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five-bi-five-mind · 2 years

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Maybe This Time (Pt. 2)

Fandom: Wonder Woman/DCEU

Pairings: Diana Prince (Wonder Woman) x fem!Reader

Words: 5.4k+

Summary: You’re dealing with the aftermath of the misunderstanding with Diana. You know you have to tell her everything, about your life, about your escape, about your survival, but emotions are running high. Coping with all of these feelings terrifies you, but maybe you’re safe this time? You could only hope.

Genre: Angst with a bit of Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Brief, vague mentions of torture and kidnapping, and violence. A lot of mentions of burn wounds (but no detail given about them). Please let me know if I need to mention anything else.

Series Masterlist || Part 1 || Part 3

(gif not mine, credit to creator)

Part 2: Everything All At Once

“Okay, so start from the beginning…”

Her voice breaks the silence as she gently sits you down on her couch. After the whole being kidnapped by her ordeal, you were in a messy, sobbing, haze state for a good minute. It took you way longer than it should have for you to realize she had guided you out of the warehouse she held you hostage in, into a car, and finally to (what you assumed) was her apartment. All the while whispering words of reassurance “you’re safe now,” “I won’t do that to you again,” “it’ll be okay, little dove.” While also keeping one of her strong hands on you in some way, in an attempt to ground you and calm the panic still coursing through your veins, whether that be a hand placed on your knee, with a gentle squeeze of reassurance as she drove or on your shoulder as she quietly guided you through her apartment.

As she sat beside you and looked at you with kind, sympathetic eyes, waiting for you to finally answer, you realized something. This felt so different. There was a shift in Diana. Something had changed with her. She was always gentle, always kind, with everyone she was around and that, of course, was something you admired about her, but she was also guarded. You watched her so closely these past few months that you would say you were very familiar with the emotional wall you saw her put up around everyone, yourself included, even if others didn’t see it too. But, as she looked at you with such sad, gentle eyes, you didn’t see that wall. All Diana showed you right now was pure, unfiltered emotions of concern, understanding, and compassion. You realized, as she continued to wait patiently for your response, her hand resting over where yours lay on the couch, that you felt safe. You felt completely safe. The thought utterly shocked you and, finally, you were able to be self-aware enough to answer the woman sitting next to you.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice weak and raw from the myriad of emotions you’ve been hit with all night. And then, you tell her everything. You tell her about your family, how the organization found you and took you from them and almost recaptured you again when you went to visit their graves. You told her about how these people were careful, how you had no clue who they even were after all these years. Describing in detail, you went over every single unbearable form of torture and torment they put you through to make you the person you are today and when you watched in disgust as you used your powers to dance a flame across your fingertips, she watched in awe, as if it was the most dazzling thing for her to see. It almost made you hate this part of you less. You continued to tell her about how you spent the long years alone and when you told her about this you felt her squeeze your hand, not even realizing that she had yet to move it from yours this whole time. She stayed quiet for the most part, only adding in little things here and there. She listened intensely, nodding her head along with everything you said and letting herself show her emotions, no signing of the walls she usually put up. You felt heard, you felt protected, you felt overwhelmed. Never have you talked about this with anyone, so used to being alone to survive, you never had a chance to open up like this. It felt like the emotions you kept caged down inside you were just flooding out all at once. You tried to give her every detail you could think of to help her understand, help her trust you, and especially to see if she knew who these people were. No amount of detail seemed to help her, though. This was all news to her, yet that didn’t make you worry. You still believed her to be your hero, regardless of the incident that occurred tonight.

“How did you escape?” that was the only question she asked you after a couple of hours of you explaining every other detail. You had purposefully avoided that story. The question seemed inevitable, but you still wanted to put it off as long as possible. Your escape might have meant your freedom from their cruelty and torture, but it was still not a fond memory. You weren’t proud of your actions.

“My… abilities,” you grimaced as you spoke, “were stronger than they realized.” A flame swirled in the palm of your hand, Diana yet again watching with wonder as you stared on at it with nothing but abhorrence. You felt the familiar sting on your palms as you let it slowly grow, the flame rising little by little with each passing second. Each time you used your powers, the feeling you’d get would be so strange. The stronger the flame, the more it felt like you were vibrating, like you’d combust into one giant, destructive fire as your rage consumed you. You hated using your powers, not because using them caused you physical pain, you were used to that by now, but because it reminded you of what you’ve become. What they changed you into. It reminded you that you don’t know what you even are.

In a split second, you snuffed the flame in your hand, a slight hiss leaving your lips as you let it grow too hot when you held it over your palm. The skin of your palm now an angry red, but nothing that wouldn’t heal after a couple of minutes.

With the disappearance of the flame, Diana snaps out of her awe to look from your palm to your eyes. “It hurts you?” she asked, moving to cradle your now singed hand in her own. “To use your powers?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m not fireproof,” you let out a bitter chuckle. She just grimaces while she ghosts her fingertips over your injured palm. “When I got out, most of my body was badly burned, but what should’ve taken a normal person weeks or even months to heal, only took me a couple of days. When I get hurt, I bounce back quickly with little to no scars. Fire wasn’t the only thing they gave me, I guess. At the time, though, I didn’t know that.”

“So… What does that mean? You just set fire to the lab with you in it.”

“Yes,” You respond without hesitation. You keep yours eyes locked on the palm of your hand as you watch your skin mend itself in front of your eyes, but you can practically feel her eyes boring into you. You didn’t have to look up to know the look she had in her eyes, you could sense her sadness for you, her pity, and even her guilt.

“I didn’t care,” You spoke again after a moment of silence, “what might happen to me. I didn’t care about that. What I cared about, when I realized what I could do, was stopping them from torturing anyone else the way they did me and the others. Obviously, I failed, or they wouldn’t still be trying to come for me.”

“There were others in there with you?” Her voice was hesitant, gentle, but you could still hear the shock in it. That stopped you, you felt your heart break all over again and tried to push the feelings that came with thinking about this particular part of your story. You tried not to dwell on this memory, tried not to think of their faces, but you knew you had to tell her all you could. She needed to know, so she could find your captors, so she could stop them for good. Any tiny bit of information helped, right? God, you hoped so.

You took a deep breath, finally looking up from your hand to meet her eyes, still so kind, so understanding. “A few of us. Five I think.” You studied her expression closely as you continued, watching for any sign that she might start believing you to be the monster.

“We had ways to communicate with each other. It wasn’t…” You stopped for a moment, your jaw clenching as you struggled to get the words out. “It wasn’t as if I killed them in cold blood. We had a plan. We agreed to the plan when I learned what I could do. I didn’t expect to get out, none of us did.”

Diana continued to stay silent. Not once did she look away from you, but you had to take a moment. Squeezing your eyes shut tight, you took another deep breath and tried to block out the horrifying visions that came rushing back.

“Did any of them make it out with you?” Her voice was gentle, soothing, yet you still barely heard it over the sounds of your own painful memories flooding back to you.

You shook your head in response. There was no possible way. At least that’s what you told yourself. You remember all the screams, all the cries, you remember seeing some of them engulfed in flames, accepting their fate as the monsters who tortured you suffered the same. However, there was always some part of you that wondered if you got out with a badly burned body, barely hanging onto life, maybe they could too. But, when you saw the first sign of the organization still being alive and well, you knew that curiosity would always be just that: A curiosity. An unanswered question that you believed better left that way. If you were right, and they perished with the lab, while you walked free, then you would be mourning them all over again. And if you were wrong, then you risked their freedom as much as your own if you sought them out.

Diana squeezed the hand she still held in her own, and you were brought back from your thoughts.

“And, again, you don’t have any idea who captured you?” Her eyebrows knit together as she looked at you. You knew how ridiculous it sounded, to not have a single clue about who has been chasing you for all these years. You shook your head again, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to fight off all the emotions you were feeling. You were spilling your guts to her, and you knew it would have to happen when you found her, you even knew it would be painful, but it still didn’t prepare you for the storm of emotions that were spiraling through you.

“They were careful to hide it from us all when they had us. No logos, no identifying badges, not that I could see anyway,” You finally offered.

“How do you know it’s them who’s chasing you?” Diana asked as gently as she could, knowing that in any other tone it would come off as an accusation. As if you were crazy, but you weren’t crazy. Sometimes you would think you were being too paranoid, and every time you thought that, you would end up in the most danger.

“When you’ve gone through what I went through,” You cleared your throat and tried to keep your emotions from showing too strongly as you spoke, “You just get kind of this… sixth sense that they’re near. I just- I don’t know how to explain it. I just know.”

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes yet again, and you took your hand from hers to angrily rub at your already irritated eyes. You felt utterly spent, even though you’ve barely scratched the surface on your history, on who you are, what you can do, what you wanted from her. The both of you had a long way to go to figure this out. You didn’t even know what she was thinking right now. This whole time she’s been listening close, cradling your hand in hers, looking at you with sympathy and a gentleness you still weren’t used to. You appreciated it more than words could describe, yet it scared you. Years and years without making any solid connections with another person has left you more than a little guarded to say the least. Even if you did feel safe with her, you still needed time to adjust to this feeling.

The rest of the night, you two continued to talk. She asked you questions here and there, but for the most part, she just listened. You never saw an ounce of judgment cross her face, not when you describe more details about your escape, not when you talked about the things you did to survive, not once did she judge you, and it felt like a weight was slowly starting to lift from your shoulders. When your emotions got the better of you, and you felt tears finally fall again, she amazed you by reaching out, without missing a beat, and wiping them from your cheeks. She took your hands back into her own when parts of your story made you feel like you couldn’t stand to look at her. Finally, when you’d exhausted your emotions and couldn’t stand to share anymore, she caught you off guard by pulling you onto her lap effortlessly and holding you in her arms. She didn’t say a single word, she didn’t need to, you knew exactly what she was communicating. With her strong arms around, her lips pressing to the top of your head, you knew you were protected, and dare you admit, you almost felt cherished by her. The both of you stayed like that for what felt like hours, neither of you talking anymore. At some point you began to fall asleep in her embrace, a vulnerability that even shocked you as you let her lift you and carry you to her bed. While the sun came up within mere hours after she had laid you down, you still don’t think you’ve ever slept more soundly in your life.

After that night, there was a palpable shift in your dynamic with Diana. To say she was protective was a bit of an understatement. You didn’t mind it, though. For the first time in your life, you looked over your shoulder a little less. When you heard footsteps walk towards you, you no longer held your breath, fearing who might appear from the shadows. No, now you knew your protector was nearby, ready to end any threat that came near you. Not that you were totally defenseless, you had and would use your abilities if the situation called for it. But you were no hero, you didn’t possess some sort of god-like strength and skill like Diana did, and it left you in awe the few moments she showed you what she could do.

Diana insisted on you moving into her apartment. It took a lot of convincing on her part before you finally agreed. You wanted her help, yes, and you felt safe when you were with her, but you didn’t want to invade every aspect of her life. When you told her that, she just shook her head and insisted stronger that this is what she wanted and after making quite a few good points, you gave in. Luckily for you, she had a spare room that she was using as an office, but in what seemed like a snap of her fingers, it was suddenly converted to your space. You took her to the apartment you were currently staying in, holding your breath when you let her in. It wasn’t run down, by any means. While you didn’t put down roots over the years, you still amassed quite the fortune. Even if you weren’t necessarily proud of how you got some of your funds. No, what you were worried about was how she would react to how empty it was. Roots meant few possessions. The more things you had, the easier it was to track you, the harder it was to just pick up and quickly leave. She looked around your apartment with, not judgement, but utter sadness for you as you began to pack your things. You kept your eyes on your clothes, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you felt her pity for you. As she finished looking around and sat down on the edge of your bed, watching you busy yourself with packing, she caught you off guard yet again by catching your hand before you made another trip from the suitcase lying next to her to your closet.

“You don’t have to be ashamed, little dove,” She looked up at you. “I understand, but you don’t have to run anymore.”

Those words played in your head over and over again each day as you moved your things from your place to hers. She said it with such certainty, such finality, that it shook you to the core. Once all of your things were packed and moved, she continued to treat you with as much gentleness as she had shown you that first night in her apartment. When days turned to weeks, you began to finally have a sense of home. She was your boss, your roommate, your friend, your protector, and something much more… but you hadn’t figured out what that meant just yet. But you knew it meant something. Especially, in the way she would hold your hand when you felt anxious, her touch would linger on your arm as she passed you in the halls, and she gave you these looks that utterly disarmed you, but you didn’t mind. There were times, when she was near where you thought tonight would be the night. For what? You weren’t quite sure. But she would look at you, pause, so close to you sometimes you could feel her breath ghost your lips, and finally when you thought she would move she would pull back, the mood would shift, and you’d be left with emotional whiplash. You didn’t know the reason for this, but you didn’t want to push.

In what felt like a blink of the eye, six months had gone by since you first ran right into the woman you had searched for, and now you were living in her apartment, you had more possessions than you’d ever had in your entire life, and you felt so completely safe you almost forgot why you had sought her out in the first place. Almost.

“I will just be a second, I forgot some things,” Diana squeezed your hand before letting go.

“Think about what you’d like for dinner. I want to cook for you, do something special. This is the longest you’ve stayed somewhere, no?”

“Diana, you don’t have to-”

“No, no, I won’t hear of it. We should celebrate this.” She reached forward and brushed her fingers across your cheek. You couldn’t help the blush that rose to your cheeks as she looked at you with such adoration. You simply nodded, taken aback by her actions. She leaned in, and it felt like your heart was trying to beat out of your chest. “Okay?” She whispered, her lips mere inches from yours.

“Okay,” You practically squeaked. She chuckled and pressed her lips to your cheek before turning and walking back into the museum.

Holding your hand to your heart, you tried to catch your breath and calm yourself as you watched her walk away. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you let reality sink in. You’ve been in the same city for six months, you couldn’t remember the last time you stayed somewhere this long. Not only that, but you had no plans of leaving. When you moved in you had one bag you didn’t unpack for a couple of days and when Diana asked you what it was for you explained that it was an emergency back for if you ever needed to relocate. You remember the hurt in her eyes as you told her that. That night she insisted that you would never need that again, and she helped you unpack it, going so far as to throw away the bag once it was emptied. She made you truly believe you wouldn’t ever have to run again, that you could set up some sort of semi-permanent roots here, and sometimes she made it sound like she hoped you’d set up these roots with her. And if you searched yourself enough, you realized, you wanted that with her.

You knew it wouldn’t be some magical happily-ever-after where you two would run off into the sunset. No, you still have questions to answer and plans to make. You two were still immortal as well, so you still had to come up with some way to make a life work where you wouldn’t be questioned for never aging. There were still things to consider, but as you thought about your future, something for the last 50 years you used to actively avoid thinking about, you saw her in it. And by her actions, you believed, or at least hoped, that she wanted to stay with you for years to come.

