no plagiarism • series • requests open •
#stories of eddie munson#stranger things fanfic#stranger things#eddie smut#st eddie#eddie fanfic#i love eddie#eddie munson#eddie munson fandom#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x female original character#eddie munson angst#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x y/n#stranger things au#stranger things 4#eddie munson x reader#dustin henderson#Eddie and dustin#dustin henderson ficlet#authors supporting authors#beta read#miss nack
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fanfics I found enjoyable. Like a lot. My personal favs.
Masterkey override or the one time when everyone realised that Lance was smart
ClaraCivry (Kat_of_Dresden)
No Archive Warnings Apply, Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt, Lance (Voltron)Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk (Voltron), Matt Holt, Coran (Voltron), Smart Lance, Surprised Team, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Awesome Pidge, Types of intelligence, Realisations, People appreciatng Lance, Fluff
Basically, Lance asks Pidge to teach him some technical stuff, and it turns out that he is more intelligent than any of them thought (including Lance himself).
A smart Lance fic, for all your smart Lance needs, featuring awesome teacher Pidge and startstruck team.
Words: 1,323 - Chapters: 1/1
Monopoly was a bad idea - AuroraDownTheRabbitHole
No Archive Warnings Apply, Keith/Lance (Voltron), Allura/Shiro (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt, Allura & Coran & Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Keith & The Blade of Marmora, Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron), Allura (Voltron), Coran (Voltron), Hunk (Voltron), Pidge | Katie Holt, Kolivan (Voltron), Ulaz (Voltron), Thace (Voltron), Antok (Voltron), Swearing, Team as Family, Board Games, Monopoly (Board Game) - Freeform, Chaos, Domestic Fluff, Dads of Marmora (Voltron)
The blade of marmora members really shouldn't have let the paladins play Monopoly,you know what they say you only play board games with the people you want to break bonds with ............. this was a big mistake.
Words: 660 - Chapters: 1/1
An Eye for an Eye - DpsMercy
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Michael | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Helen | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood, Sasha James, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus, Not Them (The Magnus Archives), Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), Helen | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), Other Character Tags to Be Added, Jon is from Night Vale, Crack Treated Seriously, Friendship, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It of Sorts, Jon becomes friends with most avatars, Spooky shenanigans, Jon is too chill to be scared, No beta we die like Gertrude's assistants, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, Typical Night Vale Violence, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), typical TMA horror
In which Jonathan Sims is not from the UK but instead, if you took his origins and turned them sideways twice then flipped them over, he technically would be from the US, the town of Night Vale specifically.
Elias can’t do shit about it and gets a headache and slowly creeping madness instead.
*****
On indefinite hiatus
Words: 15,555 - Chapters: 9/?
Welcome to...The Magnus Institute? - princeetheo
No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Carlos/Cecil Palmer, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Rosie Zampano, Georgie Barker, Melanie King, Jessica Law (Fictionalized), Jordan Kennedy, Ben Below (fictionalized), Basira Hussain, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), Cecil Palmer, Dana Cardinal, Steve Carlsberg, Janice (Welcome to Night Vale), Abby Palmer, Cecilos are Jon sims parents AAAA, Non-Human Cecil Palmer, Cecil Palmer is Described, Autistic Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), Trans Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), Awkward Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), jon sims and dana cardinal are childhood besties, steve carlsberg is the best uncle, Cecil Palmer's Fashion Sense, Dork Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), eye avatar cecil palmer, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, FUCK CANON !, we ball, no beta we die like danny stoker, Pining Martin Blackwood, The Mechanisms Were Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist's College | University Band, Autistic Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, He/Him and They/Them Pronouns for Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Martin Blackwood
Carlos 'The Scientist' Sims and Cecil Palmer are Jonathan Sims parents, that's it. that's the fic.
Words: 2,325 - Chapters: 3/?
jonathan sims: part-time archivist, part-time wanted murderer, full-time bitch
ceruleancats
No Archive Warnings Apply, Jon & Several Cats, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker, Jude Perry, Michael "Mike" Crew, Basira Hussain, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Elias Bouchard, Martin Blackwood, Humor, Comed, ya bit cracky, Based on a Tumblr Post, everyone thinks jon killed leitner and they revere him for it, Season 3, Season 3 AU, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cats
Jon didn't kill Jurgen Leitner, but no matter how many times he tries to tell people that, they just don't seem to believe him! It's not all bad, though: while he is a wanted murderer on the run from the cops, Leitner was apparently so universally despised that Institute employees and Avatars alike are tripping over themselves to help him out. Now, he just has to figure out how to clear his name (though that's easier said than done).
Words: 17,189 - Chapters: 10/10
The White Wolf - JaskiersWolf
No Archive Warnings Apply, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Triss Merigold, Nenneke (The Witcher), Shapeshifting, Shapeshifter Jaskier | Dandelion, Wolf Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Pack Cuddles, Sleepy Cuddles, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Mild Blood
Following an unfortunate encounter with a mage, Geralt gets cursed into a wolf. Jaskier and Geralt must travel the Continent in search of someone that can help them.
- Can be read as a stand alone
Words: 6,018 - Chapters: 3/3
Five times Jaskier hid nothing from Geralt and one time the Witcher finally noticed the obvious
cucumber_of_doom
No Archive Warnings Apply, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier can talk to animals, Geralt is so dense he might collapse into a black hole at any moment, can be read as pre relationship, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Cares About Jaskier | Dandelion, curses gone right, 5+1 Things
Jaskier has a special talent he never tried to hide from Geralt: He can understand and talk to animals.
He never tried to hide this from Geralt, but our witcher is a bit dense.
Words: 6,747 - Chapters: 1/1
The Viscount - pukner
No Archive Warnings Apply, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Original Characters, Eskel (The Witcher), Essi Daven, Valdo Marx, 5+1 Things, POV Multiple, Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is So DoneIdentity Shenanigans, Trans Jaskier | Dandelion, Genderfluid Jaskier | Dandelion, we're spicing things up yk, canon-typical weird euphemisms, POV Outsider, update it has feelings now, and yennskierand geraskierand geraskifer, why is it getting long
"I can't imagine just telling people I'm from Lettenhove, though," the man says, a smile caught in his voice, "How do you do it?"
"Can I tell you a secret?" asks Jaskier, tone taking on a conspiratory tilt. Then, in a whisper that is no quieter than his earlier speech, "I think it's funny."
"Funny!" says the man, laughing.
Funny, thinks Geralt, bemused.
Lettenhove isn't actually a real place. But Jaskier is certainly the Viscount of it.
(Or, five times Jaskier tells someone he's the Viscount of Lettenhove, and one time he tells the truth.)
Words: 14,584 - Chapters: 4/5
#vld lance#lance voltron#lance mcclain#voltron legendary defenders#voltron#smart lance#pidge gunderson#pidge#pidge holt#voltron pidge#vld pidge#welcome to night vale#wtnv#jonathan sims#jon sims#the magnus archives#tma#mag#martin blackwood#tim stoker#sasha james#the witcher#the witcher netflix#geralt z rivii#geralt of rivera#geralt of rivia#geralt x jaskier#geraskier#feral jaskier#jaskier
19 notes
·
View notes
Note
Prompt
X: Y, how do I get revenge on my enemies?
Y: The best revenge in life is letting go and living well.
X: Z, how do I -
Z: Bomb.
I SEE YOU, buckle up for some Fluffy Flirty Appreciating Nina Content and crows.
Eat, Drink, And Be Merry, (For Tomorrow We Die) - Nina Zenik
Content Warnings: Canon Compliant Threat And Violence. Explosions/Demolition. Casual I Love You Confession. Explicit Language. Not Beta/Proof Read.
"I can’t look," Jesper is making a fuss, one of the blades nicked his jacket in the riot, but you are relatively sure it didn't even break skin, but that doesn't stop him being... loud about it. "Tell me honestly," he grabs a hold of Wylan's arm, glaring him down like he could be the culprit, "how bad is it?" Wylan moves to open his mouth, but before he gets the chance to say anything, Jesper clasps a hand over Wylan's mouth. "No wait, don’t tell me, I have changed my mind."
"You're not even bleeding," Nina tells him.
"Not me," Jesper says, "the coat." You stifle a laugh and Jesper eyes you. "It's my best coat."
"Then let me," Wylan says, tugging the coat off. You tune out Jesper asking Wylan where he got a degree in coat mending, and Wylan trying to ignore him and his worried buzzing as he locates a needle and thread.
"You'd think he was losing a limb," you say. Inej shrugs.
"Jesper is... Jesper," Inej says, "he can be like that."
You look around and Nina is gently walking rounds of the room, while Kaz watches the chaos outside through a small slatted window.
"This all feels very unnecessary," you point out. Nina grins and crosses her arms, eagerly awaiting Kaz's response.
"Inej, how do I get revenge on my enemies?" Kaz asks. Inej looks up from where she was cleaning her knife.
"The best revenge in life is letting go and living well," Inej says, which is what he knew she would say and gets the expected hand gesture of dismissal for the statement.
"Wylan, how do I-,"
"Bomb," Wylan says, keeping his eyes on the stitching.
"So you claim this mess, is your strategy for revenge?" You ask Kaz. A smirk curls up in the corner of his lips and then the sound hits, the shaking of the building follows immediately after, and you nearly lose your footing. "Fuck."
"Bomb," Wylan says again, looking up. Jesper grabs the coat the moment Wylan's eyes are off it.
"You’ve done quite enough stitching," Jesper says, smoothing the fabric down. "Quite enough."
"You are welcome," Wylan says, pointing the needle at him.
"We are brushing over the literal bomb that just went off?" You ask. In turn everyone except Kaz shrugs. "Was I the only one not clued in?"
"I had no idea," Nina says, "but you kind of expect that from him."
You move towards the door and Kaz looks like he is about to give you an order but Nina's glare fixes his mouth shut, even if he wouldn't admit it. Nina follows you out, a gentle breather in the hallway, but you look at her and you forget how to breathe. Even the chaos couldn't make you forget Nina, make you any less enamoured by her. She didn't ask you to be here, she didn't have to, she never has to, there is nothing that could get between you and helping Nina and her strange little eclectic band of thieves she has come to call family.
"Ready to run for it?" Nina asks, giving you the space to move around and exercise out your stress.
"Are you?" You ask. She just sighs. "I am not going anywhere."
"You've got no skin in this... fight," she points out.
"I've got you," you remind her. Her cheeks are already pink enough that the blush is nearly unnoticeable, but you miss nothing when it comes to Nina. "I mean I don't... I haven't got you, you know what I mean."
She leans in closer, letting her arm rest against yours. "I don't know, I guess you could say you've got me," she says, "for what it's worth."
"Hey Nina," you say, letting your head rest in her hand as she cups your cheek, "I think I might be sort of in love with you."
"Sort of?" Nina asks.
"Is that okay?"
"Yeah, I think that is okay."
#shadow and bone#grishaverse#six of crows#nina zenik x reader#nina zenik#nina x reader#inej ghafa#kaz brekker#wylan van eck#jesper fahey#jesper fahey my man you are so ridiculously sexy i wish i could be you#nina zenik woman of my dreams
37 notes
·
View notes
Text
[fic] —scene from a bedroom
—scene from a bedroom
Ikemen Genjiden | Kitsuji Sueharu x afab!Reader | Explicit | 634 words
ao3 link
You and Sueharu, tangled in the dim-lit room.
A/N: Here lies my shame, in pieces. MY FIRST SMUT OH MY GOD (well, technically not my first smut; i wrote a sex scene in my kicho fic but i don't count that) BUT OH MY GOD. My Sueharu fucker era continues 😭 The setting is vague, so it can either be canon-era or modern setting? I don't know! Minors DNI!!!
Warnings/tags: nsft, afab!reader, cunnilingus (vague), fingering; i only labeled it as explicit because i used the words cock and clit once lmao; but i feel like it's more on the mature-rated side? ooc? no beta we die like my shame; unrepentant repetitive use of certain words, sorry i have a limited vocabulary. p-please be gentle with me 🥹
+
When he looks at you it feels like an appraisal, the drag of his gaze like light fingers ghosting across the surface, almost ticklish. It lingers though, seeping into your pores and heating your veins, spreading throughout. He looks at you like a diamond that needs to be polished—with his hands at that.
"Does it feel good?" There's a languid curve at the corner of his lips, punctuated by his pumping fingers, the sounds wet and loud as his breaths.
In the dim-lit room, with his disheveled clothes, his disarrayed hair, Sueharu appears like a dream made flesh, your buried desires exhumed and molded into form. Irresistible, inescapable. He curls his fingers inside you and pulls a whine out of your throat, ragged and more broken than the ones you've made earlier, when he put his mouth between your thighs. His face still glistens with your release.
"Y-You know the answer to that," you stutter, and moan when he brings his mouth down again. You can feel more than hear his laughter, low and sublime, and the sounds he makes when he sucks on you spark lightning on your spine, shooting up to the nape of your neck, prickles at your ears.
Back arched, you spread your legs wider.
“Oh,” he whispers against your clit, and another shudder runs through you. “You like it.”
And that low current in his voice is your undoing. You groan, helpless from his fingers, helpless from his weight. Helpless from his voice that pulls at your skin so the desire spills forth, heated and thick. He tilts his head a little to lean against your thigh and recaptures your gaze. He smirks at your attention, and slowly—deliberately slowly—licks his wet lips. His shiny teeth. His eye glints like a hunter sighting his prey.
You throb, his fingers persist. Everything’s too much.
“Yes—yes.” You give in, the words mangled, keen, and you cover your face with your hands in shame.
Then his voice, urgent: “No, I want to see you.” A large hand pushes yours away. His own face, inches from yours, welcomes you.
When you agreed to lay with him tonight, your expectations had been minimal—a perfunctory set of movements, clinical, distant.
Not this. Definitely not this.
His stare pierces, hooded and dark. You feel his fingers retreat, and a sound escapes from your throat. His fingers emerge from the corner of your vision—wet, glistening. Tempting. He studies them, fascinated, arrested, before glancing at you and smiles—
And brings them in to his inviting mouth.
The sound of his sucking is loud, and it’s all you can hear. Everything else is gone. Sueharu groans—at your taste, perhaps—but he never leaves his bladed gaze on you.
And all you can do is watch him suck and suck and lick the fingers that had been inside you, that had given you pleasure, so intense that you wanted to loop your arms around him in a vise and never let go.
When he drags his middle finger out of his mouth—a purr, a moan—you swallow the dryness in your throat.
“What do you want next?” he whispers then.
He moves closer, more, the fingers that just came between his lips, coated with his saliva and your come, descend on your own, caressing a line against them. You can almost taste him, and yourself.
“I …”
“Perhaps,” he begins, climbing further against the length of your body, his—hard, hot; so, so hot—cock pressing against your core, “you’d like a kiss?”
He chuckles; taps your lower lip once, twice, followed by the puffs of his breath.
“Well?”
“I …”
“Is that a yes?”
His lips are now a hair’s breadth from yours, and—truly—what else could be your answer if not this?
Sueharu grins like he knows, and you never get to tell.
+
*scurries away in embarrassment*
#ikemen genjiden#ikegen#ikemen genjiden fic#ikegen fic#ikegen smut#ikegen sueharu#kitsuji sueharu#x reader#kitsuji sueharu x reader#ikegen sueharu x reader#nsft#fic#my fic#good lord#i'm sorry
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dumping this here to clear out some space! Here are some retrospective and notes for my fic Is This What Therapy Is? Full spoilers below
Behind the scenes
The working title for this fic is Group Therapy but I found it a little vague for the proper title
The first notes I have for this are from December 2022! I was struck by the idea on a road trip and fervently typed it out.
The initial initial idea came from a joke. I was thinking about doctor who for some reason (I was really into it in like middle school (not super who lock just Doctor Who) and was like aha if the doctor landed in Teyvat he’d have some problems introducing himself as the doctor! Collei and Scaramouche would hunt him down! Haha.. wait. Hmmmm.
Every in game location they visit I would open up the game and take notes on the environment, shifting a few things around like the bridge to Collei’s hut is collapsed in game but in the fic it’s newly repaired. I’d then repurpose the notes into the prose.
This was initially gonna stay a one shot even though I had a ton of ideas (obviously) but everyone was so nice in the comments I decided to write more and more and well here we are!
The hardest parts to write were the Chasm arc - balancing the monotony of slogging through a cave without being uninteresting, and the fight scenes. In my other fic I fought Childe and referenced online play throughs and took notes on it to write the big battle. As of writing Dottore has no boss battle so I had to improvise.
Unused content!
There was originally going to be a segment alpha, the original Dottore hooked to life support and barely alive, 500 years is too long for a human to live. He was going to beg to die. I found this too upsetting and cut it for time… sorry if that sounds cool!
Originally they were going to storm Zapolyarny Palace but I didn’t want to conceive of it. Obviously it would be at odds with canon so why try? I decided to shift the arc to a secret lab instead. I pulled heavily from Honkai Impact for the scenery inside the lab.
