#Although I felt Dreads change of heart was also out of nowhere | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jasontoddswhitestreak · 4 years ago

Text

what died didn’t stay dead

(originally posted by vormirjumper)

dedicated to @starsvck and @artipotter hope u enjoy this <333

summary: the last thing you remember was fainting in wakanda thinking you saw your own fingertips turn to dust only to wake up in a world where natasha romanoff no longer existed. inspired by marjorie by taylor swift

content warning: natasha romanoff x fem!reader, set after endgame, angst, mentions of death, trauma, their relationship ending on a bad note, trust issues & previous steve x nat, (WANDAVISION SPOILERS AT THE END)

‘моя любовь’ = ‘my love’ in russian <3

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! (please lmk if anyone written something similar to this! & if you want more nat content lmk!)

masterlist

PART TWO

You forced your eyes open.

Pulling yourself up from the ground you glanced at your arms in confusion. You swore you saw your own hands turn to dust before fainting. You glanced around to take in your surroundings eyes widening in shock as you saw the hundreds of Wakandan's you fought beside minutes ago appearing out of dust. You stared speechless as you watched people materialise out of thin air, the dust forming into fingers, then a whole hand and eventually becoming a person who's mirroring your exact reaction.

You felt guilty about the first thought that came across your mind.

'Is Nat okay?' You panicked while rushing to look around, ignoring how you spent the last few years loathing her to hide your heartbreak.

You were an avenger since the beginning. The two of you were on the same team during the airport fight which wasn't surprising due to your history together. Despite the slight age difference between the two of you, your personalities worked well together which is why you got along well, so well in fact that those platonic feelings you thought you had for her developed into something more and somehow you found yourself in her bed many times in her arms with your bodies pressed against one another's, struggling to catch your breath, bliss written all over your face. Your legs were intertwined with hers as you embraced the warmth radiating off her. You refused to acknowledge the unspoken tension in the atmosphere due to the fear of speaking out about your feelings and end up ruining what you had. You couldn't help but let the insecurities build up as you gently caressed her cheek, her eyes met yours back in adoration, full of what could've been love.

But you knew she once looked at him in the same way.

"I love holding you in my arms моя любовь." She muttered, as she stroked your hair gently, you hummed in response, not trusting your own voice. What you both had felt right, you didn't want to ruin it, you didn't want to label what you had together due to the job you both have. Being an avenger doesn't exactly mean stability, anything could happen.

You remember the panic you felt when Ultron took her, the chance of losing her filled you with dread, but you also had faith. You knew how strong Natasha was. Your faith gave you strength and it kept you alive, Nat admired that about you.

The two of you fit together well, whether it was on the field or outside of the field. You could predict each other's moves and although telepathy isn't either of your powers, you know what the other was thinking. You made her better. You helped her wipe out the red in her ledger and when everyone's files was exposed to the globe you were right there by her side comforting her as she feared the reaction from everyone. You were there for her when nobody was and you stood by her side no matter what. Those feelings were reciprocated, you knew Natasha would've done anything for you.

She would even sacrifice herself for the possibility of you coming back.

Then the Accords happened and Nat betrayed the Accords, ending up on the run with Steve, Sam, Wanda and Vision. You were left alone at the compound with an injured Rhodey.

"How could you do this?" You spat out, voice full of hatred as you watched Natasha let Steve and Bucky get away. Your pistol shook in the palm of your hands, pointed directly at Natasha who lowered her own onto the ground, allowing herself to be defenceless.

"It's not that easy моя любовь, you out of all people should understand that." She explained, and you scoffed in response. The pet-name which once caused a flutter in your stomach now fuelling the fire that's building up. All the insecurities you felt during your relationship suddenly turned to hatred. You should've expected this, you should've expected that after all this time she would've chosen Steve over you.

"I guess you'll never change." You responded flatly, admitting defeat. You silently walked passed her and climbed out of the rubble that was created, allowing a wall to be in between the two of you not knowing you tore a piece of her heart as you did so.

That was two years ago.

You thought you'd never have to see her for a long time. You hoped you wouldn't have to see her. Clearly things never go the way you wanted it to go as you found yourself staring back at the person who once owned your heart.

"Well, you guys look like crap." Rhodey teased, wrapping the fellow avengers in his arms as you stood to the side, awkwardly watching the scene in front of you while fidgeting with your fingers. The atmosphere in the compound was comforting, it's been a long time since you've heard so much laughter in one room despite the war that's brewing.

Natasha, who was now blonde but as gorgeous as ever, hesitantly approached you. The two of you stared at each other, waiting for the other to make the next move.

"Romanoff." You nodded, greeting her before moving away to greet the other Avengers, missing the way she muttered the now bittersweet name she specifically picked you.

"моя любовь..."

Did she really love you? Or was it just for revenge? You believed that love blinded you, you managed to convince yourself that your love wasn't enough for her and that's why she left you. Your relationship with her died. It was over. You thought you buried it all, all your feelings. But you were wrong, when your eyes met her green eyes all those feelings came back to life, flowing through your veins.

After all this time you still loved her.

But your feelings for her weren't the only thing you couldn't bury.

Within an hour of reuniting with the Avengers, the team found themselves on the quinjet travelling to Wakanda. You wouldn't have said this out loud but you had faith that everything would be okay, Nat was finally by your side after all these years.

You felt as though nothing could go wrong.

That was a couple hours ago you estimated, you glance at Wanda who appeared a couple feet away from you the tears were evident on her face.

"Where is he?" Wanda cries out, clenching her fists, you saw the scarlet red energy glowing around her. You knew she must've been talking about Vsision who should've been on the ground next to her. "Wha- why does everything look different?" You realised, noticing the damages caused by the battle has disappeared. The grass was greener as ever. The corpses of the creatures you fought were no longer on the ground.

It looked as though the battle never took place.

You ran over to Wanda, helping her up from the ground when you hear someone call your name out. "That sounds like Sam." Wanda points out as the two of you held each other up.

"Wanda!" Sam called out.

"Come on, we gotta go! They need us! The fights not over yet!" He shouts from a distance, the two of you made your way to the direction you heard his voice come from, you saw all the superheroes surrounding him and a man in a red cloak. "What about Nat? Or Rhodey?" You questioned, looking for them in the crowd. You missed the sympathetic glance the man shot you before waving his hands up in the air, creating a yellow ring in the air that transformed into a portal.

"We're going to fight beside them right now." Sam confirms before flying through the portal.

The compound was completely destroyed. Your home was crumbling apart. Thor looked completely different, Tony had grey hair and Natasha was nowhere to be seen.

You wanted to finally tell her, tell her that you loved her with all of your heart.

You fought beside hundreds of Avengers that day, but you couldn't help searching for one specific Avenger. You ran over to Clint who was on the ground struggling to fight off a bunch of creatures, saving him within moments.

"Thanks kid." He pant, out of breath from all of the fighting. You smiled at him in response, reaching your hand out for him to take which he gratefully took, lifting himself up. "Have you bumped into Nat on the battlefield yet?" You asked, hopeful. There were hundreds of people fighting so you didn't expect to find her easily. The smile on Clint's face fell.

In that moment he relieved everything that happened moments ago. Flying to Vormir with Natasha, climbing the cliff with her, reminiscing about Budapest. And the way he witnessed her body hit the ground, the crack echoing so loudly he managed to hear it more than just once. He glanced down the cliff and saw her lifeless body faced towards his.

His closest friend. The person he trusted with his entire life. The person he named his son after. The Godmother of his kids.

Gone.

Just like that.

"I need to do this for her Clint, she's моя любовь." Nat whispered to him before smiling back at the oldest friend she had, pushing away from the cliff and inevitably falling to her death.

You found out what happened to Natasha, hours after.

The Avengers won, but at the cost of the lives of the people you cared the most about, the person you'd do anything for and the person who owned your heart the minute you met them. Clint broke the news to you, he felt as though you deserved to hear it from him.

"She loved you till the very end." He finished after explaining what happened on Vormir. You felt as though you couldn't breathe, like your soul was crushed and pulled away from you.

Natasha Romanoff was dead and there was nothing you could do about it.

She never got to hear that you felt the same towards her.

"I didn't think the ending to be so soon." You struggled to hold back a sob, holding the letter Clint gave you tightly in your arms. Scott somehow found a letter on the ground while trying to save Clint, it was slightly damp and covered in mud. But it was written for you in Natasha's handwriting.

You couldn't bring yourself to read the letter even nine days after the blip. You had to live in a world without her, a world where people drag her name through the mud even though she is the reason they're still standing. You adjust to a world without Natasha Romanoff and reading a letter she wrote for you months ago wouldn't help.

You regretted everything. You regret spending those last few years in anger, you should've stayed with her, you could've told her how much she meant to you. You could've told her you loved her, you could've held her in your arms once more. You would do anything to have her in your arms once again.

Sometimes it felt as though she was still there, laughing at something she saw on the TV. You always felt her presence around you after she passed away, it felt as though she never died. It felt as though a part of her lives through you.

You sat in the passenger seat of Wanda's car, staring at the Sword logo plastered on the side of the building, you could feel the letter in your back pocket, dying to be read. Wanda made her way back to the car, face flared in anger, tears threatening to spill.

"Wanda?" You called out as she got into the car, turning on the ignition but not pulling out of the car park. She sniffled quietly, wiping her eyes before glancing back to you. "I saw him." She responded, her eyes glancing to the folded paper on the backseat of the car, she could see the faint colour of red that was in the shape of a heart. "But they're not letting him have a funeral." You realised, looking back at your friend, heartbroken. "I figured at least one of them deserved a funeral, it's not fair. It's not fair that the world can just go on like nothing happened and we don't get to mourn the people we lost." Wanda rants, pulling out of the parking lot and beginning to drive.

"They both deserve a funeral." You agreed solemnly, remembering the fact that Natasha's body is at the bottom of a cliff in space in 2014.

"Where are we going now?" You asked, wanting to distract yourself from that thought. You felt as though you and Wanda were left to mourn your loved ones alone as the rest of the avengers scattered across the country.

"To the only thing I have left of him."

The two of you sat in silence as Wanda drove, you stared at the shrubbery outside the window before closing your eyes and resting your head on the window, allowing yourself to drift off.

It felt like it was only seconds later when you felt the car turn harshly, you opened your eyes and glanced around in confusion when you saw that you pulled into a quaint town, you had only just missed the town sign plastered with the words "West View." You watched the pedestrians walking by, noticing how some of them sat on their own with no one to comfort them similarly to you and Wanda.

The two of you pulled up to a plot of land with the foundation of a house on the ground, it looked at though the house never had the chance to get completed.

"Stay in the car, I won't take long." Wanda reassured you before reaching towards the back of the car to grab the folded up sheet of paper and getting out of the car. You nodded, staring at the built house next to the plot of land.

Your mind wanders as you stare at the home. You think about Natasha. You think about the future you could've had with her, living together in a quaint home like the one in front of you. No stress about being an avenger, just the two of you and your family. You softly smile as you imagine Natasha's reaction to wanting to adopt 5 cats, knowing she was more of cat person. You imagine holding her hand while walking down the street and watching movies with her in your shared bed. You wanting to stay in for the day and watch movies to ignore the real world outside and her letting you.

You think about what could've been.

A heart wrenching scream snaps you out of your thoughts, you rush out of the car and look for Wanda but is blinded by a scarlet red light that knocks you unconscious.

Your eyes open on command.

The room you stood in was black and white. It was a nicely decorated living room with a dining room connected to it, you couldn't pinpoint which decade the interior was from, too preoccupied by the woman standing in front of you.

Although the lack of colour in them, you could recognise those eyes from anywhere, that smile that you've wished to see was right in front of you. The dress she wore matched the decade and decor of the room, her hair curled up neatly. Natasha stood in front of you, reaching her hand out towards you waiting for you to take it.

You hesitantly reach out towards her, happiness flooding your emotions. She pulls you closer to her, welcoming you into a hug. The palm of her hands are warm as they rested on your back, you could feel her heartbeat as you laid your head on her chest, melting in her arms.

"Welcome home моя любовь."

370 notes · View notes

goldentournesol · 3 years ago

Text

to be true, to not be true (part 1)

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: early in y/n’s and spencer’s relationship, y/n fears the growing distance between them, although what seemed to be possible infidelity, is actually much worse–for spencer.

Length: 2.9k

A/N: i wrote this in collaboration with one of my favorite writers on here, Mia over at @mggpleasedontlookhere. She is so wonderful and hopefully you can see both of our writing styles here!

masterlist

The sunlight streaming through the windows made the hairs on my skin dance in glee, although it was the soft breeze invading the space that contrasted the radiant warmth. An equilibrium was achieved–a needed balance. The same can be said about the nerves crawling about my stomach and the naive excitement that made me light-headed whenever I was around Spencer. I glanced up at him from where my head lay in his lap. The reflected glow from the TV danced across his features making my heart jolt. My stare caught his attention and he sent me a small smile, his hand leaving traces in my hair. It was his day off and I had no problem spending it in suffocating proximity with him.

“This is nice,” I breathed, leaning back into his soft touch. He hummed in response, almost in contentment, if not for the moment his eyes seemed far off, entangled in a distant thought. It was so brief, I might have missed it. His job took a lot from him and I knew that, which is why I never pushed him. Instead, I let the subtle aroma of morning coffee and fresh linen confine my senses, leaving me oblivious to reality.

Although not a few moments later, the ping from Spencer’s phone burst the fantastical bubble that surrounded us. My eyes lingered on the cartoon characters plastered on the screen but I couldn’t help noticing the way Spencer’s fingers would thump rhythmically against the floor. Adjacent to his palm, rested his phone, revealing several notifications as it came alive. Albeit I paid no mind to their context given I was enamored by the picture of me on his homescreen. A faint smile graced my lips at the observation, feeling a wave of warmth rush my cheeks.

“I wonder who that is,” I teased, referring to the image. Spencer must have misunderstood my point of reference, hastily explaining that new language that Morgan had introduced him to through text messages.

“Spencer, using emojis does not constitute a new language.”

“Considering its context, I would argue it is–I mean look at hieroglyphics!” I covered my face in amusement, running my hands over my eyes. A sharp exhale left my lungs as my chest filled with contagious giggles. It seems that I was too consumed in my fit of laughter to notice Spencer stealthily concealing the device and turning off his ringer.

“First of all, hieroglyphics is a formal writing system-”

“And does that not ‘constitute’ a portion of language? Also, isn’t texting a writing system in itself?” His lips formed into a sly smirk, thinking he’d gotten the best of me.

“You’re right in the way that hieroglyphics is part of the language, however it’s all but the ‘expression’ of that language.” I debated, gesturing to the air as I explained my point. For a moment our eyes met, and I could feel my playful resolve melt away under his gaze. Despite the pause in my confidence, my stubbornness shone through.

“All I heard was that I was right,” he jested, tickling the side of my waist. I jumped at his mischief, collapsing into pleas and begs as he continued his assault at my skin. My stomach churned in delight as my hands attempted to pry him off of me, the premise of our conversation vanishing into air like wisps of smoke.

Spencer’s days off were becoming increasingly rare, I’d barely seen him in the last two weeks, but we’ve managed to salvage enough time between cases for a date. The excitement buzzed through my veins as the clock ticked closer to 7 pm. I was growing restless in the apartment, obsessively checking my phone for the time. Spencer is usually right on time, if not early. Dread and anxiety clogged up my throat as I waited for him. For hours, call after call would be sent straight to voicemail. The weather outside seemed to be in tandem with the way I felt. The rain was as unforgiving as the tears that striped my face.

I was never one to hold a grudge. But it happened once, then it happened twice. Slowly, it became a habit and it was impossible to reach him.

I guess date nights on Thursdays were now obsolete.

He came over to my apartment maybe once whenever he was in town and even then he was nearly unrecognizable. His shy, loving demeanor was replaced by explosive irritability and general unease. I wished he’d just talk to me, but he continued to brush me off. He was being distant and strange, his behavior was so unlike him. Knowing him though, he was probably too stressed or busy to get around to doing simple tasks like eating a balanced meal. Spencer can be quite scatterbrained, and I hadn’t seen him in around a week. So, around lunch time, I made Spencer a healthy meal packed with proteins and veggies and decided to pop into the BAU and drop it off. It felt like a good way to cheer him up. Maybe we’d have lunch together at the park he always liked to visit. It wasn’t that far from headquarters. Hell, I’d even eat lunch with him at his desk at this point.

The walk into the BAU was strangely nerve wracking, I could feel my heart in my throat. I had an uneasy feeling in my gut but I took a deep breath and pushed the heavy glass doors open. My eyes scanned the bullpen for my boyfriend but I couldn’t find him. Standing there in confusion, I was only snapped out of my trance when someone bumped into me from behind.

“I’m so sorry–oh, it’s you! Hey Y/N, what are you doing here?” JJ said, closing the file she held in her hands and wrapping me in a one-armed hug.

“Hey JJ! I was looking for Spence, I got him lunch, but I can’t seem to find him anywhere? Do you know where he is?” I said as I pulled back from the hug, she began to say something but was interrupted.

“Woah hey, sunshine! I was wondering why it suddenly got so bright in here.” The deep voice of none other than Derek Morgan came from beside us and he was, of course, donning his signature cheeky grin. I couldn’t help but grin back, even though my chest was nearly caving in on itself.

“Did Spence come in today?” JJ asked Morgan, whose brows immediately furrowed.

“No, I haven’t seen him today. I think he might be coming in late, I’m not sure. He’s been kind of off, lately.” Morgan said, eyes searching my own for an answer.

“He has, hasn’t he?” I exclaimed and the two nodded in agreement, “I’ve been worried about him, maybe all that emoji-talk finally got to him.” I laughed slightly, but stopped when I found Morgan’s expression shift.

“What do you mean? I stopped trying to explain emojis to him like months ago, if the genius doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get it.” Morgan shrugged, unknowingly allowing the literal caving in of my chest to take place. JJ noticed the change in me immediately.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” She asked in her usual caring manner, but I could barely hear her over the rushing of my blood in my ears.

“Nothing, nothing. Um, if he comes in today, can you just give him this?” I dismissed the conversation and handed over the brown bag with the lunch I made, disguising the sharp exhale that left my lungs. Before JJ had the opportunity to utilize her profiling skills, I gave both of them a cordial nod and left the office.

My steps felt heavier with every collision against the tile, albeit the loud thumping of my heart drowned out reality around me. My mind warped itself around irrational thoughts as my loyalty to Spencer attempted to retaliate against the invaders. The concept of Spencer as dubious and sly fell foreign to me. However, that lack of knowledge only added fuel to the imminent blaze that engulfed my head and stomach.

I swarmed with alternate realities, trying to make sense of the unknown. If Spencer was aware of my method of defining a solution, I would’ve been scolded by my naivety and illogical thinking. Oh to be a scientist–to have a mind like his. It’s a gift yet a heavy burden to carry. Is that it? Was that it? Does he not believe I’m capable of understanding a mind like his? Was I stupid? No. He had shared intimate momentos of his life before, so what was it? What can I not offer…What can I not promise to make him drift away like this?

It must have been me, right? I must’ve hit a boundary the last time we spoke! Or was it his work? No. By the time my thoughts stopped buzzing, I realized my feet carried me to the park I intended to visit earlier with Spencer. An unfamiliar pang hit my chest, sending reverbing waves throughout the cavity. A sort of ache rested in the core of my heart–something I didn’t think I would feel when reflecting on my relationship with Spencer–my Spencer. I guess I was so used to the warm bubble he fabricated that I forgot how cold the real world was.

Was that it? Did I stop being that for him too?

The thought of the slow degradation of our relationship sent a chilling shock through my veins while I swallowed pins and needles. My hand rested on a park bench next to me, letting myself use the wooden beams as support. Looking out into the far pond in the center of the park, I pulled myself to take a seat. The wind began to whistle through the trees, and the lake of glitter–the nickname I gave whenever the sun casted its glow onto the surface–lost all of its beauty. Crickets didn’t even dare to sing their usual melody and birds flew south to their homes. The breaths I took kept going nowhere, dissolving into nothing even though my chest expanded and retracted.

I pulled at the ends of my sleeves, tucking my knees into my chest as the air grew crisp. Questions of infidelity and unfounded justifications collided creating a mass of insatiable curiosity. My head coincided with entropy–it enjoyed the chaos–until suddenly it went blank. Every tether that kept me grounded vanished, my consciousness going into autopilot. I didn’t even realize the burn that resided in my eyelids or the wet streaks coating my cheeks–maybe from the dryness or something more. It was only the small drop of water landed on the back of my palm that pushed me out of the addicting trance.

Another one had landed on my forehead. And another one. And another one. I cringed as I felt the water drip from my head to the crevice of my ear. The clouds began to rumble a somber tune as it began to rain. Plucking myself from the bench, I made no hurry to make it back to the house. In a way, the droplets cascading the skin distracted me–seemingly blissful compared to the former events.

Once again, my feet held a prominent consciousness as it was the only part of me that was stable, leading me to the doorstep of my apartment complex. With what felt like a last ditch effort, I checked my phone for any new messages from Spencer. My heart lurched seeing a new notification pop up. To my surprise, it was from him.

With a deep breath and newfound hope, I unlocked the device, taking a moment to gaze at the picture of I and Spencer on the screen, before proceeding. My shoulders dropped, the tight squirming in my stomach halting. A hopeful smile crept on the corners of my lips, the previous distrust dissipating from my unreliable mind as I read the words displayed in front of me.

“Date night tomorrow?”

Tomorrow night couldn’t come quick enough. It somehow felt like I was holding my breath the entire day until I finally saw him. He was apologetic and sweet enough that it quieted my anxieties for a while. If he held any guilt or shame, it wasn’t apparent, or maybe he hid it well. Or maybe I was being ridiculous and reading far too much into things that could be circumstantial. But this was Spencer…my Spencer, the tenderhearted, gentle soul who made way too many corny physics jokes.

Dinner went by much smoother than I expected, but I still felt like there were things unsaid. The words felt lodged in my throat, almost like an itch I couldn’t reach. Either by mindless habit or by sheer deliberacy, we ended up in our favorite park. The very park that I found myself running to in a fit of frustration yesterday. Our feet seemed to know the way of our usual path along the pavement. I wondered briefly if there was a place I stepped in twice without noticing it. There was a lull in conversation and before I realized it, the words escaped me stealthily.

“Hey, Spence?” I started, and he took his attention off his shoes to look at me, “I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something.” The way the words stumbled ungracefully from my lips had me cringing. He lifted a brow in intrigue and caught my eye, silently profiling me and my nervous behavior.

“Anything, love.” The use of the amorous term caught me off guard and I had to swallow under his intense gaze. I felt myself open my mouth, but the words died on my tongue as the blaring of his ringtone took the place of my voice between us. It was almost as if the scratchy melody startled him because the way he snatched himself away from me to look at his phone was worrisome.

His brows bunched together as he took a look at it, “I’m sorry, I have to take this.”

Without waiting for my confirmation, he pressed the phone to his ear and took a few large steps away from me, as if the space would give him more privacy. I suddenly felt extremely exposed without him by my side.

The emptiness beside me lingered of his scent, almost mocking me, the words constricting my tongue. If I had a second longer, maybe the phone call would’ve been obsolete, maybe for the first time in a long time he would’ve been selfishly mine, even for another moment. I found myself suffocating in the same place I was yesterday like some poetic injustice. Perhaps I’m just a marionette, dangling from loose strings as the universe had their way with me. Frankly that would be less upsetting than watching Spencer slip through my fingers, knowing that it was possibly me who sealed that fate, and not some otherworldly being. It would’ve been my doing, and that’s something I’m not yet ready to realize.

Maybe it was my undying curiosity or growing twinge in my chest every second passed that led me to consult the moral figures weighing down my shoulders. At two opposing extremes, they debated the right course of action–or if doing the right thing was even the course of action to consider. Surprisingly in the end, it was my impulsivity that answered for me, wasting no time to stipulate consequences.

I shook off the twisting feeling in my stomach, pushing myself off in Spencer’s direction. I kept justifying my actions by telling myself that all I would be doing is checking on him, although the underlying motive was nothing under disguise. I whispered the same mantra to myself with every inch closer. I gritted my teeth as the antsy sensation traveled to my shoulders, slowing my steps to contemplate my reasoning.

What am I doing? A harsh exhale of detest left my lungs, leaving a light yet deserved burn in my esophagus. It seemed incredulous to me that I was willing to eavesdrop on my own boyfriend, although it didn’t seem like that minutes ago. I bit the inside of my cheek in shame, turning myself around.

Has this all been in my head? No, it can’t. Then why would he lie? He wouldn’t, but he did. Confusion set deep within me, however it was my guilt that left an everlasting mark. Maybe Spencer had his reasons, he would never deliberately fib–at least the Spencer I knew would never. But what if that’s it? Did I really know Spencer that well? The world around me closed in rapidly, my senses overwhelmed. Did I make him lie? It would make sense considering my recent possessiveness. Did he see that? Did I drive him away?