It had been a couple of minutes, and she still wasn’t back yet. You were so lost in thoughts of her and a future together, you missed altogether the footsteps coming up the sidewalk from the opposite direction of where Diana went.

“Excuse me, miss,” A voice broke through your train of thought. You jumped slightly and turned around towards the voice. Standing in front of you was a man in a suit, a polite smile on his face. “Can you help me find my hotel? I seem to have gotten myself lost.”

“Um… sure, what’s the address?”

“Thank you,” his smile grows as he looks at you and that’s when you feel it, that familiar twist in your stomach. “I have the address written down somewhere here,” he says as he pats himself down, looking through his pockets. Your eyes dart from his hands to behind his shoulder as he takes his eyes off you. It didn’t seem like he was with anyone else, the streets were empty, but it was dark and there were many places one might hide.

“Oh, here!” He pulls his hand from his pocket, and you feel yourself tense before seeing his hand reach out to yours with an address written on a post-it. You still didn’t buy it, though. The streets were too quiet, you realized, too empty. And something about the way he eyed you reminded you of every close call you ever had. Your entire being felt on edge as he stared at you expectantly. Your eyes darted from his to the card, not daring to reach for it. Just looking long enough to pretend like you read it, without truly focusing on it at all.

“I don’t know where that is, I’m sorry,” You mumble and start to take a few steps back. “Your best bet is to find someone else.” You turn on your heel and begin to walk away, but a large hand closes around your wrist and stops you in your tracks.

“Wait-”

“I can’t help you,” You continue, tugging your arm away from him. You speed walk straight ahead. Your hands balled into fists as you try to think out some sort of escape plan and scan the streets in front of you.

“(Y/N), right?” He calls out to you, his footsteps not far behind. “And your friend, Diana Prince. We’ve been looking for you two.”

That stopped you.

“Stay away from her,” You threatened through gritted teeth, spinning around to stare him down.

“You led us to her,” Another voice came from behind you, and you jumped, trying to reposition yourself, so you had eyes on the now two men cornering you. “Thank you for that.”

Your eyes shifted from one man to the other, and that’s when you heard it. More footsteps coming towards you, but your heart sank when you realized it couldn’t possibly be hers. This sounded like many sets of footsteps stomping towards you on the empty street.

Planting your feet where you stood, you turned your head left and right to see another six men seemingly materialize from the shadows to surround you. You squared your shoulders, looking up at the man who first approached you, refusing to give him the satisfaction by showing your fear.

“You don’t want to do this,” You threatened, repositioning yourself to signal that if you were going down, you were going down fighting.

“Oh, but we really do,” The man’s smile twisted into one more sadistic and when he stepped towards you the others did too, and then they were rushing you.

You held your position, waiting for one to lunge, and when a man did, you ducked and fled, taking off immediately. However, as quick as you were, at least one was right on your tail. You pushed yourself harder, running as fast as you possibly could, but you were stopped by a hand grabbing your hair and yanking you back with such force that when you landed it knocked the wind out of you. The man towered over you, huffing in anger as he looked down at you with disgust. You heard the sound of the others running to catch up to where you had fallen, but your eyes stayed locked on his as he began to bend down.

“No more running,” He spits out as his hand reaches for you. But before he can lay a hand on you again, in a blink of an eye, you see him shoved so hard he landed quite a few feet from where he once stood. He falls to the ground with a slam, the sound of his body hitting pavement echoing in the empty streets.

“Get up, come on, little dove, we have to go.” A hand reaches for you and as you look at it, you realize it to be Diana’s. Relief washes over you as you take it and are hoisted to your feet.

“I need you to stay behind me,” She says as she puts herself in between you and the group of men quickly rounding on your position. And before you can even protest, they charge her one by one. She dispatches them all with ease, knocking them off their feet with her fists in such grace, all the while making sure they had distance between you and them.

“We need to go,” She says again as she scans the area for any more foes, the other attackers laying as unconscious heaps on the pavement.

“You’re not going anywhere,” A voice came from behind you, and you both turned to see the man who once had you by the hair walk up to you, the same twisted grin on his face. “That,” he pointed at you as he stalked closer, “Doesn’t belong to you.”

“She’s not your property,” Diana put a hand on your shoulder and began to pull you back behind her yet again, squaring up to take on the man creeping towards you both.

“Oh,” He chuckles and tilts his head, “but she is. She belongs to the Bureau.”

And then things happened in a flash. On instinct, you whipped around to check the men who Diana had knocked out, only to find one standing right in front of you, a taser in hand going straight to your abdomen. You fell to your knees, gritting your teeth in pain as Diana turned to react, but that was her mistake, as the next moment a fist connected with her face. A crack as loud as lightning resounded through the streets. These weren’t normal humans, you realized.

You scrambled to get up as Diana recovered, but half of the men were surrounding her, and as you made it to your feet the other half were beginning to corner you. You twisted and turned trying to find a way to get to Diana, but they managed to get between you two and then two of the men came for you again, this time catching you off guard and each one grabbing you by either wrist. With their grip, they jerked you back until they had both your hands locked behind your back with one hand and their other gripping your shoulder and jerking backwards, you away from your protector. You fought and struggled, but you couldn’t shake them and all the while your eyes never left Diana, who was currently surrounded by men, throwing out kicks and punches with skill and precision. Yet, it didn’t seem to matte. Each time they fell, they seemed to get up stronger. Then she made the mistake to turn and look back at you, and that’s when they got her.

You watched in horror as your hero, your savior, was being forced to her knees and then pinned to the ground, a heavy boot pressed firm across her back. She was struggling, her face twisted in pain. Everything felt too loud and too silent all at once. All you could do was watch as impossibly strong hands kept you in a bruising grip, yanking you back by your shoulders and away from the one good thing you’ve ever known. Tears were streaming down your face, and you tried to plant your feet, but more hands came, strong fingers digging into your skin so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if they drew blood. And the whole time you were screaming, not screaming for help, but just screaming for her. They had finally found you, they had finally got their hands on you, you were being pulled back to your worst nightmare and that’s not what caused you to sob, that’s not what made your blood run cold with paralyzing fear. No, it was the thought that they could cut down the woman who turned the tides of wars. It was the thought that they could take her too. You don’t care, at this point, what they might do to you. Your grip on hope was sinking by the second as you watched with desperate eyes for Diana to stand up, but they kept coming for her. Kicks to the ribs each time she tried to stand.

She was hurt worse than you thought she could even get hurt. Blood spilled from her cheek and dripped from her lips. She truly seemed down for the count. But then her head turned to you yet again, her eyes locked with yours and a fierceness filled them. She began to get up, but more of these men seemed to notice. You watched as she pushed the man from her back and got back onto her knees. Anger practically radiated off her as she watched you struggling to be dragged away. She began to stand, to fight, and in that moment the terror inside you skyrocketed. She was up, but so much of her looked utterly broken. In an instant, you watched your adversaries began to lunge at her once more and as you watched something inside you broke. Your hands set ablaze, fire running from your palms up your wrists to where the men still held on to you.

The pained howls of the two men whose hands you just scorched pierced the empty streets, and that gave you enough distraction to yank your shoulders free. Pushing from them, your momentum caused you to land hard on your knees, yet with one hand, you caught yourself and with the other, you flung out flames, causing the people coming towards you to stumble back.

But it still wasn’t enough, you were pulled back by the collar of your shirt and dragged on across the pavement, your legs kicking out, all the while you never stopped screaming. Through the flames you caused in front of you, you saw Diana struggling to defend herself. Your hand reached behind you, engulfed in flame, to grab onto the hand that was pulling you across the street, but as you twisted your head to look at the man who had you in his grasp, it was the same man who first approached you, a devilish grin on his face.

“That doesn’t work with me, sweetheart,” He said darkly.

You gulped, and he let go of his grip. But, before you could get to your feet he knelt down, took your head in his hands, and slammed it against the pavement with full force.

Everything went dark.

A/N: Oops. Don’t worry, part 3 will be here before you know it. So can you guess the badies yet?

Also not to be this person, but seriously your comments and reblogs are what drive me to write faster. Gives me more of an incentive and more inspiration!

taglist: @liladoesfanfics @screechcat

If you want tagged go to the master list for this series and add a comment!

#diana x reader #wonder woman x reader #wonder woman #diana prince #fanfic #wlw #maybe this time series #series #five-bi-five-mind

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juniper-sunny · 2 years

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The Art in the Heart - Chapter 10

It’s time to tell Silco the whole truth of your history. Who knows if it might scare him off for good…

Everybody Lives AU | Pre-Act I | Silco x Reader | Female!Reader | Slow Burn | Fluff | Mild Angst || SFW | TW: Mentions of Bullying, Mugging, Offscreen Death | WC: 2.27k

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 3.5 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

taglist: @sherwood-forests @deny-the-issue @let-the-monster-out @ariaud @joscelyn02 @crunchlite @sheacrowley

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This might be the last time you ever get to enjoy Silco’s company, and yet you’re staring at the ground. But maybe it’s better that way; if you look into his seafoam teal eyes, you’re liable to drown. They contain the same passion and intensity as the ocean itself, a force of nature that is at times beautifully tranquil, but can never be tamed or controlled.

You wonder if you’ve studied his face enough by now to be able to depict him accurately in a painting. The soulfulness of his eyes alone would take hours to capture, not to mention mixing countless different paints to get that precise color that’s not quite a true blue or green, but something in between. The complexity of the color matched only by the hidden depths of the man himself.

Will your memories be enough of a reference? If he refuses to pose for a portrait?

You should meet his eyes when you talk to him. It’s the least he deserves. But your neck won’t obey you and your head won’t turn either.

(You don’t deserve to look at him.)

Well, no use in putting this off any longer. Clearing your throat hurts, but you finally begin.

“Do you remember how I started working for Pilties?” You had told him that morning a long time ago, the day after the burglary.

“You were selling paintings at a Progress Day fair, when you were 17 years old,” Silco recalls. “When you were about to be arrested for vending without a permit, a philanthropic Topside merchant came to your rescue. He was so impressed by your skill he declared himself your patron on the spot.”

Despite yourself, you feel a beaming pride at the memory. “He wanted portraits for him and his entire family. He had a wife and four kids, so it was a literal jackpot. It was a pain in the ass getting them to pose, though.”

The lump in your throat returns with a vengeance, a harsh, choking pain. Along with memories and old wounds resurfacing that you normally try to keep at bay. It’s been a long time since you actively recalled them. The act of confession seems to worsen your agony.

“At that time I was still living here, at Janna’s Hearth. Kharon, Teema, and Cuny were happy for me, but the other kids… weren’t,” you say slowly. “They’d say stuff like I was a Piltie bitch, or that I was turning my back on the Undercity. Some said that my real mom was a prostitute and that my dad was a Topsider, so I should just leave the orphanage and go ‘home’.” That one gets a chuckle out of you.

Silco grimaces. “That’s not funny at all.”

You shrug. “It’s just kids talking shit, you know? But then… it started getting worse.”

Telling Silco about the bullying is easier than you thought. It’s been so long now, you suppose it’s a blessing that there are some memories you’re emotionally detached from at all: your paints getting stolen, paintbrushes destroyed, sketchbooks torn up. Some of your already completed canvases had even been burned, forcing you to request a delay in commission deadlines.

(And you deserved every minute of it.)

It doesn’t seem to be easy listening for Silco, though. For all his experience as a revolutionary, you’d think he’d be made of tougher stuff. His face turns stiff as stone, his grave demeanor betrayed only by the trembling of his clenched fists.

“My friends really pulled through for me,” you continue. “Gita and Kai would take turns watching my stuff when I wasn’t around. Nyle beat some of the bullies up too. They were great… and then they started asking for money.

“I was happy to give it to them at first. But Gita and Kai kept asking for more and more, and they didn’t want to hang out unless I had money for them. That’s when I told them to piss off,” you admit. You hope that Silco won’t ask you to go into more detail; part of your ego never healed from the fact that your “friends” wanted you to pay for the pleasure of their company.

You can’t help the way you sound: spoiled by your good luck. Complaining about having more than enough money to help your friends.

(You really do sound like a Piltie bitch right now.)

“What about Nyle?” Silco asks grimly.

“Oh, she was great,” you say with a watery smile. “Never asked for a single coin. We moved in together. She even insisted on splitting all the bills.

“Then one night… I was walking home,” you hunch in on yourself, resting your chin on your knees. Fisting the cuff of your pants until your knuckles turn white. “I had just gotten paid… and someone was following me. I tried to get away, but they caught up to me. I ended up losing all my money that night.”

Silco’s eyebrows shoot up in shock. “What did they do to you??”

“Oh, nothing,” you cringe at the misunderstanding. (Don’t make Silco pity you for something that never happened. Stop trying to make a martyr of yourself.) “They never touched me. I just threw my money at them to get away. But that was my half of rent for the month.

“Nyle lost her shit at me that night. It turned out that Gita and Kai were sharing the money they got from me with her. That way Nyle could play both sides,” Even after all this time, a bitter part of you is still impressed by your former best friend’s duplicity. Part of the guilt in your chest dissolves into an acidic, burning anger. “Apparently she had been making me pay the entirety of the rent without telling me. I don’t know why she didn’t just ask me when we first moved in, I would’ve been fine with it.

“Anyways… She kicked me out that night. I— I didn’t have anywhere else to go. If Kharon hadn’t found me—“ The tightness in your throat intensifies. Your jaw locks and it hurts to swallow.

That night inflicted scars that never quite healed yet. It hurt to be treated so badly.

(But they needed you. You were a bad friend. And you’re a bad person. Does Silco know what a failure you are?)

“I owe Kharon, Teema, and Cuny everything. I actually live and work here when I’m not on a job. I only stay at the Promenade when I have to meet with Topside clients… apparently people who live in the Undercity for too long smell bad,” you roll your eyes.

“Where are they now? Your ‘friends’,” Silco’s voice is hard and cold.

It’s been a long battle, but you finally give up: your vision swims with tears that start pooling in your eyes. With a wobbling voice, you answer mournfully, “Kai died in the mines. Gita’s missing… no one’s been able to track her down for years. I think Nyle’s a tattoo artist in the Lanes.”

You still need to pull yourself together. If Silco hasn’t figured it out by now, there’s still one more thing you need to spell out for him.

It’s the hardest, but most important thing to say. The heartbreak can come later.

“It was all my fault… If I were a better person… I could’ve saved them. I should have saved them. But I was too greedy… I wanted to keep my friends and my money. And now I have money and no friends,” the mirthless sound that escapes you is more of a cough than a laugh. “Do you still want a spoiled, selfish brat like me in the Children?”

Silco pulls you in for a hug before you finish your question. His arms wrap tight around you as you finally succumb to great, heaving sobs.

It’s not just the shame and remorse from past demons that’s tearing your heart apart right now.

Now that Silco knows everything, he’s going to leave you. And that terrifies you.

You’ll never see him again.