There was a version of this fic where all the friends they made came with to kill the final Dottore but it was too crowded and took away from Collei and Wanderer as the center so I scrapped it.
On the Dottore Segments:
The Dottore’s have a verity of different delusions and preferred weapons:
The first one to die, Beta, was Hydro. He prefers unarmed “boxing” esq maneuvers. Or more ripping things apart with his bare hands. He was an opportunistic type with no qualms over screwing himselves over but was rather lazy. If something unfortunate happened to the others he would swoop in like a vulture and steal all their stuff, but wouldn’t act to cause the situation out side of a little nudge here and there. Was killed on his way to Mondstadt in the worlds first car. He wears the in game mask
Number two, Psi, was Geo and elegantly used a catalyst to hold his papers and important documents. He had a big superiority complex and loved the sound of his own voice. Most Dottore’s ignore their staff at best, but Psi loves to talk so much that he’ll monologue at them for hours. Was killed by being kicked into the chasm. He wears the mask from the manga
Number three, Nu. Ironically the one killed by Gandharva Ville had a Dendro delusion. He preferred a light set of knives over a sword or other blade. He was the iteration before the segment with the greatest infiltration expertise who was deleted because he was a direct threat to Omega. Nu was a bit self conscious and jealous over this. Just a bit. Ok a lot. But he kept this feeling in! He wears the mask from the manga
Lambda was Electro and used his delusion to mess with electronics, he favorite pass time. He was one of the weaker Dottore’s and was constantly on edge about his right to exist, fighting and clawing for any respect and failing. He Hates biology but was unfortunately very adept at it, he loved mechanics but unfortunately wasn’t the greatest at it. He existed in a weird place in the original Dottore’s life when he was unsure of his place in the world for about two weeks after getting burned out on biological testing before getting really good at mechanics. Segments from later in life are equally fond of biology and mechanics often combining the two. This heightened his inferiority complex to an atypical degree but he was too blinded to realize abandoning Iota would lead to death even if it seems obvious on the outside. He was expendable after all. He wears the mask from the manga
Epsilon was Cryo and had a claymore (obviously from the battle scene lol) he’s older than Omega in both the point of the originals life he’s based on and in the order they were created. He’s mellowed a bit with age but if highly judgmental of Omega in only the way you can be towards your past self. Wake up at 2 am and cringe over the things you did type stuff. He wears the mask from in game
Omega, I’m not confirming his delusion or weapon because he’s probably going to pop back up in canon
Here are my initial notes when I was coming up with the ideas for each Dottore:
Alpha: Not a segment but the original Dottore, extremely old and hooked to life support. Not shown. CUT FOR TIME
Beta: Attempting to access storm terrors domain. Is killed by Collei using a Hilichurl arrow after a horde of slimes and Hilichurls are summoned by Diluc’s slime attractor and Kaeya talking to the hilichurls. Diluc gets to keep the body
Epsilon: attempt to salvage any C. M. D. Was stationed in Inazuma but retreats to Snezhnaya
Omega: the one to negotiate with Kusanali: is stabbed to death by Scaramouche and is the last to die. Stabbed and left to die
Iota: A literal infant
Lambda: retreats to Snezhnaya and is killed by Omega in revenge for leaving Iota behind
Nu: lured to Gandharva Ville and killed by the residents
Psi: thrown into the chasm
The translated Dottore Dossier (annotated by Wanderer)
Beta:
- Mission: Investigate Stormterror, Durin, corruption as substitute for C. M. [Note: likely crystal marrow ]
- Time Span: N/A [Note: is traveling to Mondstadt from Liyue soon no mission time limit]
- Location: Stormterror’s Domain and Dragonspine, Mondstadt
[Note: Beta is particularly disliked for taking the other segments ideas and passing them off as his own. It’s hilarious]
(killed enroute from Mondstadt to Liyue via Hilichurl attack)
Episilon:
- Mission: Attempt to salvage C. M. D. Research. (Use remaining samples sparingly -P.) [Note: this message was attached to the original document.]
- Time Frame: N/A
- Location: Inazuma
Iota:
- Mission: Remain connected to machine [note: that’s all it says.]
- Time Frame: N/A
- Location: Sumeru [Note: Somewhere in the desert south west of Aaru, will circle possible locations on Map]
Lambda:
- Mission: Monitor Iota
- Time Frame: N/A
- Location: Sumeru [Note: same as Iota obviously]
Nu
- Mission: Salvage any data on Tatarigami delusions (Use remaining C. M. Samples wisely, we cannot acquire more -P.)
- Time Frame: N/A
- Location: [Note: It seems he is in Inazuma but there is no location, he may be elsewhere though. Tartaglia sucks at information gathering.]
Omega
- Mission: Continue as is
- Time Frame: N/A [Note: why is this guy given infinite time]
- Location: Zapolyarny Palace, Snezhnaya
Psi:
- Mission: Investigate complaint by Harbinger Tartaglia via. ruin guard facility in Lingju Pass, Lisha, Liyue. Access Chasm with Qixing permission (do Not cause another international incident- P.) Aquire “Nail” in the Chasm. [Note: The additional note by “P” was attached to the original document. Likely either Pantalone or Pierro. Probably Pierro.]
- Time Frame: Expected 5-12 months
- Location: Chasm, Liyue
Nu (update)
- [New Mission]: Investigate involvement of ex-subject “Collei” in relation to Psi’s death.
{This update was never seen by Collei or Wanderer}
[Note: P is either Pantalone or Pierro. Likely Pantalone the control freak. Pierro just let’s them do whatever they want as long as it benefits him.]
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Our Empty Graves VIII
Fandom: Danny Phantom / Batman: Under the Red Hood
Pairings: Danny Fenton/Jason Todd (Dead on Main)
Rating: Mature
Tags: batfamily, hazmat AU, Nobody Knows AU, Mute!Phantom, potential ghost king danny, slow burn?, DC means Disregard Canon, AU means AU nothing is exactly the same, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, more than canon typical violence, danny is a Halfa and also a Fetch, no beta we die like basically everyone
Summary: They say that Red Hood has a loyal mutt. The man rules his territory in Crime Alley with an iron fist and a guard dog at his side. They say that Hood calls him Fetch, sometimes Fetcher. No one's ever heard him speak. Anyone who's ever seen him says he looks like an experiment gone wrong, that Hood picked him up somewhere unspeakable. They say he'll do anything Red Hood asks of him and he'll do it well. That he's strong and fast and probably inhuman. The girls say he's sweet; quiet but charming in his own way. Rival gangs say he's vicious; that he'd sooner rip your throat out than let you go.
Jason just wants to help him.
Chapter 8: and ive been the bad guy for so long (im growing tired)
Chapter Summary: Danny has an unexpected encounter in the graveyard. Jason is hunting for someone.
Chapter Notes: title from Villain Of My Own Story by Unlike Pluto
Links: AO3 // Chapter 1 // Chapter 7 // Chapter 9 // Spotify
It’d been one of the last times he’d been Danny Fenton. One of the last times he’d kept up the facade of humanity. One of the last times he ever saw his sister.
She was home for break, traveling all the way back from her fancy college to shack up at Fentonworks because she had no other place to go. He knew she hated being there. Hated being around their parents. Hated being around him.
Ever since his accident (where he died, where he became other) she’d alternated between excessive clinging and cold distance. Like she was afraid of something. Afraid of losing him. Afraid of him. The more he went out as Phantom, the more he slacked in his studies and ignored his friends that ignored him in turn, the more he broke curfew- the more distance Jazz had put between them. Then she graduated, got a full ride, and left- never looking back. Only until she had to.
He’d been bleeding from the side, because in those days it was rarer when he wasn’t, and trying to patch himself up to stem the flow of red-green-red blood until his powers kicked in enough to heal it up. Technus had gotten him with a nasty saw blade attached to an old brick phone that he hadn’t expected. He should have been paying more attention, should have been better.
He really should have been paying more attention to the people in his house.
He’d climbed in from the window- all in human form so as to avoid the ghost shields around the house. His parents never noticed or bothered to check in on him if they did, so he’d been careless about heaving himself in. He hadn’t noticed Jazz standing, arms crossed, in the corner until she’d gasped at the sight of his wound. At the blood. Red-green-red.
He’d seen the bright green glare of his eyes flashing reflected in hers. A mirror image imposed over fear and building rage.
“What did you do with him,” she demanded, voice trembling but furious. She left the shadows of the corner and stalked toward him where he’d frozen by the window.
“What did you do with Danny?” she hissed, like a viper about to strike, ready and willing even if the warble in her words belied her hesitation.
He remained frozen, struck dumb by fear and panic, frantically trying to think of an explanation. An excuse. A lie. Anything to make his sister stop looking at him like that. Stop looking at him the way she had for the past few years.
“I don’t know-,” he stuttered out as Jazz moved closer and closer, anger making her entire body tremble with every step. His voice was scratchy and painful. He hadn’t had cause to speak in weeks before this.
“Don’t you start that,” she snapped, looming over him. She’d always taken after Dad, height-wise. “Don’t you lie to me. I’ve suspected for years what you are. That- that green only proves it!”
“Jazz-”
“Stop it!” she grabbed his wrist, grip strong and bruising. The neon light of his eyes lit her face at a sinister angle, casting her features in deep shadows. Twisting it. “I know my brother. I know he’d never be like this. Danny would never hurt people like you do!”
He didn’t hurt people! He didn’t, he didn’t. Never on purpose. Never because he meant to. And yet. People still got hurt. People got hurt around him and it was still his fault, because he was the one that opened the portal. He was the one that brought hell upon Amity Park.
He could see his own reflection in her eyes, caught by monster that stared back at him. Caught by the fear he found underneath. The fury of his sister.
She lunged, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. “Where is he?!”
Tears were cascading down both of their faces. The desperation in Jazz’s voice shook Danny to his core.
“I know who you are,” she intoned. She released him when he still couldn’t muster a response, her face falling into a more terrifying blankness. “I know what you are. Ghost. Phantom. Monster.”
He recoiled, struggling in her grip. He wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t. He wasn’t. He was still himself! Still Danny! Wasn’t he?
“Get out of my house,” she said, back turning to face the wall and her voice still flat. “Get out of his room.”
“Jazz, please,” he croaked.
He didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to give up the last shards of his shattered humanity. It didn’t matter how dangerous it was to live with his parents like this, on edge during every second of the day and never knowing when he’d get caught, get torn molecule by molecule. Because if he was still here, if he was still trying to go to school, if he was still trying to keep his life together, it meant he had one. He never wanted to die. Never wanted to come back like that.
She whirled around and any words he’d been trying to gather to plead his case fled at the sight of her face. She was still cast in dark shadow, but her eyes blazed, still wet with tears. She was angry, she was afraid. She was hurt. He’d done that. He’d done that to his sister. The sister that had practically raised him.
“It would be better,” she whispered. “For them. For me. To have closure. You aren’t my little brother. For whatever reason you won’t tell me, he’s gone.”
She turned again, a sob wracking her thin frame. She was so thin. Where once she’d trained with their mother in martial arts and packed on wiry muscle, she was now skin and bone. Tears she’d shed had only emphasized the bags that laid underneath. She was shaking. Her hair was dry and thinning. He hadn’t noticed before. Hadn’t noticed how much the stress was getting to her. How much she was hurting. His parents had remained oblivious. Jazz had not. He couldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t hurt her like that.
“I don’t know if he’s missing or dead, or- or something else. You won’t tell me.” Her voice was strangled with tears, thin but sharp. “That’s fine. It’s actually not, but I can’t force answers out of you.”
She turned her head, arms clutching her torso in some facsimile of a hug. He could see the fear and apprehension on her. He hated it.
“You’re too powerful. I’ve seen you fight. And I’m no hunter.”
She walked away, towards the door of his room, hand reaching out to clutch the door knob in a white-knuckled grip. “But please, stop pretending he’s still here.”
She left. He left. He never returned to that house.
═════ ◈ ═════
It’d been an all too familiar confrontation when Red Hood finally saw him for what he was. Nothing but a monster. He’d heard the word so many times now, it was imprinted into his very core. Spat in anger at him, shouted in fear at him, whispered in horror at him. He didn’t know why he tried. Why he kept trying to connect. To feel alive again, feel human again. It never worked. He was too unnatural, too beastly. Grotesque.
He died. He was dead, dead, dead. No amount of wishful thinking would change that. He came back wrong. Inhuman. Freakish. The humans feared him and the ghosts hated him. He couldn’t even die properly. Couldn’t be a ghost properly.
Alone. He was alone. And that’s all he would ever be.
He didn’t deserve anything else. He’d hurt too many people. Jazz. His mom and dad. Sam and Tucker. Valerie. Her father. And he hurt ghosts too. Ember, Desiree, Technus. And he’d killed. Ending may not be a one-to-one correlation with murder, but it still wiped a being from existence. If anything the way he’d crushed Pariah’s core was more visceral. The screaming and screaming and screaming. The tearing and ripping and- consumption. He’d crushed Pariah’s core and eaten it. Ghost Hunger, the Fright Knight had solemnly called it. An instinct ghosts had when fighting so viciously, fighting over territory. Pariah had stolen and claimed his Haunt, he’d asked for a fight to the End the moment he’d taken Amity into the Zone. And he lost. And now it didn’t even matter because his Haunt was lost to him anyway. When the people left, so did his reason for protecting his territory. Then, falling into the portal into Gotham had really cemented the loss.
He was just a ghost with nothing to haunt and a long list of people he’d hurt. Red Hood was simply a new name to add.
He wasn’t even sure what triggered it. It had already just been a waiting game, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He knew that at some point Red would change his mind, figure out what Danny truly was and act accordingly. He’d been so angry with Danny despite how hard he’d tried to be good this time. He wanted to be helpful, wanted to save people where he hadn’t been. Nobody else needed to know the pain of dying, or the pain of coming back different. But he couldn’t go back out there, out there into the streets. Gotham at large was Batman’s territory and he already knew how the Big Bat felt about him. Crime Alley was Red’s territory and he wouldn’t dare to step foot back there without permission.
It didn’t matter how badly he flinched and had to restrain himself every time he heard a scream.
He wouldn’t leave the sanctity of the tree he’d perched in anyway. Not without the protective barrier of his suit. He’d been in such a frantic hurry when he’d left that dojo that he hadn’t grabbed all his gear. Usually, with it being made of ectoplasm, it would reform if it got torn or ripped. He’d never taken it off though. Not like he had on Red’s request. He could tell that the pants were starting to reform around his legs, but it was taking time. Most of his ectoplasm was going towards his wound from before. It might take up to a week before his suit was fully back. He’d left a lot of ectoplasm back at the dojo by leaving his gear, all of it likely turned to goop by now.
He would just spent the rest of his afterlife (however long that was) in this hickory tree in the cemetery, foraging for nuts when he felt up for it. Nothing much else he could do. Back to square one.
“Yo, Cujo!”
He startled at the shout. Had someone lost their dog in the cemetery of all places? Maybe he could help… No. He’d just scare them. But something about that voice was familiar…
“Ey! I’m talkin to you, puppy dog! Get your florescent ass down here!”
Nadi? Why was she here? And was she- looking for him? She couldn’t be. Sure, they’d ‘talked’ a few times after he’d taken down Charlie for her, but she still didn’t have a reason to track him down. It’s not like he worked for Red Hood anymore. But- Maybe she was in trouble? Did she need help?
Worried, he made most of his body intangible so as not to rustle any of the leaves of the tree and took a peek to check on her.
She stood there among the graves in her usual work clothes, hands on her hips and not a hair out of place. He always wondered how she could walk in heels that tall and if she ever got cold with so little clothing. At least she had on a large fur coat to keep her warm in the chill of the night this time. She also looked kinda pissed though. Charlie hovered behind her, looking nervous and wringing his hands.
It was nice to see the man cleaned up. Access to regular hygiene products and clean clothes did wonders for him. Stable amounts of food and shelter helped him fill out and look less gaunt overall as well. As far as Danny had seen he also took his job seriously, making sure the girls- mostly Nadi- had everything they needed and were well taken care of. He was kind of proud to see the man had come so far.
“C’mon kid, I know you’re up there,” she called, staring straight at the tree Danny was hanging in. “I’m not stupid, baby. Trees don’t glow like that on their own.”
Curse him and his bioluminescence.
Reluctantly he turned invisible and started climbing down the tree, making sure to shake the branches on the way down so Nadi could see that he was coming. He didn’t want her to see him like this, without his mask, without his suit, but he also didn’t want to make her stand in the cemetery all night for no reason.
His feet moved the grass, marking his steps where the sight of his body didn’t. The rustling sound alerted Nadi of his approach and she smiled. It was small and kind of sad but at least she wasn’t screaming.
“What are you hiding for, baby?” she asked softly, looking just past his shoulder. “I’ve seen you before.”
He shuffled in place but made no other move. Nadi sighed and he could see Charlie shifting uneasily behind her. Charlie knew to be afraid of him, even if Nadi seemed naively fearless.