I bit down on my bottom lip, threatening to break the skin. I ran my hand through my hair several times, taking a few calming breaths to compose myself. No, I can’t think like that. This is Spencer, he’s my Spe–no, maybe he never was mine?

Unable to contain my contradicting thoughts any longer, I shifted around with a newfound determination. Pushing the bile building up at the bottom of my stomach, I prepared to march my way to him. My body set aflame with feigned confidence, hopefully enough to fuel the overpowering desire to know the truth.

To know whether the truth actually lied in the irrationality of my mind

To know whether the truth lied in the coarseness of my behavior.

To know whether the truth lied in the prospects of Spencer’s job.

To know whether the truth-

“I guess I’ll see you on Thursday!” Spencer smiled with endearment–a smile I thought was reserved for me. “It’s a date…”

To know whether the truth was that he was no longer mine.

part 2 feedback is always appreciated!

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid masterlist #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid one shot #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #mia <3

144 notes · View notes

obae-me · 4 years ago

Note

Imagine if Mc was, mostly unintentionally, horror movie child creepy. Like appearing out of no where, super quiet, both their steps and they don't speak alot. If they speak even there's some hint of dread in the voice, like there's something like, eerie and wrong about it. They don't blink alot and often stare off into space. Most of the brothers prolly brush it off, maybe think it's a lil weird but ignore it. But Mammon? He's fuckin terrified. He hates it. Somehow he still crushes on Mc but he's also like "BLINK MOTHERFUCKER"

Aaaaah I love this MC! (Partly because this is me, and I love horror but that’s beside the point!)

I think as much as Lucifer says he’d love someone who’s quiet for a change, they’re too quiet...He’s so used to people being loud and rowdy, that when MC unknowingly sneaks up behind them, quiet as a whisper, he thinks it’s a threat. He’s almost sent them flying across the room on more than one occasion...

Mammon loves MC no matter what, but he’s got a weak heart, okay? He can’t take it. One night MC had had a nightmare and came into his room for comfort. How do you think he felt waking up to seeing those blank eyes staring at him in the dead of night? Both Mammon and Satan keep trying to put a bell on them, but Lucifer refuses.

Nothing changes too much for Levi, they remind him of a few quiet anime characters and he loves that!

Satan is quite thrilled by this type of MC. Quiet, always keeping his meddlesome brothers on their toes. Something about them reminds him of a cat...the way they can just sneak up on people or appear out of nowhere. He adores this MC.

Asmo’s not too swayed either way, he still adores him MC the same no matter how they come to him! Did they say something kinda cryptic? Sure! But he thinks it’s adorable!

Beel is well used to his twin skulking around and being pretty quiet, so it doesn’t bother him. He finds it almost endearing actually. He turns around in the middle of the night to find MC staring at him in the darkness? Well, good thing they showed up! He was just about to get a midnight snack, and they can join him!

Anyone who can unnerve his brothers and stay silent is a definite win for Belphie. Although somehow his body knows when they’re looking at him, even when he can’t see them, which makes it hard to fall asleep...they better come over and reveal themselves so they can cuddle to make up for disturbing him.

#asks

196 notes · View notes

shoichee · 4 years ago

Note

teiko manager anon back ~ my juicy part 2 will disappoint bc guess what: we're skipping two years into the future. akashi never found out what happened, and by third year the gom were the epitome of cruelty. so reader picks a fight with them after meiko game, only to collapse out of stress after. they graduate, she follows kuroko to seirin and they train to defeat gom. but why is she so insecure and easily sad when gom is mentioned? they get their answer when they catch her overworking

oh teiko anon, so so bold.... really out here stirring the pot of chaos with this part 2 huh KEK alright folks BUCKLE IN YOUR SEATBELTS IT”S TIME FOR PART 2 and part 1 is right here ! part 3 will be here ! update: part 4 is here !

Akashi x Reader

Part 2

[Teiko!manager Headcanons]

remember how I said in part 1 how Akashi would find out sooner or later? this would normally be the case, but in this exception…

you came back to school pretty quickly and restored, only to be in shock when Akashi himself confronts you about where you’ve been… like hello? YOUR CRUSH?? is? talking? to you? about your wellbeing?

here’s the thing, Akashi can easily detect lies through body language because he has an extraordinary sense of kinetic vision and critical thinking, but he’s still a human, not to mention… a middle schooler, and he’s not a true mind reader as some teammates would wholeheartedly believe

still, after some easy sleuthing he easily drew out confessions from some teammates who badmouthed you, although every single one were some type of half-truths and inconsistent testimonies that didn’t really make sense in painting a big picture

instead of incorrectly assuming things, he wanted to hear what’s been going on from your own mouth (keep in mind, this is still Oreshi, the guy who’s still cordial and wants to confirm this with you out of respect)

when he asks you some questions, he doesn’t detect any physical signs of lying from you, which only makes him believe that there wasn’t anything wrong to begin with other than you being under the weather and the other teammates saying utter nonsense either out of fear in his presence or using you as a scapegoat to cover up other delinquencies that he may have yet to discover

“(l/n)-san, I take it that you’ve been resting well? I heard from Kuroko that you were absent due to the seasonal flu.”

“Ah, y-yes! I’ve actually gotten plenty of rest and proper meals, so I’m back on my feet quicker than expected.”

“I actually also wanted to ask you something, if you don’t mind?”

“What is it?”

“Has anything odd happening to you lately? Anyone who has given you trouble or has been uncooperative with you as head manager as of late?”

at the question, you only frown in genuine confusion before you answer no; you genuinely believed that these teammates weren’t in the wrong for “speaking their mind” and if anything, you felt like you were the problem in not being capable enough in managing your own job and your health in the process (despite being knowledgeable in health yourself)

because Akashi saw that you weren’t lying, he dropped it completely out of respect and asked you that if there was anything troubling you that you could reach out to him

oh how he was so, so close to finding out the truth

this wouldn’t be brought up ever again because you and Akashi only continued to grow busier and busier with your own duties; eventually, your fears came true when the Generation of Miracles had in fact “left” you behind when their talents blossomed too fast and left unchecked

honestly, you developed a horrible habit of overworking despite Kuroko’s and Kise’s constant checks on you

what do you know? of course the coaches and faculty members would ignore your opposition against putting the GoMs in every game; after all some of them had been quite dismissive of you already

it’s kind of ironic because if Bokukashi was the one interrogating you back then, he would’ve either easily (correctly) assume based off of the teammates’ testimonies alone, or he’d be a lot more insistent in discerning the truth of the situation and nipping it right in the bud to stop the “nonsense”

but at the same time, Bokukashi has a lot more pressing priorities than a few poor-attitude teammates when he has the entire reputation of Tekio’s legacy on his shoulders; anything pertaining to you never crossed his mind ever since his domineering side emerged

you were really excited for Kuroko since he was gushing about playing against his old friend, since his friend couldn’t make it to finals the first time // needless to say, you were also Kuroko’s mental support when he felt really down at that time

after Kuroko sustained an injury in the game before Meiko, you immediately accompanied him to the infirmary

there, Kuroko requests you to go watch the game and you only reluctantly agree because you wanted to see the game just to relay back to Kuroko just in case if he couldn’t make it, and you were still a manager with a job to fulfill; you’d figure leaving Momoi to watch over was sufficient enough

when you walk out the door though… you bump into Akashi, which is the first time in a while where you two were face-to-face like this; your heart sank when you realize that you had to accept the fact that he’s changed and allowed the distance to grow between you two

but a small part of denial makes you quickly turn and flee out the hallway, but you really begin to evaluate your crush on him as you scurry away; Akashi just stares at you for a moment before he enters into the infirmary where Kuroko is

you’ve distanced yourself from other people (GoMs in particular) in basketball out of denial of the fact you were really left behind (plus, you already dread attending to their games because it’s always a cruel reminder that you’re not working hard enough to achieve results of the same level), which is why reality slapped you in the face after the aftermath of the Meiko game… when you witnessed the full extent of their cruelty on the court

you were really hurt—in fact, you looked more distraught than the Meiko teammates themselves

especially, since the fact that Kise himself, who you thought of him as someone you can trust in, partook in this as well (this is actually your first time in seeing his cruel side in action, since he’s always been very sweet and helpful to you because he respects you)

you first confronted Kise when he was alone for a bit, sounding absolutely heartbroken and on the verge of tears; you shocked him out of his cold side and he immediately becomes a mother hen and asking if you needed water or a seat to calm down before you overexert yourself

after telling him your feelings about the game and your growing distance in the friendship, he sincerely apologizes for making you feel in such an awful way and tells you to let him know next time before a game, so that he wouldn’t suggest this type of entertainment for the game again.

you were in complete disbelief… the fact that your best friend suggested this himself? You dumbly asked for his reason, and he only says that you wouldn’t understand it because no one ever gives the GoM a proper challenge

even though he didn’t intend anything bad when he said this, it just made you feel worse, but you still accepted the apology to get it over with

the other GoMs come and you immediately become angry again and tension just skyrockets; Midorima simply looks away and says nothing, and Murasakibara and Aomine do most of the talking back/arguing… and Akashi only impassively stares at you

later, when Kuroko himself confronts them while everyone was walking in the hallway, you completely lagged behind on the group, tearfully staring at the backs of the GoMs and how you felt really alienated and unmotivated to continue being a manager for a team you don’t even recognize anymore

you grew dizzy again, and you knew your body was dealing with too much at once but you willed your body to at least last the trip

at least you gave a warning when you assumed that you were away from the GoMs at Teiko before you went unconscious; Kise happens to catch you before he brings you to the school infirmary

he does stay with you the entire time, knowing the reason for your collapse was all the extreme emotional and mental toll accumulated in such a short time; he feels absolutely guilty, and when you were about to stir awake, he simply leaves a lighthearted note and a cutely shaped bread before he leaves, knowing that you’d be stressed again if you saw him (around this time is when Kuroko confronts Akashi to quit the team, which is why he was nowhere near you at the time of your collapse/rest)

you felt better that at least Kise still sees you as a close friend when you see what he left behind

you still feel awful, to say the least

it felt wrong of you to quit mid-season, since you felt that you were simply giving up and further perpetuating the fact that you weren’t doing the most that you could

but you didn’t feel like staying for the rest of the season, so you decided to overwork yourself again to get the rest of the paperwork and training plans out of the way for the remainder of the games; you even left detailed instructions to Momoi in how to relieve certain pressure points and muscles for instant relief in case someone hurts themselves

a little timeskip where you decided to tag along Kuroko in attending Seirin High, but you were more reluctant in joining basketball again because you didn’t want to re-experience the stress and burdens in Teiko

well, until you made friends with Riko, and her story in how she was skeptical about basketball at first too inspires you to give it a try again

Kuroko feels really happy that you’re at ease again for the first time, but he definitely notices how you grow gloomy when the Seirin teammates praise the GoMs

you slowly relapse into the habit of overworking to “compensate” for your lack of contributions to Seirin’s team, but this time, every member DROPKICKS you to stop working and relax sometimes (Riko and Hyuuga are the main culprits)

even though you never tell them the reason for your poor habits, the Seirin team members just SENSE and KNOW what to say to make you feel like you’re doing more than enough to support the team in their own unique ways (Mitobe giving really cute shoulder pats and thumbs-ups… Koganei giving you slaps on the back and high-fives… Riko bluntly telling you to relax and giving you encouraging winks… Hyuuga being a roundabout in his praises… Teppei openly praising you… and Kagami telling you that you were doing too much LOL)

Kuroko gives you the SOFTEST SMILES (everyone freaks out every time he does that, it’s hilarious)

however, wounds slowly reopen more once again every time Seirin goes against schools that the respective GoM plays for

after every win Seirin achieves against the GoM’s respective school, each GoM would eventually learn a little tidbits here and there about your tendency to overwork and collapse and possible speculations of why, but you never confirm anything with them

even though you easily forgive Kise after the Seirin vs. Kaijo match (seeing how he interacted with Kagami and Kuroko in the park), for the others… you weren’t so ready to confront…

… particularly with Akashi

#knb #knb x reader #knb headcanon #knb headcanons #teiko #knb teiko #akashi x reader #akashi seijuro #akashi seijuro x reader #kuroko tetsuya #kise ryota #kise ryouta #aomine daiki #midorima shintarou #midorima shintaro #murasakibara atsushi #teiko middle school

291 notes · View notes

dontmindmyshadowhunting · 4 years ago

Text

Kit and Ty’s reunion (Fan Fiction) - Part 7 - Let’s kick some Cohort ass

Title says it all. Just because I needed to see some Cohort ass get kicked. My kind of therapy. Characters based on Cassandra Clare’s (TSC) though I created one for the plot. Three years after TDA.

The two following days passed in a blur. Kit was returning to his bedroom after training one evening when he saw a package left on his bed. He opened it and emptied the content on his desk. There was a folded note and a necklace. Kit felt a jolt of uneasiness as he recognized instantly the whitish-green pendant with the Chinese characters carved into it. Even though he had only learnt a few Chinese words from Jem, and didn’t know how to read them, he knew exactly what the characters meant. When two people are at one in their inmost hearts, they shatter even the strength of iron or bronze.

It was the pendant Jem had offered Tessa over a hundred years ago, when he had proposed.

With a growing sense of dread, Kit opened the folded note and read. We hold someone you love. If you want to see her again, meet us at the following address. Alone. If you warn the Clave or anyone at the Institute, we will know. And what you’ll find there will be her dead body. The address printed at the bottom of the note seemed to be in a residential area, a 30 minutes’ walk from the Institute.

A flash of memories went through Kit’s head. Tessa smiling indulgently at him as he made yet another one of his bad jokes. Their banter about books and movies. Tessa carrying a giggling Mina and staring at Jem adoringly, as he was making faces to make them laugh. Tessa singing to Mina - loud enough for Kit to hear – the song his mother used to sing to him. Well, the mother who had given birth to him. Tessa was also his mother now.

When he snapped out of his daze, he was fully dressed in Shadowhunter gear. Thankfully, he always kept weapons in his room and was now heavily armed. He didn’t pause to think as he walked to the window and started escalading straight up to the Institute’s roof. He would not go through the corridors and risk being followed by someone at the Institute. He had noticed the way the Centurions sometimes seemed to suddenly appear out of thin air when he thought he was alone.

Perched on the Institute’s roof, he felt grateful for all the training Jace had put him through. He now knew that, as much as Jace could jump from unexpected, impossible heights, so could he. He had even trained to jump out of a Malachi configuration. Theoretically. Jace had smiled conspiratorially at the time, telling him it was a talent that could always prove useful.

He drew two runes, Heightened Speed and Surefooted, sparing a glance, as he always did, at the Voyance rune at the back of his right hand. He only paused to take one deep breath before jumping from the roof and landing gracefully on the ground. He murmured a silent thanks to Jace and almost wished his mentor were there for a high five.

He made it to the location in short time, although it seemed like hours to him.

He tried to circle around the meeting point, but it appeared empty. Just when he thought about doing another round, he heard laughter coming from an alley surrounded by two brick buildings. He peered his head. No one. He started as he heard a creaking noise behind him. Spinning toward the sound with his sword raised, he saw a familiar figure standing a few feet away.

It was one of the Centurions who had been assigned to his security. The Swedish blond girl, Kiersten Lindquist. She held a finger to her lips, hushing him, and slid silently next to him.

“It’s a trap” she said low in his ear. “I have sent Anush back to the Institute for reinforcements. I’ll distract them and you run. Don’t – and I repeat it – whatever you do, don’t let yourself get caught. It’s you they want. They will not hurt me if they are still looking for you. They would want to use me as bait.”

“But– Tessa…”

“She’s fine” snapped Kiersten. Then, more gently “please don’t mess up our plan.”

Wait– Kit thought, there was a plan?

Before he could ask, a dozen Shadowhunters – and it was plain they belonged to the Cohort - were circling them. They were calling themselves the Imperishable Order, now. Same shit, different name, thought Kit.

“Hey Barbie girl” drawled one of the Cohort members. He looked very familiar. “We have no quarrel with you. We just want the Herondale Faerie-slut. Leave us be and we will not harm you.”

“Manuel. I see you haven’t changed” said Kiersten calmly. “You’re still a disgrace to the Scholomance.” She drew her longsword and shouted “NOW”.

Kit sprinted, knocking down two Cohort members on his way, disappeared around the corner of the nearest building and scrambled up its wall with a dexterity that would make both Jace and Jem proud. Up on the roof, he could see six Centurions had been dispatched to look for him. He glanced at the battle taking place beneath him and heard shouts as a newcomer joined the melee and incapacitated a Cohort member in a record time, before turning to fight two others. Kiersten was fighting two on her own.

Kit decided to check on the hunt party. Only two of them had decided to climb the stairs up to the top of the building, while the others were searching the area. Suddenly, he heard in a loud, clear voice “STOP. STOP now, put your weapons down or I SWEAR TO GOD I will cut Barbie’s throat.”

He hurried back to stand at the edge of the roof, to assess the situation below.

Kit watched as the newcomer – a tall figure wearing a Centurion uniform – took a step forward and kneeled, laying his two blades on the floor. He raised both his hands as he stood. The moon lit his face. Kit gasped. Ty. No, no, no, Ty. I am so sorry.

Manuel strode to stand behind Ty, encircling him with his arms and lifting a knife to his throat. He was almost standing on tiptoe as Ty was taller than him, and it would have been comical if not for the dreadfulness of the whole situation.

A few feet away, facing them, another Cohort member had Kiersten in a headlock.

Kit had to force himself still. His hands were clutched into fists, his entire body trembling with the urge to fight. He kept repeating Kiersten’s words in his head. They will not hurt me if they are still looking for you. They would want to use me as bait.

“Well, well, look who we have here” said a woman’s voice and Kit recognized it at once. Zara Dearborn.

“Is this… Julian Blackthorn’s younger brother? The weird one? Well, whatever they say, he is hot as hell.”

Manuel laughed. “I figured you would say this, Zara. We all know you have wet dreams about Julian Blackthorn. No shame in that. You know what they say, keep your enemies closer and all that.”

Zara spluttered. “Seriously? You really want to talk about this? How about your crush on Emma Carstairs?” And in a mimicking voice, “Oooh Emma, you have such pretty blond hair and you’re such a badass, and you have this long, beautiful sword making up for my tiny, little…”

“Let’s make a truce,” said Manuel. “When we get back to Alicante, the Blackthorn Ken here will be all yours.”

“That’s actually a great idea. The look on Emma’s face when she finds out that her little brother-in-law and I…“

“I’m sorry, Zara, but this is not happening” said Ty, in a loud, clear voice, that didn’t betray a flicker of fear although he had a knife pointed at his throat. Kit felt a surge of pride. “No offense, but psycho bitches are not my type.”

Kit could see in the distance silhouettes running in their direction. He sighed in relief. Reinforcement was coming. He jumped from the roof and landed directly behind Zara, pointing his sword in her back in almost the same motion.

Several gasps of surprise.

“You think that jump was high? I can do it in my sleep” said Kit, showing off.

He winked at Ty then, who was glancing his way, pride glittering in his eyes.

Kit knew he needed to stall until reinforcement arrived. Admittedly, the Cohort members were already doing most of the job.

“So… Manuel, I have to admit I am a bit jealous. You see, I have been fantasizing about holding Tiberius in the exact same position for years now.”

Ty, who had not betrayed a flicker of emotion until then, flushed a deep shade of red.

Manual smiled viciously. “Oh, I see. I guess all Faeries are queers.” And then, he spoke in Ty’s ear but loudly, so everyone could hear “So, who’s the bitch?”

Ty didn’t answer but looked pointedly at Zara.

“Let me translate for you, freak. Do you hump him? Or does he hump you?”

“Come now, Manuel. This is the 21st Century. Keep up” said Kit, flashing his best smile. “We believe in equal opportunities.”

“OK guys, did I miss something? did we really run into Cohort members or some hormone-crazed teenagers posing as such?” it was Barbie – sorry, Kiersten – who had just spoken.

No one answered as this was the moment when Jace appeared out of nowhere and knocked down the person who had her in a headlock with the flat of his sword.

Kit pushed Zara away, with such force that she ended up sprawling on the floor.

He instantly turned to where Ty was standing… looking down, his foot resting on top of Manuel’s body, which was writhing on the ground. Manuel was staring at his hands, his forearms, which were covered with red rashes and blisters, his face a mask of shock. A powder substance was eating away his knife, which had somehow landed a few feet away.

Kit saw Ty put away a small vial filled with red-purple powder, with a satisfied look on his face.

All hell broke loose.

A fleeing Cohort member was swept off his feet as a whip circled around his foot and Isabelle, looking like a warrior goddess, pulled vigorously.

An arrow lodged itself in Zara’s thigh as she tried to stand up. Alec, standing a few feet away, had already pulled a new arrow. He looked… bored.

Kit knocked down another Cohort member using only his right hook. Because, well, he could.

In a few minutes, they had rounded up the wounded and tied their hands behind their backs.

The party that had been sent to search for Kit came back to an incongruous sight.

Zara, Manuel and the other Cohort members who had remained with the Centurions were now huddled together in the middle of a circle made by Anush, Kiersten, Ty and Isabelle, who was slashing at the air with her whip as to make a point to whoever thought they could chance an escape. Kit thought she looked like a hot school teacher scolding her very, very naughty pupils.

The search party turned around, making a run for it… only to be met by Jace. He was leaning casually against the side of the wall, his arms crossed.

“Hey, guys” he drawled. “Looking for something? Your dignity, maybe?”

One of the fleers launched himself at him, weapon raised, and Jace simply ducked out of the way as he drew his own sword.

Kit sensed a movement behind him, just as he was facing another one. Glancing backward, he saw that Ty had joined him to cover his back. He felt heat – the heat of the battle, the heat of Ty's body so close to his – as they fought back-to-back, four opponents at the same time.

Alec and Jace eventually joined them, and it was almost over before it had started.

The remaining Cohort members joined their friends in the circle where Kiersten, Anush and Isabelle had remained. Isabelle had put away her whip and was staring at her nails.

Clary finally swept in, gracefully, not a single hair out of place, and started drawing a portal.

“Sorry we are late” she said, standing next to Simon who was carrying large paper bags. “We had to stop to buy us dinner.”

*****

Hope you’ll enjoy reading it, as much as I did writing it @heloisacosta23 @arangiajoan @nenyx @naerysthelonesome @adoravel-fenomeno @eutonyinwhisper @chlo-tk @the-blackdale @thechangeling @herondalebitchh

43 notes · View notes

laughing-with-god · 5 years ago

Text

Quarter Quell II

Yandere Jungkook, Hunger Games AU

Warnings; gore, death, yandere behavior, killing, strong language, kids murdering other kids, male on female violence (special trigger warning: if you have suffered abuse or are extremely sensitive to like-mannered scenes I want to take a moment to warn you that there is certain scenes in which male tributes will hurt and overpower other female tributes. If this will trigger you, please refrain from reading and I apologize beforehand.)

Words; 12.8k

The Capitol of Panem maintains its’ hold on it’s 12 districts by forcing them each to select a boy and a girl, called Tributes, to compete in a nationally televised event called the Hunger Games. Every citizen must watch as the youths fight to the death until only one remains.

The end had arrived.

Faintly, in the back of your mind, you could hear a doomful melody accompany your death march. Hauntingly beautiful bells and strings swam in your consciousness, making the awfully bleak scene even more gothically tragic. A personalized soundtrack for your promised annihilation.

On either side of you was a peacekeeper, each of them holding a gun to ensure your spineless obedience.

You followed them silently...wordlessly...mindlessly.

The sound of footsteps echoed in your ears as they bounced off the surface of the concrete walls. They guided you deeper into the grey, sterile and fluorescent-lighted corridor. Each pace forward only further locked in your fate. And as a slave to ruthless destiny, you continued onward.

You were marching to your death.

Yet, you felt no anger.

No fear.

Not even a lick of grief or pity entertained your empty mind as you followed the path of your own demise.

Your body had gone into a semi-shock, not allowing you to fully grasp the severity of the situation in hopes of postponing a mental breakdown. All functions had suddenly gone numb, protecting you from the wrath of panic that would thunder upon you if you focused too closely on this dire moment. You welcomed this sensation and allowed it to coax you into a zombie-like state, even if this tranquility was phony you still willingly clung to it.

Perhaps the reason for your lack of reaction was due to an acceptance of death. You held the benevolence of a queen approaching the guillotine, if nothing could change your sentence than the least you could do is hold your head up and never let them see you break.

You kept the charade up until the peacekeepers halted beside a door marked ‘10 F’.

Your breath hitched.

One of them then reached over to open it, the other grasped one of his gloved hands onto your arm to hold you in place, somehow expecting a fight, before shoving you into the room.

It was the resounding slam of the door that finally cracked your resolve.

Tears began to well in your eyes as you observed the last room you’d ever see before the hellish arena.

