#*displeased assassin noises*
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The King and the Assassin
Damian blearily blinked at the stone that tilted and shifted beneath his body, spattered with his blood and leaking out towards the edges of the summoning circle. He had been hit in the head. It throbbed. He was dizzy, even laying on his side on the floor and not moving. His limbs had been bound and he couldnât raise his hands to hold his head until it stopped spinning. Or, and probably more practically, staunch the bleeding in his stomach. His grandfather chanted some language Damian didnât know, which was impressive. Damian knew many languages.
Raâs volume grew and the circle burst into a wall of green flames and glinted eerily on Damianâs blood in the cave's dim lighting.Â
Damianâs heart should be faster. He was frightened. Frightened what his grandfather would do with whatever came through the summoning circle, frightened of death, though heâd never admit it, and he was bleeding out. Heâd lost so much blood. It was probably better that his heart wasnât beating faster.Â
He was going to die. Would his father refrain from killing Damianâs killer, like heâd refused to kill Toddâs? Damian had known it was a sore spot between the two, and it was quite enraging from this new perspective. Depressing.Â
Maybe one of Damianâs siblings would avenge him. Perhaps Grayson.
The flames surged higher and the temperature plummeted. Damian shivered, though that could be the blood loss. His grandfather stopped chanting as deafening cracks like two glaciers ramming into each other boomed and echoed across the cave. Static was slipped into the cacophony between the screeching crashing and just as suddenly as it started, it stopped.
The noise was gone, the flames sputtered out, and Raâs stared in awe at something Damian couldnât see. Stone pressed into the side of his face and the world was lilted sideways. But he could feel it. The presence of overwhelming power radiating somewhere above him that covered him in goosebumps and took his breath away. The strength was formidable. It was suffocating.
âReally? Another one?â The beingâs displeased grumble resonated in the air and layered as if many spoke at once. Damian breathed deeply.
He was going to die soon. There was no point in being scared of whatever this thing was.Â
âYour Majesty,â Raâs started. âI am Raâs Al Ghââ
âI donât care.â
His grandfatherâs face twitched and his jaw clamped shut with irritation written along the tension in his muscles.Â
If Damian were in a better state he might have snorted. No, perhaps he would have just stared as he was doing now. No one interrupted Raâs, Demon Head of the League of Assassins, and if they did, they wouldnât live much longer. But his grandfather remained silent in the face of this being.
That did not bode well.
âWho is this?â
Damianâs heart stuttered as feet armoured in sharp, glassy ice, came into his vision. They landed delicately in front of him as if gravity was an option.
Okay, now he was scared again. If Grandfather was wary of this being, Damian didnât want itâs attention.
Damian was a vigilante, he was an ex-assassin, heâd faced many terrible things, he didnât get scared. This was ridiculous.
âMy grandson. Damian Al Ghul.â
The being crouched down and Damian was met with glowing, green eyes that swept him up and down.
Damian didn't like this at all. Heâd feel much better facing this creatureâs evaluating gaze, standing, unbound, and uninjured. This sensation was quite unsettling. Damianâs eyes grew hazier by the second and he tried his best to study the being in turn.
It had snow-white hair and pointed ears. Itâs tanned face was dashed with freckles and wore black ice for chest armour. White ice, similar to it's boots, protected it's hands. It looked young. No older than Damian himself. Perhaps a year or two younger.
The being hummed and it buzzed not unpleasantly in Damianâs ears.Â
âYour Majesty, I have summonââ
âShut up.â It said absent-mindedly, never straying itâs gaze from Damian. Raâs begrudgingly did as he was told. Damian caught glimpses of his seething disposition behind the being blocking most of Damianâs view.
Then, the being smiled at him. Rows of sharp teeth were visible behind abnormally long canines and Damian withheld a shudder. He didnât show fear. The beingâs smile was disturbingly sharp, unnaturally wide, Damianâs heartbeat ticked up, but he didnât show fear.Â
âMy, my, youâre a pretty one, arenât you?â It said and Damian blinked. He didnât. . .he didnât know how to process that. The beingâs hand reached out to brush his hair out of his face, frigid digits brushing lightly against Damianâs skin. âTell you what.â The being said, his smile a little less wide, but no less haunting and filled with anticipatory intent that Damian didnât find reassuring at all. âIâll heal you.â The beingâs head tilted. âAnd in exchange, you give me your hand in marriage.â
Damian short-circuited. His heart paused. His mouth parted. He may have stopped breathing for a moment.
He blinked several times.Â
Surely he misheard that.
â. . .What?â He croaked. It took a concerning amount of energy to speak that one word.
âTimes a-ticking.â It sang lowly, a knowing smile on itâs face. âYou donât have much longer. It doesnât matter to me if youâre a ghost or living, but. . .â The being leaned slightly towards where his head tipped to get a better look at Damianâs soon-to-be death wound. âI assume youâd prefer the latter?â
Damian stared up at the being, dumbfounded. Knots of indecipherable emotions sat heavy in his chest as he nodded, mutely. He didnât know what else to do. His family had no idea where he was or what had happened to him. By the time they figured it out, Damian would be dead. He could feel a darkness creeping into his head and tiring at his eyes. His body felt heavier the longer he laid here and the call to sleep grew stronger and stronger.
He would never wake up.
Or maybe he would become a ghost. Thatâs what the being said. Was it a ghost? His grandfather had said something about a ghost king, now that he thought about it. Damian had been a little too concussed to pay attention properly.
âWonderful.â The being drawled with a widening smile that made Damian doubt that this was really a good idea.
From nothing, a rolled up piece of green, slightly glowing paper, manifested in the beingâs hand. The ghost let it fall open with a flourish. The being read it aloud.
âDamian Al Ghul Wayne,âÂ
How did this ghost know he was a Wayne?
âIn exchange for being fully healed, agrees to wed me, High King Phantom,â He flashed him another toothy smile âAnd reside in the Infinite Realms in the Royal Keep. Sound good to you?â ItâPhantomâsaid.
Not really, but what else was Damian supposed to do? He had a thought. âFamily.â He managed to say with some effort. âVisits.â
The ghost hummed and nodded amicably much to Damianâs relief. If he can see his family and tell them what happened, maybe they can help get him out of this.
Phantom waved his hand and new words appeared on the contract. He cleared his throat. Damian was starting to think heâd die before they got through all this.
âDamian Al Ghul Wayne, In exchange for being fully healed, agrees to wed High King Phantom and reside in the Royal Keep, with the exception of familial visits to the mortal realm.â
Damian kept his surprise from his face. Heâd expected his family would be brought to the Infinite Realms, not the other way around.Â
âHow âbout that?â Phantom smiled down at him.
Damian nodded. Or tried to.
Phantomâs smile got wider. That bad feeling swirled again in Damianâs stomach.Â
A feathery pen appeared in Phantomâs free hand and he scrawled his name in flowy letters along the bottom without hesitation. The pen disappeared into thin air. Phantom reached over Damian to slice through his chains easily with a claw.
Damianâs vision was blurring and his movements were sluggish as he pulled his freed hands in front of him. Phantom held out the same pen to him before Damian could even look at his raw wrists, and his shaking hands could hardly grasp it.
âHere. Let me.â Phantom placed the pen between the dying oneâs fingers and held his freezing hand over Damianâs. He guided it toward the contract that floated near Damianâs head and touched the pen to paper.
Damian breathed uneasily as green, glowing ink followed the path of the pen, drawing out his name in increasingly alarming reality.
What was Damian doing? This was insane. Was this actually happening?
His heart beat faster, his blood flowed quicker, as the last letter was finished off with a flourish.
The contract glowed brighter and brighter until it disappeared ,conclusively, along with the pen.
Phantom turned to him and held a hand out. The effect was immediate. Damianâs blood ran backwards, dredging back from where it had leaked all over the floor to return to the veins it had been pumped out of. The black threatening to take over Damianâs consciousness slowly dissipated, and his wrists and ankles were healed of the chafing from the shackles. Breathing became easier. His vision grew clearer. His pain was gone. All of it.
Phantomâs hand dropped and Damian pushed himself to sitting, wondrously clenching and unclenching his perfectly functioning hands.
âBetter?â Phantom said, standing up. He held a hand out to Damian. The latter eyed it cautiously before flicking his gaze up to the ghostâs face.Â
âYes. . .thank you. . .â
âDonât mention it.â The being hauled Damian to his feet with a casual strength that seemed to surpass his lean muscle. As if Damian weighed nothing at all. The ghost king was a bit shorter than Damianâs six feet and floated to his eye level. He smiled once again. Was it automatic, or did he realize how off-setting it could be and used it? âIt wasnât a favour, after all.â
Damianâs jaw clenched and he hummed, disgruntledly.
âAwww.â The being laughed disappointedly. âThat bad, is it?â He raised a hand to Damianâs face and he jerked back, catching the wrist before he could think better of it, and immediately cursing himself for acting so recklessly. Phantomâs hand went intangible and Damianâs eyes widened imperceptibly as it was pulled through his grasp. âAlright, alright.â Phantom placated, holding up his hands.
âTt.â Damian clicked his tongue, hiding his relief and how erratically his heart fluttered in his chest.
âYour Majesty, might I have your attention?â Raâs voice was strained with displeasure and he stood stiffly, restrained retaliation to the blatant slights on his person.
âOh. Right. The fruitloop. Forgot about you.â The smile fell from Phantomâs face as if it had never been there. His tone dropped all previous easinessâbecause that is what it had been, seeing the undeniable changeâand regarded the Demon Head rather coldly. âThe one who decided sacrificing his own grandchild was a good idea.â
Damian glanced to the high king, something easing just a little that the king seemed to have some sort of moral compass.Â
His grandfather paused, realizing he had made a terrible mistake and calculating a way out of this. âHe was the only one wortââ
âI donât really care for your excuses.â Phantom spat, his voice gaining more layers and glitching with harsh static that wasnât there before. The room grew colder and frost leached across the ground from where Phantom floated. It didnât touch Damian. âI have heard about you, a man pretending at being immortal and killing whoever you pleased. I can smell it on you.â Phantom snarled lowly as he neared the man, making his grandfather pale; a feat Damian has never seen accomplished. âEctoplasmâthe realmâs ectoplasm. Youâve tainted it.â
âI perfected it.â Raâs said quietly. Stupidly.
Phantom hovered over Damianâs grandfather, a wicked, small smile curving up one side of his face.
âAnd now theyâre gone. Have fun picking out a casket.â Phantom chuckled darkly.
Raâs had gone deathly still, not daring to attack a being so powerful that could apparently wipe out the Lazarus Pits without even being present to do it.Â
The vehemence was utterly gone when Phantom turned and floated over to Damian. âReady to go?â He held out a hand.
Damianâs muddled, dumbfounded attention was on Phantomâs opposite hand casually trailing downwards and ripping open a green, swirling portal. The colour was similar to the pits. But. . .purer. Like Phantomâs eyes.
Damian looked into them and the king seemed to take that as answer enough. He gave a toothy grin and pulled Damian through.
#dpxdc fanfic#danny phantom#dp x dc crossover#damian wayne#robin#ra's al ghul#Summoning#ghost king danny#Marriage contract#Some slight dying#Danny's trying to get out of a different marriage set up for him
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Once more the hallucinations hit, and once more I am here writing it out.
My brain is fucking terrifying and I want out, so bad. This came to me in the form of a nightmare.
Also, please donât take the timeline into consideration, because I have no idea whatâs going on. Again, nightmares and dreams tend to not have the best coherency when it comes to plot and timelines. The reincarnation doesnât have a name, I was too busy feeling terrified. Shit in parentheses was how I experienced the nightmare. Everything else is just me adding sprinkle sprinkle.
ââ
Raâs al Ghul.
Talia al Ghul.
Two names that she had been aware of, in the peripherals of her hyper fixation. Two characters meant to enhance the story of the Dark Knight. Side characters, on a good day. Perhaps, a main antagonist on a better day.
On a bad day?
Main characters. Real, living people. Real, living, breathing assassins.
Unfortunately, theyâre her new family. One she remembered coming into, bathed in a pool of blood and screams.
She was not a baby.
She is now, a baby. The first of Talia al Ghulâs children. The eldest, once Damian al Ghul was born.
Swaddled in emerald green and gold silks, she was presented to a man with silver streaked hair and a receding hairline. He too, was robed in green and golds.
âA daughter, Talia?â He rumbled, the smooth Arabic flowing out of his mouth failing to hide the acrid disappointment. The child, past the haze of confusion of suddenly being deported from her own adult body into one of a helpless child, felt a stirring of irritation. Itâs good she learned the language, because now she knew exactly how Raâs felt about her. The child grumbled a displeased sound. Not that she would have ignored the fact that her grandfather was Raâs al Ghul. (He smelled like moth eaten fabric and blood- but I think that was because my cat accidentally scratched me.)
âMy apologies, father.â
âDo not tell the young detective of this. Had it been a son, perhaps things would have been different. No, a daughter would only hinder him.â
Talia bowed, hands tightening on her daughter. âMay I raise her, father?â
âA resource is still a resource. Go ahead, Talia.â
âYes, father.â Talia took the dismissal and bowed before leaving.
On her way back to the room with the reincarnationâs crib, Talia al Ghul stroked her daughterâs head.
âI wish you were born a boy, my daughter. I am sorry my beloved will never know of you.â
The reincarnation looked at her new mother. Sheâs young, the woman-child realized. A teenager.
âYouâll have to be useful, my daughter. Your grandfather is not so kind as to keep the useless. I⌠do not wish for your death,â her mother muttered.
Great. She got new life and itâs already in danger.
ââ
She learned to swing a knife. Swords. She learned and devoured the teachings. She learned to be useful.
But then they asked her to take the life of a man who did her no wrong.
Her baby blues clashed with her grandfatherâs Lazarus green.
She was still young. A child.
âNo.â
âNo?â
âHe did no wrong.â
âHe failed, granddaughter.â Raâs smiled down at her, patronizing. Cruel. âPerhaps you possess your fatherâs heart, and you are foolishly sentimental, as women and children tend to be. But in the end, you are an al Ghul and you will obey. Plunge in your blade and I will reward you.â
The reincarnation looked at the man kneeling in front of her, resignation and a hint of pity in what little she could see of his face.
Sheâs already died before. What did she have to be afraid of?
âNo.â
They tried to beat the weakness out of her. It didnât work.
ââ
The reincarnation stared at the mirror, left alone in an opulent cage of gold and emeralds and precious stones that meant little to her now.
Her hands traced her back, small fingers finding purchase in soft skin. Her mouth opened fruitlessly, noise refusing to escape. She still felt the burning magic, the brand her own blood had carved into her skin and soul because she refused to kill. The chains her grandfather had shackled around her with magic and cruel amusement.
She had killed him, in the end. Obey, or be punished. Her body had moved without her permission, the reincarnation a prisoner in a body that refused to do as she commanded. The knife swung, a life taken, her hands dipped in red.
She learned a valuable lesson that day.
There were things worse than death.
âThis is an order, granddaughter.â
The Magic had flared a searing heat at her neck, forcing her to kneel on broken legs. Raâs loomed above, authority in his voice. She was bound to obey, regardless.
âYou will never speak another word of affection, you will never speak another word to anyone unless I allow it. Perhaps this will teach you of your folly, and your place in this world.â
The loss of her freedom and the fear that came with it was a bitter and devastating lesson.
ââ
Raâs al Ghul was so much worse than what little she knew of him.
She was right to be afraid for herself.
Her mother had worried, when sheâd withdrawn and refused to speak to her. Even if she could, the reincarnation would not have wanted to. The reincarnation had felt furious, back then, when she thought of Talia. Her mother who refused to protect her. Her mother, who claimed she loved her but refused to see the chains Raâs wrapped around her neck. She who plied the reincarnation with a supportive hand but forced her into the fighting pits.
But, as the reincarnation stumbled out on bruised and used legs from Raâs al Ghulâs meeting chambers where he had allowed his business partners to partake in her, she realized that Raâs was a monster in a humanâs body and her mother was a victim of his making.
The lesson Raâs taught her that day was that if she was not useful, if she did not kill, he would take what was left of her and make use of her.
Hate flared in her heart, and the beginning of Raâs downfall began the day he let her go from the chambers alive. Injured, but alive. Injured and violated, but alive and furious.
ââ
She carved her hate and rage and helplessness and fear in the bodies of the people he bid her to kill. Her silenced screams were expressed in the way she splattered blood, the way she covered herself in it. A killing machine first, a stress reliever second, and a child⌠wasnât on the list of things she was allowed to be.
His enemies were felled, one after another. He gave her his approval, something she detested.
But still, she continued, bodies racking upwards, tens turning to hundreds, hundreds edging into thousands.
The red in her ledger became ichor and guilt. Her language became violence and obedience.
âYou have become a sharp tool, granddaughter.â
She was a genius, after all. And now, she could not disobey. A blade that Raâs believed will never point towards him. She kneeled. She obeyed.
âThank you, grandfather.â Her words were only allowed to come out- without searing, terrible pain- when she was thanking him. She tried not to do it as often as he wanted. He thought he broke her when he read the obedience she carved into her body language.
But she never bowed. Never. Not to him. Never.
ââ
âMy weapon could learn much from your granddaughter,â David Cain sat across from Raâs, wine in their stupid goblets. How she detested the green and blacks heâs seen fit to dress her with. Sheâs dressed provocatively, not of her own choice. She doesnât have much of those- doesnât have much in ways of choices- these days.
She was twelve, and Raâs al Ghul deserved to die.
âHer combat is a higher form of what my daughter has achieved. How did you do it?â
When Raâs began to reply, she slipped away.
She found the girl. She found⌠the cage- the black box- the child was placed in. The child flinched from her when she opened the metal box, fear only easing as the reincarnation kept her body language neutral and kind. (It was pitch black, and about the size of like, a closet. No light. Only from whatever door the box had.) (Cassâ hands hurt from banging on the walls to be let out)
David Cainâs daughter, her mind whispered, the memories of another life once more making itself known.
âCassandra.â She whispered, regretting it immediately when pain wracked her body. She fell to her knees as the punishment for disobeying an order slammed into her.
The girl looked at her in concern, but did not move closer. The reincarnation stared at this girl and saw a reflection of herself.
David Cain would be here for a month. She will free Cassandra in those days.
ââ
The weapon stared at the girl in front of her, kneeling in pain.
She did not understand.
-
The girl came back. Water. Food. Kind.
The weapon felt warm. The girl was quiet. No sounds. Good. The weapon knew the girl understood. The weapon thinks that the girl is a weapon too.
-
The girl comes back, again. This time, she makes a sound. It hurt her, but she did it again. The weapon understands when the girl points at herself and repeats the sound. The sound means the girl. The girl expects something from the weapon.
The weapon makes the sound, flinching to see if the owner will come to punish it. The girl purposefully sits, relaxed but vigilant⌠and protective. Of the weapon?
The weapon relaxed. It repeated the sound, pointing at the girl.
The girl smiles, in pain. But approval. The weapon feels- the weapon is warm, like under the blanket. Approval.
The girl teaches her to make sounds but the weapon communicates without it. It does not like the sounds, does not need them, but the girl seems to think itâs important.
The weapon likes the girl, so the weapon learns. They still understand through no sounds, through reading each other.
-
The girl comes back, silently. Secretly. The weapon does not notify the owner. The weapon feels- does not want to.
The girl- the girl with the sound- she says a different sound. Her body tells the weapon that itâs important, this sound.
And when the girl points at herself and says her own sound, then points at the weapon and says that new sound again, the weapon begins to understand.
The girl had given the weapon her own sound.
âCassân- ra.â
âCass,â the girl said, and Cassandra understood.
âCass.â Cassandra pointed to herself.
-
The owner wanted- wanted Cassandra to end a life. Cassandra watched the owner kill and gesture to the dead thing.
Cassandra did not want to.
When Cassandra is placed back into the pitch black box, she waited for the girl.
The girl came.
âDonât want.â Cassandra clung to her, reading the welcome and the sadness in the girlâs body. Cassandra tucked her face into the girlâs shoulder. She is cold. The girl is warm.
The girl hugged her back. The girl understood. Sadness hardened into lines of determination. Cassandra felt⌠light. Felt hope.
-
Cassandra slipped away from the place, water in her pack for the dessert and money to run from the country. The girl stayed behind, seeing her off. The girl tells her to never come back.
Cassandra did not want to leave the girl behind, but the girl could not go.