“C’mon now, baby boy. I came all the way out here to see you. It took a shit load of annoying Hood to get him to tell me where you might be, you know.”
And that certainly caught his attention. Hood had told her where he was? Hood knew where he was? He… hadn’t hunted Danny down to throw him out even knowing where he was? Even told one of the people under his protection his location? He had so many questions and no way to ask them.
“Looked like he was gonna blast ya head off if ya didn’t stop, too,” Charlie muttered.
“Oh hush, you,” she said, swatting a perfectly manicured hand towards the other. “Hood wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“You’re fuckin’ nuts, Nadi,” Charlie replied in derision. “Man decapitates people for fun.”
“Mn, whatever,” she dismissed. “Anyway, Cujo, where have you been, baby? I ain’t seen you around at all the past week! And Hood might have told me where you were but he wouldn’t tell me what happened.”
She crossed her arms with a pout, expecting an answer. But he didn’t have one for her. He didn’t want to think about that day in the dojo. Didn’t want to think about the pain. Think about the anger and betrayal he’d seen in Red’s eyes. Danny didn’t know what he did, exactly, but it’d only been a matter of time before Red threw him out anyway. Better now than later when Danny had fully settled in. He didn’t deserve company like this. Didn’t deserve to pretend to be human. Didn’t deserve Red Hood’s generosity.
“Baby,” she said, voice so, so soft and gentle it hurt, “talk to me. Please. I miss my little savior.”
He struggled not to whine with his core, trying to keep the sound in. Her little savior. She missed him. He didn’t know what to do here. Didn’t know what he could even try to communicate. He wanted to disappear on the spot, wanted to leave so she wouldn’t say those kinds of things to him. Things that made him hope. He couldn’t let her do that. But more than that he couldn’t leave. Wouldn’t. He needed to disappear, but more than anything he wanted to stay. Even if it ended in disaster again, he wanted to stay.
His powers flickered with his indecision until he finally dropped the invisibility altogether. He braced himself, closing his eyes even as they filled with tears.
He heard a gasp from Nadi and flinched away. Charlie mumbled a “No fuckin’ way” and he waited for the screaming. Waited for the anger and the fear.
It never came.
“Oh, mi vida,” Nadi cooed. “Look at you. You have a face!”
Charlie, who was standing just behind Nadi and peering around her arm, snorted a startled laugh. He looked disbelieving and wary. But he didn’t look scared. Nadi didn’t look scared either. She stepped closer and Danny held in the flinch at her hands coming close to his face. He almost melted when all she did was cup his cheek and run a hand through his hair. His core rumbled and more tears fell from his eyes at the touch.
He didn’t deserve this. He shouldn’t let her get so close. But he couldn’t pull away. It felt so nice.
“Oh, look at your hair, you poor thing,” she tsked as she ran her fingers through the ragged strands. He’d tried to cut it once, on his own, on one of the last few times he’d been human (pretending to be). He’d been so frustrated with it and he’d already fled the house and it had kept getting in his eyes and its not like he’d had access to scissors. Frustrated ectoblasts did not good hair-cutting tools make. The chunks he’d burned away hadn’t grown back right and the others were growing far, far too long. Not that he’d noticed much before now. His hair stayed under the hood of his suit. Hidden away. Probably why he hadn’t tried to shoot it again.
“This won’t do,” Nadi murmured. “This won’t do at all. Your face is far too pretty for hair like this. It needs to be fixed.”
The words made his face scrunch in confusion. Fix it? Pretty? He was a monster, inhuman. He wasn’t pretty. He couldn’t be fixed.
“Come,” she said, dropping her hands to tug at his arms, gentle, as she started backing up. “Come on. I’m gonna give you a hair-cut, baby. And then we’ll talk about why you’ve been hiding out here.”
He stepped back, phasing his arms out of her grip. He couldn’t. He couldn’t leave the cemetery. If the Batman didn’t hunt him down, then Red would. He’d told Danny to leave. Told him he was a traitor. A monster. He wouldn’t go back into the other’s territory and that’s exactly where Nadi would want him to go.
He shook his head, backing up more to put space between them. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.
“Okay,” Nadi said, holding her hands up. “Okay, mi vida. Don’t go. Please.”
He stopped. Wary.
“You don’t have to talk. But, please, come back with me?”
He shook his head. She didn’t understand. He back up another step, preparing to flee. He shouldn’t have let her get so close in the first place.
“Wait!” she pleaded. And he did. “Is it the hair-cut? Do you not want that? We don’t have to, baby. Just- please?”
He shook his head again. She still didn’t understand. No one ever did. Why was it so hard? This is why he’d never tried before. Never tried to talk. To communicate. No one ever understood. No one except-
He made it to the hickory tree, patting the trunk and looking back at Nadi. He pointedly tapped the trunk again, pointed to himself and then the ground of the cemetery. He pointed to himself, then the direction of the gates and shook his head. Nadi could visit all she liked, but he couldn’t leave. The cemetery, a resting place for the dead, was the only place he belonged anymore. He needed to stop pretending he was still alive and stay in a Haunt he deserved. A place empty and cold aside from the other restless shades.
Nadi deflated, heaving a sigh. “Mi vida, you can’t stay here. This is no place for you. Please, please, come with me.”
He smiled, small and hurt. She was wrong. This was the one place that was for him.
“Okay!” she cried, seeing his intention to return to his new home in the bough of the hickory. He paused. Waiting to see what she would say.
“I’m going to leave,” she declared, hands on her hips. He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “And I’m going to get everything I need. And then I’m coming back and cutting your hair.”
He blinked, not expecting that. She would willingly come back? Willingly see him again? Do a favor for him, even? Why was she so determined? What could possibly posses her to do something like this? What madness had overcome her? This wouldn’t end well. Not for either of them. He shifted uneasily at the thought. She shouldn’t come back. Shouldn’t sympathize with him. Shouldn’t waste her time on him. But it was all so nice. It felt so, so nice. He’d forever be a fool, always falling for the same trap over and over again. Believing he could be with people without it ending in disaster.
Reluctantly, he nodded. He quickly flew back up into the branches of the tree, fleeing at the sight of her smile. He only hoped she wouldn’t get in any trouble with Red on his behalf. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t seen him as the terrible thing he was yet.
He played with the ends of his wispy hair, the strands floating in the air around him and twining around his fingers like smoke. A haircut, huh? He wondered how she’d even manage that.
It might be nice, though.
═════ ◈ ═════
Bruce stared at the screen for what felt like hours and hours, a question rotating within his mind with no solid answer. Had Jason Todd come back to life? Had his son fallen soldier clawed his way out of his own grave? Had he been alone and confused? Further failed by Bruce when he wasn’t there in time?
Had Jason Todd, his greatest regret, come back just to taunt him? To make sure he knew how badly he had failed? To hurt him so, so completely? He couldn’t sleep for how much it pained him to think that the magnitude of his failure was far greater than he’d first thought. Not only had he let Jason die, but he hadn’t been there to help him when he came back, either.
But how.
The grave was watched. It had sensors. He’d had Jason buried far from the Wayne family plots, closer to the Alley that the boy had grown up in, in order to avoid looting and antagonistically nosy reporters. The grave being further away, he’d put up sensors in order to know the moment anyone not authorized approached. If anyone had tried to disturb his boy’s body after death he should have known.
He hadn’t accounted for Jason getting out on his own.
He’d hoped. In the beginning. Every day he’d visit that grave and wait. And every night, the death of his youngest soldier still fresh, he’d go home disappointed. Bitter with himself. Feeling foolish for thinking there was even the slightest chance. He known that Jason would never come back. Could never come back. No matter what scheme he tried to think of, no matter what favor he tried to think of to pull, there was no reviving him. The brain damage had been too severe. The boy’s body broken beyond anything. He’d seen the damage first hand. He knew what he’d done.
And yet.
There was a chance he was back. There was a chance that his boy had come back. That Jason, however changed, was alive again.
And he was killing people. Spiting Bruce and all he stood for.
He lowered his weary head into his hands, cowl pressing uncomfortably against his face. Why now? Why like this?
Red Hood wasn’t the only mystery to have fallen into his lap either. The green glowing boy was wrapped up in all of this as well. But he didn’t know how. He’d let his temper, his hurt, get the best of him when the boy had first appeared on Jason’s grave. He’d already been scolded thoroughly for that by Alfred, and he had come to regret it some on his own. But that didn’t change the mystery of the boy’s identity. Hell, the mystery of the boy’s species. He was an unknown variable in Gotham and Bruce couldn’t stand to leave it alone. The boy could be dangerous, doubly so now that he’d taken up with Red Hood’s gang.
All he had to go on were rumors.
Security footage shorted out or was taken over by Red Hood in the first place. The blood that had been left after their initial fight had come back inconclusive. He had no record of whatever substance the boy was made of. His intentions were unknown. His power set was unknown (and he had powers, that much he’d been able to glean). His origins were unknown. And every lead Bruce looked into became a dead end.
He didn’t have the time or energy to dedicate to the case, not unless it directly involved the Red Hood. The Jason Todd case.
Thankfully Tim would be coming back to Gotham soon, a small break from his work with the Titans. He could offload the case to Tim and not think about the immense guilt he felt every time he looked at his latest Robin. He’d sworn after Jason’s death that there would never be another, and yet Tim had wormed his way into Bruce’s life and refused to leave. If he distracted himself with Red Hood’s case and gave another one to distract Tim, maybe they wouldn’t have to interact as much and Bruce wouldn’t have to feel so goddamn sad about it.
He’d give Tim the courtesy of welcoming him back before leaving himself. He’d follow his next lead back to Ra’s and question the man within an inch of his life. If he had had anything to do with Jason being resurrected and then subsequently kept from him, he didn’t know what he was liable to do.
First, he’d wait for Robin to come home. He felt like he was always waiting for his Robin’s to come home, they so often left the nest.
═════ ◈ ═════
Harley was waiting.
She knew she was being hunted and there was no escape. That was fine. She didn’t want to escape, she was here to deliver a message to the newest Bat running in the streets. Oh, Red Hood may bot want to admit he was a new Bat, but Harley knew better. Boy wasn’t exactly subtle with his identity and while Brucie B might have trouble accepting the truth, she knew better than anyone that people could have a habit of coming back from the dead. Her dear Mistah J had managed it enough times. Jason Todd coming back and antagonizing his old man was no surprise. That it took him this long to find her was what was surprising.
“Harley Quinn,” said a voice, deep and heavily modulated. Harley wondered if the baby boy wonder had really grown so much or if it was a mask. Or maybe it was a side-effect of his resurrection. Who could tell.
“Baby bird,” she sang, swinging her hammer up onto her shoulder. “Good ta see ya again.”
“How-”
She spun to face her intruder. She was precariously perched on the ledge of an abandoned building out near the docks. She’d been waiting for Red Hood to show his masked face and he didn’t disappoint. She swung her hammer out towards the boy, leaning back over the edge and using it as a counterbalance to keep herself on the roof. Hood kept his gun on her the entire time.
“Puh-lease,” she said, “you may be able to taunt ol’ Batty boy about who you are, but don’t think you can fool the fool here, Jaybird.” She relished in watching the big little guy flinch. “You’re not exactly subtle, ya know.”
“What do you want, Harley,” he asked, although it didn’t really sound like much of a question. She pouted at him. He was the one to hunt her down and, yeah, she might have caused a little trouble to get his attention, but still. She knew what he wanted.
“It’s not about what youse can do for me, but what I can do’s for you.” She swung her hammer again until it rested on the ledge and she leaned on it for support. “I hear ya been lookin for Mista J.”
And she had heard about that. Rumors wafting up from the underground about Red Hood being on a hunt for the Joker. The other rogues thinking the man was insane, he already had a hit on him from Black Mask (not something any of the usual rogues were willing to touch without testing more of Red Hood’s skill (they were mostly insane, not stupid. No one wanted to battle a guy willing to go toe-to-toe with Black Mask and seemed to be winning.)) and now he wanted to tango with the Big Guy? The Clown Prince of Crime?
Rule number one for Gotham villainy- never work with the Joker. Everyone thought they could control him, predict him, work around his brand of crazy. No one ever succeeded. Ra’s got the little bird killed trying to work with Mister J. Penguin got blasted in the ass the last time he’d tried to hire the Clown for help. Harley was the only one that could match the Joker, the only one that could work with him without it backfiring. She was the harlequin to his jester, the tit to his tat.
“You know who I am,” he said. And she did. That was part of the point here. “You know what I want with him. You’d give me your ‘precious puddin’ for nothing?”
She didn’t like being mocked like that, but she let it go. It wouldn’t do to lose her temper here.
“I wouldn’t say it’s nothin’, Little Hood,” she said, twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger. “An’ sides,” she added, trying her best to look sad, “me and Mista J ain’t exactly square anymore. He hurt me good and I’ma lookin’ to hurt him back. I let you attem an’ we both win in the end, ya see?”
“If he hurt you so bad, then why don’t you want revenge for yourself instead of handing it off to me?” he sounded cautious, but willing to believe her. Sucker.
“Well, deep down somewheres in here,” she pointed to her heart, “I still love the guy.” She swooned, nearly falling off the roof with her dramatics, but she kept her place. She knew how to balance, to walk that thin, thin line. “Wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger. You, on the otha hand,” she stopped to sweep a hand in Red’s direction, “gots plenty a triggers to pull.”
“Don’t play with me, Harleen,” he growled. Ooh, so scary. She’d seen that boy in pixie shorts, chasing crime in his greenie-tighties, she wasn’t intimidated by him. He might have a gun, but she had a hammer. And hyenas if the situation called for it.
“Ain’t playin’!” She said, swaying on the ledge with the force of her denial. “Pinky swear!” she held up a pinky, but kept her other hand behind her back, crossing her fingers.
“Heard ya got a doggy to play with anyhow,” she said, distracting. She knew his little friend had run off without him. Poor boy had never been any good at playing nice.
“Ran away,” he said, voice curt and closed off. Ooh, she’d definitely hit a sore spot.
“Aw, that’s too bad!” she cooed, before stretching her face into a wide, sharp grin. “Was hopin’ we could play fetch.”
“Tell me where he is or get shot, Quinn,” he growled. Oh, maybe the nerve was a tad too sensitive. Oopsie.
“Party pooper,” she pouted. She swung her hammer up onto her shoulder and sauntered closer, ignoring the had tightening on the gun still pointed at her head. She knew he wouldn’t shoot. He needed her intel too much. Boy was too much like his dad for that.
“Alright,” she said, “Mistah J is gonna be havin a little party. Don’t know why, just that he is. And I so happen to have an exclusive in-va-ta-tion.” With that she pulled out a little card and waved it around in the other’s face.
He made a grab for it and she pulled back. “Ah, ah,” she sang. “You gotta promise you let me know when you RSVP. I wanna see you crash his shindig, ya dig?”
“Fine,” he bit out. And Harley could just hear him grinding his teeth. Gosh, she loved riling up the Bats. He snatched the card out of her hand and she let him. He pulled out a grapple (classic Bat behavior) and was about to swing away before she shouted after him.
“Maybe you can bring your little doggie friend too!”
She laughed as she dodged the bullet that embedded itself into the concrete where she’d been standing a second earlier. Oh, what a fun little bash they would have. She clapped and laughed as she hopped down the fire escape, switching to a jaunty whistle as she strolled the docks. She knew why her puddin’ was throwing his soiree. Knew that it wasn’t something the baby bat could crash. Not when he was the guest of honor! Sure hoped he liked the cake they picked out for his welcome home party! And the explosives!
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
20 questions for writers
I was tagged by @comfort-questing! Thank you, this was fun.
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
Currently 55
2. What's your total AO3 word count?
576,498! That's over six years of posting
3. What fandoms do you write for?
I've written for many! Currently I have active WIPs for Genshin Impact, Tamora Pierce, Persona 5, and Demon Slayer. (I also have a couple unposted for Mistborn)
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
By Only a Flicker (FMA)
Into Darkness and Howling (Genshin)
Maelstrom (Demon Slayer)
Pray to Blades of Grass (Genshin)
Fingernails the Colour of Rust (Genshin)
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
I try to! Sometimes I miss some but in general I try to. It encourages involvement, which I love. Fandom as a community is really important to me.
6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
Hmmm okay so. I'm going to list a few because I can't decide because they're all very specific.
Fragile Things isn't really an angsty ending, per se, but it isn't happy. You know that long term it isn't going to get any better. Xiao is still chronically ill; Collei is still terminally ill. They have each other but that doesn't change the circumstances.
A Dream of a Memory (Genshin Impact) is Hurt No Comfort because it's a prequel so idk if that counts
Still Too Similar (Tamora Pierce) is a modern take on a canon death, which I'm also not sure counts because it's based off canon.
7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
It's probably between The Sea That's Painted Black and Pray to Blades of Grass
8. Do you get hate on fics?
Nope! I don't think I ever have but I wouldn't really be bothered if I did. I'd just delete the comment.
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
Once! It was kinda angsty, kinda sweet. I write smut like a wealthy Edwardian woman who would die if somebody so much as said an annotomically correct word.