It was small, as to be expected. White tile lined not only the floor but also the walls, the bright lighting reflected off of them and almost blinded you in the process. In the center of the room was a metal table, sat upon it was the tribute wear. Dark grey camo pants lined with utility pockets, a tight black tank top, and a blue windbreaker-like jacket. To top it all off, a pair of black combat boots sat on the floor next to the table.

The outfit you would die in.

You choked back a sob as the postponed sadness made it’s belated arrival.

It seeped in like a flood does to a house with a weak foundation. The sticky and awfully heavy dread took its’ time peeling away the decaying layer of denial with steady ease. Then, it clung to your bones…. melting itself further and further until it eventually made its’ way to your core and wrapped itself around it.

You suddenly couldn’t breathe.

The air had evaporated before it could reach your desperate lungs. Replacing it was the icy shock of terror as it consumed every fiber of your being. In response, your chest began to heave up and down as your body began a hyperventilation process in search of more oxygen.

“I-I’m too young to die.” your broken whisper barely penetrated the pathetic whimpers and wheezes your body was also making.

Out of nowhere, a tiny spark of anger ignited within you. Anger at who, you did not know. But you felt an unfairness like no other in that moment. You felt robbed of basic humane rights, such as living your life up till it’s natural and uneventful end. Why? Why cut your life so short? You never thought of yourself as young but goddammit, you didn’t think your teenage years were enough to be called a ‘full life’. How heartless were people to look at the youth in the tributes and demand such short lives of potential to be cut even shorter?

“Dearie, what good would crying do at this point?” A purring yet somehow also grutal voice called out from behind you, breaking your inner dialogue of misery.

You turned to face your designer in all her capitol glory.

Her name fit her in the most pretentious way. They called her Topaz, and her bronze skin, that was always pressed with expensive Capitol body oils, resembled the characteristics of the infamous gemstone. To compliment this coco complexion, she often wore gold makeup with green or yellow dresses that flowed behind her tall amazon body. Her black curls were always flowing freely, sometimes with a crown on her head to feed the superiority complex she without a doubt had.

But today she toned it down for the seriousness of the occasion.

Her figure-hugging dress was black, as if to attend your pseudo funeral because you sure as hell weren’t getting one after this. Her curls were tied up into a tight bun to further emphasize her slender and bare face that was free of any noticeable makeup besides and odd golden-glittery lipstick.

“I know you must be very scared, but we only have a few minutes to get you ready.” She placed a hand on your shoulder whilst shooting you a soft and barely sympathetic smile that didn’t quite reach those amber orbs of hers. Then rather roughly, she proceeded to guide you to the table and gestured for you to take your clothes off.

Such invasion of privacy would be uncustom if she had not waxed your entire naked body and hosed it down the minute you entered the capitol.

Slowly, you peeled away your casual outfit as Topaz eagerly handed you the tribute one, bit by bit.

It was awkward, tense and additionally pathetic with the occasional sounds of your sniffles and continuous streaming of tears. All the while she eyed you with this soulless blank stare that unnerved your already high-strung nerves. You briefly wondered how many times she did this exact ritual. How many kids from your home district did she watch break down and dress in the clothes they’d eventually be slaughtered in? Did she also smile at them and offer forged empathy, pretending to understand what it was that they were going through in their last moments...as if she wouldn’t return back to some Capitol cafeteria and eat a luxurious brunch whilst watching the bloodbath that would unfold.

Instantly you got a wave of nausea.

How was it that both you and this woman were both species of the same human race, with beating hearts, souls and brains yet one could turn so corrupt while you ended up with the fate of a mere prey? Was even a tiny molecule of her guilty for the kids she looked in the eye before sending them to their premature deaths?

You avoided her gaze with a new sense of disgust and focused on zipping up your jacket.

“Don’t forget the boots.” Topaz added before reaching down to grab them and hand them to you. You took them wordlessly and knelt down to put them on. Whilst you were doing this, your designer apparently felt the need to lighten the dark aura around you with some ‘comforting’ words. “You know Y/n, you’re actually quite lucky that you’re playing this Quell. No weapons means no bloodbath. The first ten minutes of most games are the deadliest but that can’t really be said with this one. I doubt there’s even going to be a Cornucopia.”

Oddly enough, this was indeed slightly soothing. Although you felt very offended that she dare call you ‘lucky’, she did have a point. No weapons meant that there wouldn’t be a race to get them, and the first ones to get their hands on them couldn’t turn and attack the others. That should at least buy you enough time to slip away and find cover, if no one bigger decides to gang up on you.

Suddenly you got a flash in your minds’ eye of a certain black-eyed career who made his infatuation with you all too known.

You physically flinched at the prospect of Two getting his hands on you the first thing in the game.

All you could do was pray that the gamemakers took mercy on you and didn’t station him too close.

Blearily, you stood back up and looked towards the corner of the room to spot the item that would eventually spit you up into the arena. It was a glass tube, nothing spectacular about it. But you knew the moment you would step in it, the rounded glass doors would envelop shut and trap you in. You stood there for a minute, staring at it as if your stare could eventually burn right through it if you truly tried.

But alas you were without luck or fortune.

“It’s about time, Y/n.”

The ominous words were enough to stop the beating of your heart.

A pitiful and begging voice began a mantra in your head, ‘I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t wan-’

A nudge was given to your back and successfully shoved you closer to the tube. Goosebumps raised on the surface of your skin and the instinct to dry heave became too much to bear.

Topaz continued pushing you further and further, until you were at the edge of the object and a mere inch away from being in it. Your body had frozen stiff in attempt to plant yourself to the ground, but it sadly wasn’t enough to alter your fate.

With one more final shove, you were in the tube.

Topaz was half in and half out of the cylinder, her hands on your shoulders and her chin by your shoulder to whisper her last version of ‘break a leg’.

“If you win this, I’ll personally buy you a name-brand dress.” You could practically hear her proud smirk as she said this. “Good luck, hun.”

The audacity was enough to make you whip around in preparation to slap that smug smile off her face. Was the need to live not enough motivation? Did she think that hanging an expensive piece of cloth over your head would be the push you needed to survive? How fucking dare she-

You opened your mouth to holler and even raised a hand, but when you fully turned around the glass doors had enveloped shut and Topaz was on the other side of it, waving ‘bye’ in a content manner.

Your jaw dropped in horror as you heard an odd ‘whoosh’ sound occur from above you.

You looked up to see that the roof of the tube had slip open.

Right above it was the arena…. waiting for you with the utmost promise of lost innocence and bloodshed.

Your heart and breathing began to accelerate as you felt the pedestal beneath you begin to slowly rise, bringing you closer and closer to the top.

Closer.

And closer.

You clenched your eyes shut and tried to soothe this upcoming panic attack that was looming over the horizon of your sanity.

You took a deep breath and attempted to rationalize.

Blurry memories of previous games fogged up in your mind like some sort of warning. Images of shell-shocked tributes in the throes of denial who would stay frozen during the opening of the game, unable to fully process their situation….they were usually the first to go.

You couldn’t let that happen to you.

‘Calm down, the first minutes of the game are detrimental. If you freak out now and stall, you’ll miss your chance to escape.’ You thought to yourself.

As awful as it was, you were in this game for better or worse. No time could be saved for moping, survival mode had to be switched on now or never. From here on out, you would have to think like an animal and solely focus on methods to outrun the predators. Humanity had to be abandoned.

The pedestal stopped rising, letting you know that you were now fully in the arena.

You swallowed, whether it was to help your mouth that suddenly gone dry or to keep the bile at bay you did not know.

The temperature around you was cool, yet also somehow humid and damp. Your nose took in a voluntary sniff and discovered a scent of must, earth and...mold?

You opened your eyes to behold the 100th Annual Hunger Games arena.

You were underground, all around you were gigantic rocky caverns. It was similar to a dome, except the walls in which you were enveloped were ridgy and a hundred feet high. There was also smaller tunnels at the edges of the arenas’ center in which the tributes were located. They were so huge and abyssal that one felt like an ant standing in the middle of it all. Everything was dark due to no natural lighting beyond the small cracks in the rocks above that allowed very little sun to seep through.

You looked around in awe.

The arena was a series of underground caves.

You would’ve preferred a forest or a jungle. At least then there would be more chances for food and water. But you supposed you should’ve been grateful that it wasn’t an arctic habitat or a desert one.

You quickly turned your attention to the other tributes.

As custom, you were all aligned in a giant circle. The closest kids to you were still ten or so feet away. You noted with relief that you couldn’t make out Jungkook anywhere near you. But to be fair, it was hard to make out anyone in such dim lighting. But from what you could tell it was the boy from Four and the girl from Nine stationed on either side of you.

Unlike any other games, there wasn’t a Cornucopia to behold.

All you could see was an orange, hologram number ‘10’ floating about 50 feet in the center of the circle of tributes.

A robotic voice thundered the arena with a chilling, “Welcome to the 100th annual Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor. We begin in 10…”

The holdram morphed into a 9 to symbolize the beginning of a countdown.

“9.”

“8.”

“7.”

“6.”

“5.”

“4.”

“3.”

“2.”

“1.”

The sound of a cannon shot through the silence as the hologram instantly depleted into nothingness. The sound so chilling, especially when you know that the cannon would be the first of many.

Adrenaline rushed through your veins as you flew off of your pedestal like a bat out of hell.

You threw your body in the opposite direction of the circle, rushing outwards in hopes to seek cover in one of the smaller tunnels and worm your way far from all the other tributes

You heard yelling and the sounds of wrestling or tussling, but you refused to look back to witness the unraveling of any tribute-on-tribute amicability. You briefly just hoped that Chenle and Taehyung were agile enough to get away without any trouble.

Your boots hitting the rocky ground was the only sensation you allowed yourself to focus on, along with the sight of a medium sized cavern that you had your sights set on and were running towards. Your heart was beating so fast it would’ve been a medical mystery how it didn’t burst out of your chest, but you only had one instinct to escape. If luck was on your side, the tunnel wouldn’t be a dead end and could eventually lead you into another one.

You were about 15 feet away from entering the cave when something caught around your ankle, causing you to fall face first with your arms barely coming out in time to catch the brunt of the fall. When you were fully on the ground, something heavy and strong began to straddle your hips, successfully pinning you down.

You looked up to see the boy from Four.

He smirked down at you, his sun kissed skin glowing eerily in the dim lighting of the cave.

You didn’t know if he was a career or not, but he was a strong tribute that scored well during the personal assessment and wasn’t one to be messed with. You don’t recall doing anything to offend 4, so to say you were confused would be an understatement. The way he glared down at you was terrifying and implied some sort of personal vendetta.

“Get that scared shitless look off your face, doll. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He laughed humorlessly in response to your pathetic squirms. “You see, Two demanded that we try to get you first thing in this game. You’re kinda my meal ticket into that career alliance.”

Your heart only raced faster, finding no assurance in his promise to not hurt you.

Fuck, he was one of Jungkook’s little foot soldiers and was planning to use you as some sort of trading piece. You now felt so foolish for assuming that Jungkook would be your only problem, his allies would be gunning you down as well.

You began to thrash wildly out of fear, desperate to get him off you knowing that his plans would lead to a fate worse than death. Panicking, you began to plead for your freedom. “Please, you don’t understand! Jungkook is lying! There’s nothing going on between us!”

Four just stared down at you blankly before rolling his dark eyes and pinning your arms above your head.

You suddenly went limp as tears began to stream down your face. You looked around you and saw that most if not all tributes were making a mad dash to the hidden caves, no one stopping to help you or pay you any mind in favor of saving their own asses.

Four was huge and if he didn’t want you to get up, then you weren’t getting up. You had a better chance of melting into the very ground beneath you than fighting him off.

The tanned boy smiled in response to your now powerless form, all too grateful to see your cooperation and lack of hope. “There’s a good girl. Now-”

A loud ‘crack’ sounded, prematurely cutting him off.

Four’s eyes suddenly rolled into the back of his head before his entire body slumped forward.

A black haired, tall, pale but sturdy boy stood behind Four. He was holding up a rock and you concluded fairly quickly that it was he who smashed it into the back of four’s head. Your lungs began to hyperventilate, not knowing if he was going to use that same rock to bash your head in next. His dark eyes drank you in, noting your panic and seeming to scoff at the display, oddly unimpressed by it. The boy then dropped the make-shift weapon before breaking into a sprint.

As he passed you, he yelled one thing. “Run, you idiot!”

Those were apparently the magic words you needed to hear. They snapped you into action as you hurriedly scrambled out from underneath Four’s heavy but unconscious form to continue your journey into the tunnel.

One thought stayed with you all the while, long after you made it into the dark, empty but safe cave.

Why did 12 bother saving you? --

Part two

“Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears. I don’t care about any of them.” -Finnick Odair, Victor of 65th Annual Hunger Games.

The cave was very small, you found it after running into a large tunnel, taking multiple random turns and searching very hard to find a hidden little hole that was closed off by some large boulders. It was so tiny that one had to army-crawl to get in, but you liked it that way. This meant that you weren’t out in the open, that you were so well hidden that tributes would walk past it without knowing you were even there.

It was a cramped but perfect little hide-out, you barely had enough space to cross your legs and rest against the wall but you didn’t mind. At least you felt safe. So thus you sat in pitch-black darkness and listened closely to the sounds of your breathing echoing back to you in the intimate little spot you now called home.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus on calming down.

The adrenaline was still running through you like some sort of drug, the hairs on your arms stood stubbornly and your chest continued to heave up and down with a sense of pending doom. Your body wasn’t allowing you to relax, somehow still expecting a surprise attack and not wishing to fully give into tranquility. You had to pull a mind over matter and trick yourself into not having another anxiety attack, which is very hard to do in the middle of an arena.

If your sense of time was correct, the game had been on for about 20-30 minutes.

Meaning, the canons were scheduled to go off any minute now. Usually after people scrambled from the bloodbath and the careers did their killing, the gamemakers would sound off all the canons at once. This only happens on the first day though, after the first day the canons would trigger instantly when someone dies. But since most deaths occurred on the first day and happened all in quick succession during the bloodbath, it suited both the tributes and viewers well to count the canons after everything had calmed down.

As if reading your mind, a booming sound pierced the fragile blanket of silence.

The sound was thundering and vibrated the entire arena, or maybe it was just your mind that perceived it that way due to your current circumstances. Nonetheless, it was terrifying. Especially when one keeps in mind that one cannon symbolizes one childs’ life cut short.

They began to trigger, one by one.

“One.” You counted to yourself. “Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.”

The series of cannons suddenly halted and bled into another irksome silence.

Six…

Six lives lost just a meer half hour ago.

Six lives that could’ve been you….but weren’t.

A montage of all the tributes suddenly ran through your head, taunting you as you couldn’t help the famished hunger to know who died that burned through your chest. Was it Taehyung? Was it Chenle? Did the boy from Four survive the blow to the head? Did ‘god’ really answer your prayers and killed some of the career pack? Maybe even, dare you say it, Jungkook himself?

Your heart raced faster as you shook your head, not liking where your train of thought was going and the added affect it had on your body. Your attempted to rationalize with yourself, you could wait until tonight to see the faces of the fallen tributes via the hologram update that happened every night. You would just have to wait until then, you wouldn’t be doing yourself any favors by going crazy with worry now.

Instead you decided to do some mental math. Twenty four minus six equates to eighteen

Eighteen kids were still alive. One of which was you. You now had a 1/18th chance of making it out of here.

The feeling was bittersweet. Because although each trigger of the cannon represented a life lost, it also meant you were that much closer to the end and possibly being the last one to survive. Maybe you should shift your mentality to one of pessimistic idealism? Perhaps the key to getting through this was by seeing the good in the bad. Yes, every death was awful and you’d never condone it. But, if they were dead anyway then what’s the harm in trying to take their demises as well as possible? It was always best to think positively, right? That’s probably how past victors thought, given the mental stability was just as important as the physical stability.

You remember past games where tributes lost their minds. One boy from Six even went crazy and started eating the corpses of other dead tributes. You couldn’t eat meat for a week after watching that. A girl from Eight once went loopy from the freezing cold arena and stripped her clothes off before breaking out in song and dance. There was also a really old game, probably one of the first ten games, where the arena was a desert and there was no water, you vividly recalled watching a young kid of probably 12 or 13 cut himself just for the sake of lapping up the warm blood.

You couldn’t allow yourself to fall into that-

Wait, what were you thinking?

What was wrong with you? You’d only been in this arena for an hour or so and were already allowing your morals to be compromised if it could buy you some cheap peace of mind. Of course every death was depressing, no one deserved to play in this game! What was wrong with you? Why were you almost relieved that kids were dying and putting your chances into a better perspective?

Maybe you and the careers weren’t so different after all….

This conclusion was so bone-chilling and vile that you couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped your lips.

You quickly concluded that pondering was no longer for you.

Another rule you’d have to adapt; your mind can be your worst enemy in here, best not get lost in your thoughts.

You suddenly felt awfully exhausted. Not a type of tired where you’ve been up for a little too long or had just done a tedious amount of physical work, but a type of tired where you simply no longer wanted to be conscious or aware. Your body felt somehow extremely light but heavy at the same time, your eyelids drooping in insistence for some shut eye.

But you couldn’t fall asleep just yet.

If you fell asleep now, then there was a chance that you would miss the fallen tributes segment. You needed to stay up, if only just to find out if Chenle, Taehyung and Jungkook were still out there.

For the next few hours, you just sat there. Blankly staring at nothing and trying to busy yourself with dumb little songs or riddles that you allowed to occupy your mind for the time being. You never thought you would say this; but when you weren’t fighting for your life and clawing for survival, the games could be rather boring. It was a ridiculous notion- to be bored in this very vital time period where your life is a stake with every waking moment you spend in this arena. But it was the truth, there was nothing to do.

Until, something abruptly halted your colorless daydreams.

You didn’t know how to describe it. And to be honest, you felt it more than you heard it.

The ground beneath you suddenly began to shake with such intense ferocity that you couldn’t help but wonder if it was an earthquake. Then your ears picked up on the noise; and what awful sounds they were.

First, it was like a crash that never stopped. A sudden falling of countless heavy objects, most likely rocks or boulders given the habitat. It sounded as if they just kept raining down, their heavy mass hurling upon the ground and striking anyone in it’s way.

Next, the screams followed.

They were tortured and pained hollers that echoed down the tunnels and vibrated the air around you. You heard both male and female voices, crying in agony and begging for help in what you could assess was a little less than 20 yards away.

Your body began to shake as you cupped a hand over your mouth to avoid crying out.

You were hearing the last wails of young kids who were surely going to die.

Boiling hot tears streamed down your cheeks in realization on what must’ve happened.

But, did you dare wander out of your safe cocoon to investigate?

It wasn’t the smartest choice, but what if one of those desperate shouts belonged to Taehyung or even Chenle?

With that concerning thought, you were hastily crawling out of your little hideout with little regard for your own safety.

Once you were out of your miniature cave, you hurriedly snapped your head side to side to see that the tunnel was void of any other tributes. Knowing you had very little time, you broke into a sprint and followed the direction of the screams.

As you ran through the dim and mossy cave, you only had one thought running through your mind.

‘Please don’t let it be them.’ you prayed.

When you finally reached the site of such mayhem, your stride completely stopped as you lost all strength in your legs due to utter shock.

You fell to your knees and gagged, the luxurious breakfast you had in the Capitol was seeping its’ way upwards and threatening to make you vomit.

The sight in front of you was…. grotesque.

One of the caves had given out and collapsed.

And in result, tributes were crushed.

Their mangled bodies were twisted inhumanely under such hefty rocks that were now stained ruby red with their blood. Some of the tributes had eyes budging out of their sockets, along with their tongues due to the numerous amount of pressure that was weighing down on them. You only saw two bodies, but you heard choked screams of some others that were out of sight.

But all those cries were ignored by you, your focus solely on one body that was also pinned beneath such monstrous boulders.

His eyes were shut, face peaceful yet blank and body limp as if boneless.

He almost looked like he was sleeping….but the puddle of blood that dripped from his mouth and onto the ground told you everything you needed to know.

And if that didn’t, then the cannon that sounded sure did.

Taehyung was gone.

Part Three

“He wasn’t much but...he was from home.” -Johanna Mason, Victor of 71st Annual Hunger Games.

You didn’t know how long you’ve been crying.

But from the way your eyes were practically swollen shut, head pounding ruthlessly and throat dry and scratchy in result of your numerous groans of grief, you could conclude that you must’ve carried out this sob fest for at least a couple hours now.

The scene of your distract mates’ death was stained to the back of your eyelids, greeting you with gory misery everytime you so much as blinked. This would obviously cause another round of cries from you and thus began a never-ending cycle.

Taehyung was dead.

But not just any type of dead. He was crushed to death and most likely suffered through every single pound of rock that slowly sucked the life out of him. His body was squished so brutally, as if he was nothing but a small insect for the gamemakers to step on.

Somehow the nature of his death offended you beyond belief.

Taehyung wasn’t a loud or overly-sweet person, but he deserved more than to have his life ended like that. He was quiet, but you knew that beneath his silence lingered a remarkable intelligence and code of honor. His face was always wearing an aloof expression, but that’s just due to his guarded nature and unwillingness to let anyone see his weaknesses. He wasn’t the closest to you, but the way he helped you with Jungkook showed his true nature- he had the protective instinct for you that you’d assume an older brother might have.

Something about his end just didn’t sit right with you.

Taehyung was gold-skinned from hours upon hours out in the sun, hands calloused from rough labor, he was tall enough to have to peer down at almost everyone he spoke to, body lean but sturdy and voice so deep and grutal that you couldn’t even picture how he must’ve sounded as a pubescent boy. Taehyung was such a strong figure worthy of respect in your eyes.

So to see him pale, limp, lifeless and under thousands of pounds worth of debris and rock was….unnerving to say the least.

How the mighty have fallen.

After you saw Taehyung, you had cried for a minute before vomiting up your breakfast, being unable to stomach the sight and ultimately losing the battle with your stomach. You were tempted to stay with your District mate until the very end, to wait by his side until the ship would take his body, but the pained groans and cries had seemed to attract other tributes to that area as well.

You had heard footsteps echo from the tunnel opposite of the scene, across from where you sat next to the corpse of Taehyung.

It sounded like a group of people, you couldn’t make their words out properly but they sounded curious and were confidently jogging closer and closer to the disaster.

Somehow you just knew that it was the careers.

You felt conflicted; you wanted to stay with your counterpart until the very end, but there was only one person in this game who terrified you to your very core.

District Two’s Jungkook.

Otherwise known as the head of the career pact.

And if he spotted you…

Your flight or fight instincts took over.

You had rushed towards Taehyung and hastily pressed your lips against his forehead, trying not to cringe at how ice-cold his skin was.

You whispered one thing to him, logically aware that he couldn’t hear it but wishing that his greater conscious would.

“I’m sorry.”

Then like that, you quickly turned around and ran as fast as you could back to your little-hide out.

And here you were hours later; huddled up in your little hole whilst still shaken and miserable.

One could argue that it was ridiculous to be so sad about his death, given you could count on both hands how many conversations you had with him. But it was not for someone else to understand; the feeling of losing the one person who originated from the same place as you. Everyone else in this arena was just a bunch of faceless threats from places beyond your knowing. Taehyung was the last piece of home you had left, the last person you could fully relate to and to have him ripped away from you so soon...you felt robbed and alienated.

Your last goodbye to him suddenly entered your mind.

You didn’t know what you were sorry to Taehyung for, but you just felt like you needed to say it in that moment. Maybe you were guilty that you didn’t try harder to become his ally and team up in the arena. Or maybe you were just sorry that his end had to be like that, that you didn’t get to him sooner. Perhaps even being sorry that you couldn’t stay with his body like you had wanted to.

Yet maybe it was a good thing that he died on the first day. Some might even say that those who died first were the luckiest...they wouldn’t have the torture of carrying on the game for days on end.

This stream of thought was prematurely cut short when the Capitols’ anthem suddenly began to echo inside the caves.

You were dreading seeing Taehyung’s face splayed up as a fallen tribute for everyone to see, but you had no choice but to watch and get a full count of who was left. Reluctantly, you crawled out of your hole so that just your upper half was out, peeking out like a turtle in case there was any other tributes.

You quickly found the segment projected onto the ridgy walls of the rocky caverns. Right now it was just the bright blue symbol of the capitol as the trumpets and drums continued to play. You braced yourself, held your breath and waited...and waited...and waited. But eventually the anthem just faded out as the symbol remained.

Your face scrunched up in confusion.

Had the fallen tributes segment glitched? Why hadn’t any faces been displayed?

Out of nowhere, a smooth and deep voice purred over the unseen speakers, almost startling you back into your ‘shell’.

“Why, I see so many befuddled expressions out there.”

A gleeful chuckle followed.

Your eyes widened as you recognized who was speaking to all the tributes. The only person allowed to make announcements was the one and only head game maker. And when the head game maker went out of his way to speak to the tributes...well, it was never a good sign.