âBe free, Cass.â The girl had whispered through the pain. âFor the both of us.â
ââ
Her grandfather knew. He allowed David Cain to break her, not kill because she was of use to him still, as a lesson. She found that she hated his lessons. But, she hated his attention more.
And still, she could not regret. How could she, when Cass trusted her with what fragile hope she had?
So, she lets him beat her, and provokes him with smirks and fearless eyes because the longer heâs focused on her, the more time Cass has to run.
Then, he gets too angry, and insults Raâs, whose eyes grew cold. Her grandfather gestured and while she usually hated the command that followed that gesture, she could not feel that hatred now.
She got back up, legs broken and arms twisted once more, and attacked David Cain.
Raâs would not follow Cass. Not when she was not his business to deal with, and not when David Carinâs fury amused him so.
David Cain would not follow Cass. Not while she still drew breath. The reincarnation stood, and threw herself at one of the best assassins of the century.
She tore his throat out with nothing but her teeth. She felt, for once, not like a monster. Not even when Raâs nodded in approval and ordered for David Cainâs broken body to be cleaned up.
ââ
Sheâs been granted a mission in New Jersey, once her months of discipline- of torture- ended. She does not get ordered to find Cassandra. Sheâs fourteen now, and as silent as ever. Her mother had adjusted to her silence by then- long ago, actually, taking it as a quirk her daughter had developed. She hadnât been a terribly vocal child, after all. Talia praised her for being useful even as a woman- the self degradation something the reincarnation had no doubt Raâs had insidiously trained into Talia- and for being loyal to Raâs.
Sometimes, she hates Talia for being- for-
Never mind. She couldnât afford to hate anyone else.
She killed her targets early, determination and wistfulness urging her movements into sharp . Then, she made her way to Gotham and slipped into the city of darkness- where her father was.
She watched as he hid in the shadows almost as easily as she did. She watched as he flew and glided with the younger Robin. (He was younger than her by a year. She checked.) He was free. They were free.
She wishedâŚ
As she turned away, she saw a child tumbling from the edge of a roof. It was an instinct sheâd thought Raâs had managed to bury after the months heâd spent making sure she killed only children.
She hated him.
She caught him, swooping in and tucking him against her side as she plucked him from the air and plopped him back onto the crumbling roof of Gothamâs slums.
âOh, thank you! So much- are you a vigilante?â The boy asked, looking at her masked face. Itâs a good thing she wasnât exactly dressed like a regular League operative.
She shook her head. Her eyes fell onto his camera, faint memories rising once more. She had an inkling-
âIâm- uh- Tim!â The boy introduced himself nervously, edging away from her silence. âThank you for saving meâŚ?â
She nodded. She pointed to the camera, tilting her head.
âOh- you⌠want to see it?â He clutched his camera closer. Oh, he did have some sense of self preservation. She wondered why a seven year old was allowed to roam these streets⌠but she did worse at seven.
She held her hand up and back up. The boy hesitated, and then showed her the camera. âUh- I took pictures of Robin and Batman!â
They sat on that roof for hours, and she let Tim Drake tell her stories about her father and his son. Ward. Son.
She could tell that Tim didnât have anyone to listen to him.
She didnât have long until she had to go back or risk severe punishment, but⌠she could make time for Tim, to listen to him.
She wondered if Cass managed to escape completely. She wondered if her sister all but in name and blood learned how to smile.
ââ
Tim had never had a friend before!
She listened to him! And gave him hugs the one time he was brave enough to ask! And she seemed to like Batman and Robin as much as he did! No one who didnât like them would listen to his endless rambling otherwise, right? (Tim was super skinny, like ribs poking out skinny. He looked like a sickly Victorian child and he was kind of cold)
âAnd then, Robin went like this,â he pantomimed the awesome punch Dick Grayson did on a Joker goon. âAnd the guys got knocked out just like that!â
His new friend nodded, looking interested.
âSorry, am I talking too much?â Tim asked anxiously. He didnât want to make his friend hate him!
She shook her head, and gestured for him to continue.
âAre you sure?â
She nodded.
His new friend was so cool! She even taught him how to throw a punch and to fight!
ââ
When she had to leave, she prepared Tim for it.
âDo you have to go?â
She nodded and placed a hand on his head, ruffling his hair. Her other hand held a duffle bag with an assortment of weapons she carefully kept from him. (One of the blades still had guts on it, which, ew.)
âTry not to fall off anymore roofs, little photographer.â She said, smiling at his shocked look before leaping away.
âWait, you can talk?!â He shouted at her back. She smiled a little wider.
ââ
âA son, this time.â Raâs al Ghulâs voice echoed in his disgustingly flashy throne room. It rings of approval.
The reincarnation stood behind her mother, eyes cast downwards.
âWell done, Talia. I finally have a worthy heir.â
Damian al Ghul cooed.
The reincarnation was scared. But⌠she could not allow her younger brother to be trapped like she was. Sheâs fifteen now, a decade of slavery having worn her down and nearly broken her. But with her brother⌠no, she could not allow it.
She met her motherâs eyes and knew then that they agreed. Protect Damian, at all costs.
She ignored the sting of envy. So what her mother could not find it in herself to protect her daughter? So long as she protected Damian, it didnât matter.
Maybe she didnât matter. Maybe she wasnât worth anything. Maybe- maybe- maybe.
She also ignored the seed of disgust she had for motherâs actions in conceiving Damian. She couldnât do anything about it. Talia was also a victim.
A louder voice in her asked if she could really excuse that, when Talia had a choice and she chose to hurt and violate Bruce Wayne like that. She wondered if she could truly ever forgive Talia. She wondered if Bruce Wayne got therapy.
ââ
She stared at the tome in front of her, eyes blank. (Actually, she had no eyes. Like? Empty sockets, but then later she had eyes???)
The brand- the shackles- the chains could only be broken if Raâs died. She wasnât opposed to that. But if he died, so did she. She couldnât even kill herself to get out, because the chains would be there even if she died. If she was revived- a high chance, thanks to the fucking pits- then the chains would still be there.
Perhaps⌠she could use the pits?
Her mind turned and turned.
ââ
âThis is your ukht.â Her mother pointed at her. Damian stared up at her, and she melted. Her brother was too damn cute.
âUkhti?â
She nodded as her mother smiled in joy. âYes, habibi.â
She was better at hiding the pain, now. She was better at enduring it, too, that fucking burning feeling. She spoke more, but only to Damian.
It would not do for her brother to grow up not knowing how to receive verbal expressions of affection. Not like she did, in this life.
Still, it hurt to speak. But then, she had an idea, based on Cassandra.
She could not speak, but speaking wasnât the only way of communication. Sheâll teach Damian sign language- standard, as commanded- but also her own version. Yes, she could do it. It wouldnât be hard.
She was a genius, after all, and creating languages wasnât as hard as people seem to think.
ââ
Damian copied her, small fingers patting his hand four times.
She did it back to him. âI love you.â She tells him, with sounds and with motions.
He does it back, excitedly, because he had a secret with ukhti!
ââ
Sometimes, she dared not to touch Damian. She wants to ruffle his hair and give him hugs but the ichor on her hands reminds her to not get to greedy. She did not deserve it.
Not when her hands were stained with the lives of so many people.
ââ
Another mission.
She was twenty now, and not much closer to escaping her bonds. Though, once she hit her majority, Raâs lost interest in her in that way. A blessing, even if she had to seduce his âbusiness partnersâ into giving him better deals more often now.
She stops by Bludhaven. The Robin she watched so many years ago- six, by her count- had grown new wings and moved. She wanted to see if he could fly still.
He could. He flew as free- no, freer than his days as Robin.
She dipped away to complete her mission (nuclear weapon trading, really?) and swings back to see a spider trying to break the former Robinâs wings.
âNo.â Nightwing whispered, staring upwards at the cloudy sky blankly. âPlease, stop.â
She didnât need to hear any more. She saw red, and dove feet first straight onto the spiderâs head, knocking her out.
She picked up a near-catatonic Nightwing, and helped him to his apartment. She left Tarantula in the rain and felt zero guilt about it.
He changed mechanically, some kind of instinct keeping him from removing his domino, but it was a bit pointless considering she escorted him to his personal apartment.
She watched as Nightwing slipped into an exhausted sleep before leaving. She had a spider to squish, and traces to hide.
ââ
Dick wakes up, drained and exhausted. He⌠someone saved him.
He sees a scrawled note, handwriting impeccable enough to be a font, written with his pen. He picked it up from his table, and his eyes tiredly read the message.
âDonât worry about Tarantula. Or your identity.â- A friend.
He remembered- the mask- the mask of the stranger that saved him vividly. Heâd remember. And heâd thank them if they ever came back.
ââ
She was in charge of training assassins, these days. A year and a half later after Bludhaven, she was back in Nanda Parbat, and sheâs devoured every magical tome she could get her hands on. They all say the same things.
Her assassins were trained well, and Raâs praises her with more responsibilities as he followed the pit in his obsessions. Her mother began to splinter the group, not knowing that as Raâs began his descent into madness, people looked towards her instead of Talia for leadership. They did not know that her unwavering presence by Raâs side wasnât voluntary but it is their true that she became his right hand out of pure skill. And flawless obedience, of course.
Then, someone new joins.
Someone with pit rage and empty eyes that goes rigid when she approaches.
Then again, most of the operatives freeze up when she walks towards them.
Her memories roar. A child.
He bowed, and her eyes followed the streak of white hair at the forefront of his skull.
She gestured at him to follow, and ignored the pitiful eyes the rest of the assassins gave to the kid- they act like her training was hard when she went easy on them (it was)- and led the kid towards the training rooms.
She knew who he was, even if her grandfather and mother didnât think she knew.
Her⌠Bruce Wayne would probably appreciate his son being returned relatively sane.
But first, she had to beat the Pit out of him. Then, she could assign body guarding duties to him, in an attempt to protect him.
ââ
âGrandfather, I will take Damianâs punishment.â
âA whipping girl, granddaughter?â But he nodded anyways. He made Damian watch.
She kneeled and allowed the punishment. She couldnât always protect him from Raâs, but this she could do anytime. Itâs not like she was unfamiliar with the torture. (The whip had barbs. Rusty. And they sprinkled salt.)
ââ
âI liked poetryâŚ.â Jason Todd tells her after a training session. âI think.â
âSure. Iâll call you Grave, then.â Pain. But she was used to it.
He tilted his head, eyes going blank once more. She sighed. There went his memories again. (His eyes were blank and glazed. Like looking at someone you love and knowing theyâre looking through you.)
ââ
âI would not trust her,â she says to the air, next to a Red Hood emerging from Talia al Ghulâs chambers. She could see it, the beginnings of Gothamâs new crime lord. But still, âTalia al Ghul is known for her lies.â
She pushed away from the wall. It was up to Grave if he listened. It was out of her hands now.
ââ
Sheâs twenty-five, and sheâs helping Damian pack for his first meeting with Bruce Wayne.
âYou must not tell him about me.â Because heâd come rushing here, and she had worked too hard to save Damian for her fool of a father to come and ruin all of that effort.
âI promise.â Her little brother said solemnly. Ukhti said it out loud, which meant it was important and she expected him to keep that promise.
The only other time heâd heard her speak was to tell him she loved him.
The reincarnation smiled and told him through their special sign language, to treat the current Robin with respect and to try his best to get the current Robin to pass down his title.
âRobin is earned. They have different rules, over there. Try your best to learn those rules.���
Her brother was sheltered. She loved him, but he was spoilt and sheltered. Of course she was worried. Talia barely mothered him.
âI know. You do not have to remind me so often, ukhti.â
She smiled, and patted his head.
âBe safe,â she whispered. âI will miss you.â
Damian darted in for a hug. âOf course. Goodbye, sister. See you soon.â
She hoped not. It was hard enough to convince Raâs that Damian would learn more under Bruce Wayne.
(She was locked in a small closet- like Cass- for about a week, because she brought up the idea first.)
ââ
She found it.
The answer to pit rage laid in an old, all but crumbling tome from Atlantis- answers âfrom a ghost.â
ââ
Bruce Wayne died. Months after Damian came to live with him. That- irritating- she sighed and worked with her mother to turn Raâs al Ghulâs attention away from Gotham, lest he called Damian back in Bruce Wayneâs absence.
The little photographer caught grandfatherâs attention. She stood vigil as he played chess with Raâs. His interest in Damian wavered. Anticipation blurred in her veins.
She saved his friends. Her assassins. She let them go, telling them to wait for the little photographerâs plan. (Yâall miss girl had fucking bloody handprints on her pants like someone tried to grab it.)
The first few people who had an inking she might not be loyal to Raâs⌠and it was them.
When her other assassins attacked Red Robin, she cut them down before they could touch him, helping him with a furious League of Spiders or whatever operative. She hated spiders.
âWhatâŚ?â
âYouâre a lot of trouble, little photographer.â She sighed. His jaw dropped.
âItâs you!â
âGo,â she cut him off. âBlow this place up. I left a surprise for you outside.â
ââ
âOwens?! Z?!â Tim trembled, exhaustion and shock and wonder hitting him at once.
âHeya, boss!â Z chirped. Owens helped Tim up while Z helped Tam. Pry walked around them, looking out for further threats. âThe nightmare trainer let us go. She knew you, I think.â
Tim smiles, all shark teeth and zero hero. (In the background, the song zero to hero from Hercules 2, played in reverse.) âTell me more.â
ââ
Damian grunted, bracing himself for the magical creatureâs attack.
âRobin!â His father barked out, panicked. Damian hoped heâd survive-
Shhhlk!
He looked up and there stood his ukht. She bounded forwards, using the odd fauna of the magical plane to bolster her movements as she sliced the creatures apart with her swords, magic humming brightly as she cut through them⌠and the magicians attacking them.
âWhat- what are you doing here?â He asked. She greeted him, three fingers curled over her shoulder.
âMy question is,â she signed. âWhy were you here without a magical weapon.â
Damian sighed as father stepped in between them.
âWho are you.â
âBatman. Cease your excessive worry. I trust her with my life,â Damian snapped. He stepped around a shocked Batman, looked him in the eyes, and unsheathed his katana. He handed it over to his ukht, who took it with amusement.
âSee?â His eyes seemed to say. Father tensed when his sister unsheathed her own blade and handed it to him.
âAre you here for a specific reason?â His sister signed to him.
âUh, you gonna introduce us, little man?â
Damian sent the Flash a derisive look and ignored him.
âWeâre looking for a magician. He set a squadron of demons loose into D.C. last night. He has a tower.â Damian added.
âRobin,â Father growled. âWho is this.â Damian shot him a look and turned back to his sister.
The reincarnation tilted her head. âTower⌠itâll have to be that way.â
âCould you take us there?â Damian asked. Truthfully, he could find the way himself. But he wanted more time around his ukht. She nodded and Damian straightened.
âI feel like we should be concerned that Robinâs friend just murdered a bunch of people.â
His sister glanced back and ignored them.
âSilence, incompetents. Speak another word against her, and Batmanâs no killing rule will be applied creatively.â He hissed. (The fucking surroundings hissed with him yâall what the fuck)
He turned when his sister ruffled his hair (Superman muttered a super shocked âwhat the fuck.â) and Damian allowed it. He had missed his sister.
ââ
#I have vivid nightmares#batman#oc in dc#dc#batman fic#idea for a fic I definitely donât have the time to write#reincarnation#isekai#once more my brain has seen fit to fuck me over#tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon#like holy shit what the fuck#brain what is wrong with you#tim drake#jason todd#Damian Wayne#Damian Wayneâs older sister#dp reference lol#couldnât resist#oc gets Isekaid and proceeds to have a shit of a time#yâall thereâs a second part to this shit#itâs a long ass dream
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satoru tries to keep it from you, as if your reach in the court isnât threaded more firmly even than his own. as if the royal guards do not prefer your company to his, as if youâre such a fool you wouldnât notice how heâs come to bed long after youâve gone to sleep every day for the past weekâhe tells you itâs dull financial advising, you know itâs because heâs been busy torturing a man. an assassin, youâve been told; a poisoner who hadnât even made it out of the kitchen before being caught.
you also know heâs back earlier tonight because heâs executed another manâthe one who hired the hit, one of his own cousins. ordinarily such a thing would be dealt with swiftly, except that the food found dosed had been not your husbandâs but yours, and your king does not take kindly to threats against you. the maids had told you all of that days ago; itâs the guards that tell you he assembled the court without you, hours past sunset, and made a display of cutting down his own kin for your sake. ruthless, they tell you, savage, lest there be any doubt in his affections for you.
he comes back to your shared bedchamber without a drop of crimson on his clothes, but the satisfied air about him and the heavy drum of bloodlust you can see in his eye tell you that your information is correct. still, you greet him casually and donât bring up your discontent as he removes his blindfold and makes himself comfortable on the bed, unabashedly peering at you while you sit at your vanity pretending to ready yourself for sleep. heâs silent with his staring, and you are silent as well, busy ruminating on how youâre feeling until you come to the conclusion that the only action of his which has sparked your ire is that he has chosen not to share them with youâno, youâre not bothered by his barbaric display, but rather that he did it without informing you. with your opinion found, you are ready to initiate the conversation.
âso?â you begin casually, gaze flitting up to meet his eye through the mirror. âare the conspirators dead, then?â
at first he gives no response, but when you turn in your seat to face him he rises to stand and strides over to you. lacing his fingers with yours, he pulls you to your feetâholds you close, leans down to press his forehead to yours.
âcanât get anything past you, hm? not with your brain.â
âwell, are they?â
âyes. of course. theyâve hardly earned the title of conspirators frankly, not with that pitiful display.â
âmm.â you purse your lips and pull away, turning your back on him. âlovely to know that youâd accept my death if it were at the hands of a competent man.â
he follows you swiftly, eases his arms around your waist and rests his chin in the crook of your neck. his tone is easy, lightâamused, perhaps. âi donât believe i said anything of the sort.â
âi do not find this amusing, my king.â despite your tone, you reach up to thread your fingers through his hair, drawing a contented noise from him which he buries into your nape. âiâm displeased by you.â
âare you, now?â his lips quirk against your skin, and he shifts, his whole body moving so that he can trace kisses along your jaw. âiâll simply have to please you, my queen.â
âsatoru.â the name makes him pause. you tighten your hold on his hair, pull him to rest against your shoulder again in an attempt to halt him. âyou killed your kin for me and attempted to hide it. did you truly think i wouldnât find out?â
ânot this quickly,â he grumbles, petulant, entirely unsuitable for a king who had just slit the throat of his own cousin before an audience.
âpeople chatter, especially when you require the attendance of the entire court. but since we are being honest, i knew of the whole ordeal the moment it happenedâi do believe i was made aware of the poisoning before you were, my husband. so tell me, why did you torture a man for a week and choose not to inform your wife? why did you so courteously invite my companions to witness this execution but neglect to extend that invitation to me?â
he doesnât speak for a moment. his breath comes hot against your neck, not quite a sigh but certainly a deep breathâthen he turns his face into your hand, leaves a fleeting kiss against your palm, and lifts his head.
âthey need to learn, hm? how would they have learned if iâd let this go?â his eyes are manic, the closest youâve seen to what theyâd been that nightâyet the moment they meet yours they soften, reverence seeping in. he stands to his full height behind you, hand coming beneath your chin to tilt your face upward so that he can loom over you and press a kiss to your brow; heâs gentle with you, but the steel at the core of his tone is more than palpable. âi wonât show mercy, certainly not when it comes to those who wish to harm you. you cannot ask me to be forgiving with such things.â
you realize with those words that he believes youâre balking at the brutality, that he thinks you timid and soft. he thinks you donât know what he does to maintain his power, as if youâre not intimately aware of the monster heâs had to becomeâas if you hadnât come face-to-face with it, with his blade.
you think you probably shouldnât be as endeared as you are. you certainly shouldnât turn around, wrap your arms around his neck, and tug him down into a real kiss to reward his actions, yet you still do. itâs addicting how quickly he melts to your affections; you know how intimidating his size must be to so many but itâs impossible for you to fear it when heâd drop to his knees for you at a single word.
when you pull away he doesnât let goâhe whines at you, a wordless protest, and buries his head into your shoulder to nip at your skin.
âiâm not angry with you for refusing mercy,â you mutter to him, âiâm angry with you for lying to me. i am your queen, your partner. you will not do this again, you will tell me the next time you intend to cut down a man in my name.â
he pulls back and opens his mouth, eyes wide, but you cut him off by lunging upward to peck at the corner of his lips.