10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?
No I haven't but I've seen some great ones.
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Sort of? There is a person who was inspired by my work and wrote theirs without credit (which is whatever, it's all fic) but they paraphrase plagarized my first chapter, which was devistated. It made me stop writing for a couple weeks because it just killed my desire.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Yeah! Several into Russian, and then a couple other languages.
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
None currently posted but I did with @currentlylurking when we were younger! And I've helped my friends as a sounding board for fics for years. I just don't have time to co-write, sadly.
14. What's your all-time favourite ship?
I don't really have an all time favourite. Currently I write a lot of cynonari/tighcyno from Genshin Impact, which I love, but I think my oldest ships are Alex/Thom and Numair/Thom from Tamora Pierce? So that might count more.
15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?
*Sigh* at this point? Probably Into Darkness and Howling. I love the fic and the concept, but the general discourse around the character ruined any writing of him for me. Everybody gets so mad about characterization and localization that even if the fic never got any complaints I'm just not comfortable attempting. Also the popularity of it really scary even if the character wasn't contentious. There's too many expectations of it now.
16. What are your writing strengths?
My ideas are amazing. I come up with great canon divergent AUs.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
Sometimes it feels like everything lol. Spelling is definitely my worst, you just can't tell since I use a beta reader and spellcheck. Characterization and making my characters unique in thoughts and dialogue can also be a struggle.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?
I haven't done it but I like it when it's done well! I think you have to intersperse it with the original languague of the fic and make sure it contextually makes sense without needing a translation.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
Technically Tamora Pierce in an old notebook but officially my first works were Soul Eater. (They were really really bad)
20. Favourite fic you've ever written?
I like a lot of them but Fragile Things is held close to my heart.
I'm tagging @faelynny @currentlylurking @marcellebelle @lavenders-writing @clementinecoastline no pressure to do it though!
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Hollow Promise [27] chapter vi, part iv
{_[on AO3]_}
main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture
-
summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.
Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.
And this changes things.
Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.
(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)
-
chapter summary : astrid gathers her allies, and draws the attention of her enemies. loki pays a heavy price for a victory.
recommended listening : what you waiting for?, gwen stefani
-
tag list: @femmealec @mischief2sarawr
-
[PREVIOUS] | [MASTERLIST] | [NEXT]
-
54 weeks and 1 day out
“Sir. We have movement.”
Tony felt the lines of his spine and shoulder blades pull straight, almost reflexively, swivelling into motion at his holographic worktable like a well-oiled gear.
He was going on a self-imposed work diet- an attempt to rebalance, after living in his work for the past few months, building and breaking and remaking in an endless beta-testing phase, a Sisyphean attempt to patch every vulnerability he could imagine- but it had been pushed back, under the circumstances, and he had rationed out enough time for him to deal with the situation, before starting the full detox.
“Where are we, J?” He asked, with a casual upwards flick above the table.
The gesture summoned a hologram above the desk: an architectural scale model of the Tower, crafted in vitrified blue light.
“There is some unusual activity near the roof.”
The area in question turned orange on the three-dimensional map, zooming in for an exploded view of the topmost two-dozen floors.
Tony had remodelled the top of the Tower, after the Battle of New York. Damage had given him the excuse, and the team had provided the reason. Repaired and restructured, several stories added to its height, the broad, smooth curves and open layout modelled after his cliffside home in Malibu were scrapped, the exterior cleaner and sharper- streamlined, from the slanted crown of its roof, through the convex glass-faced layers of the penthouse floors, to the landing pad extending out into the open air.
Locals had taken to calling it Avengers Tower. None of the roster aside from Tony had taken up residence yet, but they all agreed that it was a good base, and Tony kept the personal suites ready for whenever they might need to drop in.
The luminescent A badge shimmered on the side of the building, level with the landing pad. Just below it- within the three floors dedicated to Tony’s private laboratories, workshops, storage, and fabrication facilities- a red diamond marked his current location.
“Surveillance feeds and motion sensor detectors are offline,” JARVIS announced, highlighting the locations in a chain, “as are the door sensors.”
Tony visually tracked the path that it created.
It led from the roof access, into the emergency stairwell, before terminating at the door into Thor’s suite: no more and no less than would be needed to gain access to the building.
It was more than twenty floors above him- a distance that would take several minutes to traverse. He had time.
“You locked out, buddy?” Tony asked quietly, summoning his touch keyboard with a sweep of his palm. “Or are they trying to be subtle?”
“Neither, sir. As with the first occurrence, this appears to be a mechanical failure, not a cyber-attack.”
His gaze narrowed briefly, jaw moving.
Somehow, that was both more and less plausible than JARVIS being hacked.
“Shall I prepare to go into lockdown protocol, sir?” JARVIS proposed. “It should be possible to isolate intruders to one of the penthouse floors, once they are inside.”
Tony contemplated the offer for only a heartbeat.
“No. Clear the way down for her, J,” he decided breezily. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”
There was a brief, audibly judgemental pause in the response time.
“As you wish, sir.” Tony could hear the mild disapproval and concern behind his AI’s cool, crisp tones. “Shall I at least stand by with security protocols?”
“Doubt we’ll be needing them, but- feels like this one’s got a few fireworks up her sleeve.” He conceded blithely, pre-empting the reproach about putting himself at unjustifiable risk. “Alright. Safety off, but finger off the trigger.”
Tony turned in his chair, scanning the room. The workshop was cluttered with a rich confusion of half-finished projects, both metal and digital, strewn across screens and surfaces between discarded coffee cups and various tools.
“And clear the decks, J. Window Dressing Protocol.”
At the command, the screens cleared.
Detailed blueprints and test data were replaced with generic schematics and randomised code, like cellophane pasted on a device fresh out of the box. They reflected in the wall of glass that faced the length of the room- diluted against the dark hallway beyond.
With a gentle swipe, Tony dismissed the render of the Tower.
Rising to his feet, he slid the rolling chair aside, summoned a program and began typing, looking to all the world like the very image of productivity and genius at work.
He wasn’t kept waiting for long.
A gentle rap of knuckles sounded on the reinforced, shatter-proof glass.
Tony’s head snapped up.
The girl whose real name definitely wasn’t Alethia waited just outside, painted like day in the light spilling from the workshop.
She was dressed for the winter night, a New York romance in a soft black sweater and jeans the colour of dried roses, champagne hair pinned in in a braided coil, emphasising a pretty set of cheekbones and long eyelashes. Backs of her knuckles still raised to the glass, snow-dusted and pleasantly windswept, she tipped chin down slightly in greeting.
She looked better, Tony observed. Her skin was clearer, her eyes brighter, expression smoother- less tension-soured, less angry, and more like the person that she had sounded like, aboard the Helicarrier.
Without looking, he tapped a command into the control panel.
The electronic lock switched open with a heavy snap.
Alethia turned the handle, stepping inside, flawless and measured.
“Dr Stark.”
There was a low thrum in her voice, as though cautiously pleased to see him.
“Not-agent.”
Tony’s reply was blandly jovial. Shunting the lines of code aside, he stepped away from the workbench, one hand tucked into his pocket. He had remained outfitted in dark sweats and a gym shirt, standard gear for the workshop, but his posture was that of when he was in a three-piece suit and a boardroom- eyes fixed on her face, chin tilted up slightly, sizing her up with an air of casual challenge.
To her credit, Alethia remained unaffectedly at ease.
It had reminded him a little of Pepper- but not by much.
Virginia Potts was like a ceramic knife. There was a deliberate poise to her, born of a consciousness of her disadvantages in the industry, a refusal to be anything less than a worthy player of the game; she was everything prim and correct and refusing to be intimidated, the result of thousands of observations and lessons learned and choices made, constructed into a statuesque, pleasantly intimidating facade.
Alethia reminded him far more of someone else.
Tony had realised it when she was leaning over the Tesseract transport device, her voice focused and softly mirthful.
Relax. I have steady hands.
For a moment, he had been hurled back in time. He had tasted metal, and dust, lung tissue still burning from the water with each breath, the heat of the forge at his back and the dim cold of the caves at his front, the weight of a car battery slung over his shoulder, and a pair of lean hands- Yinsen, sure and calm and steady, mild-mannered yet ruthlessly insightful, guarded and tired and yet earnest- pouring molten palladium into its cast.
Relax, he had chided Tony gently, tilting the long handles of the tongs, inclining the lip of the crucible over the mould. I have steady hands. Why do you think you are alive, ah?
After removing it from his chest for the second time, Tony had quietly returned the first miniaturised arc reactor to the display mount that Pepper had commissioned, sealing it back in glass.
It was still powered by that delicate ring of palladium, poured by steady hands under a mountain in Afghanistan.
With a steady sweep of her lashes, Alethia looked past Tony’s shoulder, at the screen display where he had been typing.
Her head tilted.
“Was there any particular reason that you were translating the lyrics of ABBA’s Dancing Queen into base64?”
Huh. Well.
Tony had more or less expected that she would see straight through the chains of randomised letters and numbers, like an awl punching through leather, but- the casual quickness was a little disorientating. It was like expecting a card trick, and getting shoved into a swimming pool instead.
“Everybody needs a hobby,” he said, bald-faced and shameless.
“Mm.” Hazel eyes flicked to his, warm as vanilla and laughter. “I’ve heard worse.”
They trailed into silence.
“Ran a trace, on the phone number you left,” Tony admitted boldly. “Before I called.”
Alethia smiled slightly.
“Ah. Were you disappointed?”
“I think I’d be disappointed if it was that easy.” Tony decided, circling the desks, feigning distraction. Alethia was missing a coat that would make sense for the cold. Her nails were trimmed neat, without polish. The only traces of makeup were a swipe of soft black kohl at the corners of her eyes and the sheen of lip balm. Practical, yet impractical. “Complete no sell, though. Impressive. That SHIELD tech?”
The corner of her mouth pulled up further.
“No.”
“You still with them?”
“If I ever was, I’m not now.”
“So you’re a free agent?”
“Free not-agent.”
“How long?”
“Is this an interrogation?”
“I mean, I’d call it due diligence, but I’ve got a pair of cuffs somewhere, if it’d make you more comfortable.”
Alethia’s smile bloomed into a brilliant grin.
“Didn’t think you’d be into that, Dr Stark.”
She sobered slightly, clear as glass.
“Ask me what you want to know. I wouldn’t have left a way for you to contact me, if I wasn’t willing to talk.”
Tony held her gaze for a long moment.
He tapped at the keypad.
Several pages opened across the screens.
Pages of instructions, formulas, tables, calculations, and skeletal molecular structures illuminated the digital glass.
Alethia kept her gaze on Tony.
“What is this?” Tony asked, quiet and direct.
She breathed a slow exhale, hip cocking.
“The formulas, chemical synthesis processes, and medical procedures for stabilising the biological effects of the experimental serum known as Extremis,” she announced clinically, “when introduced to the human body intravenously, subcutaneously, or intramuscularly.” Alethia paused, pointedly. “I did include an abstract.”
“And you broke into my building to leave it here.”
“I apologise for the necessity.” Alethia replied evenly. “It was safer, than a courier.”
“You couldn’t think of another way?”
She arched an eyebrow.
“So- a package, delivered to this building, or a file sent to the general inquires inbox for Stark Industries, addressed directly to you, from an unknown sender- wouldn’t have been lost in the system?”
Despite the lingering irritation, he could admit that she had a point.
And at least she hadn’t tried to hack JARVIS, or threatened to taser him, or ripped the arc reactor out of his chest, or thrown him through a window.
All in all, this break-in was probably in his top three.
Tony flicked his hands into a shrug, keeping his expression blank and blithe.
“Alright. Let’s say I buy that.” He did buy it, but she didn’t need to know that yet. “You wanna tell me what this really is?”
He saw the subtle shift in her eyes, becoming a little shrewder, a touch sharper- and a little pleased.
She pulled up one shoulder.
“A gift? Or a bribe, perhaps. Gratitude. Diplomacy. A resumé.”
“What, you’re in the market for a job?”
The quip was as pithy as he intended, but in the split second that followed- huh.
Actually.
That wasn’t a terrible idea.
Tony acknowledged that he needed to step back from Iron Man- at least until he could reorganise his head and redraw the lines so that it wasn’t the all-consuming furnace of fear and duty and penance and freedom-safety that it had become- but the work wouldn’t wait. The planet was on a deadline, and Tony had more resources than most to pull the necessary defences together. Having good people on board, who could keep his projects ticking over while he reorientated, was essential.
And Alethia knew. She had recognised the monsters lurking in the dark between the stars, and had looked for someone to warn when she decided that Fury couldn’t be trusted to listen.
And then there was the truth in all things, and cannot lie aspect. That was a hell of an ace up Earth’s collective sleeve- if, if, if-
“I don’t need a job, Dr Stark. What I need is an ally.” Alethia spoke as clear and calm as daybreak upon the mountains. “We both do. As many as we can get.”
Tony swallowed, carefully.
He turned his head to look at the screens, grappling down the swoop of intermingled terror and relief.
“So this is your pitch.”
“I was working on other areas, but- I saw the news,” Alethia said mildly. “The bombings. Malibu.”
She hesitated.
“I was worried.”
Tony flicked a slightly surprised glance back at her.
Alethia’s gaze was on the screens, inscrutable.
There was a note of quiet sincerity in her voice that rattled something within him, like marbles in a jar.
“Well.” Tony began, turning back towards the illuminated text. “I’ve come back from the dead before.”
“Even so.” She demurred. “You were- you were kind to me. I didn’t forget that. So I was glad to find that you were alright. Then I found out about AIM, and Extremis, and I- thought you could use the assistance.”
Tony didn’t know what to say.
He still couldn’t decide, even after a moment to reboot.
Instead, he deflected.
“I knew you weren’t an engineer.”
“Hm?”
Tony flicked a practiced, flippant gesture at the screens- a quick upturn of his palm, fingers loosely curled- turning away.
“Back then. The instructions you provided for the Tesseract device- I mean, we talked about it at the time. Hot garbage, right? Intentional hot garbage, but still. There was a solid working understanding of the physics and the mechanics, but it wasn’t written by someone au fait with the field. There are things that you only learn if you’ve studied it, read the books, learned how to speak the language. It’s all in the common practice- the jargon, the shorthand. That was missing, from your papers. There were a few pieces, but not enough. You’re not an engineer.”
Tony turned to face her, expression a flat, inscrutable mask.
“You are a doctor, though.”
Alethia didn’t flinch.
He would expect nothing less, from someone who had kept secrets from Nicholas Fury and was still walking around, doing as she pleased.
“This,” Tony raised a finger to his shoulder-line, indicating the screens behind him. “Is perfect. Flawless. You could send this for peer review and get it published in The Lancet.”
A chink appeared in Alethia’s expression- something that she had allowed to break through, intense as sunlight striking on a shard of glass.
Pride.
It was earned. As far as Tony could tell, she had whipped up the antiserum formula within a matter of days; any sane research institute or private company on the planet, including the medical subsidiaries of Stark Industries, would be putting a bounty on her corporate headhunt if they knew.
Blasé as he could afford to be with money, however, Tony rarely made a purchase without knowing the price.
“So. What are you?” He paced back towards her, gathering a slow momentum like the wind of a crank, closing in. “Biochem? Cellular biology? Genetics? What’s your speciality?”
Alethia smiled.
“Neurosurgery.”
Tony’s brow twitched at the admission, taken aback.
He wasn’t actually expecting a straight answer. He wasn’t expecting that answer.
And he wasn’t expecting its wistfulness.
“You’re a brain surgeon?”
She let out a short laugh.
“I should probably introduce myself.” An incandescent, media-ready smile lit up her features, relaxed and confident. “Dr Astrid North, MD.”
Tony stilled.
That was her name, he could tell. Not an alias.
Tony quickly calculated the risk, that she was taking.
“Date of birth recorded as the twenty-ninth of February, 1988,” she continued, as though this time she was actually reciting and submitting her résumé for consideration. “Graduated from Columbia in the class of ’03, summa cum laude, completed my neurosurgical residency in 2010. I also worked under the surnames Stephenson and Stephensdottir- spelt like the doctorate, not like the super-soldier. There should be records of me available here in New York, as well as the UK, Italy, Switzerland, Sweden, Singapore, and Brazil.”
Tony could feel the staccato of his heart, stuttering behind the arc reactor, a thrum of anticipation.
“Hm. SHIELD know any of this?”
Alethia’s- Astrid’s- lip curled with a hint of contempt.
“No.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
She lifted her shoulder. “I thought you’d want an insurance policy.”
“And what have I done to earn that?”
“You listened.”
“I passed the test,” Tony inferred. “That’s why you’re here?”
“I’m here because I would like to trust you,” Astrid said coolly, “and because I think there’s a more than fair probability that I can. And- because I would like you to trust me. Even if only enough to work together.”
Tony observed her for a few dragging seconds.
“What’s your endgame?” He challenged. “You told me back then that you’re not an altruist.”