As if he can read your thoughts, Silco starts wiping your tears. Pulling you in closer, forcing you to lower your legs so you’re pressed into his torso.

“You are none of those things,” he says softly. “You did no wrong in those terrible circumstances. Listen to me,” he places his hands on the side of your head. Firmly but gently tilting your head up to look him in the eyes. “You must understand this: the ones who dared call themselves your ‘friends’ betrayed you. All they did was take advantage of your generosity.”

“But—”

“You didn’t fail them,” he cuts you off, correctly anticipating your counterargument. “Their well-being was not your responsibility. Even if it were, that would have been too much for any one individual to handle alone.

“You did nothing wrong,” he repeats.

With his hands still holding your face, you can’t turn away. It’s almost disorienting, the effect his words have on you. Warmth and relief are twin arms around your heart. They’re not quite enough to save you from drowning, but they pull a great deal of weight off your shoulders, making it easier for you to swim to the surface.

One of Silco’s hands wraps around the back of your head. The other holds your chin. Directing your gaze upwards as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I will say it as many times as you need to hear it… You’re perfect,” he whispers.

It’s not enough to pull you out of the waters you’ve been treading for years. But in between your sobs, you take a deep, gasping inhale, filling your lungs and body with a renewed vitality.

Your hands rise to touch him. The action is involuntary, but feels perfectly natural. One of your hands falls on the side of his neck. The other rests on his shoulder.

“You’re cute, too,” Silco’s nose touches yours. You hear the smile in his voice more than you see it. He’s so close to you now.

You sniffle and laugh. “I’m surprised you remembered last night.”

(“And I meant it when I said you were cute. You are cute. Feel free to ask me when I’m sober. I’ll tell you again and again, as many times as you need to hear it.”)

“Don’t you know? I always keep my promises,” he says under his breath.

His lips part. The perfect space to fit yours against him.

All you need to do is lean in closer…

And closer…

And—

“Auntie?” Vi’s voice shatters the moment. The little girl stands in the doorway.

You pull back with a gasp. Breaking free from Silco’s hands.

“Hi sweetie!” You squeak out. Jumping to your feet. Almost stepping on Silco in your haste to run to Vi. Silco’s words and the intimate moment have you wound up, your heart hammering erratically and palms sweating.

He scoots backwards. Eyes following your progress across the room.

You crouch down next to the little girl, determinedly fixing your gaze on her. “What’s up?”

“Is my rabbit here?” The little girl asks.

Silco notices the toy. It’s still next to the bed that Powder was hiding under. He picks it up and hands it to you, looking you in the eyes when he does so.

You take it from him without returning his gaze.

“Here you go, Vi,” you tell her. “Have you finished breakfast yet?”

“No.”

“Tell Kharon I said it’s okay for you to have seconds,” you pat her head. “You have to eat a lot so you grow big and strong!” Hopefully the manic energy in your voice comes off as enthusiastic and not panicky.

After receiving another smooch on her forehead, Vi dashes off.

You’re tempted to run after her. But you can't leave Silco behind. You stand and take a deep breath, turning to face him.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Whatever on earth for?” Silco asks, getting to his feet. Stepping closer to you.

It’s hard to find the right words. To describe how much Silco means to you. His friendship, his support, his countless kindnesses…

It means everything. So much more than you can say.

Instead of speaking, you hug him. Standing on tiptoe to wrap your arms around his neck.

He reciprocates immediately. Lean but corded arms wrapping around your waist. Nuzzling his cheek against your hair.

He keeps you warm. Not just with how comforting his arms are around you, but also melting the painful frost that’s trapped your heart for so long.

You don’t know how long you both hold each other in silence. It’s nice enough that you want it to last forever. Two moons orbiting each other, unable and unwilling to break free to rejoin the greater galaxy. You press your face into his chest while he strokes your hair.

Silco’s stomach gurgles. Rumbling the moment like shattering glassware.

You wince when you pull away from him. “I’m so sorry, I forgot you haven’t eaten. Why don’t you go and get some—”

“I’m fine,” Silco insists. He looks as chagrined as you feel. “Besides, we have many more rooms to finish.”

“I can take care of it—”

“Please, allow me to help you,” Silco says. “Then perhaps you’d like to join me for brunch?”

You take a moment to ponder his offer. Even if you weren’t starting to get hungry yourself, good food is always more enjoyable in good company.

And Silco is the best company you could ever hope to ask for.

When you tell Silco yes, he beams at you.

Gods, what a beautiful smile. You hope you’ll get the chance to paint it one day.

Chapter 11

#Arcane #Arcane fanfic #Silco #Silco x Reader #Arcane Silco #Silco Arcane #my writing #The Art in the Heart #TAITH #bullying tw #mugging tw #death tw

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unrequitedloveletter · 2 years

Note

Oooh, with the medic one also. Could be half him watching her and her skills being impressed and in love, and the other half having her tell him what to do to treat her because she is deathly injured!!!!!!

Everything- Kaz Brekker

Hi! I'm going to hijack this ask to answer both this one, and the first part to it, which I used to ask if you'd be all right with me aging everyone up a little bit! This one is also a bit long, so apologies in advance!

You said that you were fine with it, so I did age everyone up a bit! Kaz, the crows, and the reader, are all around 25-27 years old.

Fic type- this one is fluff with some angst

Warnings- mentions of stab wounds, a punctured lung, chest tubes, lung fluid, treatment of a punctured lung that’s probably a little inaccurate (I googled how to treat it, google wasn’t very helpful) and kaz might be a little ooc

“You’re university trained?” Matthias asked as he watched you disinfect a wound on Inejs leg. “University, medical school, and you end up here?” He gestured around Fifth Harbor.

“As I’m sure you’ve come to understand, Mr. Helvar, the people are what makes this town a worth while one,” you said. You took a needle from your kit, grabbing a piece of thread with one hand as you held the needle steady with the other, blowing a speck of dust from it and wiping it over a clean area of your shirt before pulling the thread through the needle.

“Walking on it--”

“Matthias will carry you,” you glanced back at him, tilting your head as though you were waiting to hear his refusal. “Give it two hours of rest, at least. I know you’re the informant Kaz relies on the most, but an infection? The stitches opening? Not worth the risk.”

“How much time would be optimal?” Kaz asked. You didn’t need to look back to him to know he was watching you. You could feel his gaze, a burning but impressed look. It was one that seemed to be reserved for you, specifically, a gaze that communicated both that he was impressed and in love with you for the skill and ease with which you worked.

“Any jobs in the next few days?”

“You would know if there were any,” Kaz said. “You’re the one who reviews the plans, triple checks for any fatal risks, but if you need a reminder, no. No jobs until the one near the financial district in two weeks time.”

“That’s perfect,” you said, not grimacing as you brought the needle through one end of the wound, stitching into the other. “Rest, Inej. Take at least a week.”

Inej nodded, not saying a word or moving a muscle as you worked. The next ten minutes were quiet, ones where you were focused on getting Inejs wound stitched, Kaz was heading to the Slat to make sure a path was cleared, Nina was getting Inej some tea and Wylan, Jesper, and Matthias were keeping good company.

“All of the people in Ketterdam, and Brekker ends up with the medic. I kind of love it,” Nina said with a laugh about five minutes after you’d finished stitching Inejs leg, applying the pain relievant cream you kept in your kit and taping gauze over it in case of bleeding. You were all headed back to the Slat, Inej leaning on Matthias as she held the tea Nina had grabbed for her.

“I don’t mind it myself,” you said. “When Kaz gets himself in a bind, I’m there to make sure he lives through it. I’d call it a nice arrangement, the one we’ve got.”

You and your incredible wit could smooth talk anyone Kaz had pissed off, stitch the wounds he got from doing so, and Kaz had given you the job you had, one of the few medics working on the staff of the Dregs.

You’d known him since you were teens, Kaz having often seen you in the Barrel, stitching the wounds of the ones dumb enough to get hurt, using the minimal knowledge given to you by the medicine classes offered to Ketterdam University first years in order to do such a thing. You’d been running with the Dregs that long, too, having not been able to resist the company offered by the one so many called Dirtyhands.

Ten years later, it seemed to have proven worth it, if the ring you’d placed on a chain and the one that Kaz kept in the pocket of whichever pair of trousers he’d chosen to wear that day were at all considerable indications.

“A match made by the matchmaker saint,” Nina said.

“I don’t think there is one,” you said as you arrived at the Slat. Nina opened the door for Inej and you watched as Matthias carried her to her room, Nina standing not far off and talking to Inej as though it were just another normal Tuesday.

You bid Wylan and Jesper your goodnights before heading to the third floor, opening the door to the floor that yourself and Kaz had shared for half a decade.

You saw Kaz at his desk, gloves over his hands as he read the plans for the heist to take place two weeks from then. You placed your kit where you’d always placed it--second drawer of the night stand that was to the left of the bed--and walked back through his office, heading for the kettle, which Kaz had placed on a nightstand that he’d repurposed.

“Coffee or tea?” You asked as you turned the kettle on, merely flicking a switch at the bottom of the long handle, grabbing a mug from the drawer he kept them in. To one side, there was twelve mugs--stacked in two doubled up columns of three--and to the other, there was boxes of tea bags, filtered, and ground coffee

“Earl gray tea, if there’s any left,” Kaz said. At that, you turned to look at him, casting a look of disbelief. He shrugged.

“For once in my life, I’m not striving to stay awake,” he said. “Drank too much coffee, stressed a bit too much. I haven’t slept in days.” You laughed as you grabbed another mug, placing it next to the one you’d grabbed for Kaz. You grabbed earl gray and the ingredients to make your hot drink of choice, the conversation between you and Kaz as you waited for the kettle to be ready nothing of much note.

“Even so long after you returned from Ravka, I still find myself impressed whenever I watch you work in the field,” he said. “I couldn’t stomach it. I can handle giving myself a stitch up, but having to do it for someone else? I could never.”

You laughed as you heard the little song--a simple few robotic tones--that the kettle sang to tell you it was done. You poured water into Kaz’s mug and then into yours, adding sugar and stirring it in as you thought on your next words.

“It’s always been about the fact that I’ve been able to help people,” you said, shrugging. “Living in the Barrel, you get used to blood. You get used to screams of pain and keeping kvas in a flask just in case. I’ve never much been bothered by any of it. I’ve just wanted to do some good. Going to uni and then medical school helped me with that process.”

“Have you paid off all of the loans?” University and medical school cost a pretty penny, that was certain. The loans were ones you’d had on your back since you were twenty-one, loans that were being paid off using half of your paycheck from seeing to Ketterdam citizens in the few hospitals they’d built around the wealthier areas, all of the money you got from heists, be it for the part you played in them or the fact that you stitched up plenty of wound in the aftermath.

“The money I’ll get tomorrow from two weeks working at the hospital will have them paid off entirely,” you said. “Y/N L/N, debt free. I love how that sounds.”

You passed him the tea you’d made and he gently clinked his mug against yours in favor of a cheers.

“To being debt free,” you said.

“To getting richer.” Kaz said. “And to being impressed by the work of your spouse.”

You both took sips of your drinks, neither of you staying awake much longer after that.

---

As Kazs eyes opened, the first thing he registered was the fact that he was laying on the ground. He could feel the stickiness of near-dry pebbles refusing to detach from the sweat that’d beaded on the back of his neck, the weight of the pavement beneath him that was the precise opposite of comforting. He was on his back, eyes blinking at a dark, dreary sky as they opened.

The next thing he registered was the complete absence of the gloves he always wore. They were gone, and as Kaz sat up, looked around with a keen eye as one hand reached up to finally rid the saints awful feeling of the pebbles sticking to his neck, he couldn’t find them, nor his cane.

He heard it when you woke up, though. He heard the intake of breath, watched you reach a hand up to your right side.

“Kaz?” You wheezed. “Ghezen, if I was left alone here, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Threatening a god isn’t the smartest choice you’ve made,” Kaz fired back. “We were jumped, Y/N. Are you all right?”

“Can you stand?” You wheezed again. Kaz shuffled to the wall to his left, brought himself onto his feet. “Kit. I need my kit, Kaz. It has--” you stopped, coughing before trying to inhale.

He found your medicine kit, two feet off from where you lay on the ground, blood blossoming around the white of your shirt. He went for it instantly.

“Are you okay?”

“I was stabbed in the lung, the bastards,” you said, managing a laugh. “I can stitch myself up provided that I’m able to sit the fuck up and see what I’m stitching. A punctured lung prevents me from that. Fuck.”

The realization dawned on him as he took the kit into his hands, bringing it to his lap as he unzipped it. If you couldn’t do the stitching yourself, it meant that Kaz had to.

You’d touched one another before. You were the only person with whom touch had become even a semi-regular thing in Kaz’s life. Hands that accidentally met when you passed one another a coffee or a tea, hands resting atop one another for a mere few seconds as you settled in for dinner at a restaurant along Fifth Harbor.

Touching was sort of common. But those touches had always been small. None of them were as it was then, the alarming sort of reality that Kaz would have to do what it took to get you well enough to function, the likelihood that it involved getting your blood on his hands.

“Kaz, if you can’t manage--”

“If I can’t manage, the only other option is that you die, or that you almost die. I refuse to allow either of those outcomes.”

“I’m half-dead as we speak.”

“Yes, but it’s not almost too late. If I save you right now, the fact that you survived may not count as a miracle. Tell me what I need to do to help you, Y/N. Please.”

“A chest tube should be in there,” you said. “It’s long, has a bit of a pump attachment taped to it for convenience? Theres a needle at one end. It’s also clear and made of plastic. Get that.” Kaz did as instructed, holding it in one hand as he watched you fumble with the buttons around your shirt.

He undid them up to the area of the wound, folding the excess fabric back and securing it with some tape he’d found in the kit so as to keep it from moving.

“Attach the pump to the open end of the chest tube. The pump will catch the fluid build up in my lungs, keep it from getting onto the ground. Once you’ve done that, insert the tube into the cut and watch me never take simply breathing for granted ever again.”

Kaz did as you’d told him, attaching the pump to the open end of the tube and inserting the tube into the cut, grimacing and looking away as he did it.

He heard you take a long inhale, looked over and caught you grinning.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I know its--unfortunate circumstances--”

“If you apologize for almost fucking dying, I’ll take the tube out of your lung and allow you to suffocate,” Kaz said. “We’ll wait ten minutes, I’ll stitch you up, and we’ll get home.”

You laughed. “Fine, Brekker,” you said. “Thank you.”

“I rather not live a life without you in it, is all,” he said, shrugging.

You waited ten minutes.

In those ten minutes, Nina came around with Kaz’s cane--the edge of which, it should be noted, was blood stained--and a vengeful smile. Inej wielded names and whereabouts. Jesper held the gloves Kaz kept in his office as back ups as Matthias explained that the gloves Kaz had been wearing hadn’t been found and Wylan checked the wound out for himself.