“As part of the twist of the Quarter Quell, the gamemakers have decided that knowing your enemy is a huge advantage. It can be argued that it’s rather generous of the Capitol to allow you such luxury of seeing the fallen every night.” A brief pause. “We then wondered how you all would fare if you didn’t know who was alive and who was dead. So for the first time ever, the fallen tribute tradition has been temporarily...suspended.”

Your jaw dropped as you slowly but surely realized what was happening.

They couldn’t, could they?

“Instead, every night we will display a number. This number will represent how many tributes are still alive.”

Reacting to his words, the capitol’s symbol instantly morphed into a giant number ‘14’.

The head game maker let out a thoughtful hum. “Fourteen of you left. Interesting… may the odds be ever in your favor, one out of fourteen isn’t a bad shot when you really think about it.” The statement shook you to your core, the makers’ soothing and accented voice saying those words was somehow too real for you to handle. He finally concluded the announcement with one more farewell, a smile being heard in his voice as he finished it all off with a simple; “Goodnight.”

The display depleted back into nothingness as the speakers cut out with a definite ‘click’.

If the goal of such announcement was to taunt and rile the tributes, then they achieved this goal rather well.

A burning itch of irritation bubbled under your skin, your face burning bright red and a random desire to yell out curses to the gamemakers overtook your mind in that very moment. The audacity to not tell the tributes beforehand, the slimey pettiness to rub it in their faces via an announcement and the offensive “one in fourteen” comment was all too much for you to bear. You weren’t a violent person by any means, but if given the chance you’d probably bash the head gamemakers’ face in.

You weren’t naive.

You knew what they were doing.

This wasn’t planned until later, because if it was part of the original agenda; the tributes would’ve been briefed on it so they could strategize accordingly. The game makers decided on this later, most likely because they thought it would make better ratings or quicken some tribute-on-tribute story lines.

But what could’ve made them pull the trigger on something like this-

No way.

A horrid epiphany struck you as the gears in your aching and groggy mind began to turn.

Who was the most beloved tribute of this game so far?

Two.

What was said tribute most vocal about during his interview?

You.

And who did district four try to obtain you for?

Him.

During his interview it was obvious how wrapped around his finger he had the viewers. It wasn’t a far stretch to assume that most if not all of the Capitol truly bought into his one-sided romance propaganda. So, if you were an average viewer of the games and saw that you and Jungkook weren’t together... then maybe it truly would be more entertaining to not have you two know if the other is alive or not. Did they want to see the ‘secret lovers’ break not knowing if their soulmate was okay or dead?

On top of that, you could only assume that many tributes were also separated from their District counterparts and were understandably concerned about their partner’s fate. This was, regrettably, the perfect way to get in their heads and could even be traced back to the quell’s theme of ‘no support system.’

You hated how evilly brilliant it all was.

Although it didn’t seem like much, the paranoia didn’t take long to seep in. Was Chenle still alive? Did the boy from Twelve make it out? And most importantly; was Jungkook still out there...looking for you?

Instinctively you crawled back into your little shelter, as if just thinking about him would magically make him materialize in front of you.

You instead refocused your mind onto the number displayed just seconds before.

14 people were still alive.

Earlier, you had counted six cannons. Which means four people would’ve had to died during the cave collapse, although you didn’t spot every single corpse in favor of mourning over Taehyungs’ specifically. So all in all, ten children died today. This left a little more than half of the original tributes left.

Out of nowhere, the bleak yet bittersweet feeling spiked within you once again. It was hard to feel any good about the short lives that were ended unfairly, yet if the games kept going at this pace then the whole nightmare showed signs of being be over sooner rather than later. This thought lead into another question; how come so many died today?

Natural diasters weren’t uncommon and they were obviously simulations created by the gamemakers. They usually happened within the second half of the games though, when deaths were slowing down and the viewing experience became a little too boring for the Capitols’ taste. So how come they chose to start off with a disaster right away?

It was terrifying and worth concern for everyone, especially when considering that tributes could do nothing to combat them if the gamemakers just chose to have a volcano erupt near you or something like that. When you think about it, anyone could’ve been in Taehyung’s place. It was just a matter of being at the right place at the right time. Luck was a bigger theme than odds were. How hypocritical of them to say may the odds be in our favor when they’re the ones constantly manipulating them against us?

You sighed and tried to rest comfortably against the wall of your little cave.

You decided to just conclude that they must’ve made the cave collapse to make up for the lack of blood bath deaths. It was the only explanation that made sense. In other games with a Cornucopia and weapons, so much as 10 or 13 tributes would die trying to obtain supplies. Obviously this couldn’t have been done with no weapons to fight over and most tributes just scattering away this time. The gamemakers must’ve brainstormed other ways to up the death count and decided on collapsing part of the arena.

You just hoped that tomorrow would be more bearable than today was.

You hugged your jacket closer to your from after zipping it all the way up and buttoning it for good measure. You didn’t know much about caves, but you figured that they most likely got really cold at night.

You were weary with exhaustion, all the running and crying had drained a significant amount of energy from you. Part of you wanted to stay up all night and be on the lookout for any other tributes, but it wouldn’t be realistic nor smart to begin a cycle of sleep deprivation this early in the game. You would have to set your paranoia aside for some much needed rest.

You allowed your eyelids to fall as you tried to steady your breathing.

A few minutes passed and the ever comforting rem cycle was not too far away from you, yet your nose suddenly twitched at a foreign smell, bringing you out of the lulling state.

A gentle yet heavy scent of lavender and cinnamon overpowered your senses, startling you and causing you to open your eyes to investigate.

You couldn’t see anything due to how dark it was in your hide-out, but the aura was only growing more and more potent every passing second. Weirdly enough, your body was growing limp and relaxed although your mind was panicking and racing for some sort of explanation.

You cupped a hand over your mouth and nose, suspecting that this odd fragrance was the cause.

You hurriedly tried to crawl out of your nook, the task being difficult with just one hand available to you. But when you finally made it out, you saw what was truly occurring.

You felt like a bucket of ice was dropped onto you as you quickly caught onto what was happening.

The barren tunnel was seeping out some sort of fog-like gas. It was artificially purple and smelled sickly sweet, almost enough to make you gag. You mentally cursed the gamemakers before holding your breath and making a mad dash in the opposite direction of the gas.

It must’ve been poisonous to anyone who breathed it in. Why else would it be here?

You kept running and running, trying to ignore the burning of your lungs knowing that any breath you take will most likely be your last if you didn’t get away from the fog.

But the gas was gaining ground at an alarming rate, almost biting at the back of your ankles with how close it was.

Your eyes welled up with tears as your face grew blue due to how long you starved yourself from oxygen.

You spotted another cave a few yards away and pushed yourself to it, knowing it was your only hope of escaping. But when you entered it, you let out a frustrated scream at what was there to welcome you; more gas.

It was attacking you from every direction and you were unable to hold your breath any longer.

Your eyelids grew droopy as you fell to your knees.

Was this the end?

Black spots entered your vision, growing in size until you couldn’t see anything else.

Your body fell over and the last sound you faintly remember was the triggering of a cannon.

Part Three

“No! I can still do this! I can still do this. One more kill. It’s the only thing I know how to do. Bring pride to my district…. Not that it matters.” -Cato Porcious, fallen tribute of 74th Annual Hunger Games.

Jungkook didn’t know what to feel when he first woke up to the second day of the 100th annual Hunger Games.

First, he felt relief.

He thought for sure that the violet gas of last night had taken him out for good.

But then, he felt confusion.

It took only a few seconds for him to process these emotions, study his surroundings, then jump up to his feet in bewilderment.

In all his years of watching the games and preparing to one day play himself, he never could have anticipated this.

His jaw dropped as he slowly swiveled his head around in order to fully observe what had happened during his rest last night.

The arena….it changed.

It was hardly believable and didn’t make a lick of sense, but there was no doubt about it. The musty and dark caves no longer encased them. Instead, Jungkook and his allies were lying in the middle of an abandoned street that was surrounded by tall yet barren buildings.

It looked to be a city, or at least it was at one point.

The metropolitan area had endured lots of damage, some buildings even looked as though they have been bombed at some point. There were loose bricks and concrete debris spread everywhere; dust, dirt and shards of glass caking lots of surface. The skyline above was gray and cloudy, an odd film of brown stained the horizon in what must’ve been a pseudo pollution detail.

It was a massive dystopian city.

“What the hell?”

The groggy yet deep voice of the boy from One interrupted Jungkook’s silent awe, causing him to snap his attention back to his allies.

They were just waking up, although Chanyeol seemed to have the head start as he was already sat up and studying what had become of the underground cave system with eyes of exasperated wonder. For a moment the two were silent, waiting until Joy and Jeongyeon fully awoke and also realized the situation they were in.

“Well,” Jeongyeon stretched her arms above her head and yawned leisurely, somehow totally causal despite the giant revelation that just collectively went off in their heads. Jungkook could never tell if she was genuinely as friendly and aloof as she acted, or if she was just that good at putting on a show for the viewers. “at least now we know that the purple stuff wasn’t deadly. Probably was just used to knock us out.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and refrained from scolding her for pointing out the obvious. He routinely wondered to himself if he had the patience of a saint for putting up with District One’s peacock ways. Their thirst for screen time would’ve been laughable if it weren’t for Jungkook’s high strung nerves that made him more irritable than usual.

Luckily, Joy also saw the comment as stupid and had no trouble pointing that out. “No shit, bimbo.”

Jeongyeon frowned at this, still not used to Twos’ blunt and borderline mean nature. She turned to her counterpart in search of back up, but the tired oaf of a teen just offered her a shrug and stood up for a morning stretch of those long legs of his.

“How is this even possible?” Jungkook murmured to himself, still trying to piece together all the logistics of how the gamemakers did something as drastic as changed the arena with all the tributes unconscious.

“I don’t know man. Who are we to question their high-end shit? They probably just built all this stuff around us.” Chanyeol said, overhearing Jungkook and budding in as was his custom.

Jungkook scowled and tried his hardest to swallow down the hellish tick that crawled up the back of his neck.

Now, he never thought that the games would be a cake walk per say. Even the strongest of victors had to go through some pretty odd and seemingly unbearable circumstances to win. Jungkook just assumed that he was capable enough to put up with any shit the gamemakers tossed his way; and it shouldn’t be a lot given he played into their little game and charmed his way into the forefront of the viewers’ minds. But he guessed he could finally conclude that he underestimated just how difficult they were going to make this Quell.

It was hard enough to attempt to track you down in the series of underground caves, how the hell was Jungkook going to find you if the very arena changed every single day?

He felt his eye twitch on its’ own accord as he scanned every single building that stood proud in the doomsday skyline, knowing that there was no possible way he could search through every single one in his journey to find you.

If you were alive.

14 tributes remained but no one said you were one of them.

His face darkened.

How foolish had he been to assume that the gamemakers would just give him his love? They were going to use you like bait, reeling him in and making him jump through hoops as if he was a dog yearning for a treat. But to be fair, his pride was reduced to that of a dogs’ when it came to you.

Joy took notice of her counterpart’s gloomy mood. She licked her dry lips before commenting on it from her criss crossed position on the vacant road. “What’s your problem, loverboy? Shouldn’t you be happy we’re not dead?”

The rest of the career pack turned to their ‘leader’ who currently had his back turned towards them. It was a bold move to taunt Two’s infatuation for you by calling him such nickname, but Joy was just a bold person in general. It has yet to be said if Jungkook held a soft spot for her by allowing her passes to say such things, or if he was just waiting for the right time to bash her head in.

“Of course it’s good we’re not dead. But this twist is going to make everything so much harder.” Jungkook bluntly responded, pretending to not notice the subtle jab.

Joy snorted. “You mean it’s gonna make everything harder to find Ten.”

Jungkook’s sudden silence only made her laugh harder.

“Yeah, about that…” Chanyeol trailed off, wondering if now would be a good time to ask the unknown. “What is going on with you and the girl from Ten? Why are we looking for her?”

“She’s mine.” The reply was short and brutal on Two’s part, shutting down any further inquiries as if he believed that any elaboration would be wasted on such fools.

Joy’s snorts only got louder as she eventually rolled over, clutching her stomach in delirium.

“Like your girlfriend or something? I thought the whole thing was an act.” Jeongyeon scratched her head in confusion, how the hell would two tributes get into an exclusive relationship in the week before the games?

“Or are you trying to track her down and fuck her? I heard that the kids from Districts like that stay virgins till marriage.” Chanyeol conversed, it wasn’t totally unknown for tributes to try to get their rocks off before or even during the games. Lots of kids didn’t want to die virgins and found the solution within each other. Of course, this never blossomed into a real romance given there could be only one victor. Survival outlasted all other primal instincts.

Jungkook suddenly found himself wondering if it was too late to become a lone wolf in this game. District One was proving to be as dumb as ever and his own counterpart wasn’t helping matters in the slightest.

The brute of a teen opened his mouth to spit out a retort, but quickly closed it when he realized he didn’t even know what to say.

The thing was; Jungkook didn’t feel the need to explain shit to anyone. It wasn’t for them to understand. Hell, even if he tried there was no possible way he could properly describe it... much less get them to understand.

“Everyone shut up! We need to get moving. There’s still nine other tributes out there that we have to kill.” Jungkook ordered, smirking in slight satisfaction when they all immediately stood up and got ready at the metaphorical snap of his fingers.

The next two hours of the day consisted of the pack roaming the ruined streets of the city, silent and on high alert for any other tributes unlucky enough to come across the blood thirsty four. The only sounds to be heard was the light ‘crunch’ of the debris under their combat boots that resulted with every step they took. What also followed them was an odd chemical smell that appeared to loom in every crevice of the city; a burning rubber scent that caused a scrunch of ones’ nose. Jeongyeon voiced her concern for it being radioactive, but the three just shrugged, it’s not like they could do anything about it even if they wanted to.

As the morning faded away to be replaced with the afternoon, it became barringly obvious that all other weaker tributes would be spared given the careers had yet to spot a single soul. This lack of action mixed in with hunger and thirst spiked tensions. Soon enough Joy halted her steps in favor of plopping down on what looked to be a curb, pouting up up at Jungkook in bratty refusal to move any further.

The pack halted and set their gaze on her.

Two pairs of eyes peered confused, while the last pair glared ruthlessly.

“The games is more than just killing other people, Kook. We need to survive too. If we don’t find food or water soon, we won’t even be able to overpower others.” Joy complained loudly, rubbing her sore ankles as if to prove her point.

Jungkook let out a low growl under his breath, wiping the sweat away from his forehead while trying to remind himself that he was on camera at all times.

‘Don’t blow up, don’t blow up, don’t blow up’

“Joy might be onto something. God only knows what arena we’ll wake up in tomorrow. The only food we could get from the caves were insects and algae, we should search through these buildings for any scraps.” Chanyeol attempted to be the voice of reason, without a doubt catching on to the fight that loomed in the near future if Joy and Jungkook didn’t get on the same page quickly.

“I need to find her.” This was said through gritted teeth, Jungkook’s patience being worn too thin to play the amicable act any longer.

“Why must everyone suffer for the sake of your obsession?!” Joy scoffed, irritated that some mute country girl from Ten was being placed as priority one over her well-being.

Jungkook felt his brow tick. The familiar burning itch of a fury only infatuated men could understand graced his sensations once again. The fact that your importance was being questioned was almost blasphemous to Jungkook. Were they blind? Of course the first objective had to be you, everyone else was just mere distractions getting in the way of his goal. He was the big dog in this game, the undeniable winner and if his fellow “allies” knew what was good for them then they’d play along to his plan.

“Joy, get up.” Jungkook licked his lips before continuing in a bleak voice; “I won’t ask again.”

Joy rolled her raven eyes and stood up, taking one step forward towards the pseudo leader with a snarl-like expression twisting up the usually pretty features of her face. “Like hell I’ll follow you! If you’re willing to place some random girl over your allies then maybe we need a new change in leadership.”

Jungkook could practically feel the unseen cameras zoom in on the scene. The viewers most likely gasping in shock or clutching their pearls with excitement at the power dynamic impasse that the most powerful alliance in the game was facing.

It was silent for a moment, Jungkook boring his ruthless eyes into hers as if to give her a second chance to step down in submission.

But she never did.

Instead she looked at the pair from One, whom for once looked rather uncomfortable, and called out in a smug grin; “I’m sure you guys are thinking it too. Is it irrational for me to question the head of our pack when he values a random girl over our lives?”

Neither Chanyeol nor Jeogyeon answered, instead they both avoided eye contact.

Jungkook let out a humorless chuckle at her failure to sway a rally against him.

Now, it was his turn.

“Joy I’ve been nothing but lenient with you because we’re from the same District and two heads are better than one. But if I have to strangle that pretty little neck of yours until your face is blue and that cannon goes off, then I will.” Jungkook’s voice was emotionless and barren, as if he was simply reciting lines and not truly expressing his inner most thoughts. The only reaction to be seen from him was the slight smirk he had when he witnessed Joy’s proud expression drop into a look of doom.

He continued, “In fact, I don’t owe anyone here anything. If I truly wanted to I could kill all three of you and not even feel a lick of remorse. I could rid myself of liabilities and dead weight to further myself in the game. This alliance is hindering my full potential. It is me who shows you mercy, keep that in mind with every waking second of your life in this game.”

Joy took a step back whilst Jungkook took one forward.

“You all saw what I did to Four. I’m not above killing other careers if they get in my way.”

“Kook-”

Jungkook raised his hand and silenced her with a harsh backhand to the face. The speed of the action was so quick that the only way Chanyeol and Jeogyeon even realized what had happened was the echoing sound of the hit and the response of Joy cradling the left side of her now redden face.

Jungkook wasn’t finished either.

In fact, he seemed all too proud to make an example out of his very own district mate.

He snatched her hair and dragged her to the ground, forcing her into a crouched position as he lifted his knee to jut her in the stomach.

She let out a tortured scream at the pain, looking at her other allies for aid only to cry at the realization that she was alone to face his wrath.

She stared up at the monster of a man, pleading to spot some remains of mercy expected of rational humans.

But his orbs were empty of any emotion other than pure hatred.

Jungkook raised a clenched fist once again as Joy screamed.

Part Four

"You know, they're not the only ones who can form alliances" - Victor Katniss Everdeen to Rue Culler in 74th Annual Hunger Games.

It was the third day of the games.

You awoke to a feeling of sticky humidity clinging onto your skin. It was only when you managed to tear your swollen eyes open and sit your weakened body up did you finally discover what hell awaited you that day.

It was a jungle, an awful hot and loud one that was crawling with various types of animals far beyond your understanding. This was evident in the different sounds you heard echo amongst the trees and bushes; monkeys, birds, frogs and god knows what else. All the plants around you were vibrant and bursting with colors, practically stunning your tired retinas with the intensity of the shades.

Perhaps if you felt better you would’ve taken a moment to observe the strange and foreign land that you’d never get to experience again, but the third day was already proving to be the biggest hurdle to overcome.

The lack of food and water was finally taking its’ toll on your body.

Your stomach was persistently growling and your lips were so cracked and dried that you’d routinely have to lick off blood from them. Your esophagus burned due to the scratchy lack of moisture while your cranium pounded ruthlessly. Even as you got up to stand, you managed to stagger as if half of your strength had magically depleted overnight.

If you didn’t find food or water soon then you were as good as dead.

As you took off your wind breaker to tie it around your waist in attempt to adapt to the sudden climate change, you began to ponder possible ways to obtain food and water. Luckily this new arena was filled to the brim with animals that you could hunt and consume. Although eating possible insects or exotic pests wasn’t exactly something you’d be proud to do, it was all in the name of survival.

However you decided that water was the more vital need. You were already pushing the envelope for dehydration, the expected time without it was three days. If you had to, you could last a few more days without food.

Jungles meant waterfalls, right?

Or at least rain?

You wiped your forehead and heaved a deep breath in preparation for another day that could be your last.

Although it wasn’t the best strategy, you had no choice but to wander seamlessly without any direction. What else could you do when the arena changes every 24 hours? Any knowledge you could retain about your surroundings would prove to be useless come the following day. Thus you set off into the tree line, hoping to come across some sort of clean water source.

Out of the three natural settings you had been put into, this jungle was quickly becoming your least favorite. The very air was heavy with the worst type of heat; a sticky and itchy one that delved into your very pores. Bugs were constant and slowed you down, they swarmed you as if your blood was a siren and continuously bit at an open surface of your skin. There also wasn’t any clear pathways to follow, you had to fight your way through all the greenery. You just hoped that none of the plants you brushed past were poisonous.

If you had to guess, you would estimate that it had been 15 minutes into your aimless journey when something rather unusual happened.

You heard a rustle occur from a few feet away from you, a slight one that shook some leaves from a bush nearby.

Normally, this would be cause for concern in an arena. Yet this jungle was so noisy and bristling with movement that it was hardly noticeable at first. Hell, it was practically more alive than you were at this moment.

Your logic was that it was most likely an animal of some kind instead of another tribute. Nonetheless you stilled and held your breath, anticipating a sudden appearance. You hardly bit back the urge to run as fast as you could in the opposite direction, but if it was indeed an animal then that action would only trigger a violent reaction against you or even a brutal hunt.

You fought against the instinct and waited while counting the passing seconds. ‘One, two, three, four-’

A boisterous yell broke from deep within the chest of an unseen attacker.

In a blurry spasm of movement, you caught sight of a tall yet slender female form burst from the greenery in an insane jump to get to you.

You barely had time to leap backwards, and even then it was far too late. The strange girl managed to land on top of your legs, successfully pinning you down to the jungle floor as you helplessly wiggled and tried to get a clear view of her face.

Her long brown hair managed to block most of it, but by the little glimpses you struggled to get you could see that she was extremely pretty. Her face was slender yet round with well-defined features and near flawless skin. Her body was sturdy as she had no trouble keeping you down, even letting out a casual huff as she pushed against your shoulders to keep you in place (as if you were more of a slight bother than a real hassle) when you attempted to sit up and swing.

You wanted nothing more than to give her a good hit before booking it and never looking back, but the odds were insurmountable. It didn’t take long before you deduced that she must’ve been fairing far well compared to you. While your energy had been burned down to simmering ashes as hunger and thirst consumed you, this nameless tribute seemed all too healthy and willingly aggressive.

Her hands against you shoulder slowly crept up to your neck, slowly curling around the base and pressing her sharp nails into the skin.

You let out a strangled cry, your dry throat not being able to manage a full out scream.

“Wait a minute.” Her husky voice rasped before she took one hand to brush her hair back, allowing the sun to capture her now bare face.

Your breath caught in your throat and suddenly your struggles became more frantic.

It was the girl from Seven.

While not a career by any means, she still proved herself a worthy competitor with a high personal score. And by the way she was glowering above you, it was obvious that she was not afraid to kill to get ahead.

“Aren’t you the girl that Two is in love with?” She questioned with an indescribable look upon her face.

You stilled.

There are moments in every game where you can directly affect your fate in a very drastic manner. Camouflaged in her simple question was a bigger dilemma that could either make or break you. The issue was that you didn’t know which one it will be. Either you can agree that 2 was indeed in love with you and maybe even give a little white lie about him being your ally. That had a high probability of scaring her, as who in their right mind would want to mess with him, and by extension you? However it could be argued that it was also a double edged sword. Perhaps she was just as ambitious as the careers, if not more so, and would have no problem poking the bear that is Jungkook via killing you. Maybe she would even enjoy it more knowing that she involved herself into the ‘star-crossed lovers’ story line and put an end to it all, stealing attention from you to her.

Your eyes furiously swept side to side in attempt to get a better view of your surroundings.

All chances of escaping were futile.

If you disagreed, her plans to hurt you wouldn’t change and she’d carry on with her murdering of you. But if you went along with it, there was an almost sure guarantee that she’d have a reaction. That reaction could be good or bad, but it was the only chance you had. It was scary to flip a coin on your chances of survival, but what other options did you have?

“Yes, w-we’re together.” You stuttered out, hoping that she took your awkward tone as a result o her practically smothering your windpipe and not you lying through your teeth.

Her brow raised at that, her stern expression uplifting for a brief moment to form an over-exaggerated look of confusion and concern.

“Where is your boy toy then? Pretty stupid of him to let you wander on your own.”

“He’s nearby.” you fibbed, faking confidence and glaring up at her as if she just signed her death wish.

Jennie let out a giggle, a sound that would be somewhat cute if the circumstances were any different than her about to commit murder. “Let’s say I believe you. Do you think he’d get back in time to save you and capture me?”

You hated to falter, but she did have a point.

If she was smart, she’d take her chance now to get rid of you because god only knows when she’d come across you again. And clearly she had the advantage, you had no ability to fight back. Even if Jungkook was close (which he wasn’t), she’d still have ample time to end you and run far into the jungle before another tribute could even stumble across the unfortunate scene.

Tears welled up and blurred your vision.

You were going to die.