âitâs in your best interest to comply, husband. you cannot hide things from me.â
âi know, wife.â his sigh is love-struck. âiâm a fool to have tried.â
usurper!gojo masterlist
#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x you#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#mine.đ§#char.đ§ gojo#usurper!gojo
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56 ValiDavyn
(prompt from here)
56. Human shield.
ocs: vali, davyn (original). 1050 words.
Years as a soldier had made Vali a painfully light sleeper. These days, it tended to be a curse. He was a long way from muddy battlefields, and well past the time where he needed to be this alert. Life in the palace was pleasantly boring, and waking up at every whistle of wind through a cracked window or footstep from a servant in the early morning just left him feeling tired all day.
Even so, the creak of a floorboard in the sitting chamber beyond has him waking to alertness quickly. Davyn is plastered to his back, skin on sweaty skin. The fire had long since burned out, but Vali had always run hot, and the blankets on the king's bed were thick and plentiful.
Another creak has him angling his head to listen more closely. A glance out the window shows it's too dark for it to be a servant coming through to start preparing for Davyn's morning routine, and it's too far into summer to bother with re-lighting the fire for warmth during the night, either. So who was out there?
He gently probes his elbow back into Davyn's ribs. "Davyn," he whispers. Predictably, nothing happens. He'd had the luxury of growing up inside the palace, born as the heir to a crown. Safety was second nature to him, guaranteed by the blood and sweat of others. He didn't wake up at the slightest noise, mind racing and telling him there was a threat just beyond the door, no matter how unlikely that was.
He elbows a little harder, prompting a displeased grunt from the man behind him. "Stop that," Davyn mumbles, barely awake. "Go back to sleep."
"Why would someone be in your rooms right now?" Vali asks, keeping his voice low enough that the canopy around the bed would keep it from traveling beyond the door.
"I'm asking myself the same thing. You're going to stop getting an invitation here if you wake me up all the time." Despite his words, his grip around Vali's waist tightens as he nuzzles his face into the back of his neck.
Whatever pithy reply that might have been sitting on Vali's tongue dies as the door opens soundlessly, and he slowly shifts to try to catch a glimpse.
His hopes that it was just a misguided servant are dashed as the darkened figure creeps around the room towards Davyn's side of the bed. The sliver of moonlight that made it through the window glints off the polished metal of a blade as they go, and Vali's instincts kick in fast.
Their positioning is awkward, but Vali is still strong enough to leverage his weight to flip Davyn over, putting himself between the would-be assassin and the king. The manhandling is enough to properly wake Davyn up, but his indignant cry is only background noise as Vali attempts to apprehend their assailant and untangle himself from the sheets.
If this were his own room, there would be a dagger in the bedside table, but it wasn't, so he has to make do with trying to guess where his opponent's hands are in the low-light. He whipps his hand out with a viper's speed, grabbing their off-hand in a vice grip to yank them down and try to knock them off balance. He's successful in that much, at least, but they're persistent, using the close quarters to swing their sword towards him.
And if he couldn't feel Davyn at his back, he would be able to duck down and out of the way. But as things stand, a prince-consort is worth a lot less than a king.
He shifts only enough to keep the stab from being immediately fatal, leaning into the blade where it punctures him below the ribs so he can reach out to the assassin's belt to grab the dagger hanging there. The pain is blinding, but his movements are familiar enough that instinct carries the short blade out of its sheathe and past the assassin's gorget, stabbing down into their neck and sending them stumbling backwards. The sword rips out of Vali's torso as they go, and he feels his blood gush out of the wound, hot against bare skin.
"Fuck," he hears behind him, and he's a little afraid to look. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. That's notâyou'reâVali." His voice is a curious mix of sleep-thick and shaking with fear, and it's a combination Vali could have gone his whole life without hearing.
"Breathe, Davyn," he orders, hissing in pain as he presses one hand against the wound to try to staunch the blood flow. Carefully, he reaches around his back to see if it had gone all the way through. It hadn't, which is something of a blessing. He uses the dagger to cut off a corner of the once pristine white sheet, grunting as he presses it into the wound and packs it as well as he can before he stands, letting out a tight breath to steady himself as the wave of dizziness passes. He can stand. He can move. Good, good. Probably not for long, but he'd deal with that when it came. Now wasn't the time to slow down, in any case.
"By the blood, Vali, don't do that, fuck," Davyn is physically shaking when Vali turns to look at him, face pale. His hesitant hands are hovering in the air between them, afraid to reach out, and his eyes are darting between Vali's face, the makeshift bandages that are already alarmingly crimson, and the body on the ground behind them. "You need to lay down, and we need to get you help, andâ"
Vali leans forwards, gritting his teeth against the way it tugs at his wound, dropping the dagger onto the bed. He grabs a hold of both of Davyn's cheeks, smearing blood onto his soft skin. "Listen to me. They walked into your bedchambers with zero resistance. Whoever did this? They had the guards let them in. Do you understand?"
"Howâ"
"It doesn't matter. Do you trust me?"
His eyes flash back down, and Vali gently shakes him to get his attention again.
"Yes, I trust you," Davyn says, shaky and afraid but earnest. "I'm with you."
"Good. Because we need to check on your sisters now."
#original oc writing?? on MY blog? its more likely than youd think#this ended up way longer than i thought it would OOPS#i love these two... sorry for stabbing you vali <3#is this whump? i don't know. it's tense though!!#vali#davyn#my writing#answered
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Amusing
Dark Urge x Gortash, first meeting
Word count: 794
Warning: blood, blades
Disclaimer: these characters are not my own, they belong to Larian Studios and Baldurâs Gate 3.
Feedback is always appreciated!
ââââââââââââââ
I hold my blade to his throat, pressing it into his flesh and earning a delicious bead of blood. The scent of his scarlet is heady, and I momentarily lose focus, having to shake my head to clear my senses. âYouâll tell me what I wish to know, and I will consider letting you walk away.â
He presents his hands to me, seemingly unperturbed by the knife. âIf you are who I believe you to be, Iâll tell you everything.â
Iâve only been in the city for about a year, rekindling my fatherâs following within the city walls as Sarevok continues to flounder. Father had told me I could rid myself of him whenever I no longer had a need. I almost dispatched him within the first tendays, but as I quickly gathered followers for father, I grew tired of baptizing the unholy assassins in blood and gave the task to the old man. It kept him out of my way, made him feel useful. Word must spread more quickly in Baldurâs underbelly than even I anticipated, since this smuggler was asking about me. Not the cult, but me. âHave your inquiries dug up so little that you donât have a description of who you seek, or are you so simpleminded that you just donât recognize me?â
The pile of rags down the alleyway begins to stir, the creature underneath attempting to slink away. Stupid. Always so stupid. The smuggler notices them too, his eyes moving away from me momentarily to track the movement. Disrespectful. I grimace, a flicker of guilt, before pulling another blade from my person with my free hand and with a turn of my wrist send it into the creature, the noise it makes confirms its a killing blow before it crumples to the floor.
The admiration is evident on the arms dealerâs face, as his lips part in a smile. âYou are formidable, even more impressive in person than the whispers about you led me to believe.â
âEmpty praise and idle chatter is a waste of my time.â I turn the blade, pressing its wide side hard into his throat, two thin lines joining the first.
âFair enough. I merely wished to meet you and discuss, perhaps without a blade at my neck, a mutually beneficial partnership,â his voice is still calm, his expression nothing but confident and friendly. What a smug bastard. Still, my interest is piqued.
I remove the blade, but donât step away from him just yet, an errant desire to lick the blood from his neck. It swells within me, strange and unnatural, and I find myself leaning closer to do so. I pivot my urge and run my thumb against his skin, swiping at all three lines, collecting and smearing the deep red beads and lick him off of me, savoring his taste, the sweet metallic mixed with the saltiness of his skin. Here his eyes flash in surprise as he watches me. Heâs disgusting, I can almost see his thoughts turn untoward.
I watch his reaction as I repeat the motion, my thumb sliding along his neck, the crimson staining my skin, and my tongue licking it off, overplaying a little for him. Men are all the same, driven by the things in their pants rather than the brains in their heads. Still, he tastes like fine wine, and when I reach for him a third time, he grabs me by my wrist, stilling me. âI think thatâs enough, donât you?â
Cocky. Confident. Delusional if he thinks he is my equal. I step away finally, giving him his space and he drops his grip on me. My hand twitches at my side, itches to put my blade in his belly for laying a hand on me, wishes to cut his hand off for his insolence. I assess him from top to bottom, a predator deciding if theyâre hungry for another kill just yet or not.
I decide not, as I already made one sacrifice to father tonight, even if it wasnât intentional. Too many and we will raise alarm before we are ready to sow chaos, too little and father grows displeased. I turn away from him, glancing over my shoulder as I move to pull my blade from the homeless creature without bothering to look at them. âIâll find you if I desire it.â
I feel his eyes on my back as I stalk further into the alley. He calls out after me, âSo, thatâs a solid possibility then?â
Insolent. Ostentatious. Conceited. Arrogant. He repulses me. Yet, as I make my way to the underground, I find myself smiling to myself. It was the most entertaining interaction Iâve had in days. I write only âAmusing Manâ in my journal and the date.
Part two here
#bg3#enver gortash#lord enver gortash#lord gortash#bg3 dark urge#durgetash#writing#fanfic#gortash x durge#bg3 durge#baldur's gate 3#gortash smut#dark urge#knifeplay#kinda sorta#the very beginning#blood#licky licky#big words whoa
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Roland made a quiet noise of sympathy. It was true, Nahim did have quite a mess to clean up given how poorly Marcellino had operated. "Personally I always think there's time." Roland couldn't help interjecting that though he sobered a little as Nahim mentioned not being ready to move on. Roland understood that quite well, though he again seemed a little taken aback that Nahim had brought it up so boldly. "It...wasn't." He took a hurried sip of his drink after the confirmation. It hadn't been easy at all and he was paying for it now, given how Rhys was still keeping him at arm's length in spite of all the effort he was putting in. Still, he hoped that was nearly at an end and he'd come to terms wtih it all anyway. Roland had no desire to elaborate, especially not with Nahim who he hardly knew.
The other councilman went on about Marcellino's reaction to the assassination attempts and Roland was vaguely amused. "I suppose that's not the worst idea though it didn't turn out that way." Apparently, Marcellino could think occasionally, what a surprise. The grin and the elaboration about how Marcellino had actually wanted to be targeted in a bizarre way drew a chuckle from Roland. "I can believe it of him. He should've counted himself lucky. It was hardly enjoyable having to constantly look over my shoulder for months at a time." The attack itself had been fairly traumatic, too. Nahim finally settled and Roland turned more to face him. His expression darkened a little at the mention of security measures. "It certainly should have been and we did enact security measures though they obviously weren't enough. I advocated for much stronger methods of interrogation and security but was roundly shouted down." He made a face at that, since the memory clearly displeased him. It had mostly been Raphael, but still. It was never fun to be discounted like that.
when the round of questioning was turned on him, nahim gave a quiet laugh. âoh, no. no. definitely not. not back home, not here. thanks to marcellinoâs inability to perform effectively as a councilman, most of my free time will be spent fixing his mistakes. there simply isnât time to entertain any romantic connections. theyâre such fickle things and we â collectively speaking for the sake of the others back in valletta, of course â only lost marcellino a very short time ago in the grand scheme of things. i donât know if iâm ready to move on from him yet. kudos to you for finding the strength to try again, though. i canât imagine it was an easy process for you.â whenever heâd observed alix and roland in the past, the two couldnât have looked more in love and though the concept of love escaped nahim entirely, whatever it was had clearly existed between the two of them. the youngest dasior had seemed to rise to the challenge of filling the alix-shaped void in rolandâs heart both exceptionally well and exceptionally quickly. interesting.
hiding his laughter with a well-timed glance elsewhere, nahim offered a brief nod in response. âhe certainly cared. fleetingly, but there was concern there. he was trying to discern if there was any kind of geographical pattern to the attacks so that he could preemptively strike should they wish to darken the palazzoâs doorstep,â glancing back at roland, nahim allowed a genuine grin to settle into place as he laughed again. âyou should have seen his face when word reached us about the attacks reaching the castle. heâd been hiding away in valletta like a madman until then, pacing throughout the palazzo like a thing possessed at all hours of the day, muttering all sorts of plans to himsef. when it turned out that theyâd skipped malta entirely, he was incandescent. he felt slighted by it. can you believe that?â chuckling to himself at the memory of the furious outbursts that had followed the report, nahim wandered back towards roland to finally settle on the opposite end of the couch, bringing his knees up to his chest to watch roland over them. âiâm glad itâs all taken care of now. i canât recall the last time the council slipped up quite so badly. where were the security measures? why werenât they enacted sooner? should that not have been the priority here following the first assassination?â
#c: nahim#nahim1#ignore claudia and the page turning#just his irritated expression really#not actually at nahim just the past situation
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For Rowaelin Month day 17
 âA sick dayâ
CW- PTSD, mentions of violence
Aelin considered herself a fortunate person.
She has survived genocide, her family's murders, losing loved ones, slavery, torture, and the Great War. Now she is a queen, a mother, a beloved Mate.
Her life had changed since those bleak days where she'd wondered if she would ever escape captivityâthe days when Aelin didn't know if she would ever be free or find love again. Every morning she woke up curled into Rowan's side, and while she drank her morning tea, Aelin could count on her young daughter snuggling into her lap.
Yes, she was swamped most days, but that was normal for a queen. But even the moments between boring meetings brimmed with life and laughter. Rowan's hand on her thigh beneath the table. Fenrys' theatrics when conversation spiraled off-topic. And even the hardened lords thought it was hilarious when their three-year-old princess barged into councils and demanded her mother's attention.
Her family gathered for dinners at the end of every day. Aelin's little family, Fenrys, Emrys, and Malakai were the regular attendees. Aedion, Lysandra, Elide, and Lorcan joined when they were present. It was a time reserved for family only, and it was by far Aelin's favorite part of the day.
Aelin had a good life now. Her family was growing, and her country thrived beneath her rule.
So it always took her by surprise when a bad day came.
She had woken up fine. Delly had slammed open the chamber door with a gust of wind and squirmed herself between her and Rowan in the early morning. Usually, Aelin treasured the moments when her daughter joined them, but being pregnant again had taken a toll on her sleep.
Rowan tried to stop their child before she entirely collapsed onto Aelin but was a moment too slow. Delly flopped onto her mother's chest in a disarray of wrinkled nightgown and golden curls. Soft sobs were sputtering out of the tiny figure.
I'm sorry. Rowan whispered into her thoughts. He knew how hard pregnancy was on her and took his mate's comfort very seriously. It troubled him that their toddling daughter woke Aelin so abruptly.
Aelin blinks the sleep from her eyes and sends him a happy smile to assure him everything is fine.
"What's wrong, Dell?" Aelin soothes a hand up her baby's quaking form.
Adelia sniffles harder, unable to talk through the tears. She'd started to have bad dreams in recent weeks, but never had she been so inconsolable.
Aelin shifts as Adelia's arms tighten uncomfortably around her bump. Rowan sees her discomfort and reaches around to pull Dell to him instead, but it is met with resistance.
"No," Adelia finally wails. "Mama. I want Mama."
Rowan frowns. Adelia was a daddy's girl to the bone, and this was the first time she'd ever refused to go to him. Their daughter squeezes harder and burrows her face into Aelin's torso.
"Dell," Rowan leans next to her and whispers, a cool breeze brushing against her flushed cheek. "What's wrong little love?"
Adelia lifts her head, and Aelin's heart contracts painfully. Her cheeks are red and swollen from the intensity of her crying, little sobs still stumbling from her chest as Rowan settles her down enough to speak.
"Mama was gone. She was hurt, and she couldn't see me." Dell sniffles, her green eyes glassy. "Can you see me, Mama?"
Aelin tugs her daughter in closer, unable to stand the sight of her so sad. "Yes, of course, I can. I'm right here."
"You were in a box. She wouldn't let me see you," Adelia whimpers in a small voice. "She told me she was gonna keep you. I don't want you to go, Mama."
Aelin's face blanches. It wasn't possible. Her little baby couldn't possibly have seen what was coming to her mind. She looks at Rowan, and his face is pinched with worry.
"It's not real, Dell." Rowan uses a thumb to wipe the tears off her cheek.
Adelia flinches. "Uncle Ress told me it was. He told me Mama had got stollen and put into a box by the bad lady and that she should have stayed there."
Aelin's heart stops. Nausea crawls up her throat, and Rowan tugs Adelia away just in time for her to crawl out of bed and gag into a potted plant. The sickness grips Aelin, the shudders in her arms only growing worse with her daughter's mumbled cries.
"Daddy, I want Mama to stay here." Rowan hushes her and murmurs quiet reassurances. "Don't let her get stollen."
Ress had said that? In front of her daughter? Aelin tries to close her eyes against the visions creeping into her mind. The places her scars used to be ache, and her hands pulse with the remembered pain of reconstruction.
The baby in her womb squirms under its mother's stress, and Aelin throws up again.
She should have stayed there.
Cairn brings the hammer down onto her frail knees, the ringing of cracking bone splits the air.
She should have stayed there.
Aelin opens her eyes to endless darkness. Sweet smoke wafts through invisible holes and sends her to sleep- leaving her mind vulnerable to Maeve's manipulations.
She should have stayed there.
More and more memories swarm behind her eyelids until a pair of grounding arms wrap around her shoulders.
"Fireheart, you are home. You are safe. Can you breathe with me?" Rowan sighs loudly behind her shoulder, and Aelin tries to force her own breath out.
Breathing in is harder, but Rowan's scent fills her nose and loosens the binds on her lungs. Soon, Aelin is doing the exercises independently, and Rowan nuzzles his face into her neck. His hands snake under her bump and lift some of the pressure, easing more of her tension.
"There you are," Rowan kisses her cheek as Aelin comes back around. "Are you okay?"
Aelin shakes her head and sinks into his arms. "Can you take me back to bed?"
Her legs feel like jelly, and her stomach is weak from turning. Rowan lifts her with ease. His arms are warm, and he murmurs sweet nothings into her ear as he carries his mate back to their bed.
"Adelia?" Aelin looks around for their daughter.
Rowan pulls back the duvet and reveals the sleepy from nestled right into the middle of the pillows. "She fell back asleep quickly."
"I can't believe Ress told her those things," Aelin can feel a tear slipping down her face. Ress had never forgiven her for her days as Celaena. Darrow had grown to accept her, but Ress never warmed up to having Aelin as his queen despite her efforts.
She hadn't realized the extent his hatred went.
Rowan scowls as he lays Aelin down next to their daughter. "Ress is young and foolish. I have forgiven a lot of his hostility and ignored most of his juvenile antics, but Aelin, I can't forgive this."
"He should never have said those things to Dell." Ress's words linger in her head. She tried to do right by her title and live up to her parent's legacy. Aelin took a lot of pride in listening to the demands of her people and tending to their problems personally. But the odds of Ress being the only one to feel this way are slim. Did they wish she'd never returned? Was she arrogant to take the crown just because it was her inheritance? She'd never had the formal training as ruler and relied a lot on Rowan to help manage foreign affairs. Despite the loss of her fire, many still feared her and considered her a murderer. No matter how hard she tried, Aelin's history as Adarlan's Assassin proceeded her.
Tears burn Aelin's eyes, and Rowan's scowl deepens. "He should have never spoken of you like that at all."
Aelin shakes her head, "It's his right to think what he wants. Maybe he has a point."
"No." Rowan growls, and Dell flinches in her sleep. Taking a deep breath, Rowan softens his voice. "He's wrong, Aelin. Ress was wrong to scare Dell, and he has no right to demean everything you've sacrificed. You've suffered for your people."
"I closed the lock because I had to Rowan," Aelin argues. "That doesn't automatically make me a good queen. What if I'm failing?"
Rowan pulls their duvet up to Aelin's chin, and Dell instinctively snuggles to her mother's side. Her daughter was a leach for warmth, and Aelin could feel her remaining flames writhing in her veins agitated.
"You are a wonderful ruler, Fireheart." Rowan bends down and kisses her lips reverently. "I've met my fair share of emperors, kings, and queens. None of them have given up so much to better the lives of their people. They care for you in return."
Rowan steps away from the bed, and Aelin makes a displeased noise. "Where are you going so early in the morning."
"I'm awake now. I feel like a flight through Oakwald. Go to sleep, and when you wake up, I'll bring my females breakfast," Rowan pulls on a plain white tunic. "Sleep, love. You both need your rest."