“You did good,” he said. “Even though you only followed the instructions given by a professional. A bit of a stitch up in two minutes and a trip to a hospital in the financial district if the pressure from the fluid hasn’t gone away are some good next steps.” As he spoke, Wylan helped you sit up halfly.

“Thank you, Brekker,” you said.

“You’re my partner in everything,” Kaz said. “I refuse to lose you, Y/N. I can’t even handle the idea.”

“I love you too,” you said. “Wylan, are you good with a needle?”

“I can stitch up the wound and Matthias can carry you back,” Wylan said with a nod. “I’ve never been too good with this sort of thing, but I can manage.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Kaz asked. You nodded.

“I’m okay, Kaz. You don’t need to worry about me, I’m fine. You’ve got names and whereabouts. Don’t go easy on the bastards.”

Kaz shook his head. “Going easy on them was never my intent,” he said.

“Good,” you grinned.

The seven of you made idle conversation as Kaz emptied the tube and waited an additional five minutes to be safe.

Upon the assurance that there was no more fluid left in your lung, he removed the chest tube completely, taking a bottle of water from Wylans satchel and cleaning it up so as to not have the fluid from your lung making a mess of the kit.

Wylan stitched the wound up and Matthias helped you off the ground, letting you lean against him as you walked back to the Slat. You and Kaz talked, pinkies interlaced as you spoke and moved.

“I need two weeks, Brekker,” you said. “I need the rest.”

“You’ll have three, then,” Kaz said, nodding as Matthias, Wylan, Jesper, Nina and Inej all went their separate ways, though you and Kaz stayed together. “Just to be safe, of course. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you admit that you need time off.”

“Can’t really work very well with a lung wound,” you shrugged. “Three weeks of rest sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

“You’re my partner in everything,” Kaz said again. “Whatever you need.”

The two of you walked up to the third floor, both of you feeling relieved that the day had ended on a decent note.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows

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null-whump · 1 year

Text

HELLO everyone I did not edit this AT ALL and I am in SEVERE PAIN but by GOD I finished it and here it is for you to read!! and enjoy!! and comment on!!!!! and maybe the next update won't take so fucking long!!! great!!!!!!

(it was also supposed to be longer than this but I know that if I put it off anymore it'll be two months before I post anything at all)

Ace and Hunter Masterlist

Warnings: Forced domesticity, collaring/muzzling, mentions of past torture, abuse, brief strangulation/choking, restraints

-----------------------------------

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Why did people say ‘tick-tock’ for a clock sound? All Ace could hear was the same tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, over and over and over and over. Maybe some clocks were different than others. Maybe Hunter’s clock was just boring.

Your clock. You picked that one out, remember?

Ace clenched his jaw.

Remember? You said you wanted an old clock that you could wind up that would chime on the hour, so you went to an antique shop and found that one. Remember? Remember how you picked it because you thought Hunter would like the little wooden bird carving on the top?

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“This is stupid,” Ace muttered.

The sound of his own voice startled him. It had been so silent in the house, all day, while he waited for Hunter to get home from work. It didn’t help that he was chained to the floor in the living room, just out of reach of any furniture. He had been there since eight in the fucking morning. He had tried to keep his mind occupied. Ace had learned the first time that Hunter left him chained down that trying to pull the chains free was useless and would only make his hands hurt. He also learned that pacing in the very little room that he could made the cuffs chafe at his ankles. He didn’t stop though, because day after day after day of mind-numbing boredom made him prefer any distraction.

Distraction from the manacles around his legs, distraction from the injuries burning and itching under the bandages, distraction from the collar digging into his throat –

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

That stupid fucking clock. Ace glared at it. 4:56, it told him, unfazed. That meant Hunter would be home soon. Then he would unchain Ace from the living room and chain him back up in the kitchen where he would make dinner and then if he was lucky, Ace would get half a meal from the scraps Hunter served him from his plate. Then Ace would clean up dinner and Hunter would do whatever the fuck Hunter did until he decided to put Ace back in the basement for the night. At least he had a blanket now. And a pillow – and Hunter had started leaving the chains off two weeks ago.

Ace nearly laughed. He had been sleeping in a basement for nearly two months. But hey, at least he had a fucking blanket.

The clock whirred and began chiming for 5 o’clock. Ace sighed. At least he knew that Hunter wouldn’t take out his knives today. He always gave Ace at least two days of rest between ‘sessions’, and yesterday Hunter had been…more enthusiastic than usual. Ace shuddered at the memory, the bandaged wounds on his arms flaring up. He could probably count on three days, maybe four. As long as he didn’t fuck up a rule or something.

Ace heard the door swing open and scrambled to his knees. The burst of adrenaline that accompanied the sound of Hunter’s footsteps made his heart race, no matter how many times he heard it. Ace placed his hands on his knees and took a deep steadying breath as Hunter entered the room.

‘Just say it, you’ve said it dozens of times, it doesn’t mean anything it’s just words it doesn’t make you weak it’s just a part of surviving –’

“Welcome home, sir.”

Hunter reached down and ruffled his hand through Ace’s hair. “How was your day, raindrop?”

‘The same as it always is, fucker.’

“It was fine, sir.”

“Really?” Hunter smiled. “You weren’t bored, then?”

‘You fucking know I was.’

“…A little, sir.”

Hunter made a ‘hmm’ sound in the back of his throat. He hooked his finger under Ace’s collar and tugged on it, pulling Ace to his feet.

“How would you like me to start leaving you unchained while I’m away?”

Ace’s heart skipped a beat. “I – I would like that, sir.”

Hunter leaned down until his face was inches away from Ace, who struggled to keep from flinching back. “Really? You wouldn’t take the opportunity to try to run away, then?”

Ace’s mouth was dry. “N-no, sir.”

A blatant lie, of course. And yet, Ace dared to hope that Hunter would believe it. He had been so good lately, so carefully, painfully obedient, all for the tiniest chance that Hunter would give him enough freedom to escape. He only needed a little bit, a tiny bit of leeway, just enough to contact someone – Fay, the police – anyone, really, and this nightmare would be over.

Hunter tilted his head. “Just how stupid do you think I am, Ace? Do you really think I can’t tell when you’re lying to me?”

“I – I wasn’t –”

Hunter’s hand was around Ace’s throat faster than he could blink, and the rest of his sentence was cut off as he was forced to struggle for air.

“Why don’t you think very carefully about your next words,” Hunter said softly. “I’m giving you every opportunity to do the right thing, Ace. Don’t be an idiot.”

His grip loosened minimally, enough for Ace to take in a thin breath of air. Enough for him to speak. Ace’s head spun. What was worse? To lie, when Hunter would never believe him, or to tell the truth and face whatever punishment Hunter decided to dole out?

“I…” Ace faltered, barely able to get any sound past the fear clogging his throat. He steeled his nerves and made his decision. “I – I lied,” he choked out. “I’m…I’m sorry, sir.” His stomach twisted with the knowledge that he was giving Hunter exactly what he wanted, but he was almost too afraid to care.

Hunter let go of Ace’s throat, and he nearly fell forward, gasping in relief.

“Rule number one,” Hunter said, and Ace shivered at the unsettling calmness of his voice.

“…Don’t lie to you, sir.”

Hunter considered him for a moment. “I’m going to show you exactly how useless it would be to try to run, but first…” he lowered the bag slung over his shoulder and reached into it. “I had a feeling I would need this today.”

He pulled out his hand, and with it, a black cloth contraption that flashed with metal clasps. Ace’s pulse skyrocketed, because he knew immediately what it was. Hunter smirked at the panic evident on Ace’s face.

“W-wait – please, I’ll be quiet, don’t –”

Hunter silenced him with a slap across his face, hard enough to make Ace’s eyes water. “Quit complaining, unless you want it to stay on longer.”

Ace flinched and shut his mouth. He forced himself to stay still, aside from his trembling, while Hunter secured the muzzle around his face. It wasn’t that the muzzle was even the worst punishment Hunter could dole out, and Ace knew, logically, that he should be grateful he wasn’t getting something worse. It was the awful, unavoidable humiliation of wearing that thing on his face, and Hunter’s insufferably smug face looking down at him like he was a fucking dog, that made Ace want to shrivel up and die.

But he had stopped fighting it, because he knew better now. He knew what happened when he fought Hunter, just like he knew what happened when he tried to take the collar off, and he knew what happened when he wasn’t waiting to greet Hunter properly when he returned home each evening. Ace was smarter now, that’s all. He wasn’t fucking afraid.

Hunter undid the restraints around Ace’s ankles and pulled him to his feet.

“Do you think, raindrop, that I would let you wander around the house freely, with no limitations in place?” Hunter asked. As he spoke, he curled one arm around Ace’s shoulders in a too-tight embrace and guided him across the room.

Ace didn’t think Hunter wanted him to respond, and he didn’t want to risk angering him by shaking his head (an act that could too easily be seen as defiance), so he kept still and allowed himself to be pulled to the window, which had curtains pulled across it. Hunter pushed them aside, while keeping Ace well to the side. Not taking any chances on someone seeing him from the street, Ace realized.

“See this?” Hunter drew Ace’s attention to the window, tapping his finger against the glass.

Ace looked, and his heart sank as he felt another little piece of hope for an escape whither away. Inside the window frame had been reinforced with sets of crossing metal bars – inconspicuous enough that they wouldn’t stand out while leaving no room for a person to fit through.

Hunter leaned down so that his mouth was next to Ace’s ear. “All the windows in the house are like this,” he said softly, and his breath on Ace’s skin made his stomach turn. “Every door locks from the outside, and last I checked, I have the only key.” He tightened his grip on Ace’s arm until Ace was sure it would bruise. “Am I forgetting anything, raindrop? Any other way you could sneak your way out of here?”

Even without the question being posed, Ace’s mind was racing to think of something, anything that Hunter had missed, but he was coming up hopelessly short. The house wasn’t very large, and there were only so many ways in or out.

Hunter chuckled lightly. “Didn’t think so.” He finally released Ace’s shoulders and pulled the curtain back in front of the window, cutting off the sunlight. “Now, I’m hungry.”

Tears stung Ace’s eyes and he almost tripped with the loss of Hunter’s support. He stood trembling, trying to regain his wits, for just a moment too long – a cuff to the back of his head from Hunter forced him to stumble forward and shake himself out of his daze.

Dinner was a silent affair. Hunter was gracious enough to remove the muzzle and spare Ace a few scraps of his dinner, and Ace chose to stay quiet in hopes of the muzzle staying off.

His good behavior was rewarded when Hunter stashed the muzzle in a kitchen drawer instead of putting it back on Ace. Then Hunter turned to him with a smile that promised nothing good, and Ace found himself wondering if maybe he’d prefer the muzzle after all.

“Unfortunately, the security cameras I bought are on backorder,” he began. “Luckily for you, I trust my security measures enough to leave you to roam around free while I’m away.”

Ace tried to ignore the sick feeling that was twisting in his stomach.

“Until they arrive, I’ll expect you to tell me how you spent your day when I return home every night.” Hunter placed a hand on the back of Ace’s neck and began guiding him toward the living room. “Of course, you’ll have limits on where you can go and what you can do, and you’ll be punished if you disobey. I’ll tell you before I leave each morning if you’ll be allowed to eat, and how much, and so on.”

They had reached the couch, and Hunter sat down, pulling Ace down beside him. Ace tensed but managed to force himself not to resist when Hunter gently pulled Ace’s head down to rest in his lap. He shut his eyes and tried to ignore Hunter’s fingers combing through his hair.

“How about we practice?” Hunter said. His hand stroked through Ace’s hair. “Tell me about your day.”

--------------------------

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keirmoonrock · 10 months

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Top Five Update and the Ao3 Attack

Hey guys :) i know I don’t really come on here much with something serious to say, but honestly the Ao3 DDOS has really thrown me for a loop. Hopefully the site will be back up soon, but for now I wanted to post the next chapter of Top Five, along with its document, here. On Ao3, they would show up as:

Chapter 150: One of Them

Chapter 151: DOCUMENT: #MAF-2: Kal Snydar

Again, I really hope the website comes back up soon, but in case you missed it, here’s your Top Five fix:

One of Them

The fastest way to intimidate someone, Mello learned, was through one’s silhouette. This was certainly not a novel discovery; Hitler, Stalin, and Napoleon had uncovered it far before the bloodied man. In any case, it was true, and Mello carried it down the desert road with him on the drive to pay his hostage a visit.

She had arrived early in the morning littered with struggle wounds, a set of damaged goods on a transcontinental plane. Go figure, the chief’s daughter had inherited some of his stubbornness. However, Mello’s men assured him that the girl was taken care of, that any package could be fixed with a bit of duct tape.

As he ripped it off of Sayu Yagami’s mouth, all she could focus on were the pricks of fur along the hood of his coat, the way his bangs swept evenly above his eyes, concealing his eyebrows. Worst of all, the young woman took note of his smile, how it spread across his chin like butter as she whimpered.

Flipping the on-button of his tape recorder, the man teased, “There she is… Sayu Yagami.”

Blood dripping from her lips, the woman sobbed, “Who are you?”

“If you really want to know, ask your father. It’s his fault you’re here, anyway. If I were you, I’d just pray he comes to pick you up.”

Sayu only stared, her pupils shrunken into grains of sand.

“Oh my God…” As the realization struck him, Mello’s face lit up. “That’s right. You don’t speak much English, do you?”

“She didn’t speak any to us,” Jack said from behind the pair, sitting on a stair. “She said something, naturally, but I couldn’t tell you what it was.”

“Keep your mouth closed,” The boss grumbled. “And you… ohayou.”

The woman shriveled into her chair, gasping for breath as the rope burned into her arms.

“Come on, you’ve never seen a white guy speak Japanese? Well, you’ll be glad you did when I’m through with you… listen, you just answer my questions, don’t cause trouble, and you’ll be out of here in no time. Can you do that, Sayu?”

“I… I don’t—”

Mello sighed, his hair sticking to his cheeks as he shook his head. “No, I don’t know why I ask… I’m not tied to a chair, am I?”

His men snickered behind him, and for the first time since he had left the Wammy House, Mello truly felt invincible.

“Alright then,” he muttered, pulling up a chair. “It’s your turn to talk. What does your father do for a living?”

“You must already know that,” Sayu answered, her voice trembling. “I don’t understand why you’re asking me.”

Already aggravated, the boss struck her once across the face, her cheek pink as he pulled back his hand.

She was right, of course. As long as none of the officers had dropped out of the Kira Task Force since L’s death, Mello knew the names and titles of everyone involved. But this was a baseline, a test to see whether the chief’s daughter would lie to him.

“Don’t get smart with me,” he warned. “You’ll only be hurting yourself.”

“He’s the Commissioner General of the National Police Agency!” the woman rushed, tears streaming down her face. “They- they said he resigned a long time ago, at the start of the Kira case, but he’s been working behind the scenes this whole time!”