The end of your simple, short but honest life was going to occur in the middle of some artificial habitat, via a bloodthirsty stranger making a show out of your demise in which your friends and family from home would be forced to watch along with the rest of the nation. May your corpse be one of many examples the capitol shall use for warning against any possible rebellion.

You lasted three days, a pathetic 72 hours would be the wrap up of your entire existence. In some weird twist of desperation you thought about how you could’ve played this game differently. Would you have survived if you teamed up with Two and the rest of the careers? If you tried harder to ally yourself with your District mate? Or if you decided to chase after the kid from Twelve and form a team?

But while those different paths were clouded in unseen potential, they were void of anything tangible much less useful given your current circumstance.

You fell limp and gazed up at her hallowly, managing to catch a glimpse of your crying expression in the reflection of her dark orbs.

She stared back at you; a mutual understanding of what was to come.

Gone was the show or theatrics, now all that had left to be done was the actual act itself of killing you.

She the predator, you the prey.

“Any last wor-”

A blurry and hurried movement cut her off, it was so sudden and unexpected that all you were able to process was that 7 was now off of you. Instead of gazing up at her, your line of sigh was now met with the blue sky and branches of the taller trees.

You blinked slowly in bewilderment.

Seven was seemingly knocked off of you...but how?

Strangled yelps and more wrestling movement occurred somewhere beside you, the vibration and intensity of it causing the ground underneath you to quiver, but due to your state of shock you weren’t focusing on it at all. You were slowly gaining your senses back, you body taking it’s time to adjust to the new ability to breathe freely all the while adapting to the sudden postponement of your death.

You sat up, ignoring the pounding ache that your cranium responded with, and twisted your head to the side in order to behold what became of your killer.

You let out a bleak and disbelieving chuckle at the scene that greeted you.

The hunter became the prey.

In some ironic twist of fate, Seven was now pinned under another tribute. By the throat to be exact, an almost perfect replica of the position you were in just seconds ago.

Seven was spluttering out, trying her best to yell or at least make some type of noise, but all attempts to do so were futile.

She stood no chance against the girl on top of her.

Said girl had inky black hair that was strictly fastened into a high ponytail, her skin was fair and glistening with what must’ve been sweat and her body was lengthy and muscular; making the act of strangling Seven look like a walk in the park.

It was odd to feel sympathy for the girl who almost just killed you, but watching Seven’s face turn red and eventually blue as she silently screamed was heartbreaking enough to almost make you want to push the mystery girl off of her.

Almost. But not quite enough.

It took some time to strangle someone, so by that logic you should have enough time to get up and run. This would’ve been a flawless plan if it weren’t for the fact that your legs were numb due to all the time you had Seven on top of you, and thus essentially rendered useless.

The absolute most you could achieve was some pathetic army-crawl, and obviously that was not going to get you far enough.

But could it be argued that if this unknown girl truly wanted you dead then she would’ve let Seven had her way with you before offing Seven herself?

That line of thought was your only chance of getting out of here alive.

The struggles of Seven eventually subsided, her eyes glazing over unfocused before closing entirely. Her body went limp as if she suddenly fainted, but the truth was she finally succumbed to the lack of oxygen and died.

The sound of a cannon shot through the jungle.

You watched as the girl slowly got off of Seven, heaving a huff and rubbing her hands together as if exhausted from the strenuous activity of literally wringing the life out of someone.

You lips began to move on their own accord, both pleads and questions racing to get out first.

She turned to face you.

Your jaw dropped.

Technically you weren’t lying at all to Seven.

Two was indeed close by, but it wasn’t Jungkook.

It was Joy.

Her porcelain face was marred with blue and purple bruises, the color so contrasting to her otherwise flawless skin tone that you couldn’t help the inaudible gasp that escaped your lips.

Who did that to her?

She scoffed down at you, unimpressed with your spineless yet shocked state.

“Calm down, I’m not gonna hurt you idiot. Why would I save your sorry ass if that was the case?”

“What do you want then?” You attempted to bark back, trying to keep some sense of pride in this obvious imbalance of power.

“Allies.” She shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing.

“And why would I team up with you?”

She glanced at the fresh corpse behind her before looking back at you, staring at you meaningfully as she said; “Because I’m the only one who knows the truth about you and Jungkook and probably your only chance of fighting back.”

^^^ me pretending to not see the 100+ people glaring at me for taking literally months to update. Anyway, I’m sorry Jungkook isn’t in this part that much but this will be the last part before Y/n’s and Jk’s game fully intertwine. I planned a really big plot twist to end on but I think I’m just gonna save that for it’s own chapter bc I think I’d need like 10k to do that twist justice. I think part one was better but like...oh well. Please comment, reblog and send asks in, all that good stuff. I miss writer/reader interaction, bro. Also, the reason the scene descriptions of the arenas are short is bc I originally had plugged in photos of the habitats but the links weren’t working on tumblr. I can repost them if anyone’s interested.

EXTRA INFO; For those of you who were with me since part one, I did a beta reader thingy for chapter two and I’d really like to do that again for chapter three. Last time I gave out a quiz and the winners got the chance to read the first 5k and eventually have 24 hour access before it was posted publicly. This time, I want more in-depth analysis. So if you wanna be a beta reader for chapter three, please reblog this with an analysis of your own about the story and my writing. At the end put something like (BR) so I know you are trying out for a beta reader position. I think I’ll chose around 8-10 people. And I will reach out to those people when I have them picked out.

3K notes · View notes

theninjasheeep · 3 years ago

Text

Blood of Love

Pairing: Pieck Finger x Porco Galliard (Modern/Fantasy AU)

This is my entry for @pleasantanathema’s Through Ink and Quill | A Classics Collab. I decided to go for a character study of Porco and Pieck's relationship following my Pokkopiku week piece Sweet Pandemonium paired with some vampire lore from Dracula and Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles.

The idea of vampire!Pokkopiku came from @sinnamon19’s over the top fan art.

You can also read it on AO3.

Summary: Since they are creatures of the night, their senses, as their feelings are heightened to lengths that can’t be explained by words. But since blood is their life sustenance, it is also their means of communication.

Warnings/tags: Pokopiku, Pokkopiku, Gallipieck, Porco Galliard/ Pieck Finger, Porco Galliard x Pieck Finger, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Character Turned Into Vampire, Vampire Bites, Vampire Turning, Blood Drinking, Mentions of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Blood Sharing.

Blood of Love

Waking up in darkness after spending most of his life shunning the sun when he wanted to sleep late was a welcome change for Porco. He could lie and pretend he was one of those humans-turned-vampires who wailed about the sun, its warmth and brightness and how much he missed it, but he didn't.

He didn't miss the impending sense of foreboding dread that clogged his senses or the tacit expectation that life should have some kind of meaning. It was a succession of routines: being born, growing up, reproducing and dying; waking up, going to work or school, coming home, going to sleep and starting again the next day. There was always an unsatisfied craving, a need to be satiated that gave rise to another....

If it weren't for that same life and the unexpected, he would still be stuck in the routine of a life that no longer felt like one. Not so long ago he was eager to die and escape the curse of boredom. However, now that he was undead, he felt more alive than ever.

He didn't miss living as a human.

He did not miss the wars that sent young men like him to fight in battles and advocate for ideals that were in no sense his own. Wars like the ones that took his brother away from him, wars that made mothers cry and lose their lives to grief, like his. He didn't miss being part of a greater good, he fancied being selfish, living only for himself and what he deemed worthy of living for, like Pieck.

Pieck who turned him, Pieck who gave him a reason to live in hope and love.

The stories that are told about vampires are rich and wide-ranging. The majority depict them as cold and devoid of emotion creatures who enjoy drinking blood and playing with their mortal victims without any consideration or pity, with no regard for their suffering.

Dracula is the one that, for Porco, is closest to the truth. Leaving out, naturally, his own inability to turn into mist, a bat or a wolf, and how terribly he has fared with the latter when he has encountered them on his nightly hunts with Pieck high in the mountains, puts him quite a distance from what is supposed to be the blueprint for all vampires.

It has been less than fifteen years since Pieck agreed to turn him and allow him to stay with her forever. Overall, he could even be considered a novice vampire, at least in comparison to the more than two hundred years his female partner has been crisscrossing the planet. However, it has been long enough to learn what is both necessary and appropriate, but what the books say is, amongst other things, preposterous and out of proportion.

Porco's hazel eyes, in the darkness of the room, shine like two torches as they scan the words in each book with unprecedented speed.

The library, nestled in Pieck's hideout in an abandoned town once called Liberio, is about the same size as the house itself. To the unsuspecting eye, the house is a dilapidated old manor from which thieves plundered the treasures long ago, leaving only the massive stone and iron columns. Underneath, however, is a hidden cellar and a sealed passageway that can only be opened with the supernatural strength of a creature like Pieck. Not even he, with his years beside her and the same superhuman strength, is able to open it without visible effort.

Once that initial obstacle is overcome, a long corridor rises up with small windows that let in just enough light to clue the nighttime inhabitants as to what time of day they are in. And behind that corridor is a scaled-down replica of the ruined house that exists above ground: three bedrooms, a kitchen - more out of habit than necessity - a living room and a huge bathroom with a bathtub built into the wall, in addition to the library, make up what could be considered Porco and Pieck's home sweet home.

Although it is ridiculous, Porco is not going to stop enjoying his reading and perusing every nook and cranny of the library while Pieck, with all her quirks, tries to do some vampire yoga in the room across on their home.

Stories about vampires always depict them as a kind of blood-drinking skeleton barely able to articulate words and unfit to walk freely in broad daylight, as the sun is their greatest enemy. The only thing they got right is that their skin burns and the acrid smell of ashes is the only thing that lingers in the air after they perish.

In other stories, they are portrayed as having no emotional capacity and could be easily mistaken for an angsty teenagers searching for their identity and place in the world, with little to no impulse control, driven by their whims, manipulating their way until they achieve their goal. In these tales, the depiction is so over-the-top ridiculous that it is almost comparable to handing a child a panic button.

What is undeniable is the enormous capacity of humans to envision and demonize what they do not know.

Superhuman strength and speed, mind reading and control, morphing into wolves, bats and mist? The books detail how versatile their powers are, how they are able to cloak themselves, thanks to their human appearance, and hide for long periods of time in large communities and lead a relatively normal life, without arousing suspicion.

Although there are also accounts that refer to them as ruthless, cruel and stone-cold beings, who toy with the humans they intend to use as food until they have had enough, and only then, kill them in the most violent and painful way possible.

At this, Porco rolls his eyes. In his experience, both he and Pieck are careful with the humans they feed on. They always look for ways not to cause them pain or fear, and above all, to avoid leaving behind scenes worthy of a gorey b-movie.

Perhaps the only time such a scene involved the two of them was when Pieck agreed to transform him into a vampire.

There was a moment where he couldn’t see or speak anything and everything went black for him. He started to listen to a heartbeat, two actually. One was his... the other...

“Pieck?” He asks. He can hear her voice somewhere in the distance, it sounds pained and far, far away.

Meanwhile, Pieck keeps pouring her blood on Porco’s mouth and is silently praying to whatever it is that created them and allowed them to be alive for him to survive this ordeal. She’s panicking now because he’s very pale, dead by now, but he’s not responding to her calling like he is supposed to.

“Porco, wake up!” She cries. “Open your eyes,” She pleads. “Come to me!”

Nothing happens and Pieck panics, falling in a circle of self loathing.

Giving up on him, she lets her head fall on his chest and at this point she’s just a mess of guilt and anguish. Her hair is on her face and his shirt is all bloody with his blood, her blood, her tears. She can’t move, the will to do anything has left her completely so she just lays there beside him on the floor crying.

He hasn’t read anything that depicts accurately how they are created. Probably humans think they just popped out of nowhere. However, vampires themselves have a myth: Ymir Fritz was the first human turned into a vampire, many call her the Founder. She was a slave but became Queen of Eldia when King Fritz was unable to defeat her in battle. He surrendered and married her and, in turn, she made him into a vampire and together they gave birth to their species.

Where are they now? No one knows, they are probably marble statues, since the longer a vampire lives, the whiter and rougher their skin becomes.

One book in particular catches his eye: its dark blue cover with gold sparkles featuring a nine-pointed star, the symbol of Ymir Fritz. However, after a brief glance, he discovers that it is a parody.

Porco snorts, he can't believe he's found a book in which vampires don't roast in the sun, but glow like a fairy in plain daylight without any repercussions for their lives. Pieck must have been really bored to get —and keep— something like that and deem it worthy of their huge underground library.

"Have you found anything interesting, Pokko?" Pieck's mellow voice reaches his ears from the bedroom. Her body doesn't make any sounds when she moves, but her soft breathing tells him that she's still trying to do vampire yoga, as if she needs to.

"Geez, Pieck!" Her taunting giggle is the only response he gets, and aware that she can also hear him from where she is, he retorts: "You scared the hell out of me." He grumbles in fake annoyance.

"Don’t worry, you won’t have a heart attack."

“Tch.”

But it is true, no matter how much she may sneak up behind him to scare him, his heart has long since stopped beating, and if he had remained a human, he would most likely have died many years ago. When Pieck came into his life one night, wounded and seeking shelter, he had lost the will to live. All that remained from the happy Porco who lived with his parents and brother was a mere shell that always reminded him of how much he resembled Marcel. And had he lived, despite his desire to die, he would have been almost forty years old by now.

Putting the books aside and getting up from the floor, Porco makes his way to the bathroom where there is a huge full-length mirror, which he and Pieck use in such creative ways when they make love at night.

A derisive smirk tugs at his lips as his reflection glances back at him through the mirror. There are stories that claim vampires don't see themselves in mirrors and that's the reason they avoid them. If only whoever wrote that knew the things the mirror in his bathroom has seen him do to Pieck.

Sometimes, when he is overcome by melancholy and Pieck's love and company fail to reach the deepest wounds in his heart, Porco wishes that particular myth were real. What would his life be if his brother were alive? What would Marcel's life be if the war hadn't extinguished the light in his eyes? The same deep green eyes that right now were scrutinizing his every feature in the mirror.

As the years have gone by, his skin has become paler and his eyes more golden. Pieck likes to say that he is slowly turning into a lion.

Speaking of Pieck...

A slender hand appears over his right shoulder in the mirror, and down his arm until it curls around his waist. Seconds later, the weight of Pieck's head resting on the space between his shoulder blades confirms that he is no longer alone in front of the mirror.

“Hey,” She greets, nuzzling against him tenderly, “what are you thinking?”

He clears his throat, embarrassed.

His left hand reaches up and intertwines his fingers with Pieck's over his chest, and looking behind him, his gaze meets hers.

“My brother.”

Pieck's embrace grows tighter and a line of kisses and scratches from her fangs on his neck make Porco forget, for a moment, how much he misses his family.

“I’m sorry.”

“You know they were long gone before I met you.”

“I know, it’s just...” She releases her hold on him, walking a few steps to stand in front of him in the mirror, her back against it. “I wish I could ease your pain, but I’d be lying if I say that I never think about my father, I miss him.”

Porco raises his hand to caress her cheeks. “You’re stuck with me forever, remember?”

She smiles softly, leaning against him and hugging him back. Porco buries his face on her neck and taking advantage of their embrace, sinks his teeth on her neck, making her moan in delight.

There’s another thing the books about them seem to ignore or purposefully miss: yes, they are creatures of the night and as their senses, their feelings are heightened to lengths that can’t be explained by words. But since blood is their life sustenance, it is also their means of communication. Drinking the blood of another vampire is a gesture so intimate and so rare, that when it’s done by partners, it’s more than just a confession of love and trust, it goes beyond lust and desire: a vampire can show what they feel through images to their partner when they share their blood, and since words are not his forte by any means, he’s always eager to show Pieck comfort and reciprocate everyday the comfort and peace she gave him.

Licking the tiny marks of his fags on her neck, he nuzzles against it, kissing her tenderly. Pieck, being smaller than him, has a harder time reciprocating his gesture, but she stands on her tiptoes and kisses him back, biting his lower lip and drinking his blood as well.

Emboldened by the gesture, he carries her and sits her in the sink, standing between her legs without breaking the kiss. At this, Pieck leverages herself on his shoulders and —finally— sinks her teeth on his neck, eliciting from him a low growl. He bites her back and through their blood they both convey to each other what their words and their hands, roaming over every inch of the other' s body, cannot: they are together until the end of time and the sadness that each one carries is shared by the other.

Together, they were safe.

#pokopiku fic #pokopiku #pokkopiku fic #pokkopiku #porco galliard/pieckfinger #porco galliard x pieck finger #gallipieck #vampire aesthetic #dark fantasy

13 notes · View notes

clueless-grunt · 3 years ago

Text

Ask (simplified): A poet/singer reader that gets kidnapped by pennywise and forced to tell stories and sing.

First public writing, please be nice.

Pennywise x gender neutral reader. Kidnapping tw. Don't like it, don't read it. For @charliedawn

The day had been quiet. The house had been still, not even the wind being separated by the eaves penetrated the deafening silence. Cobwebs hung limply from the ceiling, creating sheer walls that did their best to block anyone from entering.

You shifted slightly, and the floor cried out beneath you, warning you to leave now, before you discovered for yourself wether the legends of monsters and ghosts surrounding the house were true. You felt a weight clinging to you that you didn't notice before now.

Turning your head sharply to the left, peering over your shoulder to the door, making sure it was still there. But the dread that melded your heart and your stomach remained, and slowly, slowly you strained your eyes to look directly at your shoulder blade. You knew you wouldn't see anything, yet something about the home made you feel like you weren't alone.

You looked at the floorboards behind you, looking for a beast that clinged to your back like a myling, one that grew heavier with each step towards the heart of the house. You saw nothing.

Yet still the feeling of your sins crawling upon your back unnerved you.

Turning back to face the dark pit of the house, you consider taking heed to the advice of the legends, and turning around, running far and fast away from the dilapidated house at the end of an equally abandoned street. The only visitors to the street were lost or curious children and occasionally a morbid adult.

Your legs ached to move, to leave and never come back. But stubborn as you were, instead of turning towards the door, you steer yourself towards the living room. The light sound of crushed tin cans reaches your ears as you kick them aside.

The living room, although likely the best illuminated, was still dismal. Making your way further into the room towards the damask drapes, you wondered wether your fear wasn't of being alone, but rather the fear that you were here with someone, something else that was discreetly watching just past your line of sight.

Drawing the fabric to the side with a slight rustle, you were momentarily blinded by the light. Turning from it, you looked to the fireplace. Carved into the wood above it read the words, "Good cheer, Good friends".

You thought it ironic, since all cheer and friendly hospitality seemed to have left the confines of these walls with the last owners. You wonder what happened to them.

You sat on the crushed velvet of the sofa and pulled out a small journal. Looking at the floor, you observed how far the light from the grimy windows reached into the shadows before succumbing to the drab void that emanated from the far corners of the room.

Nothing came to mind. You had been sure that you would have found inspiration here. The few short poems you had wouldn't put food on the table for much longer, and you made next to nothing from your songs.

You closed your eyes, not wanting to think about your financial situation. You payed more attention to the uncomfortable feeling that you weren't alone.

"Ghouls and ghosts that crawl and climb,

That fly and slither, to seek and hide.

Creeping through the window,

and underneath the door,

dancing in the shadows,

Tapping across the floor.

They hide behind your jackets, underneath your bedded frames, waiting for their time to strike with hungered eye and fang.

Satisfied with this, you jot it down in your notebook and move on. You come upon a faded kitchen table and cracked ceramic tiles. Here the dust hung like a thick fog, weighing down anything within the confines of the rotted plaster and decaying wood.

The weight of the room was too much, if you stayed, you would end up running far away from this forsaken place, only to return once the last of your meager savings had been completely dried. Only then, it would be permanent. You would become another one of the slightly more believable tales meant to scare children.

Bracing yourself for whatever you may see next, you turn towards the staircase, and hoped the brittle wood could hold your weight.

The floorboards underneath you mourned your foolishness as you acended the stairs.

Upstairs, the first thing you come upon is a bathroom.

Reflected in the dingy mirror was yourself. Behind you, the hideous wallpaper clung loosely from the damp drywall. It's odor polluting the air.

You recalled as if from nowhere all the old superstitions that you had always blown off as nonsense. The ones that told young children that seeing their doppleganger was bad luck, that the mirror held a piece of the onlooker's soul, that the other side of the mirror was another world. And you wondered if you would ever find the truth to these tales. You wondered if you would ever watch yourself blink, or see someone walk by the doorway when you were certain you were totally alone.

Your double looked back at you, terrified.

Focusing on the legends, you thought for a moment, this is what you needed.

"The sound of the violin is clear,

The dancer's waltzing showed no fear.

Her heart beat faster as they drew nearer,

A single reflection swayed in the mirror."

Looking back to the mirror, the fear was too much. But you came here for a reason.

However, you had gotten a few poems down, and there were less terrifying places to find inspiration.

You let yourself move forward into the suffocating shadows, moving ever closer to being lost completely.

You come upon a solid ebony door. It's polished exterior gleamed even in the faint light. When you started to push, it easily, yet gingerly swung open with a soft sigh.

The room greeted you with a bright, but not harsh, light. It was softened by the yellowed curtains that concealed the room from the outside, warming the room with it's buttercup hue.

You passed the threshold, nothing but the sound of your footsteps following you inside. No boards creaked, the wind didn't mourn your insipid ways. Just the dust falling after being dormant for years, disturbed by your sudden intrusion, your boots on the silent hardwood, and your slowing breath.

You felt safe.

To your right, a lofted bed. The blankets looking half eaten by moths and rodents that plagued the walls with their festering disease, running up and down the plastered confines with their frantic pattering.

To your left, a large coal burning cook stove. The cylinder was blackened with soot and layers of dust. When you touched it, it stained your hands,turning them black as pitch, a reminder of this house's unclean repute.

Straight ahead, just under the window, was a desk. It was painted a faded emerald green, that showed the wood underneath through the chipped colouring. The top was littered with small jars and brushes. Also on the desk, reflecting the light into a colourful array on the wall, was a small mirror.

You turned it towards you, your reflection now calm and serene.

Then you looked behind you, directly at the door.

The one you swore you had left open.

You turned, certain that the light off the mirror was tricking your head into thinking that it was closed. And it could have been a trick, if there had been a door there at all.

In front of you, in place of the sturdy oak door that you had entered through, was a solid wall of light brown planks, shelves cluttering the surface, sparsely decorated with small trinkets and instruments.

You dashed up to where the door had been, and pounded, the vibrations throwing the odds and ends from the shelves, breaking the glass and making a horrid sound.

Your heart beat against your ribcage, threatening to break free. Panic hit suddenly, punching your stomach and weighing it down. You were hyperventilating, and we're quickly becoming lightheaded.

You felt as if you would pass out if you didn't get some fresh air. You turned, looking to open the window, and feel the cool, sweet air fill your lungs.

Your weakness and lack of breath made it a struggle to lift the curtains and the stubborn window. It opened with spastic jolts, opening only a few inches each time.

But those few inches allowed a gentle breeze to upset the curtains and let new air into the room. The ancient air left the room, breathing the soft, sweet smell of early summer in like a lung.

You stumbled over to the bed, hoisting yourself up to meet the stiff pillows and threadbare comforters.

Your mind races, thinking of how you would leave, of the fall from the window, and of your family. Thinking of these, you began to sing. Softly, gently, your voice ebbed and flowed like the gradual change of the seasons. Barely noticable, barely vocal in its words, a casual whisper just to guide you, you sang.

"Upon one summer's morning,

I carefully did stray,

Down by the walls of wapping,

Where I met a sailor gay.

Conversing with a young lass,

Who seem'd to be in pain,

Saying 'William when you go, I fear,

You'll never return again'.

My heart is pierced by cupid,

I disdain all glittering gold,

There is nothing can console me,

But my jolly sailor bold. "

Your heart slowed, bumping at a steady pace, accentuating each word you sang. You lay on the bed, catching your breath, listening to the whisper-quiet rush of the breeze through the window.

You opened your eyes to darkness.

How long had you been sleeping?

You looked around you. The house once again was quiet, formless shapes danced to the sound of wind, a discordant violin.

There was nothing recognizable to focus on on the lightless room. You could feel nothing but the coolness of the air and the scratchy feel of the blanket under you.

You listened, and waited, wondering what had awoken you. And then you heard the rustling of fabric from next to the stove. Frozen, hoping you had heard wrong, hoping you had moved without noticing, moving the fabric under you.

Hope however, is only there to be crushed.

A fabric covered hand covered your mouth, the thick fingers muffling your terrified and confused whimpers, the other wrapping its long digits around your throat. And the shape across from you was gone.

Struggled to no avail against the limbs pinning you to the bed. You became light headed, and your lungs ached, prying at themselves for air.

Sitting there for just a few minutes, knowing that a soft breeze of sweet smelling air was just out of your grasp.

You began to see colours, even in the deep dark. Blue, then green, then yellow, and then nothing at all.