Rowan can read her too well. Aelin can feel her eyes drooping despite how much she wants to deny it. "Very well, but there better be tea and pastries."
As Aelin drifts back to sleep, she swears that a mischievous smile passes across her mate's face.
~~~
"Aelin," Maeve twirls a lock of blonde hair in her fingers. "Where are the keys?"
Cairn twists the blade in her thigh again, and Aelin screams, "screw yourself."
Aelin writhes beneath the pain and the dark queen's gaze. Her torturer goes to twist the blade again, but Maeve holds up a hand. "Wait. There is a smarter way to go about this."
"I won't tell you anything," Aelin gasps, the blood seeping from her thigh pools onto the table. "There is nothing you can do."
"Not even to spare the princess?" Maeve smiles as the cell door opens. Connall walks into the room, a squirming girl in his arms.
"Let me go," the girl screams, and the air in the room turns frigid. Her blonde hair whips around as she twists and fights. The little girl's head turns, and she freezes when she catches sight of Aelin. "Mama?"
"Adelia?" Aelin asks, confused. "You can't be here. You aren't supposed to be here." With renewed energy, Aelin thrashes against her bonds and bares her teeth at Maeve.
Maeve takes Adelia from Connall and strokes her hair. "Such a pretty one."
"This isn't real," Aelin hisses. "I wasn't pregnant when you took me. Adelia was born in Terresan."
Maeve hums a sympathetic note, "It seems you're confused." Aelin fights as the dark queen sits with a frozen Adelia in her lap. "Begin again, Cairn."
A hot iron is lain against Aelin's neck, and Adelia's screams rattle the stone chamber.
~~~
Aelin wakes with a gasp. Her chest is seizing in uncontrollable fits, and little hands cup the sides of her face.
"Mama?" Adelia's concerned face hovers over Aelin's. "Why are you crying?"
Relief washes over her at the sight of her daughter, safe and sound. She tries to take deeper breaths, but her body fights against her. The baby in her womb squirms uncomfortably. Aelin feels guilt that they are so subject to her moods. She tries to open her mouth to speak, consol her frightened daughter, but Aelin can't get any words out.
"Daddy!" Dell screams, frightened tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.
Rowan bursts through the door, "Dell?"
Adelia sniffles and kisses Aelin's face sadly, "Daddy, what's wrong with Mama?"
Aelin grabs at her chest, trying to ease the tightness there. She was scaring her daughter. What kind of mother would do that? Rowan sits beside her, and a cool wind goes up her nose and fills her lungs.
"Fireheart," Rowan lifts Adelia and sits beside her. "Is this a sick day?"
It was the code they'd come up with for the days when the past came back to haunt them. When the turmoil in their mind forces their bodies to rebel, and they can't seem to put on their usual facades. It used to shame Aelin, the days she couldn't rise from bed and do her duty. But her mate's unwavering love soon cracked that lie and eased her burden. Rowan had convincing arguments. Aelin's people needed their queen at her best, and on sick days, she wasn't able to give that to them. Their court was strong. They wouldn't allow Terresan to fall while she recovered. Aelin deserved time to heal.
Rowan must have been able to tell that she wouldn't be able to settle herself this time as his winds continued their push and pull in her chest. "Yes," she rasps dejectedly.
Dell buries her face into Rowan's shoulder. Her mate rests a hand on the side of her face and soothes her cheek. "To whatever end, Aelin. We will get through this just as we do everything else."
Rowan kisses the side of Dell's face. "Little love, do you think you can go to the kitchens and have someone bring Mama tea?"
That fae instinct to fuss rears its head in their child. Adelia perks up at the opportunity to do something useful. "Yes!"
Rowan sets her on the floor, and she takes off in a blur of untamed hair and swishing skirts. They wince as a gust of wind slams the doors of their chambers against the wall.
"She's a handful," Rowan talks, aware of the soothing effect his voice has on her. "But we always knew our children would be. I can't wait to see what kind of chaos our son brings into our lives."
Aelin wraps her arms around him as the remnants of her dreams finally fade away. "You think it's a boy?"
"I know so," Rowan pinches her side, and Aelin smiles. He'd also been confident that their first child would be a girl. His smugness after Adelia's birth was unbearable.
"Rowan," Aelin whispers. "Can we just lay here today?"
"I could never deny you anything," Rowan leans against their headboard and kicks off his shoes. "You don't need to ask, Aelin. It's okay to take time for yourself."
"What if I'm just proving Ress right?" The insecurity slips from her lips before she can stop them. "What if there is someone more capable?"
"Ress won't be a problem anymore," Rowan rests a hand against her bump, and the baby withing kicks at it, bringing a smile to his face.
Aelin narrows her eyes, "What have you done?"
"Nothing that anyone will blame me for," Rowan assures. "He would be in a lot more trouble if the rest of the court learned what he said in front of Dell. Ress should be grateful I didn't do a lot worse."
Aelin sighs, "I don't understand why I can't just let it all go. Why do I allow myself to be so haunted?"
"It's not that simple," Rowan shakes his head. "I'm hundreds of years old, and no matter how many years pass, there are things from my past that haven't healed. The mind is different from the body, and sometimes it takes longer for it to recover. There is nothing wrong with that. You gave up everything for the people you loved."
"Because I had to," Aelin contradicts.
A hardness comes over Rowan, "because no one else could."
Rowan rolls over her body into a plank and looks deep into her eyes. "No one else that day would have made the same sacrifices out of love. Not even me. I was too selfish to let you go. You gave up everything, and by the strength in your soul, you came home to me. In all my decades, I have never met someone so remarkable, and I never will again. Take as many years as you need to recover, Aelin. This world owes a debt to you, and I will make sure it pays. You deserve every happiness."
His hand threads through one of hers and drags it up to rest on the bump between them.
Happiness.
Dell darts back into their room, a cup of tea sloshing in her hands as she runs. "Daddy, I put extra sugar in it. Uncle Fen is coming with more cups, but I made this one special."
Rowan pulls away from her, and the laughter on his face is contagious. Â
Aelin smiles and accepts the tea from Dell's hands. She even manages a few sips without cringing from the sweetness. Fenrys follows behind her shortly and sets a fresh cup covertly on her bedside table.
There may be hard days, Aelin realizes as her family gathers around her, but the love they showed her every day made it all worth it.
#throne of glass#rowaelin#rowaelinmonth#rowan whitethorn#aelin galathynius#fanfic#tog#angst#rowan x aelin#ptsd#sick day#baby fic#canon#sjm#sjmaas
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Childhood Friends - Fluff
For @animebookworm16
It got kind of long and Iâm not really sure it still counts as fluff, but hereâs my piece for @maribat-angst-fluff-april, prompt 25, Childhood Friends.
Damian Al Ghul-Wayne was five years old the first time he met a girl his age. And in typical League of Assassins style, he went for efficiency by meeting ten at once.
âThese are your betrothed,â Talia told him. âAll but one will be dead by your twelfth birthday. You will marry the sole survivor on your eighteenth birthday and produce an Heir to carry on the great legacy of the League of Assassins.â
Nine of the girls heard the words without so much as a flinch. The last stared in shock at Talia, then broke into tears.
âQuiet, Marinette,â Talia hissed.
âNo,â she yelled defiantly, tears streaming down her cheeks. âI want my mama!â
Talia backhanded her and she fell to the floor with a yelp.
Damian surveyed the girl â Marinette â with distaste.
âMother, surely you donât consider this sniveling coward worthy to compete for my hand?â
âHer mother, Sabine Cheng, was our best assassin for years before she turned traitor. I suppose sheâs lost her touch if she raised such a weak daughter.â Talia shrugged elegantly. âNo matter, if she turns out to be useless, weâll ship her mutilated corpse back to Sabine as a reminder of what happens when you cross the League.â
She waved the girls away. âTo your training now.â
Damian watched as Marinette sniffled and followed the other girls out the door.
She wonât last a week.
He had no idea how wrong he was.
.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng was five years old the first time she won a fight. And in typical Dupain-Cheng fashion, she did so in the most unpredictable way possible.
âYouâre going down, pigtails,â shouted a pretty brunette, charging at Marinette with a sword that was as tall as she was.
With a startled shriek, Marinette darted away. She hated how behind she was here. Back home, she was good at everything â reading circle, art class, tussles when the teacherâs back was turned. Here, it felt like she was constantly playing catch-up.
Not to mention, the constant threat of death was not fun.
Skidding around a corner of the labyrinth arena, she tripped over a protruding stone and fell to the ground. The brunette grinned viciously, advancing towards her.
Marinette smiled nervously. âCanât we talk this out?â
âNot a chance, shortie,â said the brunette.
Marinette glanced around frantically.
I donât want to die!
She reached for a rock, a stick, anything that could help her fight, but came up with only a handful of sand. With a pleading glance heavenward, she flung it into the brunetteâs face and lurched to her feet, grinning when the girl had to stop to get the grit out of her eyes.
Taking off into the labyrinth of passages, she nearly stumbled again, this time over a nearly buried metal object.
She shifted away the dirt surrounding it and smirked. âFinally, a weapon I know how to use.â
Ten minutes later, the watching League members straightened in surprise as the smallest and weakest of Damianâs betrotheds utterly decimated her opponent.
With a frying pan.
.
âWhat are you doing here?â
The two children spoke in unison, glaring daggers at one another.
âI always come here,â Marinette said. âItâs my drawing spot.â
âThe vents are my domain, Dupain-Cheng,â Damian said. âGet out.â
Two yearsâ worth of resentment and anger simmered beneath Marinetteâs skin.
 Drawing is the last thing I have of home. I wonât let him take it from me.
âNo.â
Damian looked thunderstruck and Marinette couldnât keep the smirk off her face.
âI am Heir to the Demon! You will obey me!â
âYou may be Heir to the Demon, but right now youâre also a kid skipping classes,â Marinette argued. âAnd if you make me leave, Iâll tell Talia exactly where you go when youâre not in class.â
Ha, take that, you tyrant!
Damian froze. Marinette watched as emotions overtook his face â anger, resentment, then acceptance.
âFine,â he grumbled.
Marinette smiled and returned to her sketchbook â which wasnât really a sketchbook, just some loose papers sheâd tucked into her history book.
A few minutes later, Damian peered over her shoulder. âWhat are you doing?â
âDrawing,â she said, holding out a few of her older sketches, the ones she wouldnât mind losing if Damian decided to rip them. âThereâs your mother fighting, cook making soup, the sunset from this other spot in the vents â actually, that oneâs pretty bad because I didnât have any colors.â
Damian stared at the drawing of his mother.
âIâm keeping this,â he announced.
Well, at least he didnât tear it up.
The next week, when Marinette arrived at her drawing spot, Damian was already there. With an annoyed grunt, he shoved a sketchbook and colored pencils into her hands.
Marinette looked between him and the supplies in confusion. âWhatâs this for?â
âTeach me how to draw.â
Marinette bit her lip, looking longingly at the colored pencils. Then, she pushed them back towards Damian.
âI want you to give me weapons training. As often as I teach you drawing.â
I may be naturally talented at combat, but the other girls have been training their entire lives. I need to catch up.
Damian eyed her suspiciously. âThatâs against the rules.â
âSo? Are you scared?â
âNever.â
âThen itâs a deal?â
âItâs a deal.â
.
Damian lunged, making a displeased noise when his quarry danced out of his reach.
âYouâre slow today, Dami,â Marinette teased. âLosing your touch?â
Marinette was no longer the scared little girl sheâd been at five, or even at seven. Sheâd thrown herself into her training with single-minded determination and two years of training with Talia by day and Damian by night had made her a formidable â and snarky â combatant.
âNever,â Damian replied. His next attack nearly threw her off-balance.
With a grunt, Marinette recovered her footing and countered with a flurry of blows that would have left a lesser opponent dizzy.
Damian smirked, parrying each attack easily. âCompletely mediocre. Should I tell my mother that her protĂŠgĂŠ is slipping?â
Although heâd never admit it, Damian was proud of her. Sheâd gone from being the worst of the Leagueâs trainees to the only one able to keep up with him in a fight.
âMe? Slipping? Not a chance.â Marinette flipped backwards, knocking his weapon away. âHey, Damian?â
âYes, Marinette?â He scooped up his katana, readying himself for her next move.
âThe floor is lava.â
With a startled intake of air, he leaped onto the nearest table.
âReally?â he asked, half annoyed, half amused.
Marinette giggled, peering down at him from her spot in the ceiling rafters. âI thought we could use an extra challenge.â
Damian glanced up at her. âYou just like having the high ground.â
âTechnically speaking, itâs the high rafter,â she pointed out.
âEither way, it wonât prevent me from defeating you,â Damian said, pulling himself into the rafters.
At that moment, the door opened and they both immediately went still.
âDamian? Are you here?â
Marinette raised an eyebrow at him. âSkipping again?â she mouthed.
Damian shrugged in response.
Rolling her eyes, Marinette gestured to the vents behind him. âIâll meet you in the lower training rooms to finish our bout.â
âMarinette!â The teacher startled as she caught a glimpse of the pigtailed girl. âWhat are you doing up there?â
Effortlessly, the girl swung down from the ceiling, drawing the teacherâs attention away from Damianâs hiding place.
âJust improving my arm strength, Mistress Eva.â As she distracted his teacher with false information about his whereabouts, Damian climbed into the vents.
Marinette makes a surprisingly tolerable ally.
.
It didnât seem to matter how many people Marinette killed; it never got easier. Surrounded by the bodies of Deathstrokeâs traitors, she retched.
She was alone. Somehow, in the midst of the fight, sheâd gotten separated from the rest of the Leagueâs loyalists.
I need to get moving. Iâm an easy target right now.
With a shuddering breath, she climbed to her feet and made her way out of the compound and into the shadows. It was there, staring at the ruins of the Leagueâs strongest base, that the realization hit her.
âIâm free,â Marinette whispered, tears trickling down her face.
The Head of the Demon was dead, his followers scattered.
âI can finally go home.â
She ignored the voice in her mind that said her home was here, with the League, with Damian. She ignored the tightness in her chest at the thought of never seeing Damian again. She ignored the fear that he might already be dead.
The League kidnapped me. Talia abused me. Even if I managed to be happy here, I owe the Al Ghuls nothing. A vow of loyalty made under duress is no vow at all.
Her hands curled into fists.
And if they come for me again, Iâll be ready.
.
Damian scowled as their plane descended into Gotham.
âThis is imbecilic. I should be assisting you in decimating our enemies, not hiding like a frightened child.â
âDamian,â his motherâs voice was cold. âThis is not up for negotiation. You will stay here and train with your father.â
âYes, Mother,â he replied bitterly. A moment passed, then he tilted his head in thought. âBut what of my betrothed? If she is to be my equal, should she not train with me?â
Talia studied him carefully. âYou use the singular of betrothed,â she noted. âDespite the fact that three remain alive. I donât suppose youâd care to tell me which one you consider your wife-to-be?â
âTt. Your protĂŠgĂŠ, the Cheng girl, is the only one that even approaches competent. You know this.â
âI also know that you trained her separately â against my orders,â Talia said.
Damian nearly flinched. âAnd yet you didnât stop me.â
âI wonder if that was a mistake,â his mother said. âYou feel more for her than you should.â
âShe is an effective ally. That is all.â
âThen you wonât mind being separated from her for a while.â
âNot at all, Mother,â Damian lied.
.
âMarinette? Is that you?â Her mother looked as if sheâd seen a ghost.
Marinette smiled. âHello, Mama.â
Sabine reached out a shaking hand to cup her face. âHow are you here? We saw you die.â
âSabine, do you know where â â Tom dropped the pan of croissants. âMarinette?â
He jumped over the counter and raced to her. Marinette took a step back before her mind caught up with her body.
This is Papa, you idiot. Heâs not a threat.
She threw herself into his arms, shoving away her fears.
Twisting to face her mother, she said, âI donât know how my death was faked, but I never died. The League kidnapped me.â
Tomâs arms tightened around her.
âThe League?â Sabineâs face went pale. âWhat did they want with you?â
âThe usual,â Marinette said with a shrug. âRevenge on you for leaving and a capable assassin and potential wife for Damian if I turned out to be any good.â
âWhoâs Damian?â Tom asked with a frown.
Marinette grinned. âOh, Damianâs great! Heâs the Heir to the League, but heâs actually pretty okay for an assassin. He helped me get good enough to survive. You know, after I blackmailed and bribed him.â
âWhat?â
.
Meeting his father did not go the way Damian had imagined.
Talia always spoke of Bruce Wayneâs great intellect, his strength in combat, his determination in all things. She never mentioned his brainless playboy act, his absurd prohibition of killing, or his habit of taking in strays. Damian wasnât sure which one was most offensive, but he was incredibly disappointed in his father regardless.
He had to reassess after he saw Batman at work. When not purposely acting like a buffoon, Bruce Wayne was everything his mother had described and more, entirely deserving of Damianâs respect.
He set out to prove himself in his fatherâs eyes. It didnât go well. Whatever he did, it was the wrong thing. In any fight with the imposter sons, Damian was punished â even if he won. Assisting his father with Wayne Enterprises was met with an eye-roll and a request to stay away from Bruceâs office.
It should have made Damian angry but instead it hurt and Damian did not understand why.
And then his father was gone. Richard Grayson became Batman.
Damian became Robin. Finally.
And yet the triumph felt hollow.
Not to mention, it came with strings attached: âMurder is bad.â âJustice, not vengeance.â âRobin doesnât kill.â âProtect rather than avenge.â
Graysonâs teachings were imbecilic. And yet he had to follow them. His mother had yet to finish with the traitors.
He wondered where Marinette was, if she was undergoing similar training, if she fought the way he did to reign in the bloodlust. Considering how she had to hide her dislike of killing, how she helped heal her competitors, he thought probably not.
Slowly, things got easier. Grayson became tolerable. Damian learned to suppress the instinct, the muscle memory that said âkill or be killed.â He found an adoration for animals and learned to deal with his classmates. He finally began to understand why Grayson and his father valued life so highly. His father came back and he chose to deny the League. Wayne Manor became home.
On days when he struggled, he retreated to his room and the comfort of his sketchbook. And if a certain blue-eyed girl made an appearance every few pages, well, who would know but him?
.
Returning home did not go the way Marinette had imagined.
She knew it wouldnât be sunshine and roses, of course. But she hadnât expected the magnitude of the changes in her home, or in herself.
School was laughably easy. Marinette had the equivalent of several college degrees. Finding x and learning how to spell âearthquakeâ was a waste of her time. Instead, she spent class drawing and coming up with increasingly complex plans for fighting off the League should they try to kidnap her again.
She kept herself closed off from her classmates â she didnât know how sheâd ever called them friends. They were neutral parties at best â not one ever stood up for her against Chloe. Her parents encouraged them to give her classmates a chance, but the League had trained her well. Misplaced trust could kill. And Marinette had fought long enough for survival to know that dropping your guard was a death knell.
She hated hurting her parents though.
Though they tried to hide it, she saw the pain cross their faces when she flinched away from hugs. When she moved like an assassin rather than a child. When she gave away her stuffed animals. When she skipped family game night and spent her time training.
She hated hurting her parents. So she changed.
Marinette locked away her lethal grace, faking clumsiness and turning it into an art form. She hid her weapons, training only when her parents were asleep. She returned to family game nights; she initiated hugs. At school, she became bubbly and friendly again, though she trusted no one.
More than anything, she tried to atone. She sought out those in need and tried to help â whether by providing food, babysitting, or making them warm clothing. She discovered an interest in fashion design, but mostly stuck to making the essentials for those in need. She met a tiny floating bug named Tikki and became a superhero.
On days when she struggled, she retreated to her room and the comfort of her sketchbook. And if green eyes and a cocky smirk featured prominently in the book, well, who would know but her?
.
Damian frowned as he followed his brother into Wayne Enterprises.
"I don't understand why it's so important for me to be here."
"C'mon, Baby Bird!" Dick said. "You said you wanted to be more involved in the company!"
"I meant the business side of things," Damian said. "I have no interest in showing around a gaggle of unruly teenagers."
"You're a teenager too," Dick pointed out. "It'll be fun!"
Damian sniffed. "I'm an adult. And fun, really? Surely you don't truly believe that?"
Dick sighed. "Just give it a chance, okay? They seem like really great kids."
They walked into the lobby and Damian stopped short, eyes catching on long black hair and brilliant blue eyes.
"Marinette?"
.