“On what?”

“The Kira Task Force. He’s the second in command, after L.”

“What does he do on it?”

The woman flinched, her voice dripping with remorse as she shyly explained, “I- I don’t know… he doesn’t tell me.”

“Fine, then. Who else is on it?”

“I don’t know everyone there…”

With a dull expression, Mello flicked his chocolate wrapper at the woman’s head. “Hurry up, I don’t have time for you to be vague. Tell me everyone who works on the Kira Task Force, to the best of your knowledge.”

Fearing another slap, Sayu turned her head from the man, her hair in tangles as she caved in. “Touta Matsuda… I-I’m sorry, but I only know his full name. For the rest of them, I only have last names.”

“And what are they?” Mello growled, raising his hand as a threat. “Aizawa! Aizawa! And there’s him, Yamagishi, and a woman named Akiyama. There are two more, both men, but I… I don’t know them well.”

“How long have they all been working on the Kira case?”

“From the beginning, I think… I remember Yamagishi visiting us a few months after it started, and I’m sure Matsuda and Aizawa were there as well.”

“Fine. What–”

“Wait!”

Mello tilted his head, and the woman quickly averted her gaze, panic-stricken.

“I’m sorry, there- there was just another person. Hirokazu Ukita worked with them too, from the beginning, but he died in the first few months.”

“I understand. Do you know what any of them do within the Task Force?”

“I don’t… I’m sorry.”

“Quit apologizing, you sound like a child.” Shifting his weight in the chair, pressing his chin against its top, Mello narrowed his eyes. “How are they these days?” “They’re fine,” Sayu breathed. “I… I don’t know, I only ever really see Matsuda, Yamagishi, and Akiyama.” “God, that’s what they’re calling her now?”

“Akiyama?”

“She can only go through so many names, for God’s sake… this must be the third.”

“I don’t understand.”

“And you’re not supposed to. Well, Akiyama and Yamagishi… are they still dating?”

“Y-yeah. How did you know?”

“You know, Sayu, I’m starting to understand why they had to bring out the duct tape. You want me to leave you with those lunatics again?”

“No!” the woman screeched. “No, stay! I’ll answer anything you want!” “Do they live together, then? Akiyama and Yamagishi?” “I’m pretty sure…”

“Are they married?”

“Not to my knowledge. He just calls her his girlfriend.”

“How often do you see them?”

“Oh, I… maybe a couple of times a year? I don’t know. They’re pretty busy.”

“It doesn’t matter. Where does the Kira Task Force work?”

“I don’t know… probably in the police headquarters.”

Mello’s face fell flat. “If you think L is stupid enough to do that, I’m amazed you managed to get into university at all.”

“I don’t know!” the woman repeated, curling her fingers into fists. “I’ve been awake for hours, and I’m starving, and I don’t know what you want from me, damnit! I don’t know!”

“Your choice, then.”

His coat crinkling as he stood, Mello raised his hand and gestured for Jack and the others to follow him.

“No!” Sayu begged, her voice raising an octave in her moment of desperation. “No, I didn’t mean it!” Mello paid the woman no mind, staring her down as he asked, “Do you guys want to know what she said?”

Behind him, a group of mafiosi turned their heads, obedient to his every word.

All but Jack, that is.

The man kept his gaze to the ground, his eyes listless, two voids stacked over his cracking skin as he sighed.

“That includes you, you bozo,” Mello grunted, making a point of flicking Jack’s forehead. “God, maybe you and her are meant for each other…”

“What’d she say, boss?” the man finally snapped, obviously annoyed.

“She doesn’t want to answer anything I say, that’s all… remind you of someone, Jack?”

“My bad, I was thinking about something.”

“There’s a first for everything.”

Jack lit a cigarette, his laugh slicing through the bitter air, though it resolved none of his disdain for the chocoholic teenager he called a don. “Well, what do you want us to do about the broad in the chair?”

Glancing purposefully at Sayu, Mello chuckled. “I thought I would leave that up to you guys. I have a flight to catch.”

He turned, then, his footsteps ringing against the cold steel of the room like a fork against a wine glass. Sayu shrieked as he walked away, much preferring the company of her Japanophone captor to his pawns.

Expecting only her cries to trail his exit, Mello was surprised to hear Jack walking behind him. Having handed his cigarette to Miller, who in turn pressed it into the young woman’s neck, he approached empty-handed. Even so, a bizarre and brazen curiosity filled the edges of his whittled face.

Mello huffed as he turned. “You take too much crack or something? You’re supposed to be over there.”

“It was you I was thinking about,” Jack replied, seamlessly. “I was wondering why you still wear that big cross on your neck after everything you’ve done.”

“Is that your idea of a joke?”

If he were slightly more sober, the man may just have cackled. “Oh, I’m much too old for jokes. I’m being honest, boss. It’s a question.”

“A question you don’t need an answer to,” Mello hissed. “I wear it because I want to, and if that isn’t enough to satisfy you, you should remember that there’s plenty of space back there for another chair.”

“Calm down, will you?”

“I’ll calm down when you learn your place. Why the hell are you asking questions like that?”

“It’s just that in my experience,” Jack mumbled, “The people who go out of their way to show their devotion to God have the most to hide from Him…” Inexplicably, with the cunning false innocence of a child, the man’s face shifted into the slightest whisper of a grin. “I wanted to see if you were one of them.”

In that moment, the ground beneath Mello’s feet seemed to warp, tilting the two closer to each other by a trick of the light. His skin grew hot, almost unbearably so, his blood boiling in a mix of anger and anxiety he could not understand.

He struggled to form a response, so taken aback by Jack’s assumption that he could not connect his brain to his lips.

Fortunately, Jack answered on his own, barely narrowing his eyes as he muttered, “I think I know now.”

Pulling the man by the collar of his shirt, Mello pressed his forehead to Jack’s, their eyes so close together he could practically see into the bartender’s body.

His voice razor-sharp, he simply uttered, “Tell me shit like that when I’m the one answering to you.”

Then, throwing Jack to the floor, Mello unwrapped a bar of chocolate and stumbled off.

However, he would never fully shake the man’s judgement, following him like a curse.

By the time he arrived in the capital, Mello had persuaded himself that Jack’s insult was the result of an inhumanly high dosage of crack cocaine combined with a pre-existing hatred of his boss.

Something about the man’s boldness disturbed him, and had from the moment they met. Indeed, Jack carried himself as though he had no fear of death, like he had given up on himself ages ago.

However grating he was, Mello was not annoyed with Jack; he simply feared that one day, he would turn into him.

Plunging him away from that primordial terror, the door creaked open, and in walked the man of the hour, the practical messiah of the Paragon gang, a true D.C. insider, the dubiously-named Supervisory Special Agent Ill Ratt.

“Sean,” Mello greeted, sliding his feet off of the desk. “You finally made it.”

“I came as soon as I could, boss.”

“Near must be working you to death, then… I guess that checks out. As clever as he thinks he is, he’s useless on his own.”

“No, it’s not that, although I suppose you’re right.” His head throbbing, frazzled from a hard day’s work, the rat slumped into the seat across from Mello. “You have to admit, though, we’ve got a lot of work to do now that you’ve kidnapped the Commissioner General’s daughter.”

Mello frowned. “So he already knows. Did the Task Force reach out to him?”

“No, we contacted them as soon as we heard that Takimura had disappeared. Actually, they thought it was us at first.”

“No kidding… I didn’t think Near had it in him. Well, did he and Light have a chance to catch up?”

“He’s braver than I thought,” Sean sighed. “Not only did he reveal he’s working on the case, he outright accused him of being Kira.”

Playing with the beads of his rosary, Mello was quick to correct the agent. “That’s not bravery, that’s stupidity. The first time he talks to the Task Force in years, and he’s already made himself their enemy… he really hasn’t changed.”

“To be fair, boss… I don’t think we’re exactly their friend, either.”

Mello chuckled. “You have a point. But knowing Near, he plans on getting through to the Task Force by working with them… it’s a pretty terrible job for a kid who never had a friend in his life, don’t you think? No wonder he had to bring Linda with him…

“Tell me, Sean,” the man continued after a brief pause. “What do they have you doing there?”

“My job is to investigate your whereabouts and activities, along with the entire gang. It’s a balancing act, for sure, but I’ve managed to keep myself in check. As far as I know, no one suspects a thing.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“You… mean to say that you think they know I’m a rat?”

“I’ll let you in on something: there’s a difference between being stupid and being dumb. A stupid person looks at someone like you and never suspects a thing. A dumb person, on the other hand, sees what you are and decides to keep their knowledge to themself. Near is dumb, but not stupid. Touta Matsuda—the bastard that snuck into the Yotsuba Headquarters—is stupid, but not dumb.”

“Isn’t there anyone who’s both?”

“Of course there is,” Mello sneered. “That’s Jack.”

Withholding his laughter, Sean nodded. “I understand, boss.”

“So you’ve been investigating me… you and who else?”

“Well, you’ll be happy to know that I’m the head of the operation.” The rat slipped his hand into his jacket, unzipping a hidden pouch and pushing past wires in order to find the report. “Working under me are nine agents… actually, one of them sort of reminds me of you.”

The stack of papers fell onto the desk with little fanfare.

“No kidding?” Mello hummed, scrolling through the list of names.

“Not at all, boss. His name is Stephen Loud—code name, Stephen Gevanni. He’s some kind of a genius, I tell you what… one of the most successful young agents the Bureau’s seen in a while.”

“He must be… you keep talking to him on your tapes.”

“I would argue that he talks to me. I think he knows something fishy is going on between us. It’s not like me to act so lazy.”

“Then don’t be lazy,” Mello blasted. “Let them investigate me all they want, there’s not a hole they can dig that’ll lead to me.”

Sean pursed his lips, not convinced by the man’s claim, yet too timid to argue. “Right.”

In front of him, the fruits of his labor slid through his boss’s fingers, unimpressed. “So who are these other groups? Do they all investigate different parts of the case?”

“You could say that, yes. There are six of us, in total. Group A is made up of only the Commander, Near, and Linda—they oversee the operation, of course. Group B investigates you, Group C investigates Matt, Group D has been trying to track the members of the Kira Task Force, Group E is in charge of studying Kira worshippers and supporters, and Group F is focused on all current and former suspects.”

Mello’s eyes shot up from the list. “And who’s on that list of suspects, exactly?”

“Hideki Ide, Koreyoshi Kitamura and his family, uncleared members of the NPA, the Yotsuba Group, Teru Mikami, Ichiro Harada, and Kiyomi Takada. Essentially… everyone L ever suspected of being Kira that haven’t been involved with the investigation the entire time.”

“Ide still works for the police,” Mello reasoned. “And never even met Light and Mimi. You guys are wasting your time looking into him. Kitamura I’m not concerned with, and the Yotsuba Group is dead… but how about those last three? What have they been up to?”

“That’s been a major concern for the group, actually. After L’s death, Teru returned to civilian life, but was often seen associating with Ichiro and Kiyomi. He was bitter enemies with Kiyomi’s boyfriend, Daiki Nobushi, from what we know… and as fate would have it, the one time Daiki visited the two together, he left in a stupor. That wasn’t like him… he was extremely possessive of Kiyomi, and had shown up to the apartment furious.”

Mello narrowed his eyes, his breath caught momentarily in his throat.

Was it not him who had studied the camera footage of Arayoshi Hatori as he stumbled out of Higuchi’s home? Who saw the emptiness in his eyes as he returned to his wife and children, locking the door behind him, sealing his own inferno?

Even then, he could picture the desperation hidden beneath Hatori’s blank expression, the sense of panic that followed him home that night as he realized he had become little more than a shinigami’s marionette.

“He died then,” Mello whispered. “Didn’t he?”

Gravely, the rat nodded. “A few days later, he suffocated in his sleep. Not too long after that, it seems that Teru and Kiyomi started dating. Within two months of Daiki’s death, she deleted most of her internet posts, especially those with identifying information like photographs or pieces of her name. A week or go, give or take, she and Teru got married.”

“That son of a bitch…”

“Even worse, Kiyomi has grown close to Light and Mimi. The SPK has reached the conclusion that she learned of Teru’s identity as Kira by accident, and that he must have killed Nobushi in the heat of the moment. Light and Mimi were seen rushing to the apartment after he had left, which led Linda to believe that they allowed Teru to keep her alive because of her pro-Kira attitudes. From what we can infer, Kiyomi has been fully accepted by the three Kiras, and could potentially be acting as Kira herself.”

Standing up, too tense to sit, Mello rolled his shoulders, admitting with a sigh, “I wrote her suspect profile myself, you know. I should have figured something like this would happen… I guess it makes our job a little more difficult, doesn’t it? I never met her. Well, what about Harada? How is he now that he and Mikami are reunited?”

“It’s funny you should ask,” Sean chuckled. “We have no reason to believe he’s aware that Teru or Kiyomi are acting as Kira, but he’s still somehow gotten caught up in the case.”

Mello spun around without a second thought, almost stunned by the absurdity of the notion. “Light is trying to frame him?”

“Not to my knowledge… see, he was an employee at Yotsuba during Higuchi’s time as Kira. He never spoke to him, but on the day the six members of the group died, the last person Suguru Shimura ever spoke to was him.”

“Damnit, that’s right! I remember reading about it… God, you must have seen the reporting on their deaths, didn’t you? Maybe it was Takada who killed them, then… I don’t think Light would want to attract that much attention while he killed them off. It’s a whole conspiracy at this point…”

“That’s our theory, as well.”

“Too bad,” Mello mumbled, shaking his head. “I’m lucky you can get all of this information out of Near, but I really do hate to be associated with him… I guess that doesn’t matter, though. Go on.”

Sean shifted his weight. “There’s not much more to say, I’m afraid. Harada was one of the several hundred employees to resign from Yotsuba after the Corporate Suicides, along with his now-wife, Natsumi Enomoto. She’s been writing a book about the events, which is scheduled to come out this year… Ichiro is less involved. From what we can tell, he just wants to move on with his life and forget whatever brief encounter he had with Suguru Shimura.”

“I don’t blame him. Don’t you find it odd, though? What Shimura told him?”

“I’m sorry,” Sean flushed, biting the tip of his tongue. “I never really cared much for that whole mess. What did he say?”

Mello drew his finger over his lips, his thumb tucked beneath his chin as he thought. “I believe his exact words to Harada were… ‘I wanted to wish you good luck. I don’t think you know what’s coming to you.’”

The rat hummed without an indication of shock or intrigue, evidently clueless as to the words’ meaning.

“Well,” his boss sighed. “I think it’s interesting. Shimura… he had this intuition to him, one of the strangest traits I ever saw in a person. Everything he guessed about the case was true, and he only knew it from a gut feeling. For heaven’s sake, Sean, he knew Taro Matsui wasn’t really dead, he knew Midori Ashikaga was a plant to capture Kira… and if you ask me, I think he was onto something when he said he was certain Namikawa was speaking to Kira on the phone.”