You woke in a damp cavern. It's walls curved inward, creating a basin shaped room. In the center, a very old circus cart sat, covered with tattered clothing and toys.

Circling around the top of the pile, were children. They stared blankly, emitting only a soft song that dripped with melancholia. They were all in different conditions, from in tact to... unnatural. The words 'half eaten' come to mind.

The walls were slimy with mold and algae. It smelled of rot. Telling of something very old, and very slow.

The top of the basin, where the ceiling should have been, was a pipe that let in a cylinder of light that cast itself like a spotlight down onto the mountain of what can only be described as garbage.

The sound of rushing water struggled to reach your ears with its violent thundering. Somewhere, far away, there was an opening. You would never have the chance to persue it however.

A repetitive thundering boom drew nearer, and you scrambled to the centre of the room to the circus cart.

The door was open a small ways, letting a slim wall of light slip down onto the stairs. You threw the door open, All the while trying to make the whole of your movement as quiet as possible. The room was nearly empty, except for a few scrapboard props and a few oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. The deep yellow of the dancing and jumping flame gave the room a comforting, hearty glow.

The room around you began to shake and the deep pattering, booming footsteps became thunderous, ground shattering pulses. The shadows rushed and swayed with the swinging lanterns, darkening corners for mere seconds before inverting its course, only to return to its dizzy dance, unable to make up its mind.

A frantic and hurried melody drifted through the air, singing the highs without the slightest effort and bellowing the deepest lows with a thick and cool voice.

The jittering tune came from everywhere, surrounding the cart like the air itself was full of vibrant colours.

A childlike, tittering voice sent shockwaves through the air that made your stomach fall to its knees.

It was incomprehensible, a mash of all languages. Some you could make out, child, lost, afraid. Some were only understandable in foreign languages, and some didn't sound like anything you've heard before. Growls, chittering, whistles, and screeching rang through the air, bouncing off the walls like bullets.

Then there was silence once more. Nothing could be heard except for your erratic heart and deep, dizzy breath.

A light sound reached you, the cheerful twinkling of bells, a sound that made distant memories seem so close. It was almost comforting, or it would have been, if the sound wasn't right outside the door.

A quick knock on the door.

"Pretty thing... Such a bright young flower. Did you really think you could get away from old Pennywise?"

The lanterns blew out without a noise. No beat. No melody followed. Nothing broke through the dark. At some point, you were asleep.

You awoke in a large brass bird cage. You looked up to see a lock on the cage door, and a bell.

What a sick joke.

You couldn't make out much in the suffocating gloom, that could almost be smelled. And yet, in the corner, a silver form could be seen staring. Two bright green orbs could be seen though the dark. Then the beast who had been staring, the one who called itself Pennywise, spoke a simple demand.

"Sing."

You were stunned. You had no clue what had happened over the past hours. (Days, weeks?) You sat, staring back at the beast, returning their favor.

"If you don't sing for me, my little songbird, I can personally promise a fate far worse than this."

You wanted to scream, to run, but both would end terribly. So you straightened yourself, letting the wind pass freely through your vocal chords, and you sang.

It wasn't original, but even so, your voice came in waves, drifting though the rank air, bringing a sweetness that could not be smelled, but could be appreciated all the same, taking to the breeze and wandering through the chamber, seeking only a soft heart to settle upon, to give the strings only the softest of tugs.

The beast's eyes became a nearly slate coloured blue, less than half open as they reclined, their breath becoming as light as the fluttering melody that escaped you.

The song ended all too soon, much to the shape's displeasure. It glared at you with both the deepest anger and the most heartbreaking care.

"Why did you stop?"

You scrambled to explain yourself, to try to make it understand that you were trying. But nothing except a mess of pleas were loose enough to come tumbling from your lips.

The being stood up, and began to walk towards you. You tried to fit through the bars of the cage, to no avail.

They were standing at the cage door, seemingly amused at your attempt to escape. You looked over your shoulder at it, pleading without words, hoping that your life would be spared.

The lock fell off the latch and clattered on the floor with a deep rattle. The door swayed with a scream, slowing them inside. They wandered over to your quivering form, as if you were trying to shake the thing off you.

It crouched in front of you and took your arms from in front of your face. They forced your legs down from in front of your chest and into a crossed position. All of this surprised you, as although it definitely wasn't being rough, it was making a point not to test it. However, its credibility was immediately tarnished when it laid its head in your lap. It spoke directly to you for the fourth time, speaking its wishes once more.

"Tell me a story, or yours will end."

It didn't seem too serious with this threat though.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

#oof this took longer than expected #sorry #pennywise #pennywise fanfiction

24 notes · View notes

jadegrey711 · 4 years ago

Text

Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood

Kylo Ren x Rey

A/N: I decided to make a very late or very early Halloween treat for everyone and make another vampire Kylo Ren post. It’s pretty short and I’m not sure if I’m going to add on to it later on and make it a bit more smutty but I just love leaving my writing off on one-liners lmao.

It’s not a continuation of my other one but one I got inspired for because of this picture from vivisketches on Instagram. If you haven’t seen her stuff yet I would highly recommend checking out her art cuz she is amazing. Most definitely part of the pantheon of Reylo goddesses who bless us with content!

Here’s the link to her Insta and the drawing she posted!

Summary:

Kylo Ren a vampire decides to have fun this Halloween and enjoy the first full halloween moon in a few years and seduces Rey at a college party who’s dressed as little red riding hood.

If you like my stories you can check out my sideblog @jadegreywriting to see all of them and my masterlist without filtering through my main blog.

I own all rights to this story and do not give permission for my stories to be published, translated or reposted anywhere else. The only places I have published my stories is here on Tumblr and on my AO3 account (LadyAuthor711)

Soundtrack

1999- Prince

Lil’ Red Riding Hood - Sam the Sham and the Pharohs

Magic Man - Heart

This certainly wasn't his normal hunting grounds but it was halloween night and the moon was full and he was in the mood for some trouble. The vampire had chuckled when he’d chosen his costume and looked at himself in the mirror. He took in the sight of himself dressed in one of his old white shirts from another life, a pair of leather britches, black riding boots and to top it all off; a black cloak with a red silk lining. He chuckled to himself, truly a wolf in sheep’s clothing. This had to be the most dastardly plan he’d come up with, a true creature of the night walking amongst the humans who were playing pretend at being a monster only for a real monster to be walking amongst them tonight playing human.

He was just walking and enjoying the night, enjoying the sounds of shrieks, screams and laughter of others enjoying the magic of the night. When he found himself at a college fraternity, they were having their own fun in the form of a halloween party, Kylo smiled to himself as he walked up the steps of the fraternity and immersed himself with the rest of the humans, officially on the hunt.

***

Rey used to adore celebrating Halloween, obviously dressing up was her favorite part apart from gorging on candy that is. But recently with all her loads of classwork that she’s been doing and trying to finish up her bachelors’ she’s been too exhausted to even notice it was halloween. That is until her best friend and roommate Rose, ripped off her headphones and almost scared Rey half to death as she came face to face with a zombie bride.

“Jesus!” Rey screeched as she clutched her hand to her chest. “You scared me half to death Rose!”

Rose just smiled and said. “Thank you! I worked really hard on this outfit and on Finn’s so I’m excited I actually got to scare someone with it!” She said excitedly. “But, where’s your costume? You’re not going as a zombie student are you?”

“I’m not going as anything because I have to study.”

“What! You have to go out tonight! It’s a full moon! On Halloween!” Rose said pointing outside Rey’s little window and saw the full moon blazing down at her and all the other girls and ghouls that were prowling the campus in search of candy and a good time.

“Wow.” Rey said revertely as she stared up at that bright moon shining down on her. “How often does a full moon occur on Halloween?”

“Not very often so let’s go! Get up and out of that chair, turn off the laptop and let’s see if I have a costume for you.”

Rey watched as Rose spirited to her closet and flung open the close doors to reveal her repertoire of costumes that she kept year round. I guess having a theater major as your roommate did come in handy sometimes.

“Oh! What about this?” Rose asked as she pulled out a red riding hood costume, with corset and all. “It’s a classic costume, very sexy, and also helps keep out the cold later on in the night. Maybe when you have to do a walk of victory at the end of the night.” Rose chuckled.

“It has a corset Rose!”

“It’s not as bad as everyone always makes them out to be, they actually help with your posture and besides it’ll make your boobs look killer, take it from me.” Rose winked and just then Finn decided to come into the room in all his gory zombie groom state.

“I know first hand that they do.” He chuckled as he fully came into the room and came up to Rose and gave her a chaste kiss so they wouldn't mess up each other’s makeup.

Rose let out a satisfied little hum and threw the outfit at Rey. “No more fighting, we’re going to have so much fun tonight. And you need a break from studying, maybe you need to have some tall handsome stranger ring your bell to get you out of this study stupor you’ve been in all month. It’s like I’ve been living with an actual zombie!”

Rey just chuckled to herself and knew there was no fighting her bestfriend or the corset she’d just put in her lap. And instead she decided to get swept away in the magic of the night.

Rey thought she wouldn’t have any fun at the halloween party that was happening at Finn’s fraternity, but all the fraternity guys seemed to be cool, played decent music and always kept her drink full. Rose had been right, this is exactly what Rey needed tonight. She needed to let loose for a night, dance and get drunk, although it looked like the handsome stranger bit wasn’t going to be happening tonight. Which she thought was a bit of a shame since she was definitely feeling herself in this corset; another thing Rose was right about and Rey would most definitely hear just how right Rose was in the morning.

As Rey poured herself another drink, suddenly the song changed from the thumping beat of Prince’s 1999, to a slower song and definitely older song, Rey realised as she recognized the opening howl of Sam The Sham and the Pharoh’s Lil Red Riding Hood. And as she looked up from where she was pouring her next beer, her eyes locked onto a pair of dark alluring eyes from across the room. Rey felt transfixed to these dark eyes, that felt like they belonged to a predator and a part of her; a primal part confirmed her suspicions and demanded that she run as far and as fast she could.

Rey tampered the voice in her mind and tried to calm her suddenly racing heart as she wretched her eyes away from the dark eyes that seemed to command her to him. Rey didn’t dare look back at the stranger lounging on the wall in the fear that she wouldn’t be able to look away next time. But, that awful sense of curiosity filled her, tempted her to look at the stranger again; but Rey knew what happened to that cat who let curiosity get the best of them. Rey decided after another swig of her beer that she’d take another look at him, that feeling of dread was just her imagination getting the better of her, the halloween night air filling her head with visions of dark strangers.

However, when Rey looked back up to where the stranger was lounging on the back wall he was gone. Rey furrowed her eyebrows and looked around for the stranger but he was nowhere on the dance floor or anywhere near where he first was; maybe she had imagined him.

Rey turned around to fill her beer again and bumped into a large chest and felt strong arms wrap around her, bracing her so she wouldn’t fall on her ass. When she looked up to thank her savior and apologize, she was struck with terror and awe as those dark eyes pierced her soul.

“Hey there lil red riding hood.”

#reylo #vivisketches #rey x kylo ren #rey x kylo #halloween drabble #halloween reylo #reylo au #college reylo au #reylo is the waylo #vampire au #vampire! kylo ren #jade tries writing

36 notes · View notes

strafethesesinners · 4 years ago

Text

Tagged by @blissfulalchemist to post a fic from a year or more ago (? I think that’s how it goes). None of my Far Cry 5 is a year old yet, but I’ll take this opportunity to post this Dishonored oneshot I did back in 2016.

(I’ll tag some people if you want to do it or just want to read @risenlucifer @nightwingshero @chazz-anova @smithandrogers @madsismad @amistrio @chyrstis @consumedkings @faithchel @shallow-gravy)

Spoilers for the Knife of Dunwall Dishonored DLC Warnings for violence and gore Words: 2392 also on AO3

Daud was drowning. The icy, stinking water of the Wrenhaven River grew darker and darker above his head as he sank further into its depths. Daud was a strong swimmer, but something had a hold of his legs, pulling him down. He looked below him and screamed. Hundreds, thousands of corpses clogged the riverbed, clinging to his legs, his arms, and tearing at his clothes with rotting claws. Water rushed into his throat, but he could not close his mouth or his eyes. The more he struggled, the harder the bodies gripped him. They were screaming, moaning, begging for mercy. The water became blood: the blood of every person he had ever killed. It was choking him, yet he could not die. The pleading eyes of the corpses turned black and Daud understood: he was already dead and this was his hell. Still he fought against it, trying in vain to break free and reach the surface, but the ghosts clung on, all of them wailing as one.

“Mommy!”

Daud woke up shaking, his stomach curdling. He sat up and dry heaved over his blankets, but nothing came up. He tore off his sweat soaked shirt and tried to stand. It took him several minutes to regulate his breathing and bring his mind back to reality. It was barely after sunset, judging by the faint light coming through the glass-less windows. Daud lit a cigarette and walked out onto his small balcony on the top floor of the Chamber of Commerce building. He took a deep breath, welcoming the cool air on his sweaty face. The Flooded District smelled of Weepers, dead rats, and whale oil, but it was a familiar smell, and lately, Daud had been latching onto anything even vaguely comforting. He was starting to think his assassins were right, and he was losing it. He could sense them losing confidence in him day by day, and he was grateful none of them were here right now to see him trembling, and sweating, wearing only his trousers: terrified of a dream. But as his mind grew clearer, it seemed odd that no one was around. Daud’s eyes scanned the rooftops carefully. There were no Whalers in sight. A different sort of unease pricked at the back of his mind, as he tossed his cigarette butt away. Instantly, he was alert: listening, watching. He tensed. His scarred hands gripped the iron railing, the Outsider’s Mark glowing faintly on the back of his left hand. Daud was about to turn back into his room when he heard a click behind him, and the cold metal of a pistol pressed against the base of his skull.

He froze. There were only two people in the world that could sneak up on him undetected. Not sure which one he was dreading more, he spoke.

“Billie?”

“Yes.”

The shock of hearing her voice was colder than the hands of the nightmare ghosts. Daud now knew he would have gladly taken the Royal Protector over this; he would have taken anything over this. Daud’s mind was reeling, but he kept himself absolutely still, and his voice calm.

“You’re here to kill me.”

“Yes,” she said again, although it had not been a question. His dream came rushing back to him, and he was suddenly afraid. All these years he had often longed to die, but now a terrible thought occurred to him. What if these dreams were glimpses of what was to come? He never asked the Outsider, but he assumed that his spirit would go to the Void after his death. What if his fate was an eternity drowning in blood in the Void; tormented forever by those he had slain?

I don’t want to die, he thought, almost frantically, I can’t die. His heart was beating hard, but still he remained outwardly calm. Billie kept her pistol at his head, but had not moved to pull the trigger. Daud took her hesitation as a good sign. This would not be an easy thing for her. Daud had not become the most feared man in the Empire through violence alone; he was as cunning as he was ruthless, and he had talked himself out of sticky situations almost as much as he had fought his way out. If he could somehow convince her to spare him…..

“Billie…” he began.

“Don’t try to talk your way out of this one, Daud,” Billie said. Her voice was clear; she wasn’t wearing her mask.

“You know me too well, Lurk,” he said wryly.

“Shut up, I know what I’m doing and you’re not going to change my mind.” The slightest tremor ran up her arm; Daud could feel it through the pistol point.

“Kill me then,” Daud said. She did nothing. Daud took a chance, and turned slowly around to face her. She did not lower the pistol, but neither did she fire. Billie’s eyes were wide, but there was a determined set to her jaw. It was an expression he knew well. She had the same look when they had first met, and she had dared to face him: clearly frightened and yet too stubborn to back down.

“Can at least ask why I’m about to die?” He looked her in the eye.

“You’re weak,” she replied coldly, “and old. This outfit needs a new leader. Someone to get us through this plague, and the chaos you caused by killing the Empress. I don’t want to do this, but it has to be done.”

“Does it now?” Daud snapped. There was an awful pain in his chest. Worse than any physical wound he’d ever had. It was a pain he hadn’t felt since he realized he would never see his mother again. “I always assumed one of you would kill me and take my place,” he said more softly, “ I just never thought…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. He knew he was too compromised to get out of this one by talking, Billie was much too close to him and had learned all his tricks over the years; the realization made him sick. He had never felt so vulnerable.

“You’re right, Billie,” he said, “I always thought of myself as clever, but clearly I was a fool for ever trusting you.”

Billie smiled her little apologetic smile; the one she would wear when he scolded her for killing one guard too many, and she knew he didn’t really mean it.

“There’s more to it,” she said, “you deserve to know the truth. The woman you’ve been seeking, Delilah,”

“What about her?”

“She…..came to me, a while back. She offered me so much…...showed me a new way to see; she gave me so much more than you ever did. More than you could ever hope to give.”

Daud could hear the contempt in her speech and it hurt. But now anger was starting to burn in his veins. Of course it all came back to her. Delilah. She had taken his best fighter, his best friend even, certainly the only person he cared about in the world, and turned her against him. A familiar itch clawed it’s way down his arms, making his fingers twitch and ache for a blade. The sun went down behind the buildings, and the Flooded District was doused in the cool grey glow of twilight.

“The power she has, Daud,” Billie was saying, “you can’t even imagine. She’s stronger than you, stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. And all I have to do to be at her side is…..get rid of you.”

She stared at him and her eyes were sad. Daud’s head was pounding.

“I’m sorry, Daud,” Billie said.

“Me too,” he said.

Daud’s hand flashed up and grabbed Billie’s arm, forcing it to the side. Her shot went wide, and he twisted her arm hard. She gave a gasp of pain, and the pistol fell over the railing into the muddy water far below. Daud transversed past her back into his room. He snatched his sword up from beside his bed, there was no time to grab anything else. Billie drew her sword. The metal floor was cold on Daud’s bare feet as they circled each other for a moment; the Outsider’s Mark burned hot. Billie sent a wristbow bolt at his head, and he dodged, then drove forward with a quick thrust at her midriff. She blocked it just in time, and pushed back against his blade. She stomped down on the top of his right foot with her boot, the pain made him falter and she beat his sword aside and punched him in the face. Daud hopped backward, ducking as another bolt flew over his head. He spat out a mouthful of blood with a curse, and then transversed behind her and struck. She turned and parried, and he blocked her retaliatory slash. They battled back and forth across the metal walkway that served as Daud’s bedroom for what seemed like an hour. It was hard to measure time during a fight. But Daud was the better swordsman, and he was closing on Billie when she crouched, opened her mouth, and screamed.

The sound was like a physical force. It lifted Daud up off his feet and sent him tumbling over the railing into his office below. He landed hard on his desk. For a brief moment he lay stunned; the air knocked out of him. Then her heard the sound of Billie blinking down next to him and jumped up as quickly as he could. He wasn’t quite fast enough. Her sword missed its target of his neck, but cut his shoulder to the bone. The pain of it spurred his desperation, and he attacked with everything he had left. Billie was never taken off guard, but his fury did seem to rattle her some. He managed to get in a few cuts of his own in as her first few blocks came too slow. But against her padded leather whaler suit, the damage was nowhere near as bad as when she hit him. Soon he was bleeding heavily from wounds to his forearms and chest, in addition to his shoulder,and his strength was starting to fade. He could barely lift his sword arm high enough to parry her strikes. He curled his Marked hand into a fist and sent a call out through the Void, but no assassins appeared. Billie must’ve told them ahead of time what she planned, and killed anyone who objected. Daud wondered if Thomas was dead, or if he had also turned against him. He retreated across the room. He tried one of the doors, thinking of escape, but they were barred from the other side.

Of course he thought grimly. He spied the open window behind his desk, and blinked over to it, using the last of his energy. He turned to locate her before he jumped. Billie was standing in the middle of the office. She raised her hand, and sent a shower of several shadowy darts flying at him. He blocked some with his sword, and covered his face with his other arm. But there were too many. One went through his thigh, three into his unprotected guts, and one into his chest. It had missed his heart he know, or he would already be dead, but he could tell it had punctured his lung. He fell to one knee, struggling to breathe. Billie came towards him, but stopped at his desk, just out of reach. Daud still gripped his sword tightly. She approached him slowly. He attempted one last weak slash, but she grabbed his wrist and wrenched the sword from his hand. Gently, she set it down on his desk.

“It’s over, Daud,” she said quietly.

“Looks like it, huh? I taught you too well,” he laughed, and blood came bubbling up his throat. He choked and coughed, the blood spattering down his bare chest and onto the wooden floorboards. He slumped back against his bookshelf. Billie stood watching him. When he looked up at her again, her eyes were wet. Daud had never once seen her cry. And yet, staring into her eyes, Daud knew she was still going to go through with it. He wasn’t ready to face the Void, but, now that it seemed inevitable, he wasn’t so afraid as before. There was no point. The best he could hope for was that he was wrong, and that there was nothing after death. And the worst…..Daud wondered if it was possible to fight ghosts in hell. He wanted to laugh again, but it hurt too much. Blood leaked steadily from the holes in his gut.

“It was always going to end this way, Daud,” she said, “You and me. It’s our nature. But you’re not as weak as I thought.”

“Thanks,” Daud coughed again. The pain was agonizing. “Could you find it in you to end it quickly?” he gasped out. Billie continued to stare at him, unmoving. Daud didn’t know how long it was going to take to die, maybe up to an hour depending on how bad the wound in his chest was, maybe even longer. But maybe that was all part of it. He never thought Billie hated him so much. He tried to reach up to her and she flinched back, still wary.

“I’m not going to fight you anymore, Billie, I just need you to do it now. If you ever had any….feeling for me at all, don’t let me die like this, make it a clean death.” She still did nothing, looking at him almost in disbelief now, as if she didn’t quite trust what she was seeing. “Billie, please,” Daud said, “don’t make me beg.”

Without a word, Billie took his sword from the desk and knelt down so she was level with him. She reached out and cupped his face in her gloved hand, and then drove his sword into his heart with all her strength. He convulsed once as his life bled away.

“Sorry, Daud,” Billie whispered.

Her whisper went on and on and turned into the haunting hiss of runesong, which became the mournful cry of whales. The pale blue light of the Void crept over his sight, obliterating everything else, and the Knife of Dunwall was dead.

#Dishonored #Daud #Billie Lurk #the knife of dunwall #dishonored fic #ok so I read this again and #y'all it's pretty damn good #if I do say so myself #Sorry about tumblr making it all single space i know it makes it hard to read #my writing #fanfic tag game #posting in the middle of the night but I'll reblog later

18 notes · View notes

fellulahh · 4 years ago

Text

‘Mammon visits MC in the human realm and Lucifer gets jealous’ Part 27/???

“I know.” She smiled, meeting his eyes. “Next time I go for a walk though you’re coming with me - even if it is in the garden.”

Chuckling at her words, Lucifer placed his hand on her cheek. “Of course.”

Diavolo’s eyes were wide as he stared down at his desk. He was awoken by Barbatos that morning after a mysterious envelope was left on the palace’s doorstep. This was incredibly unusual because it meant that somebody had gotten past the gates and the royal guards.

Diavolo was immediately hesitant to open the envelope, he was already assuming the worst. Yes, it could have been from somebody he knew - even Lucifer - but something didn’t quite sit well with him. Ever since Barbatos pointed out his concerns about the nobles discovering MC and her baby, the Prince had been on edge.

As he continued to stare down at the small letter, he finally let out a deep breath and picked it up. He studied it carefully as he turned it over in his hand. It wasn’t just from anybody...definitely not when judging the wax seal on the back. Narrowing his eyes, Diavolo peeled back the wax, opening the envelope. He took out the folded parchment that was inside and was surprised to see nothing written on it. However, his breath hitched in his throat when something black fell from the paper.

Gawping at his desk, Diavolo’s heart stopped momentarily as he looked at the black feather that was enclosed in the parchment. It was one of Lucifer’s.

“They know...” he whispered to himself.

Gently picking up the feather between his fingers, his amber eyes glared at it in disgust.

“My Lord?” Barbatos’ voice called from the doorway. As Diavolo glanced up at the noise, Barbatos could see the anguish in his eyes as he held the contents of the letter tight. “You seem concerned.”

“Do you see this, Barbatos?” Diavolo asked in a low voice, holding out his hand.

Stepping closer, the servant took the feather from his hand, observing it closely. “One of Lucifer’s, My Lord.”

“Yes and you know what that means don’t you?” He asked quietly through gritted teeth. “It’s a threat.”

“I feared this day would come.” Barbatos sighed, “The course of events that lie ahead will depend on you, My Lord.”

“How so?” Diavolo asked in a softer tone, confused by Barbatos’ statement.

“I cannot give away the truths that lie in the future but I can tell you MC will need you, so will Lucifer.” He spoke quietly, “Should you truly wish them happiness, you must decide your next actions carefully. The fate of their future lies in your hands.”

“Why must you be so cryptic?” Diavolo sighed.

“I cannot tell you the events of the future, My Lord. If I do, it’ll change everything for the worse. This is not an opportunity that has arisen for you to redeem yourself, this is the moment you need to do what is right.”