In truth, Marinette wasn't all that excited about the Wayne Enterprises tour. The architecture was interesting, sure, but her class had a habit of making themselves a target and Bruce Wayne's patronage was not helping.
She gave it three days, at most, before they got in trouble with Gotham's Rouges.
Which meant she was on 'keep the class from dying' duty. Joy.
She kept her eyes and ears peeled, which meant that she heard the faint whisper of her name from an unfamiliar voice.
"Marinette?"
Forest-green eyes filled with far too much emotion had her breath catching in her throat.
"Damian?"
With obvious effort, the League's Heir pulled himself together. "Fancy meeting you here, Dupain-Cheng."
His voice. Oh, kwami, it should be illegal to look AND sound that good. Nope. Nope. Not doing this. He's an assassin, get your act together, Marinette.
"Al-Ghul." She was proud that her voice betrayed nothing. "I have to admit, I'm surprised to see you here. This doesn't seem like your scene."
She reached out for a handshake and was taken off guard when Damian kissed her hand instead. She blushed.
"It's Wayne now," Damian said. "I'm... no longer associated with the Al-Ghuls. Or their business."
He's not an assassin anymore? Yes! I knew you were a good person deep, deep down, Dami!
"Really? I broke ties with them several years ago myself."
See that, Damian? We're both good people. Good people that would be great toget - no! Bad Marinette!
Damian grinned. "In that case, I look forward to reconnecting. Perhaps after the tour?"
Oh, kwami, I'm doomed.
"I'd like that."
.
"What was that?" Dick asked in a low voice. "I've never seen you open up to someone so quickly."
With difficulty, Damian tore his gaze from Marinette.
Stars, she grew up gorgeous.
Damian smirked. "Don't be ridiculous, Grayson. I met Marinette over a decade ago."
I wonder, does she still consider our betrothal valid?
"Wait, so she's an assassin?" Grayson blanched. "Who is she here to kill? Who do I have to protect? Ugh! Why can't you ever have normal friends?"
"Relax," Damian chided. "She's an ex-assassin. Like me."
"That does not make me feel better. Who is she to you?"
Damian hummed in thought, running through years of teasing, fighting, and spending time together. "She was my first friend."
And maybe now something more.
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Good Morning, Or Good Night(PM)
Summary: AÂ sequal to this! How you would spend your nights and mornings with the the Port Mafia memebers.
Notes: Happy new year! Consider this my gift to you. You can see my Akutagawa favouritism here ahahh
Tag:Â come get your husbands @bakugobabydollâ, not a thrist post but I wrote for Tachihara just for you! (He is so hard to write *cries) @dragoning1â hereâs the second part if youâd like!
Warnings: Fluff and nightmare mentions, vague manga spoilers
Nakahara Chuuya
Bedtime: usually 11pm
No staying up late/all nighters the night before a mission!!
Other than honing his battle skills, Chuuya loves to drink the night away. You will have to tolerate at least champagne to be with him (A/N: I can only manage that. I am such a baby when it comes to alcohol related things)
If you are capable, sparring matches is also a good way to pass time with Chuuya. (Mori would be displeased with you two destroying the training grounds everyday but oh well)
He is not an alcoholic by any means, but it would be a lie to say he doesnât like wine. If itâs a weekday and the mall is open until late, you two could also go shopping. Hats, hats and lots of hats!!!
âDoes this one with a red ribbon look good on me, or do you like the other one better? Come on, help me decide!â
The Mafiosos donât have a 9-5 schedule, they would only need to work if there is a mission that requires their strength. Therefore Chuuya does not need to get up early everyday. So you two can stay in bed as long as you want on some days.
If you want to make breakfast, Chuuya would happily eat your food, even if it tastes terrible. (This makes how picky he is with restaurant food ironic) Or he would just order takeout, itâs not like he doesnât have the money.
Would definitely ask you to help pick out his outfit for the day!
Akutagawa RyĹŤnosuke
Bedtime:12pm, but he is willing to compromise
Like Chuuya, there is no way you can convince him to stay up the night before an important mission.
But other nights Akutagawa would begrudgingly do so if you insist. Be careful, if you leave him alone for too long he might fall asleep early!
He loves to watch antique tv shows , and would let you snuggle with him on the sofa while doing so.
Or if he is in a good mood, he would love to go to the museums with you incognito.
Hold him in bed, this poor boy gets nightmares from his traumas. Please pat his back and give him a warm cup of water if he is woken up by disturbing dreams.
âSorry I woke you up. No, it doesnât matter if you are a light sleeper or not. I disturbed your rest. But⌠thank you, for dealing with me.â
Since he took care of his sister before, Akutagawa is probably good at dealing with girlâs hair. I picture he would love to do lots of fancy hairstyles if your hair is long and smooth. Give him lots of praises, and you would have him blushing like a mad man.
Mornings with you is one of the few peaceful times in Akutagawaâs day, so even if he doesnât admit it, Akutagawa cherishes the moments when you are both working in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.
Make sure he eats and bathes! Somehow Akutawaga hates baths, so you will have to make sure he keeps himself clean or else...
Tachihara Michizo
Bedtime:12pm, that is what he says anyway
(Slight manga spoilers ahead!! You have been warned)
Join him for some target practice, or be his workout buddy in the gym.
I picture Tachihara to be a video-game lover, especially those violent ones where you just shoot every enemy to death(A/N: Sorry my knowledge in those kinds of games are lacking). So if you love them, you two can team up and beat every brutal game there is!
âBabe, good job over there! That shot on the enemy commender is brilliant. Letâs do the next level too, wait, itâs already bed time?â
Sometimes, if you woke up in the middle of the night, you would find him gone from the bed, but he would always return the next day. When you question where he has been, Tachihara would say it was an emergency mission for Black Lizards.
You two would prepare breakfast before going to your respective duties. Sometimes Tachiahra would try making a new dish but failing miserably , cursing while he cleans the mess up. Better not laugh at his missteps, or he might shut you up with kisses.
(These are bad but I tried my best, so please do not criticize too harshly!)
Bonus!Â
Akutagawa Gin
(A/N: I originally wanted to do the boys only, but I want to show some love to dear Gin too!)
She would spend most of her free time training, throwing darts or target practice with guns.
However, if you are in a romantic relationship with her, Gin will want to have stereotypical date nights with you. With her menacing work demeanor she must have few close friends, let alone dates. So prepare to be dragged to lots of movie theaters and amusement parks by Gin!
âAm I..doing this right? I only did some research online.â
Gin would also bring you to visit her brother every once in a while(assume she lives separately from him now), make sure he is in good health and keep him in check.
Despite being stoic at work, Gin is shy and easily flustered when she is free from her duties as a commander of the Black Lizards. So please give her lots of praises just like you would to her brother. She is not comfortable with showing her vulnerable sides to anyone outside her family.
Sometimes she would get nightmares too, but Gin does her best to take care of it herself. This is when her assassin stealth comes in handy. You probably wonât even know Gin is having nightmares because you hear no abnormal noises.
She loves going grocery shopping with you and picking out ingredients for the next meal. Since she cooked for her brother before, Gin considers herself to be a decent cook. But if you want to make something, she will be there if you need any help!
#bsd#bsd fanfic#bsd headcanons#bsd imagines#bsd chuuya nakahara#bsd akutagawa#bsd tachihara#bsd gin#bsd x you#chuuya x reader#akutagawa x reader#tachihara x reader#gin x reader#bsd fluff#bungo stray dogs fanfic
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There Are No Wolves in the Desert
Part 2 - The Tell Tale Knife
(Oberyn Martell x f!reader)
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Summary: After the death of his paramour Oberyn seeks out a local mercenary known as the Shadow Hunter, but who he finds is more valuable than he could have imagined.
Authors notes: Thank you for all the comments, likes and reblogs! Iâve loved Robb and Oberyn since I read the books like 10 years ago now (yes my parent gave me that book when I was like 13 đ) Iâm so happy to finally write down whats been in my head for years! Thank you for letting me share it with youđđ as per usual let me know if youd like a tag (or untag)!
Tw: Alcohol, violence, threats of sexual assault, swearing, nudity (implied), mentions of sex.
Word count: 4.5 k
Tagged: @evyiione @ayamenimthiriel @xsadderdazeforeverx @agingerindenial (if i missed anyone please let me know im the worst for tagging!!)
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3 years later
The days passed slowly while you remained tucked away, out of sight from those seeking to do you harm. A generous payment kept you safe in the attic of a local blacksmith, the promise of more ensuring you wouldn't be sold out. Once the imminent threat of assasination was over you focused on staying alive, finding the dragon queen becoming a distant memory, one that would have to wait until a more opportune moment presented itself. You used the last of your funds to purchase a horse and sought out work where you could. For a while you served as a healer to those returning from the fighting pits and other skirmishes occurring between nearby cities, until a Lannister soldier showed up searching for you. After that you moved further out of town finding work at a tavern miles from the city walls catering to a variety of characters travelling from near and far.
The owners were good folk, a retired sculptor, her wife and two young children. Youâd stopped in for a drink with plans on heading further south, but an incident changed your course. A man came in threatening the owners demanding a payout when youâd stepped in, the man thought it would be easy, and it was at least for you. You helped them bury the body and theyâd asked you to stay and so you did; tending to bar, training the horses and offering protection when needed. In return they offered you a bed, hot meals and a small salary despite your insistence that room and board was more than enough. It was a quiet life, a simple life, but one you enjoyed greatly. The noise of war and murder a ditant cry. Only in your sleep were you reminded of the cruelty of the world. The restful days quickly turned to weeks and it wasn't long until a year had passed, as had the memories of who you were.
The rumour of your murder had spread slowly from king landing, uttered from between the poisonous lips of Cersei Lannister, a lie you prayed one day would come back to haunt her. The day the news reached the ears of your employers you knew it was time to leave, and you rode back through the golden gates of the city. Youâd resold the horse to a palace guard whose wife worked with the royal stables, training them, breeding them, caring for them, a good place for a faithful friend to live out its days. Noticing the weapons on your back the guard offered you a fee to find and kill a man who had snuck into the palace and murdered three of his wife's favourite horses after their daughter had refused his hand in marriage. He was dead within the hour, and from there the word of your skill in both tracking and murder got around amougst the nobility, and you fell haphhazourdly into mercenary work. If there was one skill you could rely on, it was your ability to unabashedly kill and you quickly became one of Dornes finest assassins. You fell into the work, the ease at which you became accustomed to it frightened you at first, but you had been hardened by loss, and it wasn't as if you hadnât killed before.
Any semblance of emotional morality long forgotten, unable, or not wanting to have it all come seeping back, fearful of what may surface as a result. Most of your money went to keeping you fed, well rested and off any enemy radars. After the first month, money became more lucrative and you had splashed out on new armoury and weapons, nothing flashy like some of the more ornate dornish assassins who made a show of their profession. They were harmless, though admittedly annoying and from what you heard, not nearly as impressive as they boasted. Your armour was simple, lightweight leather over loose, breathable cloth, and a dark cloak, Its hood heavy and kept drawn well up over your eyes obscuring your face from prying eyes at all times. A shadow on the wall. Your weapons were similar to your clothes, your short swords and longbow were well crafted and durable, no decoration but for a few carved vines wrapped around their ends. Your only remaining identifiers were your eyes, and the dagger belonging to your late husband which stayed with you at all times, always within reach. Any remaining money was hidden away about the city, a retirement fund if you will, assuming you lived that long.
There were bonuses beside finances in your line of work, your ability to disappear into a crowd kept you in touch with the rumour mill. Words and secrets would fall from drunken mouths carelessly. Most of it stank worse than the horse's field after rain, but there were some that rang true, and a few that even brought a rare smile to your face. A young woman had spoken loudly about Tywin Lannister's death and how heâd supposedly died on the privy, causing you to snort into your soup, a fitting end for a coward of a man.
A month later you heard that the prince of Dorne had gone to King's Landing to fight for Tyrion, where he supposedly defeated a man standing well over 12 feet tall. A tall tale of a tall man you think, knowing how royal always sought to increase the truth of their abilities. You had also heard the unfortunate news of Ellaria Sands poisoning , the venom not reaching her veins until the ship had sailed out, no remedy to be found on the vaste seascape. It was a shame, she and the Sand Snakes were skilled adversaries here and they had since scattered in search of answers and allies around the seven kingdoms, to help avenge their mother. The prince apparently had to be restrained to stop him from turning the ship around, that was a story you found more believable. From what youâd heard the prince may have many lovers but he would go to war for any of them. Youâd never seen his face, except for on the back of coins or from a distance. If you had you may have noticed him enter into the tavern where you sat awaiting your payment from your most recent client.
Your eyes stay on the table, your hood pulled up well over your forehead giving you a frightening silhouette beneath the candlelight that was beginning to glow more prominently as the sun set. The young man who commissioned you entered, he stank of wine and privilege, but he was rich and the payment promised was well worth putting up with his unsavoury personality. His true odor protrudes through the thin veil of perfume attempting to mask his stench, alerting you to his presence well before heâd sat down. Your time alone had heightened your tracking skills, a side effect of living under the constant threat of being hunted. The wiry man sits down next to you, his thin fingers snapping under your eyes in an attempt to get your attention, you inhale deeply, drawing yourself back to your displeasing reality and forced social interactions.
âWhere's the money?â you ask, knife whittling a notch out of the table's leg with Robbs dagger.
âWhere the head?â he retorts, and you pull out a small sack, shoving it into his hand watching as he pulls at the drawstring, opening the velvet bag. He raises his eyebrows and pulls out the index finger you'd removed from the corpse.
âHead wasâŚ. indisposed. I hope this satisfies,â you murmur, this job had been messier than you intended. You typically weren't so reckless especially with a noble.
â Very much so, â he says taking it and turning it in his hands
âThe money then,â you restate, tone flat.
âWell there's one more... proposition I had.â He states, hand resting down on your thigh.
âI'll take the money for this job then you can hand me the next target,â you respond, sighing heavily, used to people getting handsy with you.
âYou can make extra on this job if you play your cards right,â he whispers, hand running up your thigh. The other reaches up to pull back on your hood within seconds your dagger had impaled his hand, pining it to the table. His wail of anguish causes the heads in the tavern to turn briefly towards the scene before returning to their lively chatter.
âYou stupid bitch,â he spits making a grab for the knife but you reach forward pushing it further into the table leaning in towards him.
âThe money, or I cut off your head and mount it on the wall of this tavern,â you say, louder than intended.
Oberyn watches from the bar in amusement , the last time heâd seen fire like that had come from Ellaria. He needed someone to help get his revenge, someone willing to murder a man in front of witnesses, his birds had been right, this mercenary was the one for the job.
You rip the knife from the man's hand as he throws you the coinpurse you were owed you reach for it as he stands.
âBitch,â he spits, liquid hitting the side of your face as he pulls down your hood âyou better watch you back mercenary, I'll be taking you from behind in no time.â He snarls, as you hurry to pull your cover back up.
âClever,â you retort, wiping your face, shaking out the purse and counting your pay out. Empty threats. Or threats you didnât care about, you could kill scum like that in your sleep, and you had. You mutter another curse under your breath at being exposed, the latest delay in dye shipments had allowed the roots of your white hair to protrude through, lucky everyone inside was too drunk to notice. The money from the job was enough to keep a roof over your head for the foreseeable future, maybe even enough for a bath, it was getting to be that time. You go to stand, you had an âappointmentâ in town, one with a handsome payout. Before you can stand you see a pair of hands adorned in jewellery slip into your view a scent of sweet fruit and honey indicating a cleanliness and a high status, a very high status, your appointment could wait.
Obery was observant, his eyes had been glued to you even while conversing with the beautiful patrons of the bar, not wanting to lose you in the crowd. âThe shadow trackerâ. Thatâs what you had been dubbed by those residing in the city according to his sources, clients of yours pleased with your services, services he was in need of. It seems you may bear more than one secret identity, it may have been for the briefest second, but the colour of your hair stood out against the dark fabric you wore. It intrigued him, white hair was uncommon in those of your age, very rare. In fact he only knew of one person still alive with such a trait. The other, one whom heâd sent a wedding gift to years prior, was long dead, or so the Lannister would have him believe, and when has he ever trusted the word of child murderers. He may have come here in seek of a mercenary, but what he found may prove to be even more valuable to his cause.
âPayments 50 for a nobody, rate goes up with each class, royals are above my paygrade, and nobles will cost you at least 6 of those fancy rings on your fingers,â you list, taking note of the martell sigil embellished on one of the larger rings.
âHow much would it be to convince a wolf to take down a Lion,â he queries, hunching his head down to try and catch a glimpse of the eyes under the hood. Your heart drops.
âAbove the pay grade, couple down at the docks have a death wish, you might try your luck there,â you explain, deepening your voice slightly in an attempt to disguise yourself.
âAnd what would be your wish, if you could have it?â he queries, leaning back kicking his feet up onto the stool beside you. As he does the yellow of his robes come into your peripheral the suns intricately stitched on, shining against the murk of the tavern's tile floor.
âTo be left alone,â you chide, this was someone well acquainted with the royals here, you didn't deal with royalty, more trouble than they're worth.
âWhat's that old saying? The lone wolf dies, or am I mistaken? â he returns, chuckling slightly.
âI donât know who you think I am but I assure youâŚâ you say, eyes finally raising, only then realizing the prince of Dorne sat before you, at least based on his impression on one of the coins in your hand.
âLady Stark, I was hoping weâd meet face to face,â he remarks, the long forgotten address catching you off guard causing your eyes to shoot back down.
âLady Stark died, the Lannisters ground up her body and fed it to the king's direwolf before killing it, havenât you heard?â you say sarcastically, pulling your knife out of the table, unsure if heâd recognized it.
âPropaganda, set to diminish the power of the north,â he says, watching the blade intently as it's pulled from the table.
âI do not know if Lady Stark is alive, but for a price I could find out, granted you tell me what you need her for,â you mutter.
âI did not come here in search of Lady Stark. I came seeking a mercenary, the so-called âshadow trackerâ however, this is a most welcome surprise, as for why I need you, or her, the answer is revenge plain and simple.â
âIs that what they call me?â you remark â So you seek out a mercenary only to find something better, something you can trade?â you pose shaking your head.
âNo, I needed an assassin, but found something better. Something more lethal.â He pauses.
âWhich is?â you prompt, hoping to end this conversation sooner rather than later.
âOne they think is dead. Besides I figured Lady Stark would want the opportunity to take down the Lannisters.â
âI assume she would, though she may think the offer stands too good to be true,â you state, gathering up your payment and making your exit he follows suit, stopping briefly to gently nudge his hand under the chin of an attractive man standing near the door, no doubt planning on returning later.
âThe desert is no place for a wolf,â he calls after you, a significant distance between the two of you now.
âI shall let you know if I see such a sight, my prince,â you shout, dramatically curtsying before turning on your heel and walking off. He smiles before re-entering the tavern.
A week later
You stroll through the dark alleys of the city, a few years ago you wouldnât have dared ventured out so late. The woods were known to you, their dangers and sights predictable, but the city was uncharted territory. While a bear could be trusted to do as bears do, the movements of man were less predictable. Your work kept you attune to the veins of the city and the people that coursed through them. You knew where to go and where to avoid depending on the day. You knew the sounds, able to pick out when something was amiss and tonight something was. The usual scurry of the rats below or the call of the parrots from above were absent, someone had been through here and not long ago. Your hand dips into the folds of your cape and you throw your dagger catching a man in the neck. You lean over and remove it from his jugular, the blood flowing out from the wound. Before you can turn him over, something hits you knocking you forward onto your stomach. Youâre lifted from the ground by the nape of your neck. Your hoods pulled down and your head pulled up to see the foul smelling client and two other assassins standing before you.
âDirron, Brant, always a pleasureâ you snarl
âNo hard feelings Shadow, youâre taking out all the businessâ Brant responds.
âHow much is he paying you? Not enough I bet he didn't pay me enough. I'll double it if you let me walk.â you plead, but they shake their heads.
âI paid you more than your worth,â he spits, gesturing to the man behind you and he lifts you up slamming you into a nearby wall pressing your face against the rough brick. You can taste the blood beginning to gather in your mouth. He releases you, handing you over to the unpleasant smelling man who brings the dagger youâd dropped into your view, pressing the steel against your cheek as he begins to speak.
âThis dagger belonged to Robb Stark.â
âDid it? I stole it from a client months ago,â you say, elbowing him in the stomach causing him to drop the blade. You catch it, and drive it deep into his knee. He falls, and you unsheathe his sword and throw it catching Dirron in the chest. The large brute gets to you before your next move knocking you in the stomach and pinning you back up against the wall.