Sean only pursed his lips, squeezing half a breath into the air, suggesting he had come up with a question.

Of course, he would never ask it.

“Jesus Christ,” Mello grumbled. “You need to start studying those emails I sent you. If you’re going to be a double agent, you at least need to catch up on the case! Talk about rats… Namikawa was never this confused, come to think of it.”

“I’m sorry, boss, I—”

“Save it. All I mean is, it’s funny Harada keeps getting himself involved in the case. His own damn cousin is Kira, his boss was part of the Yotsuba Group, and he’s none the wiser… he’ll need all the luck he can get, that’s for sure. If he takes one step closer to Mikami, he’ll get himself killed.”

“I understand.”

“Oh, finally. Well, let’s get on with it. What does the FBI know about me?”

Sean took a deep breath in, not exactly thrilled to arouse his boss’s anger. “They know your name, for starters.”

As expected, Mello’s face curled into that all-too-familiar snarl, his eyes wide, two razor-sharp icicles against his flaming red skin. “They what?! You useless piece of— Jesus, Sean, you didn’t think to tell me sooner? What, did they give it to Light?”

The rat threw his hands in the air, guiltless. “They don’t have a last name. By the rules of the Death Note, that’s not enough to kill you.”

“Well how did they get it?”

“Matt gave it to Near before he left the Wammy House. He told him your name was Mihael, that you had been living under the alias of Immanuel Feigel, and that you had run away in an attempt to capture Kira yourself.”

If he were less concerned with his reputation, Mello would have easily slammed his head into the wall, pulling his forehead away with bloodied chunks of drywall stuck to his skin.

One tiny mistake five years ago had been enough to lead the SPK down his path. While he snuck through alleyways in New York City, having all but forgotten his old life, Matt had been dead-set on revenge, giving away everything he knew about his former boyfriend to earn back the thousand dollars he stole.

Suffice it to say, Mello would never rummage through a drawer so loudly again.

“Is that how he feels about me?” the man asked no one in particular. “After everything I did for him?”

“It seems like you and Near both have been trying to convince him to join you.”

“No shit, Sean… I already sent the postcard; if he hands that over to Near, he’ll have the address of the nightclub.”

“I can try to intercept it, but—”

“Damnit!” Mello dragged one hand down his face, his nail polish chipping against his skin as the gravity of the situation dawned on him. “There’s nothing else I can do, is there? Unless Matt decides to join us, we’re fucked.”

“Would it be so terrible to close the nightclub?” Sean posed. “We’ve got plenty of revenue coming in, now, thanks to you… it’s not our only laundering front, anyway.”

“If we close it, then Matt will show up to the address and find no one. It’s bad enough he’s given information to Near, but we don’t really need him just to keep the SPK off our backs. He’s a technical genius.”

“I don’t understand… What are you planning that would require someone like him?”

In spite of everything, Mello began to laugh, unable to believe his rat’s stupidity. “God, you have no idea… don’t you even know who your boss is?”

“Commander Rester,” Sean answered, furrowing his brow.

“Better than him.”

“Near and Linda?”

“Better.”

“The… attorney general?”

“You’re hopeless,” Mello scoffed. “Forget it. Just know that once my plan goes through, we won’t have an SPK to worry about anymore… or, if it doesn’t go as planned, at least we won’t have Hoope in our way.”

Sean’s jaw dropped. “You’re going to assassinate him?”

“Leave that to me. Now, has the SPK found anything on Matt?”

“Not much,” the rat admitted, still reeling from the revelation. “All we know, really, is that he went to college in Montreal after graduating. We can only assume he’s still there, but without his real name, we’ll stay at square one forever.”

“That’s fine, as long as they can’t contact him.” Unbothered, Mello pried open a bar of chocolate. “Now, aside from that… Sean, when Chief Yagami comes to pay the ransom, would you do me a little favor?”

“Oh… of course.”

“I don’t want to be anywhere near LA when it happens, you know. God knows how much crazier Light’s gotten in the past few years… he could blow the whole base up easily, or kill all of us… hell, Yagami could just go rogue and take out anyone he thinks hurt his daughter.”

Sean tilted his head. “I suppose so, but what are you asking me to do?”

“If it wouldn’t bother you, I was hoping I could stay with you here. It should only be a few days, and—” The man extended his bitten chocolate to his subordinate. “I won’t need much to eat, or bring a lot of luggage with me. The bare minimum, you know?”

Truly, there was no way Sean could refuse an order from his boss. Knowing this full-well, he plastered a smile as he responded, “That’d be perfectly fine.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that.”

“So did I, boss.”

Hearing that, Mello cackled. No matter how much blood stained his name, it seemed that man had never lost his sense of humor. After all, he was only nineteen.

“You know what, Sean? Jack needs to take a lesson from you, that bastard… I’ll be sad to see you go, someday, man.”

Oblivious, Sean smiled. “Then you’ll be glad to know I’ve got thirty years before I retire.”

“Right… right…” Mello unceremoniously grabbed his coat from off of his chair, throwing it over one shoulder as he held onto his chocolate bar. “Well then, I guess we’re through. Do you have any other nosy questions about my plans?”

“Just one, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh, God, I didn’t think you’d say yes… but go ahead.”

“You mentioned holding Sayu Yagami for ransom.” Genuinely curious, Sean crossed his arms. “But… we’ve already agreed that the gang has no need for money. I doubt that it’s money you’re after, anyway, so… what exactly do you want the chief to trade for his daughter?”

“That’s easy,” Mello snickered, folding his rat’s list of names into a tight square. “I want Higuchi’s Death Note.”

Document: #MAF-2: Kal Snydar

Kal Snydar: A New York/Los Angeles Mafioso

Born:

23 February 1976, New York City, USA

Current Residence:

Unknown (Likely Los Angeles, USA)

Previous Residences:

42 Barness Street, Suite 273, New York City, USA

Known Health Issues:

Crack Cocaine Addiction

Relationships to Other Figures:

Mello (suspected associate)

Contacts:

N/A

Kal Snydar is an associate of the mafia syndicate outlined by the SPK, believed to be harboring Mello. Because he lacks Italian ancestry, he is presumably low-ranking. He has also been arrested four times, but was cleared each time due to lack of evidence.

Born in Brooklyn, New York City, Snydar appears to have been raised in an insular Hasidic Jewish community, which he ran away from in 1990. He was reported missing by his father, Aron Snydar, that same year. He was later discovered by a member of the New York Police Department at the age of eighteen, but refused to return home.

His first arrest was in 1993 for distributing crack cocaine. The following two arrests, in 1996 and 2002, were both for selling handguns without a license. In 2005, he was arrested on suspicion of murder. Again, he was released each time due to a lack of evidence, though he remained in FBI records as a suspicious person.

At some point between 2002 and 2005, he moved from New York to Los Angeles, and has presumably been living there ever since. We do not know what his job or address is, although he has been spotted crossing the US-Mexican border several times, and must speak some level of Spanish.

Like most criminals these days, he must be living under an alias to protect himself from Kira. The SPK is currently trying to figure out what that alias is, although they’re not getting very far.

Analysis

He’s just another piece in whatever Mello is doing… not a very important one, but he’s one of the only pieces we have. We should keep an eye on him.

Author: Light

#Death note fanfiction #death note #Top Five

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iamaboredpotatonugget · 2 years

Text

Peter Parker Fics that are well written and have the same Angsty vibe

In the beginning, he had struggled to understand why bad things kept happening to him. His parents, Ben- oh god, May…

(“How do you live with yourself after all that you’ve done? After you’ve driven your whole family to death?”)

It wasn’t long until he was forced to come to the conclusion that it was him that was the problem.

(“You should rid the world of your curse before someone else ends up dead.”)

And it hurt, and he felt himself drifting closer and closer to agreeing with Flash every day— but he was selfish, and ignorant, and so, so, weak. He wanted so badly to protect the ones he loved from harm after all that he had lost, but God dammit he was happy and he had a family and he loved them so much that he just couldn’t bring himself to leave.

(“Everyone would be better off without you.”)

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I uh… I fell down the stairs.”

They can’t know.

If Peter's an idiot for not telling anyone he's feeling a little under the weather (an understatement of the century), the Avengers must be pretty damn stupid for not realizing that Peter's spiraling mood is more than some "teen angst."

Peter only knows how to be empty or overflowing. Nothing in between.

Flash Thompson is a dickhead.

Everyone knows it, yet somehow Peter is the one that always gets called Penis. Everyone always laughs at Flash’s jokes about Peter, takes his side over Peter’s, likes him better than Peter. And if Flash Thompson is a dickhead and no one really likes him…

Surely one can imagine where that leaves Peter.

It’s okay,” Peter promises them softly. “I get it. I wouldn’t want me as a teammate either. It’s okay, I know what you need to do. I get it.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow, and she asks him, “And what do you think we need to do, Peter?” like it’s a threat. Like if he says the wrong thing, she’ll pounce. But he knows the answer to this question and god, they’re going to make him spell it out for them, aren’t they?

“You need to kick me off the team.”

Peter takes a beating, Bucky cleans him up.

Featuring concerned Steve and warm, oversized pajamas covered in sheep.

They don't always show it, but they've each got their own demons to battle. Peter keeps happening upon these battles.

While checking Peter over in the medbay bruce discovers neat rows of scars that march their way up the back of peter's thighs. The thought of Peter young and small as he is making the same mistakes Bruce did, hating himself the way Bruce still sometimes does, makes his stomach roll. He knows he has to tell tony. And he knows he isn't gonna take it well.

Peter breaks three toes and hits his head hard against concrete. There’s a steadily bleeding wound in his side that he’s staunched with his webbing and tries not to acknowledge it when it burns.

He can still walk in a straight line, which is good.

He’s starving and tired and cold.

It’s been fifteen hours.

Peter never wanted this. He didn’t ask for the entire team to breathe down his neck whenever he eats, or to insist that he reaches some absurd goal weight when he’s perfectly fine where he’s at. He doesn’t need to change.

He just needs to stop day dreaming about killing himself. It’s getting distracting.

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starrybobatea · 1 year

Text

megarox as taylor swift lyrics

because it’s my duty as a taylor swift fan to link whatever couple i obsess over with my favorite singer’s lyrics

if you don’t like tswift feel free to ignore tho

I find it dizzying, they’re bringing up my history but you weren’t even listening - Lavender Haze

So you were never a saint and I’ve loved in shades of wrong, we learn to live with the pain, mosaic broken hearts // You’re my Achilles heel, this is the golden age of something good and right and real - State of Grace

You’ve ruined my life by not being mine

And I’m so furious at you for making me feel this way

Ocean blue eyes looking in mine, I feel like I might sink and drown and die

You make me so happy it turns back to sad, there’s nothing I hate more than what I can’t have, you are so gorgeous it makes me so mad

- Gorgeous

You say that we’ll just screw it up in these trying times, we’re not trying

Said “I’m fine” but it wasn’t true, I don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you

“I love you”, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard? He looks up grinning like a devil

- Cruel Summer

And when we had that fight out in the rain, you ran after me and called my name, I never want to see you walk away - ME! (lbh this THE megarox duet)

I once was poison ivy, but now I’m your daisy

And baby, for you, I would fall from grace just to touch your face, if you walk away, I’d beg you on my knees to stay

- Don’t Blame Me

Cursed the space that I needed; I trace the evidence, make it make some sense why the wound is still bleeding

You were the one that I loved, don’t need another metaphor, it’s simple enough

Dreams of your hair and your stare and sense of belief in the good, in the world, you once believed in me, and I felt you and I held you for a while, bet I could still melt your world, argumentative antithetical dream girl

- Hits Different

Tell me that it’s not my fault, tell me that I’m all you want, even when I break your heart

Sorry that I hurt you; I don’t wanna do, I don’t wanna do this to you; I don’t wanna lose, I don’t wanna lose this with you

- Afterglow

Flashback to my mistakes, my rebounds, my earthquakes, even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me - Dress

And it’s fine to fake it til you make it til you do, til it’s true (lol)

But your eyes are flying saucers from another planet, now I’m all for you Janet, can this be a real thing, can it?

Are we falling like snow at the beach? Weird but fuckin beautiful

- Snow On The Beach

This is the first time I’ve felt the need to confess, and I swear, I’m only cryptic and Machiavellian cause I care

You knew that I’m a mastermind, and now you’re mine, yeah all you did was smile, cause I’m a mastermind

- Mastermind

I want you for worse or for better, I would wait forever and ever; broke your heart? I’ll put it back together, I would wait forever and ever - How You Get The Girl

“He’s not all bad like his reputation”, and I can’t hear one single word they say

And I watch you fly around the world, and I hope you don’t save some other girl

I watch Superman fly away, you’ve got a busy day today, go save the world, I’ll be around forever and ever

- Superman

Take a deep breath and jump then fall into me, cause every time you smile, I smile, and everytime you shine, I’ll shine for you - Jump Then Fall

There you’ll stand, ten feet tall, I will say “I knew it all along”

There you’ll stand, next to me, all I want, the rest is history, your eyes wider than distance, this life is sweeter than fiction

- Sweeter Than Fiction

I once believed love would be burning red, but it’s golden like daylight

I don’t wanna look at anything else now that I saw you, I don’t wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you

I’ve been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night, but now I see daylight, I only see daylight

- Daylight

#this is so long i’m sorry #megamind and roxanne #megamind #taylor swift #songs + ships

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catmaidetho · 8 months

Note

hi hello!! would you write a drabble with danger days cletho and pinapple pizza(cat)? :D

crab i love you. this scene takes place not long after cleo and bdubs initially find etho, as depicted in a stranger's cat.

wc: 754

“Hisssss.”

“Don’t hiss at me, you fucking gremlin!”

“Grrrrr.”

“I’m not giving you—HEY!”

“MROOW!”

You look up from the pistol on your lap for long enough to watch Pizza swat at Zombie Cleo’s hand as they frantically hold their can over their head, a look of terror on their face, and—it’s not funny. It’s really not.

Cleo looks over at you and narrows her eyes. “Etho, your cat’s being a goddamn menace.”

You hum and go back to tugging on wires. You pulled out the battery casing in an attempt to wire this thing to shoot hotter. Pistol wounds only hit the surface, you want to put holes in Dracs.

Pineapple Pizza yowls, and you look up just in time to see him standing on his back legs and reaching for the can in Cleo’s hands.

“Etho, can you—can you do something?!”

You shrug. “I’m kinda busy here.”

They grumble, making eye-contact with the cat. “I’m not giving you my dinner, do you know how long it took to find this many crickets?”

Pizza makes a sad little noise.

“You’re a smart kitty, why don’t you go hunt your own damn dinner?”

She mewls, sitting back down on all fours and staring pathetically up at Cleo.