“Oh, I’m not.”
“Then why? What’s in it for you?”
Her brow tensed slightly.
“Enlightened self-interest? Or, is I don’t want the planet I currently live on to be destroyed insufficient for you?”
“Eh, plenty of people don’t find it compelling. Look at climate change.”
Astrid’s lips parted to reply- before she grimaced, glancing aside in admission.
“Alright, fair point.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But maybe I’m just more circumspect.”
“Or you have another reason.”
She lifted her eyes to the ceiling with a slow blink.
“You are being very obstinate about this.”
“You know, I don’t actually care, what your actual reason is,” Tony blurted out, sharp and caustic as battery acid, a sudden flare of anger and impatience shoving him forwards, “because you’re right. We need allies. Including each other. So I’m willing to work with your reason why. But only if I know what it is.”
The moment that Tony stopped speaking, he became aware of how Astrid was looking at him.
Tony felt like he was being taken apart, disassembled, the cover plate pulled off to check the hardware.
Truth in all things.
She hummed, soft in the back of her throat. It was the kind that he could feel in his sternum, even with most of it carved away for the arc reactor.
“Alright,” she said softly. “Fair’s fair.”
She straightened, looking away.
“There is- someone.” She said carefully. “Someone that I love.”
Tony blinked.
It was like the twist of a kaleidoscope, patterns reforming, in four simple words.
“And the one responsible for- that-” Astrid snapped a finger heavenwards, her entire being smouldering with a leashed, soul-deep hatred, “took them, at their most vulnerable. Captured them. Tortured them. For months. Years. Twisted their memories, tainted their emotions, and manipulated their pain until they no longer knew where they ended, and the sceptre began. They barely kept enough of themselves to ruin it all, and break free of the control.”
Tony felt a muscle in his bicep and jaw twitch, flicking an appraising, calculating look across her.
Interesting.
“The one that I love will be hunted as a traitor. Or, as a failure- I don’t think it matters, and I don’t care. It all has the same end. What matters is that the one I love will never be safe, until and unless that is no longer a threat.”
Astrid dropped her hand, meeting his eyes addressing him with a tone of complete, terrifying certainty.
“I have decided that it is not going to be a threat.”
The floor of Tony’s stomach dropped out, the room seeming to tilt.
He was suddenly struck with a strange thought- like some survival instinct coded into his evolutionary ancestry, tapping at his nerve endings, lingering like a chill in the vertebrae of his neck. It was the feeling that he was looking at something ancient, and angered- half-mad and unhinged and doing an admirable job of containing itself to its human skin.
He realised, in a split second, that Astrid was probably something not entirely human.
And she was baring her teeth at whatever was threatening to swallow Earth whole.
Fuck it. He could work with this.
“All of the sake of love?” Tony asked.
He took pride in the fact that his cadence was even-keeled, despite the stagger of his pulse.
A humourless, self-deprecating smile wrung through her features.
“You can laugh,” Astrid told him, rueful and without rancour. “I know how I must sound.”
Tony forced himself to shrug, nonchalantly. “I’ve heard worse.”
And he had. Tony had been worse. He had cut deals with worse, because he was a realist, and anyone pursuing utopia had to be willing to drag themselves through purgatory first.
After a long moment, Tony inhaled sharply, pulling his shoulders back.
“Okay,” he said powerfully. “If this is a bluff? I’m calling it. Cards on the table.”
A spark ignited behind Astrid’s eyes, like a struck match.
“Pepper’s been injected with Extremis,” he continued brusquely, “I need to get her stable, along with any other test subjects that AIM decided to turn into literal walking time bombs. That’s why you gave me these papers, right? You thought I could use it, and I can. So let’s get to it. You in?”
Astrid looked startled- before her entire demeanour snapped into a honed, clinical focus.
“Wh- are you monitoring cortisol levels? Internal temperature, heartrate, WBC-?”
“Per doctor’s orders.” Tony flicked his head towards the reams of detailed medical instructions, listed out on the glass. “Followed your procedures to the letter. We’re tracking down anyone else who might have taken part in clinical trials, but it looks like there were a limited number, at least.”
Astrid tugged up her sleeves with an efficient pinch of fabric, pulling the soft knit clear of her wrists and forearms. “How many potential patients?”
“Caps out at a dozen, maybe.”
“The antiserum? You’ve started synthesising it?”
“As we speak, lab’s running on auto.”
“How much?”
“About two hundred and fifty milligrams, in the first batch.”
“Not enough. Triple it. And quintuple it for the others, per patient. I don’t want to be caught out with less than we need. Have you started on the round of pre-antiserum IV fluids?”
“About three hours ago.”
“And no adverse effects, contraindications?”
“Nada. Smooth sailing, all in line with where you said we should be by now.”
“Good, but keep Miss Potts closely monitored. And we’ll still need to test the antiserum on a live tissue sample, if possible.”
“I’ll get on it.”
Tony swiped two fingers down through the air, dismissing the pages on the screens, the room dimming slightly as they slid away.
“If this works,” he said, his enunciation crisp, “we can talk.” In one fluid motion, Tony plucked a StarkPad from amongst the chaos of the workbenches, flipping it in his grip to hold it, outstretched, within her reach. “Sound good, doctor?”
Astrid smiled, light and wild, and Tony felt his decision settle in his chest with a feeling of rightness.
This could work.
She took the tablet.
“Lead the way, doctor.”
-
Astrid made an addition to her list.
Flour.
-
50 weeks and 3 days out
Brunnhilde would be the first to admit that she was not made for subterfuge.
She was a woman of brash, blunt action, more inclined to punch her way straight through her problems that to deconstruct them. As such, her vocation suited her. The Valkyrie were the vanguard, the cavalry, the elite corps, revered shieldmaidens who cleared the field with a swift, graceful brutality that was immortalised in legend and song and carving.
They had been thralls, once. Slaves.
Most of Asgard had forgotten that.
As war raged across the Nine, they had been appropriated by the throne- a form of tax levy, on the wealthy of Asgard- and dispatched to the battlefield in the wake of Asgard’s armies, to collect corpses from the slurry. Choosers of the slain, the golden-plated Einherjar snickered into their cups, leering over the rims.
Then there was a shortage of disposable warm bodies. It had seen weapons pressed into their hands, shoved to the front lines to fill out the ranks.
Against all expectation, the Valkyrie had fought. The fought, and lived, and bought victory to Asgard.
In recognition of their deeds, Bor had purchased their freedom. The Valkyrie became the pride of Asgard, a symbol of its might, arrayed in battle armour of bright, sun-catching pearl-white and star-silver.
Their origins were probably why the Valkyrie could be found working, even in peacetime- conducting funerary rites, serving at great state occasions, maintaining Folkvang- while the Einherjar regressed into nothing more than decorative doorstops scattered throughout Gladsheim.
Brunnhilde had once remarked as such to Loki. Months later, he had presented her with a gilded doorstop for her nameday, crafted into the shape of an Einherjar in full regalia.
It had sent Brunnhilde into a fit of delighted, undignified cackles.
I’m calling him Sigurd, she declared with a feral grin.
Ah, he’s not going to last a week, Loki had commented, clicking his tongue with a convincing veneer of faux-pity.
Even now, few if any of Brunnhilde’s sisters were of noble blood or wealthy backgrounds. Most of them came from labouring families, apprenticed in a trade before they turned old enough to apply to the corps, and they bought their skills to Folkvang. The Valkyrie’s halls, sheltered in a chilled, fertile basin in the mountains, was almost entirely self-sufficient thanks to their collective knowledge. They raised fields of wheat and flax, milled their own flour and spun their own linen, wove and baked and built, felled timber and hunted and fished, tanned leather and cured meat, cut stone and dug wells, even kept bees and pressed oil and fermented wine and made candles.
And then there was the lace.
A few girls who knew how to weave had taken it up, transforming thread into pretty swatches of aerated cloth. They had begun teaching the craft to a few others, when they showed interest. Then the pastime became an additional source of income, to supplement the stipend provided by the crown.
And within a few centuries, Valkyrie lace was considered amongst the most exquisite craftsmanship in all the Nine. A single spool of inch-wide trim commanded a small fortune. When a Valkyrie was wed, it was customary for her sisters to spend the year and a day between engagement and marriage- or longer, if they saw the union coming- making as many yards of lace as they could manage, as her dowry.
Brunnhilde loved her sisters, admired their work, and hated lacemaking with a virulence that she usually reserved for bilgesnipe and strutting lordlings who thought that bedding a Valkyrie was a notch in their gilded belt.
Fortunately, she also had absolutely no talent for it. The others had quickly banished her from their tatting pillows and needles and bobbins, gently shoving her off towards work that actually made sense to her.
And Brunnhilde was content to have nothing to do with it. She honestly couldn’t understand what the others envisioned in the countless threads, or why crossing one here or knotting another there would somehow create a magnificently intricate motif several thousand more motions later, even if she was capable of appreciating the result.
In that sense, subterfuge reminded her of lacework.
She couldn’t see all of the threads, where they were leading, or how they locked together into a single bolt of woven fibre and air- but Loki so clearly knew exactly how each and every loop and twist and knot would build outwards, and took quiet satisfaction in seeing each one tighten into place, like a miniature noose.
There was an aching patience to it, each miniscule snag changing the fall of the delicate mesh, and Brunnhilde was often caught by the impulse to just hack her way through it.
She didn’t.
Instead, she did exactly as he asked.
Asgard underestimates him, a memory whispered- that of a warm voice, accompanied by a smile that darkened the eyes above it into amber. Or thinks it sees him, or thinks it knows what it’s looking at. A trick of the light. A shadow on glass. It is a mistake, you know.
The darkened eyes had begun to glow, instead, when they saw that Brunnhilde was paying attention.
I think he might be the most real person that I have ever met.
“I was surprised,” Loki admitted, on a low, distracted hum, “that you didn’t ask.”
The dungeons were quiet, at least in the wing where Loki was being held. It felt like an archive, a place for lost and forgotten things to be kept, shelved and stored out of sight until they were needed- the air settled as silt on the bottom of a riverbed, barely stirring with the sparse rounds of the guards.
Brunnhilde had counted eleven weaknesses that she could exploit, if it came to it.
She would have counted three dozen more in a fraction of the time.
She felt her heart clench strangely. It was the feeling of old scar tissue, untouched for so long, flexing and moving once more.
She and Loki were seated at the front of his cell, arranged parallel against the golden barrier on either side. Swathed in worn, nondescript suedes, Brunnhilde slouched on the stone steps, bare shoulder shoved against the forcefield; the air felt thicker the closer she came to the curtain of spellwork, like magnetic resistance, but she found herself leaning her weight into it, defiant and testing, like pressing her thumb down on a new bruise.
On the other side, Loki was sorting through several sheaves of handwritten notes, stacks surrounding him like panes in a half-rose window. His black hair was braided back at his crown, dressed in soft leathers and deep green linens and lightweight boots, finely made with immaculate quality, but far simpler than would be expected of an Asgardian prince- at least outside of the privacy of the residential wings of the palace.
Brunnhilde knew that he could have dressed himself in illusions, if he wished.
The choice not to was- interesting. In a way that she refused to think about.
There were a lot of things she refused to think about, with regards to Loki.
Not when it made her feel all those mollusc-soft sentiments that she had decided to kill years ago, for her own survival, after the gold plating of Asgard had begun to flake in her eyes.
In that, at least, she knew they were both in good company.
“I asked about this,” Brunnhilde countered his comment, tapping a nail against the arm ring that sat flush against the curve of her bicep. It was a deceptively simple band of brass, seeming to blend in against her, unremarkable regardless of lighting. Between it, and Loki’s magic, they were shielded from the Gatekeeper’s watch- Loki as a glaring lacuna in the script, a blank space, and Brunnhilde as though from behind a fine, misting rain, the specifics blurred out of focus.
Loki rolled his eyes, in that prissy, superior manner that left Brunnhilde more amused than irritated, these days.
“Yes, about whether it would turn your skin orange or set you spitting toads, of all things.”
“It was a valid concern, knowing you.”
“Hm.” There was a slight upturn at the corner of Loki’s mouth- the closest thing to agreement that she would probably wrest out of him.
Brunnhilde slipped loose a smirk.
“I didn’t bother asking,” she admitted, in a crisp-consonant drawl, “because I knew that I probably wouldn’t understand it anyway. It would be like asking to read a contract before I sign, when I don’t know the language it’s written in.”
Loki’s eyes sliced up from the papers, without lifting his head, fixing her with a serpentine gaze.
“You do yourself a disservice, Brunn.”
Brunnhilde paused, a little surprised by his quiet vehemence.
She shrugged it away.
“This is just not something I’m suited for. Politics and subterfuge and spywork. Moving the pieces by moving entirely different ones, lightyears away. It’s like my sisters, and their lacework,” she admitted blithely. “I understand the theory. But even if you had told me where this was going, I wouldn’t know enough to tell if you were lying.”
But.
Brunnhilde wasn’t entirely ignorant to Loki’s plans. She had made certain of it.
She had heard the gossip, on dozens of planets across the Nine. The arm ring not only shielded her from Heimdall’s sight, but also from the perils of using the secret passageways that were specked across Asgard- allowing her to move freely between worlds, at Loki’s direction.
Steadily, disparate pieces and seemingly unconnected incidents were coalescing, into a clear picture.
Muspelheim had struck an unexpected trade deal with Ria. When the revival of the disused trade route had attracted Marauders and Ravagers, a new defence coalition had formed, stationed at crucial waypoints to prevent piracy and smuggling.
The Crown Prince of Vanaheim had headed a diplomatic envoy to Alfheim. By the time he had arrived, Niflheim’s queen just so happened to be also be visiting her fellow monarch. The triumvirate meeting occurred without a single Asgardian dignitary present.
A few weeks later, the realm of the light elves had also hosted several representatives of dwarven guilds.
The Nova-Kree War was turning cold. The Nine had become neutral ground. The Nova Corps had offered aid to those on the outskirts and most affected by raids, and had sent engineers to retrofit their older, short-haul vessels with swifter engines and stronger defences. The Kree were in tentative talks with Nidarvellir, to have the dwarves invest in maintaining local jump points, in exchange for Kree arms to protect their merchant fleets.
The realms were moving, like the interlocking turn of dials and gears. And for the first time in millennia, Asgard was excluded from its workings.
And it was Loki’s doing.
At his instruction, Brunnhilde had bribed and baited Ravagers to harass Nidarvellir trade routes. She had placed bets at various ports, on the likelihood of a Kree civil war. She had sold information on Knowhere, changed figures on shipping manifestos, stirred up bar fights and complained about the export tax on goods out of Ria, destroyed shipments and switched documents and delayed correspondence, paid off and blackmailed and persuaded civil servants and stewards and aides into suggesting or omitting a minor detail from a report, or handing a project to a different department.
Brunnhilde was the stage hand in a great, orchestrated play. The Nine were being gently herded into a strengthening current- one that was looking outwards, into a galaxy where the balance of power was shifting.
It was a coup.
And Loki hadn’t even left his cell.
Brunnhilde refused to be impressed.
After a moment, she realised that Loki was looking at her with a glinting amusement.
It wasn’t the kind that was intended to mock, but rather the prelude to bringing her in on the joke.
“Of course you can’t see where this is going, Brunn,” he said softly. “You’re the needle.”
A memory clicked into place, flickering in like guttering lamplight.
There was a bolster pillow in her lap, a lace pad template pinned atop it, embroidery needle gripped uncertain and rigid between her forefinger and thumb. The chatter and bickering and teasing of her sisters was a cloud of ambient sound that seemed to glow like nimbus, in the apple-golden autumn afternoon.
A warm shoulder brushed near her own.
Gently, Brunn! A voice laughed. Treat your needle with respect. Relax your hand. The needle can feel where it needs to go- you’re just guiding it.
This is a terrible idea, Brunnhilde had muttered. We all remember what happened when Svanhit tried to teach me.
Stay away from my bobbins, Brunn! Came a sharp call from across the hall, to a few snickers. Olrun, Hervor, keep her away!
Brunnhilde had made to wave a vulgar gesture at her, and almost stabbed herself with the needle.
Needlepoint lace is more straightforward, a clear voice interjected. Brunnhilde had looked over to her- the glint of her needle moving in brisk freehand stitches, looping and tightening, all deft skill and focus, one moving part, one thread. You don’t have to keep track of seventy different bobbins, and the order you need to cross or twist them in.
Your prince prefers bobbin lace, doesn’t he? Brunnhilde asked, smirkingly.
Brunnhilde received a gentle, reproachful elbow to the ribs.
A flush, through golden skin, head dipping and pearl-white hair slipping forwards.
Prince Loki has a mind for it, she replied, deliberately and damningly neutral. The dance of it, the complexity- it suits him.
Well, what do you prefer?
She had paused, head cocked.