âTold you I'd have you from behind,â the client says, limping over to you and spitting on the side of your face. As the moisture hits your flesh a spear pierces through his chest , pinning him to a nearby crate as the remaining two men scatter. You push yourself up spinning to see the prince standing in the alley picking up your dagger.
âOf all the souvenirs to keep, thisâŚâ he starts, examining the blade before continuing â is the most telling. Even with your distinct traits, the Young Wolf's knife is well known, especially by those who saw it made. Dornish steel,â he explains tossing it in the air catching it by the blade and handing it back to you by its handle.
âAs I just finished explaining to your dear friend there, I stole that,â you lie, taking it from him.
âNo you didnât,â he says, eyes bright even in the dark, a familiar smirk on his lips, clearly bemused by your attempts at lying.
âYes I did,â you retort, refusing to let up on your façade.
âShall we debate it over a drink?â he asks, retrieving his spear from the client's body which falls to the ground with an unpleasant thunk.
âA prince slumming it with the poor?â you ask watching as he uses the dead man's silks to wipe his weapon before turning back to you.
âMy enjoyment of life precludes class,â he says offering you his arm
âAs you speak from your riches,â you point out, watching him run his tongue along his upper lip.
âWe are not as antiquated in our ideologies here, class here is less pronouncedâ he assures you.
âIs it?â you argue, pushing down on his extended arm and he shrugs his shoulder in defeat, pride faltering only for a fragment of a second at the notion of being rejected. The streets are busy tonight, the warm weather bringing the people out en masse to enjoy the city's nightlife. He brings his hand up to usher you into a nearby tavern by the small of your back, but thinks twice and drops it, not wanting to lose it. As you enter he raises his hand and winks at the barkeep before following you towards the back near the window sill.
âWhat will it cost you?â you inquire as he sits down, watching over his shoulder as the person behind the bar pours out a decanter of wine.
âWhat?â he asks, the downturn of his mouth and creased forehead painting a picture of confusion.
âTo let me leave here, to keep this a secret, the two men who escaped know who I am now. My time here is up.â you confess as the decanter is placed on the table the bartenders hands trailing across his shoulders causing him to smile fondly up at them.
âI do not wish you to be found. It would ruin the plans I have,â he says, slowly turning his attention back to you, offering you wine. You stare at the decanter, then to him before shaking your head causing him to chuckle
âWhat? Have I said something amusing? â you question, almost annoyed.
âUntrusting,â he remarks, taking a sip of the liquid before offering it to you once again. You reach over the table grabbing the cup from his hand.
âI am untrusting because in my experience people cannot be trusted,â you explain taking a sip.
âYou husband certainly lied about marrying the Frey girl,â he remarks, leaning back into his seat, arms spreading out across the chairs back.
âIâve never been married,â you state, wanting nothing more than to punch the smug look off his face.â
âYou're good,â he says, eyes giving you the once over.
âAt what?â
âLying, well perhaps not good per say but committed, i'll give you that, you fight in a similar manner.â he presses, hoping to get a rise out of you.
âSo, you think I canât fight,â you say, shaking your head with a laugh
âYour words,â he states.
âI did not come here to be insulted by the likes of you, prince or not,â you scold, sitting up.
âI didn't mean to offend,â he remarks, eyes watching your movements, evidently heâd touched a nerve.
âDidnât you?â you query, tilting your head.
âNo, truly it was not my intention, I merely believe upon improvement,â he explains.
âHard to improve without practice, hard to practice on your own,â you state, moving to leave, the prince drawing too much attention than you wanted on you. You down the rest of your wine and utter a âthank you for the drinkâ before bidding him a farewell and exiting the bar. You don't make it far, seemingly unable to shake him.
âWhy are you here?â he asks.
âThatâs privileged information,â you say, turning to face him walking backwards along the cobbled streets. His eyes fall to you before looking up to the heavens, the stars were bright tonight illuminating his features. The rumours of him held true in one area undoubtedly, he was handsome.
âCome back to the palace with me.â He says, eyes still gazing up at the sky.
âI have no intention of divulging in your pleasure my prince, my heart belongs to another, I swore I wouldnât stray from him even in death,â you reply, turning back to walk forward spitting blood out onto the street, sure one of your teeth must have been knocked out in the earlier fight.
âWhile I disagree with more than one of those statements I did not mean to imply, though I would be remiss to say it wouldnât be of great honour. I heard the Young Wolf betrayed an entire kingdom for you.â he says eyes once again on you, trying to catch a glimpse of your features obscured by the hood.
âAre you suggesting I got my husband killed?â you muse, hearing him tut in disagreement
âYouâre dirty, youâre tired, youâre injured and at risk of murder, the palace offers you a safe place to recuperate.â
âAnd what do you expect in return?â you ask.
âI simply wish to offer you a proposition once you are rested, if you decline, you are free to leave. I will ensure you are transported to a safe location where no one knows you.â
Perhaps it was the itching of your skin, or the way the dye was clinging your out of control hair or maybe it was being allowed to be who you once were, but you agree.
âThis is Shana she will help you, unless you prefer a male companion, though I would gladly offer my servicesâ he says, gesturing to an older woman of great beauty.
âI can bath myself, thank you though,â you say, turning and nodding to the woman who bows her head and exits the bathhouse.
âWhatever you wish, I'll have her bring you clothes while we clean yours... if we can clean yoursâ he muses, the remark cracking a smile in your icy demeanour. He leaves and you undress placing your clothes outside the door as requested. Your bare feet feel refreshed against the cool orange tiles of the bath house, the area evidently meant for the use of many people. Multicoloured tulip petals float atop the water filling your nostril with an aroma unlike one youâd ever known. The steam from the water rises in the cool air of the night and you dip your toe in water proceeding to the steps.
You stride into the water allowing your lower half to adjust to the heat before fully sinking in to cover your shoulder. Immediately the dye in your hair begins to leak into the water blending together with the built up mud and blood that has been stuck to you since your last clean. You scrub your skin until the scars scattered across your body are once again visible in the moonlight. Your hand pauses over the wound above your shoulder, memories of Robb flooding back in, as you assume your true identity for the first time in years.
You dunk your head under the water, scrubbing to remove grime from your face and to work out the last of the dye until it's all gone, your hair returned to its original state. You stay in the water for a while enjoying the heat, but sitting in your own filth is no longer a luxury and you stand up and dry yourself off. Pulling on a robe hung up for you as if they knew youâd be there that night. The cool air hits you as you exit, a welcome relief compared to the heavy heat carried around while wearing your armour. One of the palace guards leads you to your bed chamber, the bed is large and the room even larger. Tiles from floor to ceiling apart from the windows which opened up to the balcony allowing the breeze in at night. You step out onto it, hand trailing through the flowers growing along the bannisters. You thank the guard and he closes the large wooden doors leaving you to change into an orange gown true to the style in Dorne. The thin material leaves little to the imagination, but it would prove good for sleeping though not much else. You turn your head to the room's table where clothes better suited for your line of work sit. Your weapons had been cleaned and lined up across the corner of the room, your dagger shined and stabbed into the wood, holding a note in place.
âDramatic,â you chuckle, pulling out the knife retrieving the note and opening it âwinter is comingâ you recognize the handwriting immediately, it had been years but you'd never forgotten the letter you'd received the day at the docks. Perhaps the prince could be trusted after all. You hesitate before folding the note up and placing it back down on the table, walking over to the large bed and falling asleep with the knife tucked securely under your pillow, just in case.
#oberyn martell x you#prince oberyn x reader#oberyn martell x reader#prince oberyn#oberyn x you#oberyn x reader#oberyn martell x y/n#game of thrones fanfiction#There Are No Wolves in the Desert#part 2#pedro pascal characters
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Knives? Check.
Grenades? Check.
Guns? Check.
Gear all in place and chewed up by the weird tiny Hank that broke into your house and isnât paying rent? Check.
Looks like you were ready to go. With your mental list checked, you swung the backpack full of weapons and your tablet onto your shoulders. Adjusting the straps as you reviewed the mission in your mind.
Mission on mind, you reached the door after traversing the pigsty of a floor caused by that mini Hank.
Speaking of Hank, you havenât seen them since breakfast, you shrugged it off as they went to hide somewhere. Probably destroying another room, much to your annoyance.
At least they would be staying home, out of the danger of the mission. Sure they were a tiny version of Nevadaâs most wanted and almost stabbed you and bit you, but they were tiny. You were worried about the small assassin being crushed underfoot of a careless agent.
You shook off your worries, quite sure they were locked inside the base, it was a secure and pretty hidden base. Hank knew where the fridge was and there was food they could eat without a microwave, even some food you made for them. They would be fine.
Your mind settled as you entered the car, putting the backpack into the passenger seat and driving off to your location.
You pull up quite a distance from the base you are to raid, parking behind a huge chunk of former building. Looked to be an average sized, fit the bill described by the mission. You knew what to expect, it should be easy enough. Double checking for MAGs wouldnât hurt though, so you pull the backpack into your lap, opening up the bag.
Only to be met with the tiny bastard Hank that you swore you left at home.
âAre you fucking kidding me.â
That earned you a displeased noise and a middle finger, combo mealed with a glare.
You look up with a defeated sigh, closing your eyes as you dragged your nerves and patience back into place, kicking and screaming internally. You looked down once the little hands of your uninvited companion patted your chin, exasperated gaze meeting googled eyes.
âI really hope your plan was to stay in the car or something.â
Hank shook their head, patting your face insistently and taking a small knife that fit their size.
You dropped your head and groaned out, âGod damnit Hank.â
NBHXSNAHCJXBNEWNDSHX AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THIS IS SO GOOOOOOOOOD
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I Saw Her Tomorrow
the authors of the MayThe4th fic exchange have been revealed! I've been dying to share my gift for @ambiguityisnoonesfriend ever since I finished it, so here it is.
a huge thank you to @skitter-kitteruwu for beta reading!!
rating: general; kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 7.8k words (4 chapters, complete)
link to full work
---
Hera, 0BBY
The wind whistled in her ears and whipped her lekku as Hera wrestled with the glider. Her exhilaration at flying was tempered by her awareness of the imminent danger. They were losing altitude fast, but their forward velocity was enough that the roof of the fuel station was getting bigger with every passing second.
"This is gonna be close!" she yelled to Kanan.
"It always is!" he called back. She knew he couldnât see the precariousness of their situation, and yet he trusted her completely to fly them through it.
The glider skimmed over the lip of the building, barely clearing it. The durasteel frame screeched as it skidded over the roof, but didnât crumple. She just about managed to hold on. The rush of another successful landing almost made her giddy.
Kanan was no longer beside her; he hadnât been able to brace in time and had lost his grip on impact. His momentum had carried him over the gliderâs nose to roll onto the roof.Â
He pushed himself up with a groan. "That was one of your better crashes."
Hera gave him a scandalised look as she dismounted and wagged a finger at him. "Kanan Jarrus, you know I never crash. I have very-"
"Very exciting landings," he finished for her with a smile, grabbing the admonishing hand. "Thanks for reminding me. Come on!" He pulled her towards the middle of the roof and away from the pursuing Imperials.Â
After a few steps she had to stop him from running over the edge; the Empire hadn't yet finished covering the station. She was about to tell him off for not seeing it, but then she stopped herself with a giggle. He was blind; he couldnât see anything.
His head jerked as though he suddenly sensed what was in front of them. He made an impatient noise in the back of his throat, clearly displeased with how exposed they were, and grabbed his commlink.
"Spectre-5, do you read? How are you coming with that ship?"
"Kanan! Did you get her?" Sabine's tinny voice came through from the other end. Hera hadnât even realised sheâd been worried, but she felt something unclench slightly from around her heart at the sound.
"Of course he did," she replied, leaning into Kanan slightly to reach the small device. She immediately lost her balance, but he caught her without missing a beat and nudged her back upright. Maybe those interrogation drugs werenât out of her system quite yet.Â
"Thereâs been a change of plans," Kanan was saying into the comm. "We need a pickupâ"
"At the fuel station," Sabine cut in, "I know. The Empire does too."
He grimaced. She found herself fascinated by how naked his mouth looked without his beard surrounding it. "Well, letâs hope you get to us fiâ"
"Hold on, there are new orders coming through." She paused. "All ships are being ordered to maintain high altitude to allow a bombing run on the fuel station."
"What?" Kanan yelped. "Theyâll blow up the whole factory if they do that!"
Sabine sounded like she was still listening to the Imperial orders. "Apparently the roof is reinforced, and can take a hit."
"The roof is unfinished! Thereâs a giant hole in it!" Kanan gestured towards it even though there was no visual link on the comm.
"I guess Pryce really doesnât want us getting away," Hera muttered.
"Kanan, it doesnât matter." There was a definite note of panic in Sabineâs voice now, and it was mirrored by a rising fear in Hera. "Iâm not gonna be able to get down to you before the bomber arrives without blowing our cover and getting shot to pieces!"
"Thatâs not a problem. Just get directly overhead, as quickly as you can. Tell Ezra to be ready to catch us â just like we practised."
Hera heard Sabineâs shaky breath over the comm. "Iâll let you know when Iâm in position."
The light blinked off.
This was bad. Adrenaline returned to Heraâs body, chasing away the drug-induced fog that had started clouding her brain since theyâd landed. What was Kanan up to?
"What do you have planned?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.
"When they get here, Iâll jump," he said simply. "I can get pretty high, and Ezra can pull us the rest of the way from above."
Her mind conjured the image of him cradling her in his arms as they soared upwards, just like in every ridiculous superhero holo theyâd watched together.
Except this one isnât ridiculous, because he would do that.
He would always come to save her. Whatever it took, he would always be there. Heâd fly into the middle of a maximum security Imperial complex on a few pieces of scrap metal and junk, cut her free of her bonds, fight off a nightmarish assassin and escape an impossible dead-end situation by calling on his supernatural powers.Â
She felt a wave of emotion rise within her, a surge of warmth that threatened to spill into tears. Did he even know how incredibly important he was to her? Theyâd been so focused on fighting for so long, theyâd had to actively find time to be alone together before sheâd left. Sheâd figure out how to break the other news later, but right now there was one thing Hera needed to say to him.
"Kanan," she started. His attention immediately focused on her; there was something in her voice, something soft and vulnerable, yet serious. "I know itâs been a while since Iâve said it, and I know this isnât really the moment, but⌠I love you."Â
Her ungloved fingers stroked the exposed skin of his cheek. He turned his head slightly in response so that his lips brushed her palm.
"I know," he said simply. It was the best thing he could have said. "And I love you too."
Her mouth curved into a smile as she pushed herself up onto her toes to kiss him. He returned the kiss, the press of his lips against hers achingly familiar, like coming home. Less familiar was the scratch of stubble; after years of having a beard, sheâd forgotten what it was like to kiss Kanan without one.
They were interrupted by the familiar scream of twin ion engines approaching.
"Sabine!" Kanan shouted frantically into the comm. "Where are you? The bomberâs here!"
Her response was drowned out by the TIE bomber.Â
It swept overhead, blotting out the light from both moons. Hera wrapped her arms tightly around Kananâs torso. Throughout her capture and subsequent torture sheâd never once lost faith that he would come and rescue her, but now, faced with their current situation, that hope finally flickered. Their last moments were upon them.Â
At least they were together.
The bomber passed, the whine of the engines deepening as it retreated, but the shadow remained. Hera looked up and saw, suspended in the air above them, the unmistakable silhouette of a baradium missile.Â
She relaxed her grip on Kanan and realised he had thrust his arms out towards the sky, eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration. Heâd caught the missile! Her brave, brilliant Jedi.
"Kanan?" she asked tentatively. "Can you... put that down? We've got to get off this roof before they make another pass."
"I'm holding the proton charge detonator," he said through gritted teeth. She felt her stomach drop through her feet; he couldnât let go without activating the missile. The whole station would go up with it. "Canât jump without letting go. Or sending it up to the kids. But I can still throw you."
"But â what about you?" She knew the answer even as she asked, but her brain was refusing to accept it.
His sightless eyes locked on to her face. His expression was an unreadable mask. "I'm not making it out of this one."
No.Â
No, no no.
She was shaking her head, even though he couldnât see it. "Iâm not leaving without you."
"Yes, you are," he insisted. "And youâre going to be okay. Donât ask me how I know this, but youâre going to move on, and you will be happy again. Iâm certain of it. And thatâs all I ever wanted."
"Kananâ"
The comm beeped again.
"Weâre in position! Kanan, now!"
Sabineâs words had barely sunk in when she felt herself gripped by an unseen hand, and then she was flying through the air. She caught a glimpse of the whole station below her â the square roof framing the round hole that in turn framed gleaming stacks of construction material, the bomb hovering off-center and ruining the symmetry â before her vision went dark.Â
She felt the wind from the TIE bomber as it raced below her at the same time as a second invisible force grabbed her. It twisted her in midair, and now she was rushing towards an Imperial patrol transport. A single figure in a fighter pilotâs uniform stood in the troop bay with arms outstretched.Â
By the time Ezra had pulled her into the transport beside him and she was able to turn back around, the fuel station was an expanding ball of fire.Â
Kanan was gone.
---
Chapter 2 (AO3) ->
#kanera#kanan jarrus#hera syndulla#star wars rebels#star wars: rebels#star wars#may the fourth be with you#maythe4thbewithyou#jedi night#jedi night fix it#fic#really hope i've got the scheduling right here#in theory the reveal should have happened 5 minutes ago#i wasn't going to stay up til 1am to post but i have been unbelievably excited to share this for the last 2 weeks#pretchwritta
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Team Zero (Hargreeves Siblings x Sibling Reader)
Summary: After being sent back in time and finding their father, the eight academy kids have âA Light Supperâ with him.
A/N: This is a really gross, unedited page because I really wanted to write this scene. I wrote this in only a few hours and I think I couldâve done a crap ton better but I really wanted to post this so...
Warnings: season two spoilers, mild swearing
Word count 2589
gif credit to @tuagifsâ
After the draining argument with their siblings, the last thing y/n expected to receive was a letter from their father.Â
To my pursuers,Â
I, Reginald Hargreeves, request the pleasure of your company for a light supper on the 20th of November, 1963, half past seven oâclock, 1624 Magnolia Street.
They had received the letter from a strange man in a black car. At first, y/n hesitated to believe it was really from their father but they knew their father better than anyone, even Luther despite what he thinks.
The level of extra Reginald went through to get this letter to them told them all they needed to know so, on the 20th of November, 1963, they arrived at 1624 Magnolia Street just before half past seven.Â
The building was a tall hotel and the decor very much fit the era they were living in. They wandered towards the back where they slipped in an elevator next to their brother five. Not too soon after, their other siblings joined them in the small box.Â
âGood, youâre all hereâ Five face sported his usual smirk and his body language screamed cocky arrogant asshole however, everyone remained quiet on the lift up to the highest floor.Â
That was until a rather rancid smell reached their noses. âUgh.. Luther!âÂ
âSorry, Iâm nervous.â The group covered their noses until the doors finally opened, allowing them to take a deep breath of fresh air.Â
âAlright, when dad gets here, Iâll do the talking.â Fives natural attempt to assert himself failed quickly when Diego snapped back.Â
âI got a few questions for him myself.âÂ
Y/n rolled their eyes. The seven of them never seemed to be able to enter a room without starting some kind of fight or argument. âHey, we donât wanna scare him off alright, he might be able to help us stop doomsday, get us home.â
âNo Five, we need to figure out why heâs planning to kill the president.â Itâs amazing how hung up on the presidents assassination Diego is, why canât he just let this go?Â
âThis is a matter of life or death you imbecile.â Sensing that their other siblings were about to chime in, y/n zoned themselves out. Y/n isnât exactly what you called a team player. They chose to stay quiet and disassociate themselves from their family. Sick of the overbearing weight of having to save the world when they could be doing other things, like being a normal person.Â
Unfortunately for them, they were soon snapped out of their focused state by a loud crash. What appeared to be some kind of decoration was found shattered in small pieces on the other side of the room.Â
âClassic.â Allison spit. They all turned their heads when they heard another noise. The doors to the âTiki Loungeâ swung open revealing a younger Hargreeves. His posture stood tall and didnât give them a single glance until he sat at the table, adjusting his sleeves.