“Oohhh, I see how it is, you make your humans do all the work for you, huh? What kind of cat are you raising here, Etho?”

You yelp and almost throw the pistol off your lap—Cleo’s comment made you jump at the exact moment you were putting a wire back, and that tiny, sudden movement was enough for the plastic casing to slice your knuckles. “A very—ow, shit—a very resourceful one.”

Zombie Cleo clicks their tongue. “Obviously. Has he ever had to hunt for his own food?”

You breathe out through your teeth, stretching your hand out and trying to assess if you can keep working tonight. Your knuckles sting, and blood is seeping out and pooling in all the little folds of skin, but you’d hate to leave a half-disassembled pistol in the truck. Pizza turns his head around to look at you, and immediately jumps off Cleo’s lap and trots over to sit by your feet.

“Mrrrp?”

You sigh, patting his head with your not-bleeding hand. “Sure he has, but you’ve got some tasty food right there.”

He tilts his head and paws at your leg, and you offer him your other hand. He sniffs the still-bleeding cuts, and licks one of your knuckles. He makes a sour face, but keeps at it, and you giggle.

“Weirdo.”

Cleo looks at you over the fire, her brows drawn together. “That cat’s mentally disturbed.”

“Uh-huh, always has been,” you reply.

They quickly start shoving crickets into their mouth, as though Pizza could turn around at any second and steal some, but you like to think you know this cat pretty well—raising a cat since they were too small to even walk does that. Once she seems satisfied that your knuckles are no longer bloody—they still sting when you flex your fingers, but you’ll live—she purrs and jumps onto your lap.

“I think she thinks I’m her momma,” you comment, scratching her little head as she curls up.

Cleo snorts. “That doesn’t excuse him being an asshole to everyone who isn’t you.”

You shrug. You’ll work more on the pistol tomorrow. “Pizza’s not an asshole, she’s demanding.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

“Oh, whatever. He’s my cat, anyway, you don’t have to love him.”

“Love him?!” Cleo spits, “Etho, that thing’s a menace, you think I even like him?!”

You gasp, throwing your hands over Pineapple Pizza’s ears. “Don’t say that in front of her! You’ll hurt her feelings!”

Cleo rolls their eyes. “I don’t think the damn thing has feelings.”

Pizza makes the softest, sweetest little sound as he buries his head in his paws. Cleo’s eyes burn into you as you look down, watching him settle in on your lap.

“Etho, I’m just going to be blunt, if that cat jumps between my gun and my target—”

They don’t finish their sentence, cut off by the sound of something in the truck falling over and some very B-Double-O sounding noises. Pizza bolts up and leaps off your lap, yowling as he jumps into the truck bed and pushes himself through the half-open back window.

Cleo fixes you with a glare as they stand up. Your throat scratches and hurts as you lean down to grab the pistol again, now decorated with drops of your blood on the white plastic casing.

#khaos.qna #writing #danger days au #dont worry cleo's opinion on pizza changes as she gets to know etho better #cleo and bdubs dont know etho very well yet at this point in time and cleo's still distrustful of them

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kyber-crystal · 2 years

Text

some things are better left unsaid || obi-wan kenobi

summary: one drunken night after a mission takes an unexpected turn and leaves you struggling to grasp your feelings

words: ~2.9k

warnings: some angst, cw: alcohol mentions, y/n being a dumb fuck that’s really it

a/n: so this definitely hasn’t been sitting in my drafts since late november 2020. i finallyyyyy figured out how to finish it so here we go, my apologies if this sucks bc i haven’t written anything in forever

Neither of you remembered how you’d gotten here to begin with.

One moment, you were cleaning up the wounds you had from the battle. The next thing you knew, it was 3 in the morning, and you were alone together on his bedroom floor drinking Coruscanti whiskey straight from the bottle.

Even with the scrapes and scratches littered across Obi-Wan’s face, he was quite a sight to behold. And he could say the same for you, no doubt.

You gave him a look and he passed the bottle over to you without a word. Tilting your head back, you took a long sip and gulped the warm liquid down your throat. It burned, but you paid the sensation no mind, as it at least helped you forget.

You’re both drunk, drunker than you’d expected yourself to be. Somehow, after all that you’ve consumed and how tipsy you are, your eyes flick over to his. He’s already been looking at you. You could hardly find it in yourself to even breathe properly under his stare. It was drowning.

He sees your eyes glaze over and wants to assume it’s the whiskey making its way through your system, but something tells him it’s far from it. There’s a hint of longing and almost desperation hidden behind your facade. But despite how nervous you might’ve felt at the moment, you held your ground and didn’t break eye contact with him—although every fiber of your being was screaming at you to do the opposite.

“You look tired,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Nope.” You took another long swig of the fiery liquor. “When am I ever?”

“You’re pretty drunk, Y/N.”

“Funny how you’re saying that when you’re in the same state...‘S not like I have anything better to do at the moment.”

“So you’re saying you don’t enjoy my company?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He raises an eyebrow at you as he continues to speak, clearing his throat. “Well, we did do pretty well out there, don’t you think?”

“Mhmm.” You let out a yawn. “Pretty great, although I had to save your ass, what was it, like, 4 times?”

“3 times,” he corrected, “I’m not that clumsy.”

“Sure you aren’t, General,” you teased, sending him a flirty wink. “It was in fact, four times, though.”

“Three. Y/N, you’re getting hurt more often than I’m in need of being ‘saved’.”

“It’s a twisted ankle and only one patched up blaster wound,” you held up a finger for effect. Your words slurred together as the side effects of the alcohol began kicking in. “Compared to the other disasters we’ve faced, that’s minimal damage.”

“You’ve got to be more careful.” His voice is so soft and the sound alone sends a chill down your spine.

“I know,” you mumbled as you stared down at the floor, mindlessly picking at the sleeves of your tunic.

“You had me worried. I thought I’d lost you...”

Something about him is making you stay rooted in place and keeping you from pulling away. You feel your stomach flutter at his words. It’s an unfamiliar yet pleasant feeling that penetrates the heavy barricades you’d built to protect yourself from things like this—from him. It’s one that creates a stirring in your chest and scares you more than you’d like because you’ve never experienced anything like it before. Somehow—at some point in all the years you’d known him for, Obi-Wan Kenobi had successfully managed to tear down all your walls and defenses and wormed his way into your heart.

When his gaze fixes upon yours once more, time skids to a halt.

You’re a wildfire, and he’s a moth drawn to the flames. And no matter how many times he says he’s not going to indulge, that he won’t fall any deeper, time and time again he finds himself crawling back to you. He’s more than well aware that he’s playing a dangerous game with himself—but your tantalizingly irresistible persona has him trapped and helpless in its grasp.

The words slip out before he has the chance to stop himself.

“I love you.”

You stop what you’re doing and freeze.

He tells himself it’s just the whiskey talking, but that was a lie, and he knew it. He tells himself he’s still drunk and won’t remember any of this in the morning, but that too, was a lie—but he refused to accept the fact.

“W-what did you just say?”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say things you don’t mean. You’re drunk.”

“I’m not.” His eyes flashed and darkened with a hint of something you couldn’t quite identify. Was it desire? Longing? Regret? Or all three? Maybe I’m hallucinating, and I’m just tired. It’s just the whiskey, you say to yourself. He’s not gazing deep into my soul and I definitely don’t feel anything. Anything at all.

“I, uh...I have to go,” you mumbled, quickly setting the bottle down and getting up, dusting your robes off. “This was a mistake...See you in the morning, Kenobi.”

“Wait, Y/N—” You’re gone and out the door before he has a chance to respond and he feels the sting. You rarely ever called anyone—much less him—by last name, unless you were completely fed up. That in itself was rare. Even with all the shit you’d been put through you always had a bright smile on and a good word to spare. Obi-Wan lets out a long sigh and leans back against the edge of the bed, running a hand down his face.

What had he done wrong?

You didn’t sleep that night. You decided to spend the long hours wandering the halls of the temple. Occasionally, you’d run into another fellow Jedi who seemed to have the same idea as you—keep themselves moving so their mind stayed occupied.

Obi almost kissed you. He was so close. And he wasn’t actually blackout drunk; both of you knew that. But like the coward you were, you panicked and fled—because you didn’t want to believe that he was actually sober. He couldn’t have actually meant what he said. He couldn’t have.

Nobody had uttered those words to you before. You associated them with nothing but painful memories.

You’d been on your own for a while. You had a loving family, parents who cared about you more than they’d ever be able to explain. You had parents who did everything they could to make you happy despite their busy jobs. (Your father had been a well-respected general, your mother a high-ranking senator.). You had the best siblings anyone could ask for—until the relentless war took them from you. Since then, you shut yourself out and hardened your heart in the fears of it being broken again. You told yourself what you were doing was for your own good, but ultimately, it only ended up tearing you to pieces.

It was hard trying to get through the day without running into Obi-Wan. You’d planned your daily routines around each other to maximize the time you had together, so avoiding him was much harder than it sounded.

You were able to get out of seeing him by skipping breakfast and lunch, and were trying to find a way to sneak up to the meditation rooms, until—

“Y/N!” you heard someone call after you.

You didn’t answer. You swallowed hard and kept walking, ignoring the pounding migraine bashing the sides of your head in.

“Y/N!”

“What in Force’s name do you want, Anakin?” you snapped as you whipped around.

“You’ve been crying.”

You shot him a death glare as you hastily wiped at your eyes. “Seasonal allergies.”

“It’s the middle of autumn. Nobody gets allergies during the autumn months, much less you. The only things you’re allergic to are bothersome diplomats, nysillin plants, and people who suck at flying. Don’t even try lying to me.” He grabbed your wrist and tugged you around the corner.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest, and Anakin continued speaking in a lowered voice. “Now you’re going to tell me what’s wrong because something’s obviously bothering you and it’s messing you up. I’m worried for you...Obi-Wan said I had to look out for you when he couldn’t.”

He noticed how you froze at his name. “Did you and Master...have...a fight?”

“No,” you muttered, an edge of bitterness to your tone.

“Tell me what happened. And don’t lie. You’ve been avoiding him all day.”

“You’re babying me. Stop it. It should be the other way around; I should be the one doing that.”

“Tell me, or I’ll have to figure it out in other ways.”

You scoffed. “Fine—”

“And start from the top,” he added.

“We came back from the mission later than anticipated. Got held back as we were trying to leave.”

“Uh huh…”

“After we finished patching each other up, it was around 3 am. Obi-Wan got up, grabbed a bottle of whiskey he’d snuck in from the kitchens one time, and offered to share some of it with me. We were both tired, we didn’t know what we were doing and just wanted to forget all that went down that day. One thing led to another, and next thing y—”

Anakin’s eyes widened. “You got som—you’re saying you and Obi-Wan did WH—”

“Shut it!” you hissed, slapping your palm over his mouth. “I don’t need the entire Council finding out what happened.”

He nodded, and you lowered your hand. “We didn’t do that. We just got drunk...really drunk. I was completely tipsy, so was he. So we were prone to saying things we normally wouldn’t. He said he loved me and I left because I didn’t know what to do...I didn’t want to hear words of affection from someone who had been drinking moments before. I can’t remember what I did after that? I’m not sure—”

“So what you’re telling me is...he said ‘I love you’ and in response, you chickened out and fled? Are you serious?”

You snorted. “Yeah, like you’re any better at flirting with Padme.”

“That’s different!” Anakin raised his hands in surrender. “Look. You screwed up, Master Y/N, and you know it.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “you think I didn’t know that already?”

“You’re crying...over Obi-Wan...ha. Who would’ve thought.”

“Shut up, or I’m taking away your lightsaber.” You shot him a death glare as you reached up with your robe’s sleeve to wipe at your eyes again. “I’m not crying. I’m sweating.”

His jaw dropped. “Force. You’re in love with him!”

“Shut up! I’m not.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he feels the same way.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Aha! So you DO care!”

“ANAKIN.”

“As a Jedi, you sure are terrible at concealing emotion.”

“Anakin! You’re acting like a little kid. Grow up.”

“Okay, okay! But you know you’ll have to talk to him eventually because you can’t ignore him forever. Can’t keep pretending the whole ordeal didn’t happen, ‘cause guess what? It did!”

“Just to make it clear, him and I—we’re not a thing.”

“Yeah? You sure about that?”

“Yes!” you yelled as you opened the door and began walking out, casting him a ‘look’. “Bring this up in front of either of us one more time, and I’ll see to it that you won’t be going on any missions for a month.”

“Aye aye, captain!”

You were too busy being wrapped up within your own thoughts to notice where you were going, and accidentally bumped into something solid—and warm.

“Look, we need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.” You shook your head and picked up the pace as you felt the lump in your throat grow.

“Yes, we do. You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

“No.”

“Y/N—”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Your voice cracked as you turned around, feeling a wave of guilt wash over your body at the sight of him. He looked so tired, so worn out. And you caused that. “Please, just—leave me alone.”

By now, the conversation between you two had drawn the attention of several Jedi milling around the area.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Obi-Wan—”

“Please.”

You let out a sigh of reluctance. “Fine.”

He sighed and gently gripped your forearm, forcing you to follow him as he led you down the hall. The others around you were confused as they watched you disappear along with him.

The elevator ride was silent—and all of a sudden, you were back in front of his place and he was leading you inside yet again. You stayed silent. The bottle of whiskey was still there, right at the foot of his bed, completely empty and laying on its side.

“Care to tell me why you walked out on me like that last night?” Obi leaned against the wall as you sat at the edge of his bed, looking down.

“I had work to do,” you lied.

“In the middle of the night? Nobody else was awake.”

“...Yup.”

“...If I did anything wrong—anything to hurt you, please let me know, darling,” he said in a gentle tone.

“Don’t call me that,” you muttered. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“Was it something I said?”

“I think we both know what happened last night, Obi-Wan,” you finally looked up at him, feeling a lump form in your throat. “You said something you didn’t mean because you were wasted. I panicked...nothing else happened. You didn’t know what you were saying.”

“Y/N, I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you. I wasn’t drunk.”

“You’re telling me you drank half a bottle of whiskey and still remained sober.” You were only lying to yourself at this point. You saw it in his eyes—he knew exactly what he was saying but you didn’t want to accept that it was true.

“Why did you walk out on me?”

“...I can’t keep loving you like this anymore.”

“So you do feel the same way,” he concluded.

You didn’t say anything, but your eyes told him enough.

He continued on. “I didn’t tell you that I love you because I wanted to hear it back. I told you because I needed you to know.”

Something in Obi’s expression softened. Without realizing what he was doing he reached out to brush your hair away from your face. He paused midway and let his hand fall back at his side. You let your gaze follow.

“What are you doing,” you said quietly.

“You don’t have to mean it yourself, but I did. I meant what I said. Every word.”

You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes trained downward as you absentmindedly fidgeted with his leather bracelet around your wrist.