I like both, I suppose, she hedged. Bobbin lace is essentially weaving- looping the strands together, pulling them into place against each other. It tends to be- lighter, more of a fabric with motifs created inside of it. Layers of opacity. Needle lace is often studier. Like- scaffolding. The pattern is all that there is. And the needle has to work back and back and back to bring it into existence, to make sure it holds in place, knotting back where it has already been.
Her eyes sharpened.
No- I think I prefer bobbin lace. Needle lace is- putting a great deal of trust on just one thing.
Brunnhilde blinked back into the present.
Oh.
Loki had learned some lacemaking. He would have likely received that same explanation, heard the same comparison.
After a moment, she scowled, looking away.
“I still hate lacemaking.”
Loki laughed.
-
Worlds away, Astrid made a cautious addition to her list, framed in brackets.
(Lace).
-
[PREVIOUS] | [MASTERLIST] | [NEXT
#a hollow promise#cross posted on AO3#marvel fanfiction#avengers fanfiction#loki fanfiction#loki fanfic#loki x original female character#loki x ofc#loki odinson#loki laufeyson#loki friggason#mcu loki#post-Avengers 2012#fix it au#no beta we die like canon by my blade#writing#chapter update#AO3 fanfic#ao3 writer#ao3 link
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
So I decided to do a crazy and impulsive thing since I haven't been posting fanfics for a while.
I am here posting the prologue of Endless Sunlight, the craziest fanfic I've ever written/planned.
I war you, I will need ChoT to write the rest, so if you want to read this Prologue now, you will have to wait for a long while before seeing the rest.
The story will be posted fully on Ao3 once it's completely written and edited, since it will break a few rules here I think.
So, for the first time in my life, NO BETA WE DIE LIKE BARBARA.
TW: canon level violence, mention of violence (still canon-level), swearing.
Endless Sunlight
Prologue
Thule
London, 1912
Grace felt the servants dragging her along the hall, but through the hood that she’d been forced to wear she couldn’t see anything. Not that she needed, since those corridors were as familiar as her own room, and she had a very precise idea where she was being taken.
At some point she felt the men pulling her and for a few seconds just the void. Grace tried to roll on a side to soften her fall, but her hip hit the soil painfully. She didn’t give them the satisfaction of hearing her painful whimper.
Finally free, she took off the hood and looked around: she was in the maze of ruins that was the garden of Chiswick Manor. From the balustrade of the terrace, where she’d apparently been pushed off, a servant threw at her three items and Grace caught them at once.
A stele, a seraph blade and a dagger.
Oh fuck, she thought. As she guessed, that bastard was at it again.
Grace quickly drew on her forearm and her legs runes of Strength, Speed, Swiftness and Silence. A hissing sound came to her ears and Grace whispered, "Azrael" to activate her seraph blade.
In a second, from the bush on her right a demon appeared and Grace lifted her blade. The demon lunged at her, but she jumped off on her left and rolled to come back on her feet, but the demon was already on her.
Sometimes it is more useful to take a step back rather than rolling around.
Those words came back to her as Grace quickly took a little jump back to avoid the demon's talon, and the fact that his advice had just saved her life made her hate him even more.
She avoided another couple of blows to study the demon, and once she got its timing, Grace jumped forward and pierced its shoulder, from which ichore gushed out in an arch. She rolled away from the poisonous blood, but to do so she abandoned the grip on the seraph blade.
Another hissing attracted her attention, as Grace realized that there were two demons.
You fucking sadistic bastard, she thought.
She had no time to waste, though: she ran as fast as she could in the opposite direction of the sound, as she thought about how to retrieve the seraph blade.
Her way, at some point, was blocked by a black plant full of thorns.
Black thorns, she thought. You have a sick sense of humor.
Grace quickly drew some incomplete iratzes on her arm and, taking a deep breath, she started climbing the thorns. Every time her palms were pierced or her body was cut, she suffocated the pain until she reached the top, where she closed the healing runes, feeling immediately her wounds closing, and took a look at the field from above. Two demons were scanning the ground, probably tracking her smell, but the first one she'd hurt still had the seraph blade deep in its shoulder.
For a second, Grace glanced at the terrace of the manor and she caught sight of him, sitting like a king on his throne.
He was enjoying the show for sure, and Grace wanted to finish it as soon as possible. She took her attention back on the demons, and they got closer to the thorns. A crazy idea formed in her mind, and, since she had nothing else to bet on, Grace went for it.
She drew some Balance and Agility rune on herself and jumped on the first demon, grabbing the blade and pushing it deeper in its flesh with all the momentum she got from the fall.
The demon disintegrated and Grace, with the seraph blade in her hand, turned to face the second one. The creature tried an attack that she avoided jumping back and, moving her arm in a swift arch, she cut off its limb. The demon shrieked and Grace, carefully avoiding the ichore, launched herself forward and pierced the demon's face with the blade.
The second demon disintegrated, too, and Grace took a moment to breath, but she immediately got suspicious. The fight hadn't been called off yet.
It wasn’t over.
A few human steps reached her, and Grace turned around. A tall and broad-shouldered man was in front of her, holding a knife. Grace immediately took her own dagger and threw it to the man, piercing him in the forehead with a precise movement. The man immediately fell, blood spilling from where the knife had sunk in his skull.
For a few seconds there was only silence, then Grace heard claps from the terrace.
"Bravo!" a man's voice shouted. "That was an amazing show."
Grace turned to him and she felt her hate burning as a flame.
He was smiling, a smile that was just hidden by a short beard. He wore his glasses, that hid partially his violet irises, and his hair was so long that it was tied. He stood with no problem, but Grace knew perfectly that he needed a cane to walk.
In his most elegant dark blue tuxedo, Christopher Lightwood, the person she hated the most in the world and whom she dreamed to kill in a painful way every night, kept his grin as she regarded him with a spiteful look.
He was looking at her from above, as to remind her of their social stranding, and he moved a hand in the direction of some servants. In a moment, they produced a ladder that Grace climbed to find herself in front of Mr. Lightwood.
She didn’t need to keep her hatred under control, because she knew he hated her just the same, if not even more. He had organized this encounter just to entertain himself, like an emperor who enjoyed the gladiators games back in Ancient Rome.
Grace, though, knew he would have never let her die: in his wicked mind, she would just escape her fate through death, while he wanted her to keep suffering while she was alive. That didn’t mean that he would have cared if she got severely wounded.
"Since when do you kill Downworlders?" Grace asked him.
Mr. Lightwood just shrugged.
"That werewolf was a traitor of his pack. His alpha asked me to get rid of him."
"You could have killed him in thousands of ways and make it look like a natural death," she replied.
Grace knew well the boundaries between what she could say to him and what, instead, would cause her a painful punishment, and this was something borderline to say.
Mr. Lightwood, as she hoped, took it as a compliment.
"I could," he agreed, showing his grin that Grace had learned to hate. "But it would not have been so entertaining."
Grace looked at him with as much resentment as she could, but didn’t dare to say anything.
She just followed him, who walked on a cane because he limped on his right leg, inside the manor, though perfectly polished halls where, sometimes, demons could be spotted. Once, years ago, Grace had asked him with arrogance if all the Lightwoods had an unnatural passion for demons like Benedict did, and Mr. Lightwood had punched her on the face with such force to break two teeth. It had been worthy, though, to see his scandalized and furious face.
Grace’s room―or cell, as she liked referring to it―was in the basement, and Mr. Lightwood took her there personally. A few years ago, servants used to take Grace back to her room, but when she'd killed one and tried to escape, Mr. Lightwood had started doing it himself. He knew that she would never dare attempt to kill him.
The worst thing, he was right.
Grace was too scared to do anything impulsive, and at the thought of rebelling to him she still felt the pain of the scar on her face. Her mind immediately took her to the moment when the blade had cut her forehead and it had gone down her face to her chin, and she lived again, like it had happened yesterday and not years ago, the burning pain and the terror to have lost her right eye―which, for some kind of miracle, had not been too deeply damaged and in a few months it had recovered.
And so, Grace could only express her hatred in a non harmful way, never to do anything against Mr. Lightwood.
He stopped when they arrived in front of her room, and before Grace could open the door, he lifted his cane and she went rigid. Mr. Lightwood, though, just studied the stick for a moment before turning his attention to her.
"You have fought well earlier. Maybe launching yourself from the thorn plant had been a little too reckless, but it was amazing to watch."
Grace didn’t say anything. Looking at her fighting demons was one of his favorite ways to entertain himself with her, and she didn’t want him to think that she enjoyed it.
I would like to pierce you with a seraph blade like those demons, she thought.
Mr. Lightwood, though, never let her keep any weapons because he wasn’t stupid.
"The stele," he said, showing her the palm of his hand.
Grace gave it to him and went to her room, closing the door on her back as Mr. Lightwood locked it from outside. Letting her heal herself after the fight would be something too generous for him.
That night, though, Mr. Lightwood didn’t know that she had a meeting. Actually, Grace herself wasn’t sure that it was a good idea going there, but the message had had her full attention.
I can give you a chance to get the thing you desire the most.
It was obviously a trap, in the best case a terrible bargain, but…
She wanted Mr. Lightwood dead and she was ready to pay whatever price for it.
Grace waited patiently for the night; just accepted the dinner meal that a servant passed her from an opening on the bottom of the door, and she counted the hours until she was fairly sure that Mr. Lightwood would be asleep. She took a dessert knife she'd hidden years ago under a loose floorboard and she used it to unlock the door of her cell, and then Grace walked silently towards the gates of the manor. The Silence rune had faded hours ago, so she could only try to be as stealthy as possible in her escape.
She climbed over the gate and ran towards Hyde Park as the cold of the night struck her. Grace hadn’t anything in her room that could help her face the cold of the night, and only the street lights guided her through that moonless night.
Once she arrived at the meeting point, she said, "Show yourself, I am here."
A man appeared in front of her. A Seelie, Grace acknowledged.
"Our Queen wants to see you, Grace Blackthorn," he said.
Grace hesitated for a moment. Was it the right choice?
Then, she thought again about Mr. Lightwood and the flame of her hatred blazed again at new life.
"Show me the way."
She followed him through a hidden passage and suddenly Grace found herself in the Seelie court. There was a spring-like warmth that immediately calmed down Grace's shaking body.
The man guided her to the Queen's quarters, and in her presence Grace immediately kneeled.
"Your Majesty, I have accepted your invitation," Grace said.
The Queen studied her.
"I want to propose a bargain."
As Grace expected. She’d never expected to be handed what she wanted for free, but she was curious to know what the Seelie Queen wanted in exchange.
"I want to hear you out, your Majesty."
The Queen looked pleased, and gestured to Grace to get up.
"What do you know about universes and dimensions?"
Grace blinked twice, confused.
"Have you summoned me to talk about philosophy?"
The Queen laughed, but Grace recognised no joy in it. Mr. Lightwood laughed in the very same way.
"No, I am talking of something more concrete," the Queen said. "What if I told you that there is another dimension, a place where things went different from here, and where you are engaged to Christopher Lightwood?"
Grace bursted out laughing. She couldn’t stop herself, even though she knew she was disrespecting the Queen, but the situation described by the other woman was just too absurd. Mr. Lightwood and herself engaged? Grace had to stop another access to laughter.
But…
The Seelie couldn’t lie.
She looked at the Queen, who didn’t seem to be upset or scandalized by Grace’s lack of respect. She still had her calm and quite bored expression that Grace associated with immortal beings.
"I can show you," the Queen said, gesturing to a wall of leaves at her left. Grace got closer to it, and when the Queen moved the leaves away, she found herself staring at a scene that she would have never believed possible.
Grace saw herself, younger and with no scar on her face, talking and smiling to a guy. She almost jumped: even though the boy had no beard and his hair was much shorter, Grace recognised Christopher Lightwood. He smiled and had a kind expression, and Grace needed a few moments to remember that once, almost a decade ago, Mr. Lightwood had been a kind and smiling boy, before he became the man she hated the most.
She stared at the scene in horror as she watched herself reaching out and kissing Mr. Lightwood, as a ring shone on her finger. The Lightwoods ring.
Grace, for a moment, thought about what Mr. Lightwood would do to her if she even accidentally touched his family ring. Probably, he would cut off her hand straight away.
"What―what does this mean?" she asked the Seelie Queen.
"This is an alternative version of this world, where some people have made different choices and the outcome is totally different," the Queen said. "This dimension is a few years behind us, though. If I am not wrong, it should be 1904."
Eight years behind, then. That was why herself and Mr. Lightwood looked so young.
As she stared at the other dimension, Grace was stuck by an idea.
Who could help her best in killing Mr. Lightwood, if not Mr. Lightwood himself? The boy of the other dimension lacked eight years of experience, but she could work with that.
"I will allow you to go to the other dimension," the Seelie Queen said. "As long as you will do something for me when the due time comes."
Grace understood that the other woman knew exactly what she was thinking, and that it was the reason why she showed her the other world. And from the Queen's gaze, Grace could tell she knew her answer before she spoke.
"We have a deal. I will do whatever you ask me if you let me go to another dimension."
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
Change Your Mind
Change Your Mind
by meowchirp
It happened right before Hawks stabbed a blade into Twice's back. Someone blazed forward to grab him. They came in a little too fast, because they ended up taking Hawks into the wall, slamming his head against it. Hawks immediately went unconscious, and Dabi heard them swear.
They cradled Hawks’ head and looked up at Dabi as Twice successfully escaped. “Looks like I got here just in time, as planned,” the hero panted.
Dabi recognized him: for even without any scarring, he could spot a mirror image of himself.
--
(Or: The one where Hawks gets rescued by a Toya from an alternate universe, and Dabi follows them out of his own.)
Words: 3684, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Dabi | Todoroki Touya, Takami Keigo | Hawks
Relationships: Dabi | Todoroki Touya/Takami Keigo | Hawks
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, no beta we die like men, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn
Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45550456
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Case File #XXXXX "DABI" ; Staus: CLOSED
Case File #XXXXX "DABI" ; Staus: CLOSED
by Kat needs sleep
The following information has been compiled by the (XXXX police department) from various sources - all of which have been marked and cited accordingly.
Within this document are all the known sightings and information - with a focus on behavior - on the criminal DABI* (Known Alias; Member of the League of Villains), his partial profile below.
/or
everything the police has got on a certain flame wielding villain
and a little bit they don't
Words: 2334, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 1 of my weird little mha oneshots
Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: Gen
Characters: Dabi | Todoroki Touya, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko, Takami Keigo | Hawks, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor, Todoroki Shouto, Toga Himiko, Iguchi Shuuichi | Spinner, Sako Atsuhiro | Mr. Compress, Todoroki Rei, Todoroki Natsuo, Todoroki Fuyumi, Todoroki Family, (once again technically all implied)
Relationships: Dabi | Todoroki Touya & Todoroki Shouto, Dabi | Todoroki Touya & Takami Keigo | Hawks, Dabi | Todoroki Touya & Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko, Dabi | Todoroki Touya & Sako Atsuhiro | Mr. Compress, Dabi | Todoroki Touya & Iguchi Shuuichi | Spinner, Dabi | Todoroki Touya & Toga Himiko, Dabi | Todoroki Touya & Todoroki Enji | Endeavor, (technically all implied)
Additional Tags: this is done in the style of a police report, so all characters are implied, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor's Bad Parenting, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor Being An Asshole, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor Faces Consequences, Hero Public Safety Commission Bashing, Canonical Child Abuse, major character death tag is just mentioned and its also endeavor, Protective Dabi | Todoroki Touya, Good Sibling Dabi | Todoroki Touya, Good Older Sibling Dabi | Todoroki Touya, No Beta We Die Like Endeavor, Vigilante Dabi | Todoroki Touya, Sort Of, canon can die by my blade, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, set before high end/technically replacing high end/canon is very loose here
Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42015612
#AO3 Feed#FanFiction#AO3 Dabi#♦#Dabi#Touya Todoroki#Tomura Shigaraki#Shouto Todoroki#Enji Todoroki#❄️🔥#🏮#🔥#R:T#W:D#A:Kat#Vigilante AU
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Finding New Growth
by Janedoe8
They were now committed to ending this war, even though it had taken much from them. The war had changed them, for better or worse they didn't know yet. But their fears were replaced with confidence, the wall between the team were broken down and once again, they were united.
But an unknown enemy plots against them, growing in a way the Paladins would never imagine.
Words: 4507, Chapters: 4/48, Language: English
Series: Part 4 of Voltron: Guardian of the Stars
Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Characters: Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron), Allura (Voltron), Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk (Voltron), Coran (Voltron), Matt Holt, Zethrid (Voltron), Ezor (Voltron), Acxa (Voltron), Narti (Voltron), Lotor (Voltron), Haggar (Voltron), Voltron Coalition Characters, The Blade of Marmora, Original Galran Character(s), Original Altean Character(s), Original Keith/Lance (Voltron) Child(ren)
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron), Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Allura & Lance (Voltron), Hunk & Lance (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Allura & Coran & Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Matt Holt & Pidge | Katie Holt, Adam/Shiro (Voltron)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Altean Lance (Voltron), Galra Keith (Voltron), Prince Lance (Voltron), Queen Allura (Voltron), Kuron is Shiro (Voltron)'s Clone, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Angst, Fluff, Empress Haggar, Love Confessions, don't take drugs kids, Lotor needs a therapist, Time Travel, kids from the future, Weapon Upgrades, Allura & Lance (Voltron) are Siblings, Acxa & Keith (Voltron) are Siblings, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Gay Shiro (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), Pansexual Hunk (Voltron), Asexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Lesbian Allura (Voltron), Gay Coran (Voltron), Rewrite For My Own Sanity, no beta we die like men, AU, Voltron_Guardian_of_the_Stars
source https://archiveofourown.org/works/47550838
1 note
·
View note
Text
But I never did quite forgive myself
by LunarDragon618
Dream has grown restless from hiding out in the prison for so long.