âNot only have you burglarized my lab, set my chimp loose, conned your way into the Mexican consulate, repeatedly stalked and attacked me, but you have on numerous occasions, called me...â
Klaus finally joined the table with what seemed like some alcoholic beverage. âHey Pop. Howâs it hanginâ?
â...dad.â His voice was stern, slightly scary, but more just assertive. The seven children took a moment to all create eye contact before returning to their younger father.Â
âMy reconnaissance tells me youâre not CIA, not KGB, certainly not MI5, so...â he paused to slam his pen to the desk, âwho are you?â Everyone stayed silent trying to find the right words before five cut in again.Â
âWeâre your children,â Reginald gave him a displeased look, âWeâre from the future.â Dear old Reggie didnât seem all too happy with the idea of having children, so when the group stayed silent once again y/n finally spoke up from their seat.Â
âIn 1989, you adopted us all and trained us to fight against the end of the world. You called us the umbrella academy.â The sudden joining of the conversation brought all the attention to them. It surprised the rest of their siblings, seeing as y/n normally just minded their own business. However, they supposed this was their business.Â
âWhy on earth would I adopt seven-â
âEight. One of us isnât here.â Allison corrected.
âDead. One of us is dead.â Diego filled in the answer to what they assumed Reggieâs next question would be.
âYeah, ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba. Enough of that now.â Klaus spun in his seat, talking to what looked like an empty chair to the rest of them.Â
Could he just be quiet for FIVE MINUTES.
When he spun back he noticeably shuddered and then it clicked in Klausâs head. Ignoring the attention from everyone at the table he pushed his chair out and violently pointed his finger at y/n.Â
âHey! Get out of my head!â Everyone now turned their looks back to y/n. They had no response other than slouching down into their seat and turning their head to focus back onto the decor.Â
Reginald took the silence as an invitation to begin speaking again, âRegardless, what would possess me to adopt eight ill-mannered malcontents?â
âWe all have special abilities.â Five explained.
âSpecial?â Reginald Questioned, âIn what sense?â
âIn the super power sense.â Luther finally joined in on the conversation.Â
âCall me old fashioned, but Iâm a stickler for a pesky little thing called evidence. Show me.â
âEverybody wants to see powers all of a sudden.â Allison proceeded to scoff before she was cut off.
âWeâre not circus animals, okay? Weâre not gonna bounce balls on our noses and clap like seals for your amusement.â Luther attempted to accentuate his point by literally clapping his hands together. Thatâs when Diego pulled out a knife and allowed it to slice through the air and around Reginaldâs head, sinking into a support post behind him.
Reggie decided to pull out his pen and begin writing in one of those god-awful leather bound notebooks he constantly wrote in when they were younger. They all leaned in, upset that he was doing it again.Â
âWhatâre you writing?â Diego asked.
âYou are zero for two, young man.â At that statement Diego immediately pushed out of his chair, lunging towards their father. However, Five was much faster using his spatial jumps. He managed to flash in front of Diego, effectively preventing him from being shanked by their dad again.Â
âStop!â Fives voice was no louder than a whisper although they all still heard him.Â
âNow that is interesting.â Reginald noted aloud. Once Diego was 'calmâ again. Five relaxed, walking back to his seat.
âAll right, uh, quick rundown-âÂ
âLuther, super strength. Klaus can commune with the dead.â As they gestured to Klaus once more their siblings shocked glances paused them once more. Â
Theyâre face scrunched up. âWhat? We all know Fiveâs definition of quick.â Their sass earned them chuckles from everyone at the table apart from their very loving brother, Five, and their very loving.... father.Â
âAnyways,â They continued, âAllison can rumor anyone to do anything-â
âYea, except she never uses it.â This time it was y/n who was cut off by Diego. That comment caused Allison to give him a pointed look.
âI heard a rumor, you punched yourself in the face.â Diegoâs eyes turned white and his fist soar through the air and hit his nose straight on. His groan from the pain echoed through the room and Reginald adjusted himself in his seat, clearly unamused and slightly concerned.
This time, the academy kids held in their laughs worried Diego might be the one shanking them.
"And y/n has the power to read minds.â Five attempted to finish the conversation however they all forgot about the sibling who most recently discovered their powers. âAnd you?â
To this, Vanya lifted her head and everyoneâs amused looks soon turned nervous.Â
âUh, maybe we donât take Vanya for a test run.â Lutherâs voice was laced with fear and the table tried to agree with him however Vanya seemed to think differently.Â
âItâs fine. I can handle it.â She reached forward for a fork and glass.Â
âHandle it?â Allison asked, âLast time you handled it, you definitely blew up the moon.â This time, the six siblings tried to stop her and braced themselves for the impact of what might be the end of the world... again.
Once the fork hit the glass she focused in on the ringing noise and allowed herself to blow up the fruity centerpiece, sending chunks of pineapple and mango flying everywhere.Â
While they all tried to wipe away the fruit on their clothes Vanya just let out a small âoops.â
âLook, we know youâre involved in a plot to assassinate the president.â To that, Reggie quipped back at Diego.
âYou were recently hospitalized, isnât that correct?â Diego sputtered at the statement. âYou still appear to be suffering from delusions of grandeur and acute paranoia.â
Diego, pissed off, pulled out a photo of him. âAm I?â He asked, standing up. The photo revealed to be-
âThatâs you. Thatâs two days from now on the grassy knoll at the exact spot the presidents gonna get shot.â Reginald slowly picked up the photo, looking at it for a moment.Â
âWell... I suppose youâve solved it. Youâve single-handedly unearthed my nefarious plot.â Y/n was taking it in. They supposed thatâs what Diego wanted but, there was sarcasm. A lot of it at that.
âIs that what you wanted to hear?â They knew it. âYou fancy yourself a do-gooder? The last man who will save us from our descent into corruption and conspiracy? This is a fantastic delusion. The sad reality is that youâre a desperate man, tragically unaware of his own insignificance, desperately clinging to his own ineffectual reasoning. More succinctly, a man in over his head.â At this the table was stunned into silence.Â
Diego allowed one tear to slip out. It rolled down his cheek in solidarity. âYouâre wr-r-r-wrong.â He managed to finally stutter out.Â
Heâs right.
Diegoâs body shivered. He quickly whipped out another knife and flung it across the table, stabbing y/nâs upper arm. âDidnât anyone tell you itâs rude to eavesdrop?â His voice was laced with venom and seemed to shut them out of his head.Â
They pulled the knife out of their arm and pressed a thick napkin to the wound. The knife clattered back across the table. âDidnât anyone tell you itâs rude to stab your sibling?â
The group stayed silent until Five spoke up. Shocker. âLook, forget about the president. We have a catastrophic war coming in five days. We need to figure out how to stop it.â
âWhy? Men will always be at war with each other.â Reggie tried to reason.
âNo, this isnât just some war. Iâm talking about a doomsday. The end of the world.âÂ
âWell.. Youâre the special ones arenât you?â The group proceeded to glare at him. âWhy donât you band together and do something about it?âÂ
Unbelievable.Â
The siblings collective annoyed thoughts were soon cut off but their brother, Klaus. His body was suddenly jolted forward, shaking violently. His air way seemed to be cut. They all sat concerned and puzzled.Â
âY/n is that-â
âNo, I donât know what that is.âÂ
âIs he having a seizure?â
âOverdosing probably.â Diego muttered. All of sudden a voice and thoughts flooded Y/nâs mind. They were so loud. Y/n pushed their chair back, standing up. Their hands flew up to their ears, as if covering them would stop the words flowing through their head.
âKlaus, Y/n. Now is not the time. Whatâre you doing?â
The noises only got louder. âIâm...â His voice was strangled and chalky.
Reginald had quite enough of whatever was going on. âWell, out with it boy.â
Klaus took a deep breath and finally spit out, â...Ben!â He soon gasped and fell out of his chair. He continued to shake here and there and allowed a few groans to get out but none of the above concerned any of his siblings enough to do anything.Â
âWell...â Reggie trailed off, âthank you for coming. Iâve seen about enough.â He stacked up his books and climbed over Klausâs convulsing body.Â
âNo, I-â Luther tried to speak up, however Hargreeves kept walking. Luther, upset he didnât get to say anything the whole time he was here, slammed his fists down onto the table. That certainly gained the room attention.
He ripped his shirt open revealing his ape like skin. âLook at what you did to me! Look at it!â Allison nearly spit out her drink and and Five let out an âoh, shit. Why?â with a solid eye roll and slouched into his chair.Â
âOkay then. Anybody else wish to embarrass themselves this evening?â Nobody moved, obviously not wanting to embarrass themselves. âI guess Iâll-â
âNo.â Y/n shook their head. âYou donât get to walk away after that. You donât get to just leave after destroying our lives and blaming it on us. You forced us to dedicate everything to saving the stupid world and the stupid people who live on it. I never.. We never wanted to do that. We didnât get a choice to be who we are, so, because you are the one who disfigured our existences, you are going to be the one who helps get everything back on track.â Out of breath, they finally looked up and locked gazes with their father
âIf anyone disfigured your lives, it was yourselves.â
âReally? Thatâs all you have to say?â They paused before continuing the rant, âYou know, Reginald, I donât think Iâm the one who forced myself to become afraid of people because their thoughts were so loud. Leading me to dissociating myself from my siblings and the people around me. In fact, I donât think any of us would be this fucked up had you just allowed us to be our own people with a family and parents who actually loved us. Who wanted to dedicate their time to furthering us in life, not just using us for their own advantages.âÂ
âIâm sure whatever I did was to further you in life. I wouldnât waste my time on something that I was sure to fail.â Hargreeves looked around the room, noticing the mess of a âfamilyâ sitting in front of him. âClearly, I had a miss in judgement.âÂ
At that he finally turned to leave the room. âYou in the culottes?â He motioned to Five. âA word, in private?â Five followed suit leaving the six of them disheveled and wondering what to do next.Â
The ring of the elevator doors sounded around them. âWell, that went as good as any Hargreeves family function.â At that Y/n zoned out again. Maybe they didnât want to but thatâs what they had practiced after so many years. Pretending like their siblings werenât even in the room with them.Â
âWhereâd that whole speech come from, Y/n/n?â Allison added them into the âconversation.âÂ
âOh, um, I suppose I was just sick of allowing him to get away with whatever he wanted to.âÂ
âThatâs one way to put it.â Diego harped on their response, clearly still upset about Y/n entering his head.Â
The elevator doors finally opened once more, letting them escape the hellhole of a family meeting they just adjourned. They all flooded into the hallway not making any eye contact. âTeam Zero my ass.â
#tua#the umbrella academy x reader#the umbrella academy#klaus hargreeves#ben hargreeves#allison hargreevs#luther hargreeves#vanya hargreeves#five hargreeves#diego hargreeves
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Would you ever write a possible intimate scene between Riley & Drake to be interrupted by Liam
@texaskitten30, I see you asking the hard questions! I had to think on this because @ao719 did something similar in her Homecoming story. I also didnât want to replicate my Commonerâs Wife series where Drake catches Liam and Riley in the act. But I think I twisted my thoughts enough to present something somewhat original. It varies slightly from what you asked, so I  hope you enjoy!
Thank you to pre-readers in whole and in part @burnsoslow and @sirbeepsalot
Story below the cut.
This fic is slightly NSFW.
Riley Brooks smiled at the man seated across the table from her. She sipped her wine as he spooned some Portvarian seafood chowder into his mouth. Her eyes fell to her plate, filled with Cordonian chicken salad. She wasnât happy that the chicken was cubed and not shredded; she was downright displeased that slices of Cordonian Ruby littered the salad. Riley loathed the nationâs signature apple; she found its texture mushy and thought it tasted vinegary.
But her host didnât know that. Â No one did. Not her friends, not her husband. Riley was good at adapting to situations.
When in Rome âŚ
She saw the man wince as he reached for a warm, buttered croissant and she looked at him in concern.
âIs it your shoulder?â
The man nodded. âThe bullet wound has healed; it only bothers me when itâs cold or about to rain.â
He didnât elaborate and Riley did not comment. They both knew who he took the bullet for.
Riley smiled. It was a balmy day in the Mediterranean, with bright sunshine and a brilliant blue sky. The pair were sharing lunch on an outdoor patio. âWell, itâs neither cold nor cloudy.â Her eyes narrowed. âAre you certain the wound is fully healed?â
The man nodded as he bit into his roll. âDoctor gave me a clean bill of health last week.â
Riley ate some chicken salad; she was surprised that the bitterness of the apple complemented the chicken. Â She nodded in approval and licked her lips before taking a hefty forkful. Greek yogurt, onions, celery, red peppers, and the astringent taste of the apple exploded across her tastebuds
âI didnât think the apple would pair so well!â she said, her tone surprised.
âThe American varieties go well with pork, the ruby is poultryâs best friend.â The man looked up from his chowder filled with clams, shrimp, crabmeat, oysters, and root vegetables. âYou havenât mentioned your husband.â
Riley toyed with her food. âThatâs why Iâm here. Heâs away; traveling for business.â
Her companion looked at her thoughtfully. âWhen are you going to accept Duchy Valtoria?â
Riley shook her head. âI have enough titles.â
âAccepting the duchy would make things more ⌠convenient.â
âThe cabin is fine.â
âIâll make the arrangements then.â
Riley snickered as she raised an eyebrow. âMake the arrangements?â
The man shrugged. âHey, it needs a cleaning. We both know that.â
Three days later, Riley and the man were in the bedroom of the cabin. Both were naked. The man hissed at the feel of soft lips on his now-healed wound. His fingers raked through hair before drifting down to ghost shoulder blades.
âI love you.â The words tickled his skin.
He tilted his head down to capture lips in his; stubble scraped his cheek. Â âI love you more, Drakeâ Liam breathed when the kiss ended.
It was supposed to be just another ball. Court had just returned from the Engagement Tour, and King Liam was to present his betrothed to Court and crown Lady Riley, the House Beaumont sponsee, the newest Duchess of Valtoria.
Until the bombing. Until the assassins. Countess Madeleine, the Queen-to-Be, had been rushed from the ballroom right before the bomb detonated; Liam had joined the Kingâs Guard in fending off the attack at the entryway to the ballroom. While security hauled the intruders away, Liam scanned the ballroom.
It was dark, smoke-filled, and filled with chaos as nobles scattered for safety. Amidst the screams and stampeding, he saw Lady Riley standing alone, her champagne glass still in her hand as pandemonium erupted around her. Her ball gown billowed around her as she stared straight ahead; she was frozen in shock. Â
Liamâs eyes continued to look around.
Where is he?
And then he saw him. Drake was pulling on Rileyâs arm, trying to lead her to safety but she was a standing dead weight. Liam rushed over to lead his lover to safety; his eyes widened when he saw the hooded figure in black armed with a gun appear in front of Drake and Riley.
Liam feinted to the right to approach the attacker from the side. He saw the attacker raise his gun, the barrel pointed directly at Rileyâs forehead.
âDRAKE!â the King shouted over the din. âPush Riley out of the way and DUCK!â
Drake didnât look around to find Liam; rather, he followed instructions and pushed Riley backward with all his might. She was knocked into Rashad Domvallier. Drake found himself  face to face with the gunâs barrel when the shot rang out. He didnât even have time to panic. But he felt nothing as Liam sailed in front of him, catching the bullet in his shoulder.
The King was praised a hero for saving the future Queen and his childhood friend. Only Liam and Drake knew the truth of their relationship, until Riley saw them at a Beaumont Bash, groping and kissing desperately in a corner of a deserted room. Feeling her stare, Drakeâs eyes opened, and he tore himself away from Liam.
The Lady raised a knowing eyebrow before rejoining her date, Rashad Domvallier.
Life went on: Â There was a royal wedding, where the both the groom and best man got shit-faced drunk and stumbled off to disappear somewhere. Rashad proposed to Riley, who accepted. On their wedding day, everyone congratulated the businessman and future Duchess.
Rashad packed for a business trip on their wedding night.
It was inevitable that Riley, Drake, and Liam would become close. Liam was stuck in a lifestyle he didnât want. Riley was stuck was in a marriage of one; she and Rashad had spent a total of eight days together in six months of marriage. Drake had to hide his love. Riley couldnât share or express hers.
But none of them wanted to cheat.
Liam and Drake belonged to each other, and Riley was in love with her husband. She could not and would not hold resentment over him providing her a lavish lifestyle. The trio began socializing: courtly events, public outings, sitting around getting drunk off liquor and laughing uproariously at jokes.
One afternoon, after seeing Rashad off at the airport yet again, Riley stopped by Drakeâs cabin to see if he wanted to go to the Beer Garden for cheeseburgers and brews. She knew Drake never locked his door unless it was dark, or he was away. It was noon and his truck was in the driveway. Riley knocked once and entered. She heard noises in the kitchen and saw the King on his knees, his eyes closed in bliss. Drakeâs cock was in his mouth, Drakeâs fingers in his hair.
So it hadnât been a drunken one-off thing.
The Commoner had his back pressed against a wall, his breathing heavy and uneven. His hips bucked against the royalâs face. Rileyâs eyes traveled down to Liamâs cock, stiff and erect. She smirked a little to herself.
Crown jewels, indeed.
So caught up in each other, the men didnât hear Rileyâs intrusion. Quietly, she walked over to the kitchen table and sat in a hard, wooden chair and watched the two lovers. Her breath hitched when she heard Drakeâs low groans as Liam squeezed his ass. Her fingers drifted across her blouse, pinching her encased nipples when she heard Liam slurp around Drakeâs cock, his tongue dragging along the underside of the shaft. Her legs spread when Drake grabbed  fistful of Liamâs hair and began face fucking the countryâs leader. She moaned when her fingertips edged under the lace of her panties and flicked against her clit.
Drake heard her; his eyes were wide as he pushed Liam away from his groin. âFUCK! BROOKS! What are you doing?â
âDonât stop.â Rileyâs voice was low and aching with need.
Liam grinned up at Drake. âDoes the lady want a show, love?â
âThe lady wants an orgasm!â Riley said as her fingers continued to play in her pussy.
Riley sat in the chair in the corner of the bedroom, watching the lovers kiss. She pressed the tip of her vibrator against her erect nipples. Liam and Drake paid her no attention as they stretched out on the bed, lips and tongues nipping and kissing exposed skin.
None of them heard the car pull up, nor the vehicle door close.
Outside the cabin, the Queen adjusted her dress and pushed her sunglasses further up on her nose. Every inch of Madeleine was elegance and poise. She was starkly out of place in the rural environment she reluctantly found herself in, but her husband wasnât answering his phone. The French Prime Minister wanted to speak to the Cordonian King about partnering on a trade agreement. Madeleine offered to speak on her countryâs behalf, but the French dignitary insisted that Liam be on the call.
The best Madeleine could do was re-schedule the call. And demand Bastien take her to where her husband was.
She looked around in disdain; why Liam insisted on spending so much time with Drake was beyond her. Her eyebrow raised at Lady Rileyâs vehicle parked beside Drakeâs truck. Her eyes narrowed. She knew Liam was fond of the future Duchess of Domvallier; the question was: how fond?
There were whispers of the King possibly having an affair with Riley with Drake being their beard.
Standing just a touch taller and straighter, Madeleine headed for the front door.
Today, I find out.
Tagging: @sirbeepsalot @jared2612 @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @hopefulmoonobject @amomentofsinclairity @ao719 @burnsoslow @marietrinmimi @annekebbphotography @merridithsmiscellany-blog @queenjilian @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @indiacater @forthebrokenheartedthings @kingliam2019 @bebepac @zaffrenotes @liyanin @liamxs-world @choiceslife @ac27dj @the-soot-sprite @gnatbrain @sanchita012 @anotherbeingsworld @atha68 @hopelessromanticmonie @amandablink @cmestrella @iaminlovewithtrr @cinnamonspongecake @lifeaskim @starrystarrytrouble @liamandneca @liamrhysstalker2020 @alyssalauren @yourmajesty09 @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @twinkleallnightÂ
 #kinda long post #slightly ns*w #dcbbw answers #would you ever ask #I am an extra kind of chick #itâs a yes or no askÂ
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The Hacker X Cavalier Gantz- Neon Spray Paint
Authors note: Erron/The Hacker is by @horrorslashergirl and Gantz is mine also i am not good at writing anything and i absolutely feel bad writing this, this is going to be awkward af
Song Inspiration: New Girl by FINNEAS
Warning: Smut, brief mentions of snuff filming and blood, dub-con, virginity lost/first time, daddy kink
Word Count: 2.2k
âAre you always this prone to bad luck and violence? If so, thatâs kind of sad." that's a quote that's stuck in The Graffiti Assassin's head of course that's because if they weren't so violent and unlucky this wouldn't happen.