“I wasn’t lying either. I can’t…not anymore, Obi. I don’t think you understand how—”

Before he could stop himself, Obi-Wan reached out again, placing a gentle hand against your cheek. You don’t have the heart to push him away—you don’t want to. He slowly took a step towards you, then another, right until you were almost flush against him. With one small move, your lips would be on his. Only one inch.

Your heart raced. You prayed he couldn’t hear it given what little distance remained between the two of you. It was impossible, it seemed, to escape his presence, and you weren’t sure whether to hate him for it more, or yourself.

“Only if you want to.” His voice was gentle; quiet, as he noticed your hesitance and his hand faltered, eyes still curious.

He didn’t slash you with his lightsaber. He didn’t punch you. And yet, you staggered backward.

Obi-Wan mirrored your movements, stepping backward as well.

All of a sudden, a half-shattered bottle of that Coruscanti liquor rolled to your feet. The little alcohol that remained began to trickle out. You bent down and gingerly picked up a dull shard of glass, rolling it around in your palm for a bit before dropping it in the trash can.

“Screw it,” you muttered to yourself.

You couldn’t just let him walk away like that. You’d let him go too many times before and it never ended well. Like the time when he was injured and you forced yourself to stay up for three days to watch over him and then confess your feelings, only to chicken out when he woke up. The other time where you were laying down next to him and staring up at the midnight sky, and your hands kept brushing together and you were a mere second away from rolling over and pressing your lips to his.

And you didn’t want another repeat of that—of getting so close only to realize you couldn’t do it. All because you were a little scared. You had enough regrets to deal with, and you didn’t want him to be a part of that.

So before you got a chance to have any more second thoughts, you grabbed Obi by the shoulder and turned him around, tugging him towards you until you were nose-to-nose once more.

Then he kissed you. Or you kissed him. You weren’t sure who took that last step and initiated it but you couldn’t care less. His hand slid down to the back of your neck, and you could still taste remnants of that damn whiskey on his lips. He was intoxicating and you never wanted to let go. No matter how many times you fantasized about moments like these, nothing seemed to prepare you for the way he made your heart feel like it was plummeting through open air.

“This is a bad idea,” you mumbled against his lips.

“I know,” he replied, pulling you impossibly closer.

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unnerving-presence · 3 years

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Oh I finally have an idea for a request.

Headcanons of The Oni, Ghostface, Michael and Frank getting brutaly killed by the survivor reader because they were fed up with being the hunted one. To the point were the entity doesn't let the reader in trials anymore

this is by far the coolest idea i’ve ever seen thank you for requesting anon!

i’m gonna guess reader isn’t dating them because i imagine that they would rather talk to them about it then… kill them lol.

i’m don’t know how to write murdering people in a cool way because i don’t murder people so i’m sorry if this isn’t that good 💀

this is quite a long chapter, so be aware

Kazan Yamaoka/The Oni:

The last thing he ever expected a survivor to do to him was kill him. He thought that nobody would dare oppose him, considering his large stature and deadly equipment. Though it seemed he was wrong.

He’s very surprised at first. His careless grip on his sword allowing you to easily knock it out of his grasp and take it for yourself. He makes a mental note to never make a stupid move like that again.

He may have had his kanabo, but he couldn’t grab it fast enough as you quickly slashed and stabbed at his body, slicing tendons and breaking skin. It’s obvious you didn’t know how to properly use a katana, but somehow your blind rage made it hurt all the worse.

It was like when he died all over again. Like the mob surrounding him again. Beating him, stabbing him, calling him names. And it seemed you knew exactly where to make it hurt also. Even reopening wounds. It’s quite pathetic that’s he’s dying like this, he thinks. All because he underestimated a survivor and let them catch him off guard.

After the Entity revives him from the dead, he gets quite angry that he even let a survivor lay a finger on him. He takes the time that he has alone to go thoroughly trash his realm. Crushing statues, ripping the foundations off some of the shrines. He messed it up so badly that he had to go to his granddaughters realm so the Entity could fix his up.

He seeks you out after finding that you’re not even allowed in trials anymore. As much as he wants to, he knows he can’t kill you outside of trials. So he takes you to Rin’s realm with him so he can talk with you about why you did what you did.

He can’t speak much english or really understand it, so he has Rin do the talking for him. After you tell him why, he sort of understands. He was like that at some point in his life. Tired of being targeted and treated like an animal. Just don’t do that shit again and you guys will be on pretty good terms. Hes still kind of angry at you though

Michael Myers/The Shape:

It takes a lot to kill someone like him. He’s not an easy target. He’s been burned, beat, shot, stabbed, bit. He’s been through it all, so when you manage to get your hands on something sharp, Michael didn’t really think much of it. How greatly he underestimated you.

He’s not one to visibly show emotion, but damn can you tell that he is angry. How can a shard of glass do this much to him? Why can’t he move his arms? What are you doing to him?

You stab every place you possibly could. His wrists, his neck, his arms, his stomach. Pretty much everywhere. You even stab his eye. The good one i mean. Until you know he’s dead, you’re not stopping your attacks.

He puts up quite a fight, managing to get his hand around your neck before you can stab it. He can’t really do much though, most of his limbs aren’t even functional at this point from how much you’ve stabbed them.

When he’s sent back to his realm alive and well, he quickly seeks you out. He’s going to make you suffer, no matter what the Entity says. Unfortunately the Entity says he can’t hurt you outside of trials. That’s not really stopping Michael though.

Definitely tries choking you to death the second he sees you but a quick stab in the arm from the Entity makes him rethink his actions. Now he just sort of.. stares at you. He probably doesn’t stop until he’s taken into another trial just to make you uncomfortable. Yeah he’s petty like that.

He can only assume that you’re not allowed in trials since he never even sees you in them anymore. This makes him ever the more angry since he can’t even kill you back. He forever holds a grudge against you. Prepared to be stalked from afar until Michael decides to stop being a petty bitch.

Ghostface/Danny Johnson:

I guess this is what he gets for being cocky all the time huh? He’s pretty confident in himself and thought this ‘game’ was well played on his part. The Entity even granted him the favor of killing a survivor. Until he was the one that was being killed.

He does give you a few punches and tries to get you under him, but a quick slash to his abdomen has him on the ground, holding himself up with one hand and desperately trying to search for his knife with the other. Damn it, you have it don’t you?

It takes more to kill him than you thought, but he’s not as tough as most killers. Finally thrusting the knife in through his neck quickly puts him out of his misery. Knowing he’s dead doesn’t stop you from stabbing him a few more times in his chest though.

Apparently he hadn’t studied you as much as he should’ve. He’s very impressed, he has to admit, but he’s been humiliated. In his eyes he has atleast. Looks like he needs to put you in your place and show you who the real killer is here.

Though finding out soon after that you haven’t been seen in any of the other killers trials, he sort of pissed. He can’t even get payback! He’ll probably whine to the Entity about it though he knows she won’t listen.

He’ll keep his distance for now. He’s sort of embarrassed that you, a puny survivor has killed him, a killer. It doesn’t sit right in his head and he’ll probably get a laugh or two if he tells the other killers so he just keeps it to himself.

Still pissed though. If he ever sees you wandering around he might insult you a bit but it’s all he can really do. I wouldn’t get too close though. He might have the courage to give you a stab in the chest if he’s feeling rebellious.

Frank Morrison/The Legion:

I imagine it goes how his mori would. He would try to swing at you but misses as you quickly duck to avoid the attack. He manages to stab your arm as you shove him back. Unlucky for him, his grip loosened on the knife and was now deep into your arm.

The pain didn’t seem to stop you from yanking the knife out of your arm, and giving him a taste of his own medicine, stabbing him in the shoulder and throwing him to the ground. Before he even has a chance to recover, you’re on top of him dragging the knife through his stomach before ripping his mask off and impaling him straight through his mouth.

He doesn’t have much of a chance to fight back. Your anger far surpassing his, caring about nothing more than making him suffer. In the little time he has to think, he wonders why the Entity is even allowing this. More importantly, why are you so damn strong?

He’s sort of scared of you to be honest, and it takes a lot for him to be scared. That look on your face as you clambered on top of him. You looked like you didn’t have even an inch of humanity left in you. Atleast in the moment you didn’t, not when you were so fed up with dying over and over again. He really felt like he wasn’t coming back after knowing you were going to kill him.

He might tell his friends about it, but nobody else. He trusts them enough to take it seriously and to comfort him. As much as a tough guy he is, he’s really just shocked about the whole thing. He’s never the one that has to die, so he’s never thought much about it, but when you’re in a situation like that, he understands how the survivors feel.

He’s sort of glad you aren’t in trials anymore. He doesn’t want his friends to be hurt, and he definitely doesn’t want himself to be hurt if that’s how you’re going to act near him. Though if you do manage to get near him and talk with him, he will start to understand why you did what you did. He’s not sure if he entirely forgives you, but atleast he knows you won’t hurt him again.

#frank is sort of ooc because i don’t write for him often #dead by daylight x reader #dbd x reader #dbd #dead by daylight #kazan yamaoka x reader #kazan yamaoka #michael myers x reader #michael myers #ghostface x reader #danny johnson x reader #danny johnson #frank morrison x reader #frank morrison #the legion x reader #the legion

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evanox · 2 years

Text

You ever think about Sage's nightmares following MC's "death"? How his regret and guilt and self-loathing could’ve twisted the memory into a vision even more painful? Over and over, each nightmare more horrific than the one before, until he could no longer sleep?

(tw nightmares, death, the occasional bloody detail)

In some visions he gets to tear himself away from the hoard of the corrupted, but not before Gramme has already done away with you. He gets to cradle your body and cry and scream and curse himself for letting you become another body he’ll have to bury. The sewers, Gramme, and the monsters melt into shadows as the memory starts to fade, and all that remains is your serene face cupped by his trembling hands—the only thing he can see with clarity. Hells, he always loved how peaceful you looked when you were asleep; you might as well be sleeping right now, and he’s never been religious but maybe if he prays hard enough to whomever is willing to listen, you’ll open your eyes and yawn and he’ll call you a silly sleepyhead before you walk back to Fathom and clean each others’ wounds.

Then he wakes up, and he remembers he never got to cradle your body or see your face one last time. He doesn’t know if it’s for the worse—that your body is lost to some void, your fate forever unknown, with no chance to mourn or honor you properly—or for the better—if he did get to hold you, could he ever let go? Or would he hold on to you until he dies and your bodies rot and scholars of the future can’t tell your bones apart, because he loves you, he loves you, and what right does he have to live and move on after losing you? If anyone should’ve made it out, it was you, not some weak, worthless, washed up mercenary who shouldn’t have lived past age 30.

At least he won’t have to bury yet another person he loves. He hates himself for finding solace in the fact.

ii.

In other visions, you’re still alive when he gets to you, but only barely—you’ve enough strength to echo back all the thoughts that have been swarming his head ever since he lost you: How could you do this to me? You promised you’d keep me safe. You weren’t strong enough. You weren’t good enough. This was a mistake. You should’ve never let go of your sword, but you always get so caught up in your own anger. You’re so selfish. You never learn.

Is it even in character for you to say these things? Would you truly blame him for what happened? Or would your unrelenting kindness shine through even at the darkest of times, forgive him even when he doesn’t deserve it?

He’ll never know, and he realizes it doesn’t matter. It’s not like you’d be wrong to hate him; it’s the least he deserves.

Your hands are clasped over your heart where Gramme’s spell hit. Dark, jagged lines arise from the bubbling wound and spread across your chest. Your voice grows weaker with every pained gasp for air: It hurts, Sage. It hurts so much. But Sage is no healer; he could only bow his head down and beg you, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over. He calls for Anisa, for Felix, for anyone who could listen, the desperation in his voice tearing his throat apart, but no one answers.

Even the beasts have long since abandoned you both and slipped back into the shadows. He wishes they'd at least done him the courtesy of killing him too.

And Tulsi hears him gasp between every plea as she squeezes out yet another cool wet cloth to place over his forehead. Is this even helping? His fever doesn’t seem to be going down any time soon.

iii.

Sometimes you switch positions, with the corrupted tearing you apart while Gramme holds Sage down with his spell. There’s too many of them; you can’t hold them off on your own. Your magic grows weaker and the wizard’s laughter echoes throughout the sewers as he forces Sage to watch his worst nightmare unfold; every claw digging into your ribs is a dagger to his own chest.

He fights with all his might against the invisible bonds holding him down but Gramme’s magic only burns brighter against Sage’s skin; it burns so much he can’t tell if it’s too hot or too cold anymore. He screams your name until his voice fails him, until he can no longer see you.

Back in the world of the living, Tulsi is desperately pulling at Sage’s shoulders to wake him up. His restless twisting and turning has reopened his biggest wounds, and yet another bedroll is soaked in his blood.

iv.

His sleep is less fitful as the corrupt magic in his body starts to catch up with the almost-impossible demand of all the wounds he sustained in the fight. He might even hear your voice calling for him, a sweet breeze against the raging storms in his head. Maybe this has been a nightmare all along, and you’ve been here the entire time, and he can finally hold you in his arms.

But then you’re slipping from his grasp once again, and he opens his eyes to Tulsi who’s been trying to wake him up to eat something, anything. It's the only time he wishes he can go back to sleep.

Sage made Tulsi a promise that he'll only leave after she's done putting together a new set of armor he could use; it's the best compromise she could come up with to keep him from running back to Porrima half-cocked, and she was lucky he was delirious enough to agree.

Now their promise is long forgotten, as he straps on a shiny pair of gauntlets he found in one corner of his sister’s tent, and marches off in a scavenged mess of clothes that wouldn't save a normal man from the approaching winter. His old coat has been torn to shreds by the monsters, and how could he find a replacement when everyone had left Porrima in such a hurry? They didn't exactly have the luxury of packing suitcases, and the resources are far too scarce to make something new.

There isn’t even alcohol to drown out the voices in his head; what point is there in staying at camp?

vi.

The thirst for revenge and the vile magic running in his blood drive Sage on for days, and he doesn’t get much shut-eye until he has pushed his body well past its limit. He barely makes it back to the hideout before he collapses, crashing into a dreamless sleep under the tree's shade. There’s no relief in the act, and certainly no willingness on his part—he only succumbs when his body gives up on him, and that’s his reminder that part of him still has human needs, which means he hasn’t fully turned into a monster, yet. He fears the day he truly forgets how to sleep.

Not even a night passes before he’s back to haunt the streets of the abandoned city, searching for another way into Gramme’s newfound lair. Because Sage may not be able to bury you, but taking the wizard’s head off his shoulders and hanging it from the gates of Porrima is the only way he knows to honor your memory, and he won’t know true rest until then.

#this is for the baddies who like to imagine their mcs suffering like i do #sage lesath #last legacy #fictif last legacy #fictif #last legacy sage #fictif sage #sage lesath x mc #sage lesath x reader #last legacy headcanons #last legacy mc

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