Diavolo’s troubled eyes scanned the room as he stood up from his desk. “How much time do we have?” He asked Barbatos with a stressed expression.

“Very little, My Lord.” He spoke quietly.

MC smiled at Lucifer as he brought her drink over to their table. “Thank you.” She spoke quietly as he took a seat next to her.

“Hey where’s our drinks?!” Mammon’s voice suddenly cried.

Turning his head, Lucifer raised an eyebrow at his brother who sat opposite them. “Behind the bar waiting for you to order them yourself.” He quipped.

It was a nice afternoon and having nearly recovered from giving birth, MC wanted to go out and see the world again after feeling so isolated for months. Lucifer was a little hesitant at first, fearing that she wasn’t being completely honest about the state of her body. However, after being begged by the rest of the brothers he eventually agreed. (Not that he’d planned for EVERYONE to go out - it just so happened that Asmo was in the room when MC mentioned it and within five minutes all 6 brothers were inviting themselves.)

As they all sat in The Fall wondering what food to order for lunch, Lillian was resting in MC’s arms. Lucifer was on one side of her and Satan was on the other much to Mammon’s dismay who wanted to sit with her. While MC was cooing down at the baby, Mammon and Asmo also began to try and attract the attention of Lillian. Leaning over the table, they both began making noises and pulling faces.

“What are you doing Mammon?” Asmo giggled, “she won’t want to look at your face when she sees I’m here!”

“Oh yeah? Then why hasn’t she notice ya yet?!” Mammon laughed.

Pouting at his brother, Asmo began being more dramatic with his noises and Mammon started pulling sillier faces at Lillian. However, she didn’t take any notice of them. Her tiny little eyes were glued to the blonde haired demon in front of her. Laughing at their efforts, MC shook her head. “Sorry guys but I don’t think she’s interested.”

Slumping back in their seats defeated, MC then turned her attention to Satan. “Hey.” She spoke quietly getting his focus.

His face softened as he looked at MC. “Is everything okay?”

“She keeps looking at you.” MC smiled, gesturing toward the baby whose eyes were still on the fourth eldest.

“Clearly she has no taste!” Mammon’s voice called from the other side of the table.

Satan rolled his eyes before turning his focus to Lillian. A small smile appeared on his face. Though he didn’t do much else, his small interaction with her baby made MC smile. “You want to hold her?” She asked him softly.

Satan didn’t seem sure at first, he was a little hesitant. Although he was the one who pushed Lucifer to love this baby, Satan still felt sadness because she had the love he was never given. “Okay.” He whispered, holding out his hands.

MC carefully passed Lillian over. As soon as he held her in his arms, Satan’s heartbeat quickened. He suddenly felt a wave of affection flow through him - the baby he held in his arms was technically his sister. As he stared into her tiny red eyes, he realised there wasn’t anything that he wouldn’t do to protect her.

Smiling at Satan, MC then turned her attention to Lucifer. “I’m just going to get some fresh air.” She stated, “it’s a little warm in here.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” He asked, immediately concerned.

“No, I’m okay. I won’t be long.” She stated, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

Lucifer was a little surprised by the gesture. He still hadn’t quite processed that they were effectively together. As she disappeared from the room, Mammon suddenly leant over the table to speak to the eldest brother.

“Hey is she okay?” He asked quietly.

“She just needed some air, why?” Lucifer asked suspiciously.

“No reason.” Mammon shook his head, “she just said somethin’ the other day...that’s all.”

“Said what?” Lucifer asked intrigued.

“I dunno! She went for a walk out the front of the house and told me she felt like she was bein’ watched!” Mammon stated with a shrug. “She seemed pretty shaken.”

“Did you have a look outside after she said that?” Lucifer questioned as a feeling of dread began to build up inside him.

“Yeah but I didn’t see anythin’” Mammon shrugged again.

Sighing, Lucifer stood up from his seat. “I better go and see she’s okay. She never mentioned it to me, at least not explicitly.”

As he paced across the room, anxiety began filling Lucifer’s mind. He really didn’t mean to think so but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was Diavolo. Could he still be manipulating MC’s mind?

Stepping out of the building, Lucifer looked both ways. His eyebrows furrowed as MC was nowhere to be seen. Walking cautiously down the steps onto the pathway, he began pacing up the street. His worry was growing significantly. Her lack of presence was doing nothing for his anxieties.

“MC?” He called out.

There was no answer.

Lucifer’s heartbeat began to race. He quickly whipped out his D.D.D of his pocket, preparing to phone MC. However, as he held the device in front of him, his eyes began to focus elsewhere. Lowering his arm, Lucifer narrowed his eyes as he recognised something in front of him.

Crouching down on the pathway, he gently picked up the black feather that had been discarded not so accidentally. He immediately recognised it as one of his own. “What is this...?” He whispered to himself.

Before he could think any further, his head snapped in a new direction after hearing a scream. His whole heart felt like it had sunk when he recognised the struggling voice of MC. Widening his eyes, Lucifer dropped the feather and stood up abruptly.

“MC?!” He exclaimed, hoping that her voice could lead him to her. Unfortunately, she didn’t answer.

Shaking as he pulled out his D.D.D once more, he phoned Satan as he began pacing down the street.

“Hell—“

“MC’s not here - I can’t find her.” Lucifer interrupted abruptly. “Please keep Lillian safe, I’m going after her.”

He hung up just as fast as he called Satan. Breathing heavily, he began running down the street after hearing another scream. Without realising, his raven wings sprouted from his back and his horns twisted through his hair.

In all of his demonic glory, Lucifer soared into the air with wrath seeping through his body.

Nearly at the end now!💞

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me imagines #obey me fanart #obey me one shot

241 notes · View notes

headcanonsandmore · 4 years ago

Text

Ronarry Headcanons: Developing futures

Read on FFN. Read on AO3.

Summary: In our final installment, Harry's feelings for Ron begin to change things between them. Leading to a school year that is already very complicated to begin with.

Tagging: @vivithefolle @overmelted @booigi-boi

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

Harry Potter was asleep, his glasses askew against the window he had been leaning against.

He had been staring out the window, waiting for Dumbledore to turn up. However, in the summer heat, he had dozed off.

A couple of houses over, someone’s lawnmower got caught on a rock, and the resulting noise promptly woke Harry up.

Wiping the drool from his face, he checked the time. He still had a few minutes until Dumbledore said he’d be there. Harry had packed all his things together, ready for the off.

As often happened these days, Harry’s mind wandered to what Ron might be doing. Harry was due to stay at The Burrow that summer, after Dumbledore had collected him. With a bit of luck, Harry should be seeing his redheaded best mate within a few hours.

That last thought gave Harry a funny feeling in his stomach that he had long since stopped ignoring.

Yes, as if his life wasn’t complicated enough as it was, Harry had fallen for his best friend. The redheaded, funny, loyal boy who had been there for Harry ever since the first day at Hogwarts.

Needless to say, things had gotten rather confused in Harry’s head. On the one hand, he loved being around Ron, but -on the other hand- every moment around Ron gave him a strange sense of sadness. Because he doubted Ron would ever see him in the same way.

After all, Ron probably fancied Hermione. This has been evident since second year, but it had become noticeably obvious in the past couple of years. It was actually surprising that Hermione and Ron hadn’t gotten together yet, considering how obvious Hermione’s feelings for Ron were.

‘Ah, how lovely to see you again, Petunia…’

Dumbledore’s voice carried up the stairs. Harry leapt out of his room, and scrambled down the stairs.

‘I trust Harry informed you of my visit?’

Petunia Dursley glared up the stairs at Harry.

‘I take it that Harry did not inform you,’ Dumbledore continued, his beard twitching with suppressed mirth. ‘But no matter; let us assume you have invited me warmly into your home.’

Dumbledore breezed past Petunia and Vernon into the sitting room. Harry let out a groan, and followed.

This was going to be fun.

~~~~~

Well, it could have been worse. Harry didn’t think much of apparation, to be honest, and Horace Slughorn was a bit… odd.

But Harry was now at the Burrow. His heart leapt as he stared up at the familiar building; Ron was in there, and Mrs Weasley, who cooked better than anyone Harry knew.

He would have preferred not hearing about what Mr and Mrs Weasley got up to in private, but the soup was good. And it was nice to see Tonks again, even if it was very briefly. Why did she look so sad, though?

Harry woke up the next morning to Ron tapping him lightly on the side of the head. There were worse ways to wake up.

‘Mate! We didn’t think you’d be here for another few days!’

Harry smiled, as the redhead grinned down at him. Ron’s arms were covered in the scars he had gotten from the brains at the ministry. They worked their way up his skin, like dark-red tendrils. Over the summer, they had become a lot less harsh to look at, and Harry had to admit that Ron looked pretty bad-arse. Especially considering that he had got the scars whilst pushing Harry out of harm’s way.

He didn’t have much time to reflect on this, though, because Fleur had appeared, carrying a large tray of breakfast food. Ron’s face went strangely lopsided, as if he was trying not to stare.

‘It ‘as been so long, ‘Harry!’ Fleur exclaimed, putting the tray down on Harry’s lap.

‘Nice to see you too, Fleur,’ Harry said, feeling slightly awkward that she was seeing him in his pyjamas. ‘Congratulations to you and Bill, by the way!’

‘You are too kind!’ Fleur smiled, cheerily, the ring on her finger glinting in the morning sun. ‘Although it is a shame ‘e is not ‘ere. ‘E works ‘imself too ‘ard!’

‘I was bringing Harry’s food up to him,’ Mrs Weasley said, poking her head through the door.

‘It is no problem,’ Fleur replied, still smiling. ‘Nice to see you again, ‘Arry!’

Fleur and Mrs Weasley left the room, and the door closed shut behind them.

Ron began to shake his head, as if trying to get water out of his ears.

‘You okay, mate?’

‘Yeah,’ Ron mumbled, his ears turning pink. ‘It’s just a bit difficult when she appears out of nowhere like that. I know she doesn’t mean to do it, but still…’

‘It’s pathetic!’

Hermione stormed away, and stood nearby the window. Ron looked embarrassed and more than a little hurt.

‘Don’t worry about it, mate,’ Harry said. ‘Most blokes get affected by Fleur’s powers; I’m sure she understands that you can’t help it.’

Ron smiled.

A little while later, everyone was sat in the kitchen. Hermione had accidentally gotten punched by a telescope designed by the twins, and was now sporting a large black mark around one of her eyes. Harry had to admit that she looked funny, but Ron was helping Mrs Weasley try to fix it, so he kept his mouth shut.

‘You’re sure no owls have arrived this morning, Mrs Weasley?’ Hermione fretted.

‘Yes, dear, I’m sure,’ Mrs Weasley said, patiently. ‘Don’t worry; I’m sure you’ll all do brilliantly.’

When Hermione saw the owls appear on the horizon through the open kitchen window, she shrieked, and grabbed both Harry and Ron painfully around the elbows. Harry pulled away, rubbing his arm, but Ron didn’t move.

Harry squashed the irritation that briefly bubbled in his stomach, and focused on opening his letter. He had received an ‘Outstanding’ in Defence Against The Dark Arts, as well as Charms. His ‘Dreadful’ in History Of Magic was understandable, given that he’d collapsed half way through the examination, and he had also received a ‘Poor’ in Divination. But he had passed everything else!

‘Swap?’ Ron asked, softly.

Harry nodded, and they exchanged letters.

Harry stared at Ron’s results; he had gotten an ‘O’ in both Charms and Transfiguration, no doubt due to his breaking of Gamps Law during his practical exam.

He had also passed History of Magic, and even Divination.

‘Awww, mate,’ Ron said, sympathetically, as he looked at Harry’s results. ‘Nevermind about Divination and History of Magic, eh.’

‘Well, I did fall asleep in the exam,’ Harry chuckled. ‘Don’t worry about that; congrats, Ron!’

Ron’s ears went slightly pink as he grinned. However, he then noticed Hermione standing quietly by herself.

‘Hermione? How did you do?’ Ginny asked, tentatively.

‘I- not bad.’

‘Oh, give it here,’ Ron said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed Hermione’s letter. ‘Yep; thought so. Nine ‘Outstanding’s and one ‘Exceeds Expectations’ in Defence Against The Dark Arts.’ He grinned knowingly at Hermione. ‘Don’t tell me you’re disappointed?’

Hermione giggled, as she grinned up at Ron.

Harry turned away, once again feeling the bubbling of irritation in his stomach and hating himself for it. Just because he fancied Ron, that didn’t mean he had exclusive rights to the redhead. Even if he did get angry whenever he saw Hermione grinning at Ron like that.

~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later, the book lists arrived, and Harry discovered that he had been made Quidditch Captain.

‘Hey, you can now use our Prefects bathroom!’ Ron exclaimed, happily.

Harry felt his cheeks burn, as his mind rapidly constructed an image of sharing a bath with Ron.

Hermione noticed this, and glowered.

~~~~~~~~

Diagon Alley was an event as always. The twins shop was amazing, but Harry was most surprised about the behaviour of Draco Malfoy. After he, Ron and Hermione had snuck away under the cloak and done some sleuthing, Harry came to a conclusion.

‘He’s replaced his father as a death eater.’

Ron and Hermione shared doubtful looks.

‘Harry, that’s ridiculous, he’s sixteen-’

‘That’s exactly why he’s done it; Malfoy still goes to Hogwarts, after all. Voldemort must be hatching some sort of plan.’

‘I dunno, mate,’ Ron said, gently. ‘It does seem a little extreme. Remember when we thought he was the heir of Slytherin?’

‘That was different,’ Harry went on, stubbornly. ‘He’s actually got death eater pals now.’

For the next few weeks, Harry dwelled on this. What plans was Voldemort concocting this year, and what part did Malfoy have to play? Neither Ron and Hermione seemed to believe him, but Harry could half-understand their doubts. After all, they had thought Malfoy was in league with dark forces many times in the past, and he never had been.

~~~~~

1st September swung round, and -before Harry knew it- Ron and Hermione had gone off to the prefect carriage. Ginny had also disappeared off to find Dean Thomas, but Neville had appeared shortly afterwards. Glad to find a friendly face, Harry followed Neville through the train, and found Luna sat in an otherwise-empty compartment.

Harry sat down, feeling a bit miserable without Ron.

‘Are we going to continue the DA this year?’

‘No point now, is there? Since we got rid of Umbridge.’

‘Oh, no!’ Neville said. ‘I loved going to the meetings! I learned loads from you!’

‘Yes, me too,’ Luna added. ‘I loved the meetings; it was like having friends.’

‘We are your friends, Luna,’ Harry said, earnestly.

‘That’s a very nice thing to say!’ The blonde Ravenclaw chirped.

‘Hi, Harry.’

It was Cho Chang.

‘Oh, hi.’

‘Do you mind if I sit in her with you three?’

Harry shook his head, and Cho sat down next to him.

‘Er, this is Neville and Luna.’

‘Yes, I remember you two from the DA. Are we still having meetings this year?’

Harry was just about to reply that they probably weren’t, when the door of the carriage opened again, and a scared-looking third year poked their head in.

Both Neville and Harry made their way to Slughorn’s compartment; the place was packed with various people, including Ginny, who looked confused as to why she was there.

Glad of a friendly face, Harry and Neville sat down next to her.

‘Harry, m’boy!’ Slughorn exclaimed, cheerfully. ‘Thank you for coming along!’

As Slughorn introduced his various other guests, Harry had a dawning realisation that virtually everyone in the carriage had famous relatives or had something promising about them.

Cormac McLaggen, a Gryffindor seventh-year with a rather entitled attitude, started leering at Ginny. But -before Ginny could display her famous bat bogey hex again- an announcement echoed through the train, stating that they would be arriving at Hogsmeade Station shortly.

~~~~~

Looking back on it, hiding in Malfoy’s compartment under the invisibility cloak was a bad idea. Especially after the Slytherin had cast a full-body-lock curse on him, and then -to add insult to injury- stamped down on his nose.

Tonks mercifully managed to rescue Harry before the train had got very far, and she walked with him back to Hogwarts.

After getting a bunch of snide comments from Snape, Harry entered the Great Hall, and sat down beside Ron and Hermione. Both of them were clearly worried, especially about Harry’s broken nose, although Harry couldn’t help noticing how relieved Ron looked as Harry had appeared next to him.

~~~~~~~

During the first Potions lesson with Slughorn (yes, that had been a shock; Harry was still angry at Dumbledore for giving Snape the Defence position), Harry had gotten the distinct impression that Slughorn had been ignoring Ron.

This was then confirmed when the new Potions master bumped into them in the entrance hall the next day. Slughorn was organising a party for his “favourites”, and had given invitations to Harry and Hermione. Paying Ron as much attention as he would to a cockroach cluster, Slughorn ambled off.

‘Do you think we’ll know anyone else at this party?’ Hermione wondered aloud.

‘Don’t worry. I expect Ginny will have been invited too,’ Ron said, sounding hurt.

Harry found himself wanting to scream. How on earth could he possibly explain that he wouldn’t go a single party if it meant he couldn’t hang out with Ron?

To add to this turbulent atmosphere, Hermione was now getting progressively more irritated with Harry’s prowess in Potions class thanks to the Half-Blood Prince’s book. She spent most lessons glaring angrily at the book as if it had personally wronged her.

Eventually, he got so sick of her griping that he asked Ron if they could do an unofficial Quidditch practice that evening. Ron cheered up quite a bit, although Hermione did not look amused.

Deciding that Ron’s need to feel included was more important than Hermione’s need to be top of every class, Harry ignored her.

~~~~~~

After one especially difficult Quidditch session (during which Ron had accidentally thrown the Quaffle into one of the chasers mouths), Harry and Ron found themselves the last to leave the changing rooms.

‘Merlin, I wish I wasn’t so bad at this,’ Ron muttered, miserably.

‘Don’t be daft; you’re the king, remember?’ Harry said, patting Ron on the shoulder. ‘It’s just nerves; you’ll be fine after the first match!’

Ron gazed down at Harry through his eyelashes.

‘You really think so?’

‘Course! You’re a brilliant player!’

Harry kept this relentlessly supportive tone up throughout their walk back to the castle and, by the time they drew near to Gryffindor Tower, Ron looked in a much better mood.

Unfortunately, their usual shortcut was not empty; Ginny and Dean were snogging in the passageway. After Dean made a hasty exit, Ginny and Ron had started arguing.

‘Hermione snogged Krum!’ Ginny yelled, angrily. ‘It’s only you who seems to think it’s disgusting, and that’s because you have about as much experience as a twelve year old!’

Ron stared at her.

‘Yeah, I guess I do,’ he said, quietly, before leaving.

‘What the hell, Ginny?’ Harry exclaimed, as he hurried after Ron. ‘You know what’s he like about Hermione; why did you have to go and tell him… oh, forget it…’

Harry hurried off to Gryffindor Tower, running full pelt. He knew Ginny hadn’t meant to be so harsh; she had simply said it during a moment of anger. Hopefully, she and Ron would make things up within the next few days, but Harry still felt put-out by it. He knew he had no leg to stand on when it came to dealing with emotions, after all. But that didn’t make him any less worried.

Upon reaching the boys dormitory, Harry discovered that the curtains on Ron’s four poster were drawn.

‘Ron?’

There was a non-committal grunt.

Harry pulled back the curtains. Ron was sat up in bed, his legs pulled up to his torso. His blue eyes were slightly bloodshot.

‘You okay?’

Ron shrugged.

‘Dunno. I mean… I knew Krum was always into Hermione, but I never thought they’d ever… she just said they were penpals…’

‘I guess she thought you wouldn’t want to know. I mean, kissing probably isn’t that big a deal. Although I wouldn’t know, since I’ve never kissed anyone.’

Ron looked at Harry, his blue eyes sad.

Without thinking, Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips to Ron’s. He felt the redhead startle slightly, but he did not break away. Slowly, Ron relaxed and, much to Harry’s astonishment, began to kiss him back.

Harry wished he could stay in that moment forever.

~~~~~~

Nothing much changed. Harry had half-hoped that maybe things would, but he understood that things were changing enough as it was.

And it was definitely comforting, to know that he could kiss Ron without worrying about further ramifications.

Hermione was understandably shocked, and -although she would never admit it- upset. Harry did feel somewhat guilty, but they had both made it clear to her that they were not a couple. Simply that it was a comfort thing. Ron never found it easy to discuss this with Hermione, and Harry heard the continuing nagging in his head about why that was.

Hermione did seem somewhat colder to Ron in the following weeks. Ron was understandably rather upset by this, but Harry guessed why Hermione was acting this way. It was possible she saw that Ron was only attracted to men, a situation which Harry himself did not immediately agree with. For the simple reason that he had seen the looks Ron gave Hermione when he thought she wasn’t looking; the little soft glances and quiet stares that removed any doubt as to Ron being purely gay.

~~~~~~~

‘Harry, m’lad!’ Slughorn said, breaking Harry out of his concentration. ‘I’ve got a little Christmas party coming up, and I’ve cleared it with McGonagall and Hooch.’

Harry smiled uneasily. He had deliberately re-scheduling Quidditch practices whenever Slughorn had a party, so that Ron didn’t feel excluded.

‘The Quidditch season doesn’t reconvene after Christmas, so I expect you -and a partner, if you like- at the party! Bit of festive cheer is what you need! let me guess? Lovesickness?’

Harry felt himself blush, and avoided looking at Ron. Slughorn didn’t notice, and instead grinned.

‘It’s Christmas Eve at nine pm sharp! Hope you enjoy yourself!’

Later that evening, Harry was getting on with his Charms homework when…

‘So… Slughorn’s party, eh?’

Ron had sat down next to him. Harry felt his face burn again.

‘E-er, yeah. Might go along; don’t really have an excuse not to.’

‘W-well…’ Ron stammered, his ears turning red. ‘I… I could come along… I mean, if you want me to? That way we can have a laugh about it.’

‘Y-yeah, that… that’d be great,’ Harry grinned, nervously. ‘You sure you want to?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Great.’

~~~~~~~~

Any worries that Harry might have had promptly disappeared just before they left for the party. Ron looked very handsome in the robes the twins had bought him the previous year.

‘Wow,’ Harry breathed.

‘Do… Do I look okay?’ Ron asked, nervously.

‘I think you look brilliant, mate.’

Ron’s ears turned pink.

‘Thanks. Shall… shall we get going, then?’

Harry nodded, and the two of them left for the party. Slughorn’s office had been magically expanded to several times its usual size.

‘Is Hermione here yet, you reckon?’

‘No,’ Harry said. ‘She said she wasn’t coming tonight.’

‘Oh,’ Ron said, looking a bit disappointed. Harry tried not to think too hard about that.

The two of them swept onto the dancefloor, and swayed to the music playing. Harry’s heart beat happily at the feeling of Ron’s hand on his waist, and his enveloping Ron scent.

Harry had to sneak off at one point, so he could overhear what Malfoy and Snape were talking about, but his thoughts were taken off that serious worry when he returned to Ron. The two of them had another dance.

As they arrived back at the boys’ dorm, Ron turned to Harry.

‘I had a really great time, mate.’

Without warning, Ron leaned down and kissed Harry on the lips. Nothing intense, but sweet and chaste. Harry’s stomach flipped over. They stayed like that for a while, but Harry wished it would never end.

As he lay in bed, his mind still full of the kiss they had just shared, Harry continued to wonder about things. He and Ron weren’t dating, but things between them certainly weren’t platonic. What… what was this between them?

~~~~~~

This confusion would be resolved somewhat, as Harry found himself staring down at an unconscious Ron in Slughorn’s office, having just narrowly saved Ron from poison.

He clutched at the front of Ron’s pyjamas, feeling his eyes fog with tears. He had come so close to losing Ron again. And this time it had been caused by the love potion-infused chocolate that had been given to Harry by Romilda Vane months ago.

This had been his fault.

Harry didn’t speak much for the rest of the day. He had stood outside the hospital wing with Ginny and Luna, until Hermione -who looked as scared as Harry- had arrived a little while later. Ginny and Luna had discussed the various possibilities of how the poison had ended up in Slughorn’s office.

Harry and Hermione said nothing. Both of them seemed unable to speak, and simply stared intensely at the huge oak doors of the hospital wing.

Several hours later, Madam Pomfrey opened the doors.

‘Mr Weasley is resting,’ she said, before any of them could speak. ‘You may all sit nearby him for a while. I have sent an owl to Arthur and Molly, and they should be on their way here soon.’

The four students hurried into the ward, over to the only occupied bed.

Ron was asleep, his chest rising and sinking softly under the covers.

Harry let out a deep sigh of relief, and -next to him- Hermione did too.

About twenty minutes later (although time seem to have stopped working normally in Harry’s head), Molly and Arthur burst into the room.

Molly immediately burst into tears, and pressed a motherly kiss to Ron’s cheek. Arthur put his arms around Ginny, hugging his daughter and patting her head.