They looked out the car window as raindrops falls on to the glass calming them down "fuckin' hell it's pretty cold ain't it? I'm surprised that you can keep warm with that hoodie of yours" Gantz crossed their legs and leaned back in the chair, softly sighing.
They met some time ago, Gantz was just finished killing a target but unfortunately they weren't really in a good mood that night. The target had escaped enough time to piss them off which they took out by shredding the target to pieces and unfortunately The Hacker was walking nearby and saw them, Gantz facepalmed themselves at that mistake till this day.
"we're here, let's go" they sighed and opened the door.
It was still raining but the air was nice enough that the can tolerate for a while "Cav stop spacing out, follow me" they nodded and followed Erron
"Yo where are we?" they looked around the building, it was unfamiliar and large. They entered using the emergency stairways and climbed up, reaching the destined floor.
It was easy to realize that this was a hotel but it makes sense that he would do this, wanting to be untraceable and all that. "Do you like it? Paid good money for this" he opened the door to their room and stepped in. The door automatically locked behind them and the room was dark, only letting the light of the streets below to pour in.
"not into the expensive shit but i can deal with it" they sighed, cracking their neck before walking down with him.
"really only one bed? I guess you knew i ain't stayin' here long ay?" Gantz chuckled as they walked to the fridge rummaging for drinks.
The Hacker placed his bag on the desk in the corner of the room, grabbing his phone and scrolling through it before stopping at a message they both had
CG: yo uh Erron i need help with something, can you track down this person for me?
Cyber: what do i get in return?
CG: like i know, we'll discuss it later and I'll think about
Cyber: you better not be late or you're going to get something you won't like
GC: don't worry, I'll get it on time promise, heck I'll share my prize with ya
GC Last seen 03:25 at XX-XX-XXXX
He showed the message to Gantz which they promptly went wide eyed "you forgot didn't you?" a loud "tss" sound came from their mouth, they reached to their pockets and pulled out a stack of money, they counted it before handing it to him "five grand...Is that enough?" the Hacker chuckled behind his mask "sorry doll face but the price got raised for keeping me waiting"
They looked around the room, tongue clicking with nervousness and annoyance "whaddya want me to do? Give ya another grand? Kidnap a girl for you maybe?" he hummed amusingly. Stepping closer to them to place the money on the desk "oh I've got something else in mind baby, and it's not what you think it is" they ran back to the door trying to escape but ending up getting caught by him pulling them by the back of the collar.
"now walk to the bed slowly or I'll make it worse" he kept his hands on their shoulders, forcing them to follow his orders. "you better have those cameras off or I'll gut you like a fish"
"oh don't worry darling, cameras all off, just me and you" he tilted his mask to the side to show a small LED that's turned off, obviously connected to the micro cameras he had imbedded in his purge mask.
"now come here and sit on daddy's lap" he said seductively, they clicked their tongue and followed his order. "this is humiliating" they closed their eyes, refusing to see their reflection.
"Gantz, look at the mirror, this is a punishment afterall" one of his hand traced their hips, moving up to their coat and zipping it off. His hand moved under the shirt they had left and took off the bandages they had on to flatten their chest, he grabbed one of their breasts, rolling the end between his finger tips "guess the rumors are right, you are a new girl, you even got these babies right here, fuck pierced too, tell me how big are they?" under the mask Gantz was more than flustered, they bit their lips as to not let any noise escape "D....They're Ds, i had to wear those so they don't get in the way" they say through gritted teeth, their hands squeezed the bedsheets like a life line.
He took off their top wear, lifting their arms and ripping it off leaving them topless. Their body was lean yet muscular they were covered with bruises and wounds, some old and some new. Their arms were full of tattoos, covering from shoulders to wrists. "what's wrong baby girl? Why are you trying to hide this from me? Are you embarrassed that everyday you get reminded of all the pain you felt? Don't worry, i love it" he palmed their breasts, the other hand tracing the bruises on their waist.
"i just wanna scratch your surface, i wanna feel your all you're grooves, i can be your needle, I'll lick your wounds too, you can be my new girl, just wanna play with you" his voice smooth like silk, they shiver at the feeling, they weren't denying, his voice was soothing and worst of all they needed him inside them.
His hands traced the hemline of their pants before pushing it down to the floor with a thud "naughty girl, you're so fucking wet just from me groping you, do you want me that badly? Guess you paid me late just for me to punish you huh?" the tone he said that in was mocking, laced with venom that stung Gantz's ears "f-fuck you, I'll kill you later" they whispered their eyes shut closed.
He laughed at their anger, resting his head on their shoulder "oh i know you won't, if you kill me, you'll miss me" he pushed inside to of his fingers, moving with a torturously slow pace while his thumb circled around their clit. "Gantz, remember look at the mirror and don't cum until i said so"
They opened their eyes, staring at themselves in the reflection, they couldn't recognize themselves at all. "JUST FUCK ME YA POSH IDIOT! JUST DO IT please"
He wiped their tears that started to pour "shh no need to yell, that wouldn't be fun wouldn't it? I'll give you prize if you be a good girl, sounds good?" they nodded as they climbed off his lap.
They sat between his legs. With a bit of hesitation they unzipped his pants, pulling out his cock. They tilted their mask above their head, enough to block their face from Erron's angle but enough to have access to their mouth. They licked their lips, jacking the cock in their hands and spreading the beading precum that's beading out of the tip. They wrapped their tongue around the base, licking up to the tip where they slowly try to fit all of him inside their throat. The feeling of cold metal against their tounge piercings was driving both of them mad. They jacked their head up and down his length, tracing a zig-zag pattern on the base.
"fuck, you're good, i was right when choosing you, you better take all of me baby girl" he tangled his fingers between their hair, pushing them down onto his shaft. In instinct they covered their mouth with their hand and swallowed. They positioned their mask back like it used to, covering the bottom half of their face.
"i guess i should keep my promise, you've been really good, you didn't even touch yourself, nice" he patted their head, untangling their hair and patting down.
He grabbed their hips, resting them on his lap. They wrapped their arms and rested them on his shoulders "i still hate you, you know? I ain't gonna forget about this just because you touched me good, you'll need to work harder to make me like you" they traced the middle of his mask, tracing their finger down his nose and lips while he grabbed their thighs, slowly grinding them on him.
Erron rested them on the bed, placing himself between their legs. "please go slowly, it's my first time" their voice barely a whisper. He cupped their mask tilting their head to look at him "don't worry darling, daddy's gonna be gentle with you"
Erron rubbed the tip to their opening, slowly inserting himself about halfway through. Gantz winces in pain while trying to get used to his size "are you alright? I'll start to move" they nodded.
He moved in a slow pace at first "you're doing good, fuck you're tight, you're practically sucking me in"
Of course with The Hacker nothing can be wholesome, not even for a while "I'm going to BREAK YOU" Gantz's eyes went wide as Erron sped up his pace making rougher.
"NO NO WAIT DON'T!" they tried to stop him but can't. He holds their hips with a tight grip surely leaving bruises the next morning.
Their breaths were heavy as the pain started to turn into pleasure. One of his hands cupped their one of their breasts while he moved his mask away from his mouth to suck and lick on the other, swirling around the sensitive bud.
With a scrape of the teeth, Gantz's back arched with a sharp inhale. They wrapped their legs around him as he pounded their pussy into an overstimulated mess. They circled their clit with their pointer finger trying to reach their orgasm.
As Erron noticed, he grabbed their wrists "i said no cumming until i say so" holding both of their wrists together in one hand he raised it up above their head but by accident it had hit one of the filter of their mask, taking it off of them.
As soon as they noticed they hid their face behind their hands "NO, don't look at me! Let me put it back on please!"
Displeased, Erron grabbed their wrists harder, successfully putting them above their head. Their face was as clear as day, with the lights from outside making them seem to glow. He moved their bangs that covered their eye now being able to see their dual colored eye but that doesn't seem to be the thing that saddened them, in the left corner of their mouth was a small scar and bruise and a larger scar coming from the bottom right of their cheek and almost reaching the corner of theri left eye and over their nose. They looked tired, black circle around their eyes, seemingly busted lips, bruises on one eye and lips.
"What's wrong? Afraid i won't like you cuz of your face? Well it fits you doll face" they looked shocked, they tried to look for a hint of sarcasm in his eyes but couldn't "it's not about that, it's to hide my identity and shit, and ya got cameras on ya that can give ya evidence, and i don't know what you'll do with that info!"
"Stop lying baby girl, it's obvious you're trying to hide it from me, though you are smart about not trusting me but believe me when i say i have them off" he smirked, planting a kiss on their lips before moving down to their neck.
He started to gain pace, as rough as the last one but now the pain was gone. They closed their eyes and letting quiet moans spilling out from their lips.
Sloppy sounds of skin hitting eachother filled the room. A concoction of cuss words can be heard from one another.
Erron's rhythm started to get uneven, his grip on them was tightening. "i-oh god, fuck I'm gonna cum!" they said between sets of moans and heavy breathing. "shit, go ahead cum for daddy" he bit down ons their shoulders and sheathing himself to the hilt.
Seconds had passed before he pulled out, letting the cum and blood spill out from them.
"i guess i can tolerate you for a bit longer" their voice was slurred, they closed their eyes, letting their tiredness to knock them out.
"sleep tight princess" he nuzzles their face and slowly resting them right on the bed.
The next morning their body was aching, they grabbed their phone on the night stand besides them "huh? Wait a sec I'M GOING TO BE LATE!" they threw off their blanket, trying to stand up before being stopped by Erron.
"Don't worry, payed your boss. I said i needed you to help me film a girl getting gutted but it was just so you can stay with me this weekend" Erron was leaning on the desk, fully clothes and ready for the day. "Yo if my capo founds out he's gonna kill you" he patted their head to calm them down.
"Don't worry he's not going too, now what do you want for breakfast?" he grabbed the room service menu and handed it to them, they looked at him with suspicion even tilting their head "why are you even doing this? You usually just left the girls you fuck so what's the difference?"
"Cuz you're mine, and no one can take you from me"
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In Your Likeness | Chapter 2 - You seem familiar
Four weeks later
 The white noise of the lights around buzzed in your ears.
Sebastian walked up to you, cup of tea in hand.
âHere.â he said, placing it onto the table, the teaspoon resting in it rattling at the movement.
You sighed, leaning back, putting down the small pieces of equipment you were holding. Instead, you wrapped your arms around the hot mug, relishing in the sweet smell that came from the herbal beverage. You never took your tea with sugar, but opted to not tell him.
âThank you.â you mused, smiling at him whilst bringing the cup up to blow into it, cooling it down just slightly. âWhere would I be without you?â
Sebastian scratched his beard and smiled. âWell, for beginners, you wouldnât be in sunny Jerusalem if it werenât for my lead on a Piece of Eden.â
âThatâs my lead, too!â sounded from the other side of the room, followed by a crumpled piece of paper being thrown at Sebâs head.
âOi! Yeah, I get it, Miranda.â
âSunny Jerusalem, you say?â you countered playfully, bending over your work again. âThen tell me, why are we hidden several floors underground instead of floating on the Dead Sea? I couldâve stayed in Tel Aviv to do more research there.â
Sebastian perched himself on top of the table you were working on, taking a swig of his coffee.
âOh, come on (Y/n). You love Jerusalem. No-one who knows the city as well as you do. Youâre only glad to be back.â
A large grin spread over your face, knowing he was right.
â(Y/n), take a look at this.â Miranda appeared at your side, handing you a yellowed folder.
âWhatâs this?â
âInformation about your new target. Azra El-Sharani. A dangerous woman, mind you. She might seem harmless, but according to our spies, she killed her own husband. Templar ties? No doubt.â
You whistled through your teeth, flipping through the papers Miranda had so carefully compiled.
âI like a challenge from time to time.â
âThis is not a game. Especially not here, on this soil. Itâs drenched with blood of all kinds. Letâs not add too much to that, please.â
You tipped your chair back so you were leaning on its hind legs, balancing it just right.
âI know, Miranda.â you said. âI know this place like the back of my hand, but I know when to  not  strike. Thing is, if I donât remind myself to have fun every once in a while, I might slip into madness. Itâs not only what  makes  me the best at what I do â it  keeps  me that way, as well.â
Miranda nodded, her blonde curls bouncing at the movement of her head.
âNaturally. On with it.â
âOf course.â you replied. âI will let you know when I leave.â
As she walked off, the heels of her pumps clicking almost obnoxiously against the floor of the bunker, you leaned forward again, returning to your work. The acetone was sharp in its scent and stung in your nose, yet had evaporated in the time you had left it to dry. With practised ease, you re-assembled your bracer, clicking the blade back into place.
âYou need to eat before you go.â
âDo I?â you asked your friend. âI believe I just had tea. With sugar, even though I never really take that in my hot drinks. That should give me enough energy for the rest of the day.â
Sebastian hopped off the table and followed you suit when you stood and made your way over to the exit. Grabbing your coat, you threw it over your shoulders. Despite it being your summer garment, it was immediately sticky against your bare skin.
â(Y/n), I am being serious. We canât have you faint on us.â
âBeing peckish keeps me sharp, Seb.â you explained, putting on the bracer. From the chest underneath the mirror hanging on the wall you took another gauntlet, this one equipped with built-in tranquilizer darts, which you could use should the need arise. You wished you had it on you on your previous contract the other day â that rival hitman, of whom you didnât know the name.Â
He had crossed your mind more than once this month.
You shuddered, but you werenât sure if it was because of the aversion you felt towards the ICA or the vivid memory of his  impossibly blue eyes.
âAre you sure youâve read the file well enough? We could go through it together while enjoying some sandwiches? I could get you some falafel, too? Or something sweet⌠Babka?â Sebastian tried.
You sighed, giving him a tight-lipped smile.
âTime is of the essence and there is no way that I can wait any longer. Jerusalem is waiting to be rid of her Templars. My absence has made the lower ranks lazy.â
Sebastian let his shoulders hang, knowing that there was no use in pressuring you any further.
âAlright.â he said, âEnjoy your surroundings. Many people would be jealous of you, regarding your whereabouts, I mean.â
You laughed a little at the IT-manager. âOh, Sebastian. No one should be jealous of me in any regard. Anyway, isnât your break over already?â
Sebastian checked his watch, hiding the expression of shock on his face. âShit, Iâm five minutes late. Never mind, Iâm the manager after all. Good luck on your endeavours, now.â
You nodded and folded your hands on your back, watching him trot away, a certain spring in his step he always had whenever he was late.
Before you left the premises of your quarters, you dropped by Miranda, just as she had asked of you. However, when you turned the corner, you ran straight into her, almost colliding against her shocked face.
âOh, (Y/n)! You startled me!â she breathed. âI was just about to get you, really. I just got a call from the Councilâs office. They want you upstairs.â
âWhy? What is going on, have they told you? I was about to leave for that file, actually, Iââ
âIâm not sure, but the Eldest of Council told me that you needed to meet with him right away.â
âMr Howard?â you countered, feeling your stomach tighten. He was the highest ranking member of the Council, making you immediately nervous.
âYes.â Miranda sighed, seemingly just as scared. If Mr Howard called for you, it couldnât be good.
âThank you for letting me know.â
You rushed away, pushing through the doors after straightening the lapels of your coat in the mirror. Walking up a few flights of stairs to where the Israeli Council had their headquarters underneath Jerusalem, your mind started to run.
Was it something you had said, or did you take breaks that were too long? No, if that had been the case, you wouldnât be called into office. After all, you were the best Assassin they had and the most hard-working one at that. If you took a break that was ten minutes longer than planned, itâ
You halted mid-step, standing still for a moment as realisation hit you. The agent from the ICA you had run into a few weeks back⌠Mentally cursing, you rubbed your forehead in frustration, resuming your walk to the main office, though with a heart that was even heavier. They mustâve found out that there were rivals on their turf. Took them a long while, too. Perhaps you shouldâve reported it, but you hadnât regarded it as a threat.
Oh, you were going to get the lecture of the century. On why you shouldâve killed that hitman instead of letting him walk out, or at least how you shouldâve neutralised him. About how he had probably now killed someone prominent within the Creed and that it couldâve been prevented if you had ended him. Perhaps youâd be banished for negligence or charged with the guilt of a fallen brother- or sister-Assassin.
Your knuckles rapped on the metal door in front of you and you took a deep breath. A Master Assassin felt no fear when it came to scaling buildings, killing people in high places, taking  Leaps of Faith. .. And yet, you were about to shit yourself because you had to speak with your superiors.
âEnter.â sounded the way-too-familiar voice of Thomas Howard, Eldest of Council and thus, the highest power when it came to the Brotherhood of Assassins. And so you went, closing the door behind you after slipping through the tiny gap you had created by pushing it open.
âYou wanted to see me, sir?â you were surprised at how confident your voice sounded.
âYes, Miss (L/n). You may approach.â
The walls were covered in photographs of places, people and objects, red thread lined through here and there, revealing the on-going development of plans. You halted at the front of Mr Howardâs oaken desk, folding your hands on your back.
The middle-aged man looked at you thoughtfully.
âMiss (L/n)⌠Youâve been our best Master Assassin ever since your brother died. Is that correct?â
âAffirmative, sir.â you replied, swallowing away the lump in your throat at the mention of your deceased brother. âFor five years now, sir.â
âTime and time again, youâve proven loyalty to the Creed. I would trust you with the Brotherhoodâs most secret investigations concerning Pieces of Eden and the extermination of Templar forces.â
You bowed your head humbly. âThank you, sir. Iâm honoured to hear that, sir.â
âNow.â he said, standing up, his robes swaying at the movement. âI need you to follow me.â
Why the secrecy, you wanted to ask, but opted to bite your tongue instead. It would be too rude a question, especially to the Eldest.
And so you went after him in silence, the only sound the beat of your footsteps.
âI will explain in further detail later, but weâve picked up on a lead that runs deeper in importance than just exterminating the Templar Order. No, what we found will shake the world. Youâre my most capable Assassin, so I need you on board.â
You nodded. âSir, Iâve sworn fifteen years ago that I would do my all for the Brotherhood, that I would give my life and my dignity if it meant to serve it,â you paused before adding â...Sir.â
Mr Howard hummed in response. âI donât think youâre going to like this, though.â
âSir?â you asked, but he didnât reply anymore.
âHow about my other mission, sir?â
âIâve placed Bethany on it. Sheâll handle it just fine.â
âBut Bethany is just a novice, sir. She wonât be able toââ
âI need you here.â Mr Howard said, displeased with your prying, and the tone of his scolding voice made you immediately cast your eyes downward.
âI apologise for my nosiness, sir.â
âAlright.â he said, and swiped a key-card to open a large, thick door.
The room was near empty, an ominous hue omitted by fluorescent light, a large table littered with files and documents in the middle. A few members from the High Council stood around, but an unfamiliar woman had her eyes on you. You locked her gaze to yours and raised an eyebrow.
Who was she?
âHere at last, Thomas.â an older lady you knew well stated, clearly unhappy with his late arrival. Siobhan Vermont glared at the two of you with narrowed eyes.
âI apologise, Mrs Vermont. The most important thing is that weâre here now, and I guess there are a lot of questions.â
You opened your mouth to speak, but someone cut you off before you could even start.
âYou withheld information from us, (Y/n). You forgot to mention a rival assassin roaming the streets of Jerusalem. Someone of your ability should notice a thing like that right away.â
Casting your gaze downward, quite ashamed. âI apologise, sir. I shouldâve reported it, but I threatenedââ
âWe already knew of their presence.â Mr Howard said. âThere is no harm done, yet keep it in mind next time something like that happens.â
Your head whipped up to him and you frowned in confusion.
âI donât understand, sir.â
Mr Howard walked to the strange woman and whispered something to her. She nodded and went to the adjacent room silently.
âThis is a mission we hoped we never had to plan, but the situation forced us into cooperation with people who have ties to the ICA. Something big is going to happen, something that will make the entire world shudder, something that will make the eradication of our own, current enemies seem insignificant.â
Mr. Howard ushered you to the middle of the room, to the table, and on the other side of it, someone was being led forward as well.
When you halted and looked up, resting your hands on the files underneath you. In front of you, mimicking your position, he stood.Â
Icy blue eyes met yours, something in his gaze stirring.
���We meet again.â he dryly stated.
You sighed, feeling puzzled, then, your gaze hardening.
âSo it would seem.â
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