Sure he’s been busy planning out the most satisfying, agonizing, and entertaining revenge possible against Quackity for the absolute hell he put him through, but that’s going to take some time and preparation first.
And besides.
He misses Tommy.
~ :) ~
Or a Boundless Sands canon divergence in which Tommy hits Wilbur a little to hard, and Dream is rather enthusiastic about witnessing an accidental murder.
Words: 7144, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: Dream SMP
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Categories: Gen
Characters: TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Author is Not a Clay | Dream Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Not RPF, Traumatized TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), He gets one but it's. Yeah., Angst, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt No Comfort, Temporary Character Death, But they're still dead by the end so it's technically just implied, Accidental Murder, also just, Murder, Flashbacks, Panic Attacks, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Dissociation, Self-Harm, It's just one small moment but it's there, Dead Wilbur Soot, I may have killed him for angst whoops, Dream is his own warning, Stalking, Abuse, Child Abuse, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulation, Physical Abuse, Blood and Injury, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Dehumanization, Forced Family Dynamics, Dream is lowkey jealous of Wilbur lmao, Self-Hatred, Suicide, Just to be safe bc it's a little ambiguous, Clay | Dream Kills TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), but that's expected lol, No beta we die like Wilbur Soot in this fic, Also shippers will die by my blade
#ao3feed#wilbur soot#tommyinnit#crimeboys#crime boys#crimebois#crime bois#mcyt#This is an automated process#If you see any fic that breaks boundaries#or the fic is yours and you don't want it shared send an ask#it will be looked at and removed if need be
1 note
·
View note
Text
you don't have to be more | digger harkness x reader
Digger Harkness x F!Reader
Characters: Digger Harkness, Harley Quinn, Rick Flag, Floyd Lawton, Richard Hertz.
Warnings: FLUFF. Hurt/comfort if you squint. Language. Canon-Typical Violence. Cuddling. Kissing. Some grinding ngl.
Wordcount: 6.5k+
[ A/N: For this request. Oh god, you probably wanted more fluff than this. I truly don't know what came over me. Thank you to @a-reader-and-a-writer for betaing ♥️ ily
Also, trying out new headers! Since poor Digger doesn't have too many gifs. But I'm still including text titles at the top so anyone who uses text to voice can know wtf is happening. ]
My Masterlist
Anonymous Asked: Please can I request some pining boomer, I need this tough ass to go absurdly soft at reader and have the others roast him for it.
You've spent more than half your life as a vigilante named Night Shade. After a frame job lands you in Belle Reve, you get put on the Suicide Squad almost immediately. Digger Harkness is his usual self around you— and you don't really mind. You never have.
At first, he doesn’t recognize you.
You stand with your arms folded over your chest, your back to the wall of the tent as Colonel Flag goes over the mission objective laid out on a large table. They’d given you your full suit back, but here, at Belle Reve, you’ve held off on putting your armor and mask on until they ship you out.
Digger had tuned out the Colonel’s introductions for the new recruits. He didn’t bother with figuring out who was who anymore. Plenty came and went. It seemed like he, Harley, and just a few others were ever lucky enough to survive mission after mission.
But he does notice your perpetual scowl; how your lips draw down into a tight, pouty little frown, and Digger just can’t resist.
He joins you as everyone exits the airfield tent, wind picking up as the helicrafts start up their engines.
“First go, eh?” He hollers over the whirling blades. You glance over at him.
“What?” You say back.
“Said I never seen you before. Shame.” He flashes you a cocky grin. “If we weren’t about to die, I’d love to have you for a drink.”
You arch a brow at him. Search his face for the hint of a joke. You give him the old once over as the two of you wait your turn to board the carrier. The criminal’s not perturbed when you say nothing and leave him there on the helipad, high and dry. Blackguard comes up to pat Digger on the back with sympathy as he passes, boarding after you.
“Tough, man.”
Your armor is waiting for you on your seat. The other spots are also place marked with various weapons and garb for the others. You hook your chest plate and arm guards on as the others get settled in. And of course Harkness’s spot happens to be across from yours.
His toothy smile returns. You almost have enough time to finish rolling your eyes before you receive a heavy duffel bag to the lap.
“Oof, sorry, doll!” Harley Quinn yells. She yanks the bag off of you and kicks it under the seat, plopping down beside you. When she offers a handshake, she snatches yours up before you can even lift it high.
“What’d they call you? Night Stalker or somethin’?”
You chuckle, “Something like that.”
Harley takes up your attention most of the trip, and it seems to set a rapport with the rest of the squad— if you were in with her, you were in. Even Colonel Flag seemed to glance at you with more recognition as you all lined up for the drop somewhere over the Pacific ocean.
You step to the edge of the door with your mask in hand, eyeing the water down below. A flood of thoughts crest and crash around in your skull, just like the waves beneath you— how you wished you weren’t here. How this wasn’t the time to feel sorry. You’d only been at Belle Reve a few short weeks, and they had plucked you out of your cell in the dead of night with an agenda ready and waiting for you. Waller liked your skillset. There was plenty she had planned for you— if you survived, of course.
From the corner of your vision, you see that your drop buddy is eyeing you up again. Digger saddles up to you with a nod.
“You ready for a shit show, lovely?” He grins.
You smirk at that. You reach up and finally sheath your face with your mask— A white, blank face, with two narrow slits for eyes.
Digger blinks, his grin wiped clean from his features. He looks over your mask, stunned, and the rare moment of silence has you smiling under your Kevlar face. You watch with amusement as it all clicks into place for him.
“Shade?”
“Ready for drop in three!” Flag hollers from the back of the craft.
“Wait—“ Digger reaches for you. “Hey!”
You kick off the platform smugly, plunging into the frigid water without any hesitation. Digger curses as he jumps in after you before he misses the drop zone.
—
“When were you gonna tell me?” He hisses later. You and the others shush him as you sneak your way through the foliage, using the jungle trees as cover. Digger sticks close to you as you clear a path, even though he’s supposed to be paired up with Hertz off to your left.
“You didn’t ask.”
“How the fuck was I supposed to know!”
“Shut it, Harkness.” Flag snaps over the comms.
“They caught you. How’d they get you?” He inquires, ignoring everyone. His laxed attitude back on the craft has disappeared, and the more gruff Digger you’re acquainted with refuses to let it go. Before you can answer, you hear the sound of something approaching rapidly. Throwing your arms around the Aussie’s middle, you tackle him to the ground just as a grenade launcher whizzes past, lighting up the greenery around you— and the entire squad’s location.
The mission is hellfire from then on. Digger doesn’t have time to prod you with any more questions, but that doesn’t stop him from gluing himself to your side as the two of you work together. You snatch up one of his boomerangs and fling it into the darkness, ducking to let him catch it as it flies back. By the time the sun rises, the lair you’ve been tasked with infiltrating is a crumbling mess, and you never thought you’d be this relieved to be taken back to prison.
—
Back at Belle Reve, you’re surprised there’s privileges to being a cooperating member of the squad. You throw your tray down onto the metallic table after the latest mission briefing, the rest of the mess hall cleared from lunch a few hours previous. You hunker down beside Harley who chatters away with Lawton on her other side. You’re content to eat in silence for a while, which doesn’t last long.
Digger hikes a leg over the bench to straddle it as he faces you, sliding his own tray til it’s flush with yours. He’s got on a serious face; you kind of wished he was still in a flirty mood. Ever since you got back, you’d been trying to avoid the conversation you know is coming.
“You shouldn’t be here.” He begins. He rests his elbow on the table, crowding your space with his thighs bracketing you, but you refuse to move away. You roll your eyes.
“I don’t think anyone wants to be here, Harkness.”
“No yea, but you’re not one of us.” He mutters, “You’re supposed to be out there throwin’ assholes like us into prison. What happened to you?”
You pretend your sloppy joe is somewhat edible, chasing it down with a sip from a carton of orange juice. “I was still breaking laws. Vigilante justice isn’t exactly without it’s own crimes.”
He huffs at that.
—
You were proud of the number of people you’d brought to justice. You had put half your life into training and becoming strong enough to protect yourself in such a dark, difficult world. You knew the risks. Still, it blindsided you the way your choice to take matters into your own hands finally caught up to you.
You were in Australia, tracking down a real piece of shit target fleeing the States when your search led you to Boomerang. You’d been prowling the offices above a diamond exchange; their laundering records would uncover your target’s real identity. And in the process, you crossed paths with Digger Harkness.
He stilled when he sensed your presence. The rest of his crew didn’t notice you in the darkness. You flickered on your high-powered flashlight meant to blind anyone nearby, but at their distance, it simply made a cover for hiding you.
“What the hell are you doing?” You asked from under your mask curiously. You were new to Australia, but you didn’t expect to see the pair of actual boomerangs strapped to the man’s chest.
Digger tutted, shielding his eyes. He tried to get a good look at you to no avail.
“Keep working boys, I’ve got the little lady.” He murmured.
You’d fought up and down the corridor, until you had your leg wrapped around his neck and his wrist pinned down to the floor, still holding his weapon. He was an odd mix— a long range weapon paired with belligerent fist-fighting? If the genius just had let you get a word in edgewise, the two of you wouldn’t have had to waste your time.
“I’m not here to stop a bunch of thieves.” You snapped. You couldn’t care less about a generously insured jewel exchange losing it’s diamonds. It took all your bodyweight on his chest to keep the broad, muscular man pinned. You were impressed. You didn’t expect so much strength under the gaudy tracksuit top and trench coat.
He stopped struggling and arched a brow at you instead, “You’re not?”
When he relaxed, you shoved off of him. “No. And I won’t rat if you don’t.”
That made the thief brighten. It’s a complete shift from the man who just tried to slice you to ribbons. “Well then,” He leered. “You don’t sound like you’re from ‘round here, lovely. How’s about I show you a good time?”
You rolled your eyes and shoved him against the wall as you passed. “No thanks.”
But your mission had you crossing paths with him again. And again.
Everywhere there was anything worth stealing, there he seemed to be. You nearly had your target under your thumb one night— if you caught him here, right now, in this bank as he made an exchange with the higher-ups running it, you’d have proof of the embezzlement that had been affecting thousands of people there and back home.
You loved the part about being right, but not the part about how the situation going much higher up on the ladder meant you were a little outmatched tonight.
You grunted as another large man twice your size picked you up by the throat and slammed you into a wall of safety deposit boxes. The security guards doubled as henchmen, apparently, already in your target’s pocket. You landed on your feet and evaded another lunge, but when you stood up to take the man out, he was already falling over, unconscious.
You put your hands on your hips. “Is there anywhere you aren’t robbing?” You whisper-hissed at Harkness.
He shrugged, all smiles. “You’re welcome, sweetness.”
“Shut up.” You busied yourself with the guard’s keychain, smothering the quirk of your lips.
Harkness approached you, eyeing the keys. “Go on, share now.”
He couldn’t see you roll your eyes, but you handed him the rest when you took the ones you needed.
“How’s the investigation goin’?”
“Please.” You scoffed. “Go on, play burglar.”
You made to walk away when you felt a finger catch on one of your belt loops. Harkness drew you back, boxing you in against the bank of deposit doors, but this time you’re pressed against them with a soft thud. Harkness planted himself in front of you, his large hands coming to rest on your hips.
“You know, I’m wonderin’,” He murmured beside your head, lips near to your ear. “Been really convenient, you showin’ up to all my heists. If you wanted to spend your nights with me so badly, invitation’s still open, love.”
The last thing you’d ever do while out on your mission is get distracted like this. But you’d be lying to yourself if there wasn’t something about the reckless, idiotic thief that made you want to linger. He was cocky, but once in a while he did get you to laugh.
You pressed a gloved hand to his chest and slid it up tentatively, over the large expanse of firm muscle until it came to settle around his neck. Even through the fabric, you could feel the way his Adam’s apple bobbed under your palm. You tilted your head, and your mask with it, enjoying the way Harkness tried to decipher what you were thinking from beneath your blank face.
His face was always so open, his expressions never hidden from you. He leaned forward, and for a moment you thought he might actually try to press a kiss to the painted kevlar, on the spot right where your lips would be. The thought made your pulse thrum, and you tightened your grip around the Aussie’s neck incrementally, drawing a soft groan from his parted lips.
Another, more pained groan sounded from the unconscious guard on the floor, pulling you from your daze. You pushed Harkness away in an instant, your focus returning to the task at hand. Harkness swore under his breath, and threw a glare down at the man.
“Thanks for nothing, mate.” He snapped, giving the henchman a sharp kick to the stomach, before following you out of the room in a hurry.
You were a little sad to part ways with Digger Harkness after you wrapped up your case a few weeks later. After capturing your target and turning him over to the authorities, you don’t miss the way Harkness, too, seems a little disappointed at your leaving. You had danced around his advances, never really accepting or denying. You weren’t used to distractions, and you knew if you waited it out, your work would decide for you.
He did hit on you one last time, and you let yourself laugh— fully and light-heartedly— at the thief. Pulling him into the shadows of the alley where you say your goodbyes, you lifted off your mask in the darkness halfway, just enough to press your lips against Digger’s in a deep kiss. His shock didn’t last long, arms flying up to wrap around your waist as he returned it. You pressed your body into his, a soft sound escaping you as he lifted you up with ease.
“Hope your work brings you back, lovely.” He murmured when you pulled away, still in his arms. You leaned in again, unable to resist stealing one more kiss from the thief.
“Might get bored and come throw you in jail.” You quipped. Digger heard your voice— your full, unfiltered voice for the first time. He put you back down on the ground, wishing he’d heard more of it while you were still here.
“I’ll be seeing you, Shade.” He hoped.
You were proud of what you did, but eventually, it made the wrong people angry. You went home, picked your work up there again soon after. You chased a lead that took you nearly four years of investigation to gather enough evidence for— when you end up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Police came for you when you weren’t out prowling, in the middle of the day, catching you by surprise.
You were sentenced to Ninety years. Ninety years for witnessing one of the most brutal murders you’d ever seen. You’d been too late to stop it, but when you tried anyway— tried to hope that the victims were still alive by the time you could take out the real murderer— you realized too late that you were outnumbered. The murderer wasn’t just some lone wolf. He’d had connections. And he used them to pin the murders on you. You escaped that night, but when they cuffed you right there, right in the middle of your day job in front of everyone, you knew there was no amount of training or quick thinking to get you out of this one. They knew your real identity, knew everything. He’d finished you with one phone call to the chief of police.
You stayed silent the whole trial, except to plead not guilty. But still you had to sit and watch as the city’s best prosecutors smeared your name and your life’s work in front of the loved ones of the people you had tried to save. The look in their eyes filled you with shame. When the gavel fell and your sentence was announced, you let the numbness spread, let it stay there in your gut all the way to Belle Reve.
You hadn’t killed them yourself, but you didn’t save them either.
—
Digger sits with wide and storming gray eyes as you finally answer his question. It’s the first time you’ve spoken about it since they locked you up, and you avoid his gaze idly. You shove your plastic fork into a small pile of sad looking mashed potatoes, waiting for him to say something.
“That’s bullshit!” He hollers, and you jump, surprised.
When you recover, your eyes fall again. “Yeah, well. Here we are. At least I got to knock off ten years, so far.”
“Yeah, doin’ Waller’s dirty work.” He snorted. “You tried to save those people. Don’t their families fuckin’ know that?”
You should feel comforted by his support— wished you had it when you were going through it alone— but it was too late now. Digger watches your brows knit together. He’s still not used to seeing your actual face. Not used to seeing the way it looks like your eyes are shining like they might brim over with tears as you try your best not to look at the thief.
“Shade…”
“[L/n],” You say, quickly collecting up your tray and standing up. “You can just call me [L/n] from now on.”
Digger stammers out something close to an apology, though what he really wants to do is follow after you as you hurry off. But you have to return to your cell when you’re done, down a corridor they won’t let him follow. He swears, shoving his tray away from himself with a frustrated sigh.
A sad whistle brings him out of his sulk. Digger looks up to see that Floyd and Harley had stopped eating a long time ago, eavesdropping in on your conversation. Both of them offer him cringful expressions.
“That sucked, dude.” Lawton says.
Harley nods sadly. “You really bummed her out, makin’ her explain the whole deal.”
“Didn’t anyone tell you never to ask the quiet ones how they end up in here?”
“Oh, fuck off!” Digger snaps, throwing his tray on the floor. One of the guards immediately moves to mediate before Digger puts up his hands, “Alright, alright. I’m done.” Harley and Floyd burst into laughter as they escort the thief back to his cell, his sour face sending them into even more hysterics on the way out.
—
The next mission would take two weeks, if you were all lucky— and you had a feeling being out in the open that long didn’t sound very lucky.
The squad’s ‘basecamp’ had to keep moving. This recon mission meant you had to pack light, and you shouldered your pack all day, throwing it down in the evenings as members of the squad took turns monitoring a mysterious facility a few clicks away. You hated that you didn’t get to know who was in there or what for— you recorded your findings in the day, and reported to Colonel Flag at dusk, no questions asked.
“Doesn’t seem very deadly.” You mutter. You sit next to Digger on your bedroll, chewing tiredly at your rations.
He snorts as he finishes up his own. “Careful. You’ll jinx us.”
It wasn’t freezing in this climate by any means, but you notice the way Digger hunches his shoulders, looking irritated. He’s got his coat and hat on, but you know him well enough by now that the man was trying to keep from shivering. You smirk a little.
“What is it with you and the cold?” You chuckle. You reach over and tug on the ridiculously wide collar of his trenchcoat. Digger frowns, snatching it back and pulling it over himself snuggly.
“‘S not my fault. Not built for it.” He grumbles.
You set up your bed rolls an appropriate distance away from each other every night, but every morning, it seems as though Digger Harkness is trying to make his way over to you inch by inch. You wake up the next day before him, only to find him sleeping entirely off his mat, in between it and yours. You nudge him awake with your foot carefully, and point out he’d be a lot warmer if he slept off the ground at night.
The night after that, you feel something press between your shoulder blades just as you begin dozing off. Startled, you jerk up, finding Digger off his bed roll again. He snores lightly as his head rests on your mat and you ease your tensed arms. You watch him sleep for a few minutes there in the dark. Eventually, you lie back down, careful not to wake him as you return to your sleeping position, his face nudging the spot between your shoulders again with a sleepy rumble. You don’t move closer to him, but you settle for not pulling away tonight either.
—
During the day, you’re forced to pair up with Harley. It’s a lot of walking, and you’re surprised to find there’s someone in the group who complains more than Digger. Harley Quinn can’t seem to enjoy silence, so you let her fill it up as the two of you traverse the woods.
“So, what’s with you and Boomer?” She finally asks. You’d been waiting for it ever since the day in the mess hall. You grip the straps of your canvas bag awkwardly, wishing you’d kept your mask on instead of leaving it on your hip.
“He talks about his old girls but he don’t ever talk about you.”
“No?” You arch a brow. “Probably because I’m not his old girl.”
“Yeah, well. I figured it either meant that, or...”
“Or?”
When she levels you with a prodding squint, you huff.
“I… met him once. Before Belle Reve.”
“Once?” The crime queen laughed. “Please. You two look like best buds.”
You shrug.
“Or mooore?” She croons, her face getting dangerously close to yours. You scrunch up your nose, willing yourself not to betray anything on your face. God, you wish you had your blank one on.
“Look, I lived in Sydney for a few months. We— crossed paths a lot.”
“I bet you did.” She cackles. She doesn’t seem to mean anything terrible by it besides the obvious, so you let her think what she wants, leaving the topic at that.
—
That night, you grind your teeth as you try to will yourself to sleep. It’s only your second mission, but the week of constantly moving and the threat of someone opening fire at any moment has exhausted you. You keep your arms crossed as you lay on your side, your mind racing with a million anxious thoughts like it always did when you couldn’t sleep— how you wouldn’t be here if you were better, how you were really just a dog now, sleeping out in the cold, waiting for commands. When it was all over, if you lived, they would plop you back in your cell, and you’d still have decades to go.
You’re snapped out of your downward spiral when an arm lands down over your waist. You jump, stopping yourself before you elbow Digger in the face and knock out his teeth. You scowl; maybe you should punch him awake. You’re about to open your mouth to say something when he flexes his arm, dragging you backward across the mat. With a soft yelp, you’re met with Digger’s broad body flush to yours, his bearded face pressing into the nape of your neck.
“Harkness. Digger.” You hiss, poking his arm faintly. Digger mumbles something unintelligible, his arm relaxing again. Still, he’s spooning you in his sleep, without any sign of rolling back over. You sigh.
Shit. It bubbles up in the back of your throat— a sob that you quickly snuff out. You press your lips together pathetically.
The thought of a life sentence in Belle Reve, the thought of the loneliness that came with it— You knew it would be even worse than the loneliness you’d felt even before your sentence. You were like every other vigilante; your secrets had made you keep everyone at arm’s length. Harkness had been the last person you’d ever bothered to let in, however briefly. And here he was, still offering you the affection you never knew how to ask for, even in his sleep.
You carefully lift his arm, settling it back down over your bicep until Digger was hugging you comfortably. You press back against him, drawing a pleased sound out of the slumbering thief. Closing your eyes, you relax, finally letting yourself drift off to sleep too.
—
You’re not plagued by dreams. Instead, you wake up, realizing blearily that you slept through the entire night without stirring. Which was good for your exhaustion, but bad considering the fact that you should be on your toes— what with the suicide mission and all.
You’ve also missed something else, because when you sit up and yawn, you pick up on a joke you’ve just missed.
Harley Quinn is in titters on her bedroll as she hugs her stomach, her laughter bringing her to near tears. Lawton is also doing little to contain himself.
Then you remember Harkness, and how his arm was suddenly very absent. You turn around to look at the thief and come face to face with his beet red expression as he glares over at his friends. He’s already sitting up, flustered, his cap askew on top of his curls.
“I didn’t know koala bears got as big as you, Boomie!” Harley teases in between breaths. “Big ole bear clinging to his tiny little tree.”
“Alright. Alright already!” He snaps. You’re surprised when he gets up, saying nothing as he stalks off into the treeline and away from the rest of you.
You don’t mind Harley’s teasing, but when one of them— the tall lanky one they call Blackguard— tries to ask you if Harkness greeted his little tree with some morning wood, you shoot him a vicious glare, shutting the bleached blond up quickly.
—
Digger drags his heels for the rest of the day. Flag dishes out directives, and Digger rolls his eyes when he hears he’s paired up with Lawton on surveying duty.
His attention is split, halfway between the mission, and you.
Digger had stirred when you shifted his arm last night. He was ready for a jab to the gut, when instead you decided to pull him closer. He opened his eyes faintly, confused, when an odd sound got caught in your throat. He’d heard it before in the mess hall, when you had swallowed thickly and excused yourself from the table.
From his position, he couldn’t see your face. But he’d been memorizing it— every chance he could sneak a look, in the briefing room or out here, where you seemed to not want to wear your usual face anymore. He didn’t mind one bit; he always imagined you with a pretty face he could stare at all day under all that Kevlar. And he was thrilled to find out he was right.
But Digger had a feeling. There was a reason you didn’t want to wear it anymore.
A pang of guilt hit him; he always figured only the people closest to you ever got to see your real face. He’d never been one of those people, as hard as he tried in his own way, back in Sydney. Belle Reve stripping you of your uniform and mask by force didn’t feel like he’d won the right to finally know who you were.
It just felt like another thing he’d stolen.
He listened as you squashed whatever emotion tried to overwhelm you. Digger stayed utterly still as you settled back against his front, your warmth radiating through all the many layers between you. He felt the way his ears flush and heat up against the cold night air, but he didn’t dare break this spell that had come over you by being his usual, overbearing self.
You seemed to drop off to sleep soon after that, and Digger finally let himself press his face to your neck carefully, committing the feeling of you in his arms to memory with a hum.
“—Have you even heard a goddamn word I’ve said, Boomerang?” Colonel Flag scowls. He taps a finger against the butt of a rifle slung across his chest irritably.
“Yeah, yeah. Take a lap around the base and let Lawton do the picture taking. What the fuck else is new.” Digger waves off.
“And rest up early when you get back.” Flag adds, ”I’m putting you and [L/n] on the midnight watch this rotation.”
Digger blinks, “— What? Why?”
“You’re really gonna complain, man?” Lawton drawls as he waits for the two other men to wrap up. Digger smothers his grin as he hurries after the marksman, ignoring the way Flag shouts a few more last minute orders after them.
—
As it turns out, the usual pair who had been taking the midnight watch on this mission had been compromised. Something about an old landmine on the other side of the base and an unfortunate misstep. You were all down two squad members, and now everyone’s duties were being shifted around.
You sigh loudly as you stop in front of Harkness, throwing your pack on the ground beside him. He sits on the sloping forest floor, binoculars in hand, your little stake out area all ready for your late night shift.
“How’s the watch?” You greet, taking a seat beside the Aussie. You snatch up the binoculars from Digger and aim it at the facility.
He mumbles something gruffly.
“Hm?”
“Said I’m tired of this fuckin’ weather!” He gripes.
In reality, Digger’s been nervous of you approaching ever since he set up about an hour earlier. He couldn’t get any of the rest Flag recommended— Not while it was cold, and not when the realization that he’d be spending the entire evening with you alone hit him.
Fuck! He’d looked like a fucking moron clinging to you this morning.
Your soft chuckle draws you from his bitter thoughts. “You want my jacket?”
Digger rolls his eyes, but quirks a smile all the same. “Fuck off.”
“I can see you shivering from here.”
He waves you off. Putting the binoculars’ strap around your neck, you stand and brush the bark and moss from yourself before kicking Digger’s ankle. He gives you a questioning look as you do it again, waiting for him to get the hint.
His confusion soon melts into surprise. His eyebrows shoot up as you turn, taking a seat down snuggly between his knees.
Reaching behind yourself, you tug Digger’s coat open, pulling the large edges around yourself. It takes a little shifting around, but soon the two of you are tucked comfortably inside his jacket, your back pressed squarely to his broad chest.
Digger thinks his lip might split the way he can’t stop grinning. He rests his chin on your shoulder, any hesitancy about touching you totally evaporating. You sigh as he draws around you, his large arms enveloping your entire middle. The two of you fall silent as you let the shared heat generate and warm you both up. You stay like that for an hour, then two, only shifting to stretch a muscle here or there, but always returning to the warmth of Digger’s coat.
“I, er— about this morning.” Digger mumbles after a while. You’d been so content where you were you realize you'd almost nodded off for a moment. You turn your head sleepily, and in doing so are met with his cheek pressed against yours. “They’re assholes.”
You tilt your head, rubbing your cheek against his beard. “They can have their fun.” You muse. It’s true— you didn’t mind Harley or Lawton one bit. You had your own reservations about opening up; but they had nothing to do with it. You rarely cared about what other people thought or assumed. You’re about to propose that the two of you can have your own fun, when the tip of Digger’s nose finds yours by accident, and you burst into laughter at how cold it is. You quickly muffle it, what with the covert operation still going on.
“What?” The Aussie whined. He slips his hand into the coat, snaking his fingers underneath as many layers as he can find. You yelp.
“Fucking freezing.” The shock of his cold palm to your stomach makes you wriggle against him, clamping a hand down over his. “You bastard.”
A grin presses to your neck. “But you’re so toasty. Perfect place to warm my hands up.”
You’ve given him what he wanted, your head falling back onto his shoulder as you tried to squirm away. Digger takes the opportunity to press a kiss to your lips.
You gasp, stilling, but soon relax against his bold touch. You let your eyes flutter close, your muscles relaxing as you kiss him back.
Digger’s hand warms quickly against your flushed skin as his thumb draws idle patterns on your stomach. You move your mouth against his carefully, and he’s content to let you set the pace. Ever since you’d turned up, you’d been all Digger could think about back in his cell alone, his thoughts drifting to the typical, cocky ideas he had— But he also dared to imagine you’d want to continue the fleeting, tentative thing you had shared over four years before. He felt pathetic, still clinging to the memory of that goodbye kiss. But it wasn’t anything like his usual dalliances. You were something special. Something much better than he was.
You feel the pull of Digger’s mouth turning into a frown. You open your eyes gently to see him scowling as he opens his.
“What’s wrong?” You murmur, your hand reaching up to cup the side of his face. He shakes his head.
“Nothin’.” He says. “You just… never came back. Figured you didn’t…”
“Didn’t what?” You press on, pulling back to search his face.
But you can put it together yourself. His expression is an open book to you, as it always has been.
“I got caught up in my work.” You confess. “I always do.”
He huffs. “Don’t I know it.”
“But I— I saw you keeping busy too,” You tease, biting back a grin. “Finally hit up every bank in Australia. Fucking ridiculous.”
“Yeah, you were keepin’ tabs on me?” Digger’s smile widens.
“Maybe.”
“Then… Did y’know I came over?” He finally asks, after a moment. “Cleaned out a few U.S. banks too.”
“I heard,” But then, more somberly, “Heard you got picked up.”
And a little time later, you did too. It never crossed your mind they would ship you off to the same place that held Digger. You sigh as you let your head rest on his shoulder again. “Not that I minded.”
“Hey.”
“—Because… I think I’d have honestly gone insane if you weren’t here.” You finish. And you watch the way his affronted expression shifts back into that pleased, soft look he gives you so often— the one he thinks you don’t notice when you’re not looking.
You thread your fingers through his curls and drag him back down for another kiss. It’s more searing this time, one you hope makes up for all the times you’ve pushed him away.
Digger groans. He curls around you further, his hand sliding over your skin as he parts his lips. He pushes his tongue into your mouth and it meets yours with a hot swipe. You part for him in return, shivering as the two of you begin to suck and lick into each other’s mouths with more zeal, the binoculars and mission forgotten for a moment.
“Shade…” He murmurs. And you forget that you wanted to put that name away— wanted to throw your mask into the ocean and never call yourself that again. You didn’t deserve the persona anymore. But you’d missed the way his little nickname for you sounded on his tongue. You swipe at it again, taste it. Maybe you didn’t mind keeping the name if he was the one saying it.
Digger draws a moan from you when the hand beneath your shirt drifts upward, his palm closing over your breast. He kneads it slowly, fingers pressing together to pull the flesh under his touch firm. You lean back more. You push against the ground with your heel as you try to make any space between the two of you disappear. The Aussie makes another deep growl against your mouth when you tilt your hips, the motion making you rear brush up against his groin. Digger grinds back against you without hesitation. You don’t think it’s possible for him to squeeze his arms around you any tighter, but he does. You whimper when he lifts you off the ground, onto his lap where he can roll his hips against you with more of that slow, heated rhythm.
An incredibly awkward cough rings out.
You gasp, yanking away from Digger.
Colonel Flag stands a few feet away from the two of you with Lawton at his side. You feel yourself flush as Digger feels more inclined to roll his eyes.
“Oh, what now.” Digger snaps.
“Rotation. We’re here to uh, relieve you.”
Flag has the decency to look away while you remove yourself from Digger’s lap. Lawton, on the other hand, snorts at Flag’s mention of ‘relief’.
“Koala’s too busy clinging to his tree again.” He chuckles.
Digger scowls as he stands up. He makes sure to close up his trenchcoat over his front as he collects himself.
“That’s racist, mate.”
Floyd rolls his eyes. “Man, shut up and get back to camp. Before she doesn’t feel like cuddling up to you no more.” He adds pointedly.
Flag nods at you curtly while you hurry by with an apology, and Digger soon follows after you.
You wait until you’re both out of the Colonel and Deadshot’s sight, before you grab Digger’s hand and pull him against a tree. You allow him to crowd you against it, grinning up at him as you take both his lapels in your grasp.
“So grouchy all of a sudden.” You tease. You lean up on your toes to kiss Digger’s frown away.
“Everyone and their mother’s always interruptin’ me when I finally get you alone. You ever notice that?” He complains, and you definitely don’t consider it a pout.
“Well, no one’s around right now.” You point out. You slip your hands into his coat again, hooking your fingers into his waistband. When you pull him closer, Digger grunts at the way your knee slides up between his legs, your thigh meeting his middle, where he’s still hard from earlier. You arch a brow at him. “We don’t have to head back to camp right away, do we?”
The Aussie flashes you a megawatt grin so bright you think his gold tooth might light up. He leans down and captures your lips again. As he kisses you, he reaches down and plucks you up easily, his hands cupping the back of your thighs until your legs are wrapped around his waist, your back to the tree.
He pulls away for a moment to take another look at your face— how it’s bare, open, and staring back at him with more affection than he ever let himself imagine.
“Think I’m a bad influence on you, love.”
You grin. “Oh, please. Like I always followed the rules.”
#digger harkness x reader#digger harkness x you#digger harkness#captain boomerang#digger harkness fanfiction#captain boomerang fanfiction#mywords*#tss imagines#dceu fluff#dceu fanfiction
293 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
alenate
Rojo
davidcuniverse
All Things Capparelli
dilfmikelarteta
ceo of the mikel arteta dilf agenda
westcoastcure99
Untitled
tr4shy-p1nkxoxo
You only ever needed me 💕