Molly then turned to Harry, who flinched. But the Weasley matriarch pulled him into a tight hug.

‘Thank you,’ Molly sobbed. ‘You’ve saved Ginny, you’ve saved Arthur, now you’ve saved Ron…’

‘Half our family do seem to owe you their lives, now that I think about it.’ Arthur said, quietly. ‘Madam Pomfrey says that, if you hadn’t been there…’

Harry didn’t speak, not trusting himself to keep from crying.

‘Speaking of which,’ Ginny said, ‘It’s all very odd, isn’t it. It was a poisoned bottle that Ron drank from; if whoever planted it was after Dumbledore, they didn’t know Slughorn very well.’

‘That makes it worse, doesn’t it.’

Hermione had spoken. Her quivery voice sounded like Harry felt, and he remembered that he wasn’t the only person in the room who couldn’t bare a world without Ron.

‘Y-yeah,’ Harry said. ‘This person -whoever they are- doesn’t care who they hurt.’

Hermione nodded.

There was a mumbling noise from the bed. They all looked round.

‘A-ree,’ mumbled Ron, still very much asleep. ‘Er-my-nee…’

They all stared at Ron for a while, but he continued to mumble incomprehensibly in his sleep, before going silent.

Interesting, Harry thought, and his heart began to hope.

~~~~~~

Harry had gotten the memory from Slughorn. Despite having had no sleep that night, he was feeling surprisingly cheerful.

‘Well, it wasn’t a good night for everyone,’ Hermione continued, matter-of-factly. ‘Ginny broke up with Dean.’

Harry looked down the table; Dean was sat, looking rather miserable, with Seamus.

‘Any reason why?’

‘Oh, something silly,’ Hermione responded. ‘Apparently, he wouldn’t let her climb through the portrait hole by herself.’

‘Ah.’

A shrewd look came over Hermione’s face.

‘Harry, you didn’t cause this, did you?’

‘Not intentionally!’ Harry exclaimed. ‘It was when I was going to get the memory off Slughorn; I must have accidentally nudged against Ginny when I was leaving the common room.’

‘Do you think that was the effect of the Felix?’

Harry shrugged.

‘Ginny not turning up to breakfast, I take it?’

‘No,’ said Luna, who happened to be passing. ‘She said she’d rather sit down by the lake; I’m taking her some toast now.’

Harry and Ron shared a knowing look as Luna left the hall.

‘Well, that explains some things, doesn’t it…’

‘What?’ Hermione asked, looking confused.

‘You know…Ginny and Luna…’

Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise.

‘You mean… the two of them… together? Gosh, I never even noticed.’

‘Brightest witch of her age, ladies and gentlemen,’ Harry cheeked.

Hermione rolled her eyes, as Ron laughed fondly.

~~~~~~~

Harry had missed the final Quidditch match of the season. He had been stuck in detention with Snape, after using a spell he had read in the Half Blood Prince’s book on Malfoy. Well, Malfoy had been trying to use Crucio on Harry at the time, but Harry had never meant to cause such harm.

Upon finishing his detention (the first of many, according to Snape), he had dashed back to Gryffindor Tower, where he hurriedly told the password, hoping for some hint as to the result of the match.

‘You’ll see.’ The Fat Lady said, her expression frustratingly neutral.

The portrait creaked open, and a cacophony of noise erupted through the hole. Scrambling through, Harry discovered the entirety of Gryffindor House in rampant and joyous celebration.

‘We won, Harry; we won!’ Ron declared, brandishing the Quidditch Cup above his head.

Ron’s eyes were wide with happiness, and he ran towards Harry. He threw his arms around the shorter boy, lifting Harry off his feet.

And, without planning it, without considering that fifty people were watching them, Harry kissed him.

There was a very pregnant silence. Harry and Ron -both blushing furiously- broke apart.

Fifty pairs of eyes watched them. Suddenly, there was a wolf-whistle from the back of the room, and an outbreak of nervous giggling.

Ginny was beaming happily, hand-in-hand with Luna, while Dean and Seamus were giving Harry the thumbs up.

Hermione was stood a little way away, and her mouth had fallen open.

‘H-Hermione?’ Ron stammered.

The bushy-haired witch walked over, grabbed Ron by the front of his robes, and promptly pressed her lips to his.

The common room –as one- goggled, as Ron and Hermione did little aside from press closer together.

Then-

‘Oy!’ Harry said, and his two friends broke apart, blushing furiously.

Luna let out a giggle.

~~~~~~~~

A little while later, Harry and Ron were nervously stood in their dormitory.

‘Harry?’

‘Y-yeah?’

‘A-are we… you know…’

There was a very long pause, as Harry’s mind swam with emotions.

‘I… I…’

‘Because… I…’

‘W-what?’ Harry stammered.

‘It’s just… and with Hermione…’

Harry felt his stomach turn to ice. Ron seemed to realise what he had just said, and hurriedly continued

‘But with you as well… I… I’m so confused…’

Oh.

That wasn’t so bad.

‘Ron… do you… you know… like me?’

Ron looked at Harry, his ears pink.

‘Y-yeah. I do. Not just as a friend, either.’

‘I… I feel the same way about you.’

Ron smiled, before kissing Harry softly. Which Harry was enjoying more and more with every time it happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Unfortunately, things got progressively worse from that point onwards.

Dumbledore was dead. There was a war to be fought, and Harry had never felt more alone in his life.

Ron was helping Hermione out of her chair, the bushy-haired witch crying into his shoulder as he did so.

When they reached him, Hermione pulled away from Ron, looking guiltily at Harry. But Harry felt no jealousy.

Ron reached out, and pulled Harry into a hug.

As the carriages arrived at the castle, Harry looked up at Hogwarts Castle, wondering if he’d ever see it again.

‘What are you going to do, Harry?’

‘Well, I’m going to go back to the Dursleys. Just one last time; I think it’s what Dumbledore would have wanted.’

‘And after that?’

‘I’m gonna track down the remaining Horcruxes. But –before that- I think I need to visit Godric’s Hollow. That’s where it all started. And if I meet Snape along the way; so much the worse for him.’

‘Fair enough,’ Ron said. ‘But you’re still coming round to the Burrow this summer.’

‘Why?’

‘Bill and Fleur’s wedding, of course!’

Harry grinned. The fact that something so wonderfully ordinary as a wedding could still happen was wonderful.

‘C’mon, mates; time to get moving.’

Ron put his arms around Harry and Hermione’s shoulders, and the three of them walked down the path towards the carriages.

Maybe, just maybe, things would be okay. Harry leaned into Ron’s side, and the redhead hugged him tighter with his arm, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry’s head.

Things might not be alright now, but they would be. He had Ron. And that was good enough. More than good enough.

The End

~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading through to the end, everyone! Hope you liked this concluding chapter!

I know I originally said I was going to continue throughout all the books, but I honesty don't think I could have kept Harry and Ron apart for another year without it seeming artificial. I was worried I would end up getting bored of writing this series, and not giving it the proper treatment it deserves. Hence why we are ending this story here instead of extending it into 'Deathly Hallows' territory.

Thank you all so much for the amazing comments you've given throughout the publication of this series, and it means so much to me that people are enjoying my retelling of the series in this AU! :)

#ronarry #harron #rarry #ron x harry #harry x ron #warning- strong language #harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #tw: poisoning #tw: injury #tw: bodily harm

68 notes · View notes

hecohansen31 · 4 years ago

Text

Maybe In The Next Lifetime:

Reincarnated! Ivar The Boneless+Reincarnated! Reader (Modern AU)

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I have been finally able to pubblish @peaceisadirtyword‘s fic for the Ko-Fi she has been so kind to offer to me, something that has been helping me greatly in supporting me!

So, again thank you for choosing to support my writing and I hope you’ll like this, although it isn’t the most amazing piece, but I have always been very very curious about the reincarnation concept!

As always: don’t forget to give feedback in form of comments and reblogs, because it helps us a lot.

It makes our heart beat stronger and our fingers write faster!

Have a nice reading!

SUMMARY: It isn't a coincidence anymore, when Ivar keeps on seeing your face everywhere and nowhere.

Telling you the story of something that has passed and is going to rehappen int he past.

Maybe Fate might have given him another chance.

And does this mean that he'll be able to catch it, before it is too late?

WORDS: 4 K

WARNINGS: Reincarnation Cycle, Menton of Violence and Blood, Inaccurate Portrayal of Iceland.

Ivar didn’t believe in all the reincarnation cycle shit.

He barely believed in his own gods and his mother.

But then you had happened in his life.

Nothing more than a maid in the hotel he was staying in on his trip to Iceland.

A tourist exactly like him.

It would have been difficult not to notice that accent and its heaviness in your tongue and it had been the first thing that he had seen as you talked outside of the hotel with some fellow maids, probably on a smoke break, since he saw a cigarette being passed around as you mumbled tightly something in your native tongue.

The syllables rolling on your tongue strongly and thickly and for a moment he had caught himself in staring at you.

And you had turned to him, probably not even noticing him in the crowd of tourists coming back from their usual hiking trip, a bare smirk on your lips.

And his mind had broken apart.

He had seen you in the same spot, but in different clothes no maid uniform but a rough fabric dress that certainly didn’t help your elegant figure, as you laughed loudly with other girls, all dressed in the same dreadful rags.

But your beauty shone even through that.

And you turned, smiling uneasily at him, almost as if you weren’t sure whether he’d return it or not.

And he found himself returning it.

And then he bumped into a fellow tourist, ruining his fantasy, as he noticed that you had probably finished your small break, returning inside, rapidly because the spot where you had stood was painfully empty.

He had thought it was just his dehydrated brain, coming back from a hard trekking session, imagining you the way it had happened.

But then it had started happening again.

He saw you at the lunch buffet, although you mostly worked in suites, but probably you had been asked to help out, walking in with plates and tissues, again in that horrendous maid uniform.

But this time he noticed you because a rather enormous man bumped into you, making you lose your balance and although you were able to grab the plates, steadying them, you bumped back in the man.

Who looked unhappy for that gesture.

Although he had been the one starting it.

And suddenly the scene changed and you were splashed with what looked like ale and smelled like it, a beautiful flowery crown on your head, lightly disheveled due to the hit you had received, a man looking at you, as ale also drenched him, probably from the tray you had been holding.

The man started screaming, and you endured it, but fear appeared in his eyes as his hand grabbed your wrist, and again your eyes met Ivar’s dangerously pleading and before he, himself, even knew it, he was up.

And he came to the enormous man, shifting from what looked like a warrior to an annoyed tourist and his sole presence was enough to shoo him away, as you were backed up by a friend of yours, probably having witnessed the scene.

She steadied you, getting the plates from you, and she muttered she’d cover you, also her face shifting against a more modern version of herself and an older one, with a matching flowery crown.

But you stayed in the past, your dress drenched and your hair disheveled, looking like a princess with your grateful smile as you muttered a ‘thank you’, some trace of warmth on the words, and Ivar was left paralyzed on there.

Hvitserk ushered him back, as slowly the world became of the bright minimalist style the hotel had chosen for its details, and ditched the darkness of a great hall, only lighted up by torches and fires, but he couldn’t push it out of his mind.

He couldn’t push you out of his mind.

Because, as if the daily hallucinations weren’t enough, you tormented his sleep.

You’d appear in your old-fashioned clothes and your sweet smile and you’d meet under a starry sky, as you brushed his hair back and told him things that didn’t seem to have any sense for him.

‘… we shouldn’t be doing this’ you whispered in his ear, as you pushed yourself away, playfully, as he brought you back in his lap with a steady hand, as his eyes shot in your beautiful ones.

Something didn’t change also in dreams.

‘Then why are you here?’ he heard himself ask, as his lips moved on their own, almost as if they had their own script ‘… why are you here, little thrall?’.

Although he understood every word, he couldn’t deny that he knew they weren’t talking in his native tongue, although it looked a distant relative of it.

Almost as an ancient ancestor.

One that spoke of magic and prophecy.

‘… don’t call me “little thrall” ‘the way you said it, made you hiss your breath through his teeth, although you didn’t look as threateningly as he roared under you, pushing himself on top of you, meanwhile he lightly pushed down your dress in his movement ‘… haven’t you promised me to be “your queen” ‘.

He didn’t feel solely your voice, but also his uneasiness at your wicked humor, that hit him somewhere deep.

Somewhere not everybody could reach.

And you noticed it.

‘… you know that I don’t mean anything bad with it’ he replied softly ‘… I just play around, Ivar’.

‘Will you play around with my heart too?’ he said with a sneer as he brought himself away from you, although all his body ached for you again, as he brought you closer to him again ‘… will you be a ruthless queen?’.

‘I’ll be your ruthless lover if you allow me’.

He had then woken up, with the thought of coldness coating his body, although the air in the room was hot and he had blankets all over him.

His hands reached out for you, but found nothing but emptiness.

And he realized that he was slowly going mad.

It didn’t help in the slightest that you were always somehow around him, something that he dreaded, trying to spend as little time in the hotel as he could, even thinking about taking the offer of staying with Floki, who had moved to Iceland since Helga’s death.

He knew the old man wouldn’t have hated him, but he also understood that Floki needed his space.

To distance himself from the painful memories.

He had visited him that one morning after the dreams had become too much for him and he had been barely able to look at you, when you served him his coffee, unable to properly forget the way your body had felt against his.

And the way you looked without clothes.

‘He’ll think that you hate her’ had commented Hvitserk, as the girl skittered off, with Ivar not even thanking you for the service.

‘Good’.

Because he preferred hate to uncertainty.

Mostly when the dreams showed him so much intensity that made him uneasy.

Working with Floki on small projects, starting from his latest boat, did help him get his mind off, but strangely his mouth had voiced a question to the old man, a pagan like him and quite more convinced in signs.

And he didn’t even seem fazed when Ivar told him about the girl of his dreams and hallucinations.

‘… maybe I just got wrong the dosage of the pain medicine’ he had muttered, meanwhile Floki’s face assumed a strange twinkle ‘… but it just… it haunts me in a way that is uncomfortable’.

“Maybe she is your soulmate from a past life” muttered Floki “… or maybe lady Freya, herself, is tempting you…”.

“I don’t know which one is cringier…” replied tightly Ivar, although he had been thinking some pretty similar option, even more since it seemed too much of a coincidence “… old man, you should get your head away from your fables”.

“… then why did you ask me for a suggestion?” shot back annoyedly Floki, although he had a soft smirk on his bearded face “… you know that this isn’t normal Ivar, you just need to believe”.

“I don’t know about you, knock-legged fool, but I find it hard to believe that a girl might be interested in me”.

“On that I agree” Floki replied softly, a reprimand and a laugh in his voice, as Ivar shot him the sponge with which they were cleaning his boat “… but there might be some freaks out there”.

He had come back from Floki’s house a bit more of good humor in his walk, but at the same time he couldn’t help but overthink about whether he was maybe just overthinking this all.

Or maybe if he had a reason to overthink everything.

And maybe he did, since he bumped into you, on the way back home.

You looked quite different in ‘civilian clothes’ probably having just finished a turn at the hotel, and on your way to some party, seeing the jeans miniskirt you were wearing and the glittery top, enhancing your perfect curve, although he had seen you in satin and silk in his dreams.

And you always looked beautiful.

He moved to let you pass, having blocked the exit of the hotel, as he slumped to his side, hoping you wouldn’t notice it, as he kept up on his rude persona.

He might have been considering that you were his soulmate, but this didn’t mean he wanted anything to do with you.

Or better… that you wanted to do anything with him.

But strangely you did.

A light of recognition shone in your eyes and for a moment he thought that maybe you had also been plagued by weird dreams, but then a soft blush, familiar to him, because it always shone under the stars they met in their dreams, appeared in your cheeks.

“Hey, I just… Gosh this is awkward…” even your voice seemed the same, modernized by your lack of knowledge of islandic “… I wanted to thank you for sticking up for me, a few days ago”.

“… you are welcome” he replied in a tight English, something that made her breathe out in relief, again that beautiful smile on your lips, and it shifted slowly from the focus of artificial lights to the one of torches.

“… I just… I just didn’t want to seem rude, but I wanted to make sure that you knew that I truly appreciated it, not many would have done it” you then moved to English, which you handled better, as his eyes stuck onto your eyes, a beautiful color shining in them.

And if they said that eyes were the mirrors of your soul, he saw himself reflected in them.

But it wasn’t him in his lazy pants and Norwegian metal band t-shirt, but it was him in original Viking clothes, staring at you with a harsh smile, hidden behind a good dose of annoyance.

But he knew that he was for sure enjoying whatever you were blabbering about.

You gave him your name, although he had caught it in the tag of your uniform, but he felt well properly introducing to you, a bit less ‘the stalker next door’.

“… I wanted to tell you this morning, but… you seemed a bit… away” you spoke to him, almost at ease although your words raced away from your mouth.

And although he had pushed you away all this time, he didn’t have the heart to tell you that he had tried to avoid you.

He might be a monstrous boy, doing monstrous things.

But he felt like when it came to you, past and present, he couldn’t just be cruel.

“… it was the coffee” he commented, searching the most trivial of excuses “… it fucking sucks”.

You erupted in a laughter after he uttered those words and again you had that crown of sunflowers in your head, a beautiful pair of bloody rubies earrings catching the light as your breath smelled of ale, something hazy and lazy in you

“I can’t say anything about that” you muttered, before leaning conspiratorially in, and Ivar couldn’t help but feel your smell, probably to be fresh and clean at the party, not definitely for him, but something reeked from the angles of his memory.

Spices and fresh flowers.

“… that isn’t coffee… it is dirty water” you commented, showing him your perfect teeth, as he shook his head, unable to withhold a laughter “… but I know a place where it is decent…”.

Was that invite?

Suddenly his mind shifted away, another sneaky proposal, another cheerful smile.

He had been crying over his mother’s death and you had come to him, softly and attentive, careful in your movements almost as if you were approaching a wounded animal.

‘I know a place where you could be alone’.

‘I wouldn’t be alone with you, stupid thrall’.

‘… don’t worry, my king, I’ll leave you alone, I have no intention to stay near somebody who is…’.

He had turned to you, willing to hurt you, just to ease his own hurt, but then he had been taken back by the determination in your face, something wickedly smart shining in your teary eyes.

You were also mourning.

‘… atrociously rude’.

“… so, I could offer you a coffee to thank you more properly…”.

You were tentative, almost as if after gaining the courage of approaching him, you had grown shy, but you were stubborn and wouldn’t have backed down.

He knew it.

Deep in his bones.

And who was he to oppose Fate?

And who was Hvitserk not to meddle in his brother’s love problems?

“Yeah of course, Ivar will join you!” he commented coming from behind with that knowing smirk of his, the one that got easily on Ivar’s nerves and although you seemed a bit shocked, you simply nodded, exchanging mechanically your number with Ivar, something for which he was grateful because the modern thing made him focused on the present.

‘… I can pick you up at the end of my lunch turn, so that I can lead you to the bar, if you won’t think that it is creepy’ you had explained with one last smile.

‘You don’t seem like the ordinary psycho” shot back Ivar, gaining a little giggle from you ‘… and I mean… my brother would come searching from me… I hope’.

Hvitserk didn’t look too convinced, but he nodded, and you speeded off, your phone coming to life, probably some friends asking you why were you late and you excused yourself, meanwhile you pushed between the two brothers, turning one last time to Ivar.

A silly smirk on your lips, as you lightly bit them.

And your past-self looked at him and before he could even blink, you were gone, enough to make him think this was all a dream.

Till Hvitserk sent him a light look and a confused one, eventually settling up for a brotherly hug.

‘… can’t believe that my brother, the rude one, got a date with a pretty girl!’.

‘… it is just coffee’ it would have just you hoping to seem nice to him, because you felt like you owed him ‘… it isn’t anything too much’.

But for a moment he had thought to see a light of understanding in your eyes, as they met his.

But he didn’t want to be mistaken.

He certainly wouldn’t have asked you:

‘Did we meet in a past life?’.

… if you hadn’t already thought, he was a creeper, you’d have thought it for sure if he acted like that.

And yet what he dreamed that night shook him to the very core: for now he had dreamt sweet moments, hot moments and some quite angsty ones, his own personality flaring up and contrasting with your gentle but stubborn one.

But that night… that night ripped his heart apart.

You laid naked, exposing the wound in the middle of your chest.

He had witnessed many death, or at least in the version of his dream he had, since he was somehow an old soul, but yours shook him to his very core, as he ran up to him, although his braces weighted him down extremely, making him trip and fall right on top of you.

And as he raised his head, he was right in front of your face.

You looked terrified.

Death hadn’t caught you prepared.

Death had taken you away from him too early.

And this couldn’t be true.

He had screamed for you, grabbed your head and put it onto his lap, he had tried any way to usher you closer, to bring you home to him again, as he begged Hel not to take you, eventually understanding that whoever had taken you, had taken you meanwhile you were surprised.

And you hadn’t been able to fight back.

And he knew deep down it was his fault.

Deep down his arrogance had made him pay dearly for the crown of thorns on his head.

And you were the price of it.

You, who should have had a matching crown of flowers and a dress of pure golden as you looked out to him and smiled, keeping your promise to be his ruthless lover.

His ruthless queen.

He had cursed the gods.

And promised you that he’d have found you again.

In another life, maybe.

And when he woke up, he finally realized what was happening.

The gods had heard his curses, and they were coming for him in a dreadful way.

He wondered if you knew.

If he had been the only one ‘blessed’ with that memory, although he almost wanted you to be spared from the pain of seeing your own death.

He hadn’t seen you enough to have noticed if you also knew him as well, and again… asking would have made him seem quite crazy, but right now he couldn’t help but feel like there was such a longing in him.

Almost as a possessive wounded animal.

But again… he didn’t want to be a stalker.

He almost wanted not to show up, but he thought that it would have made his staying just awkward and since he had to stay for one more weak.

But at the same time, as he finally seemed to understand what was going on… he didn’t know if he wanted to get further in this or if… he should have just let it go.

He didn’t know which one pained him more.

Although he barely knew you.

Gosh, this entire thing was crazy.

In the end, he decided to go to the ‘date’, but he would have tried his best to keep the entire ‘having vision’ back, alongside the fact that he was quite sure that his ‘charming’ personality wouldn’t have won another date.

But you strangely seemed eager to meet him again, as he met you at the service exit, seeing you in comfortable black shorts, and a small white sleeveless shirt, elegant enough to show that you had put an effort, but casual enough to seem comfortable.

And that damn smell of fresh flowers and spices followed you like a trace.

The trip to the small coffee shop he hadn’t noticed, although Iceland was a second home to him, was filled with you talking, something that he allowed happily, mostly because although he knew flashes of his past and how the stories had started and how it had ended…

… he didn’t know who you were, truly.

But he discovered it quickly.

You were a student of journalism and that year you had decided to work abroad in Iceland, your dream place, although you couldn’t deny that the language was pretty difficult, gaining quite the laugh from Ivar as you mistook in Icelandic ‘cherry’ with ‘donkey’.

‘It’ll get better…’ he had commented before sending you a lightly humorous look ‘… maybe… I mean… Hvitserk learned it so… everybody can do it’.

You had seemed shocked to discover that he had four brothers, one of which was a step-brother from a previous relationship of his father, something that had made him understand that you hadn’t been blessed with visions of your past life together.

‘… yeah we are kind of “The Sound Of Music” but you have to replace the music with stabbing and trying to punch each other when we are all in the same room together’ he had commented, proud of the laugh you had given him for that silly humor.

‘Sisters are worse’ and for a moment your voice was old and young at the same time, and the memory of smaller version of you gossiping with you in barely lighted room made him aware that you had had one sister ‘… they steal your clothes and pull on your hair’.

‘I am not proud of it but… we might have had a pulling hair contest, not too long ago’ he mumbled, trying to shift the attention away from that thought of the past.

He was in the present.

And although he had been given some kind of other opportunity with you…

… it didn’t mean that it would have worked out, also this time.

Gods had the strangest way to work.

He had born with his legs broken, but they had given him a functioning brain, which was much more than abled people had and yet… he was missing on so many things…

‘… you have pretty long hair, I can see that happening’ you teased him.

An immediate and intense comfortableness between you two, heightened by the small coffee place, definitely not crowded with a local aesthectic but a mixture of different locations inside of it, with all the pictures at the walls, lined by postcards.

‘… whenever I feel homesick, I come here’ you had commented, as you settled down by what you called ‘the nicest table’, since it stood right next to the window, giving a view of the small city ‘… and sometimes I like spying from here’.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a spy?” but he knew all too well that you had been one for him, a long time ago.

And it had gotten you killed.

“… just an observer” you commented with a small smirk “… I swear I am not a stalker”.

“I’ll believe you on your word” he shot back, with a wicked smile that made it almost seem as if they understood each other “… and I hope the coffee is good”.

“Don’t worry, I assure you it is the best” the air changed to a less heavy one, for which he was thankful, but your eyes shifted hiding under the men, moving away from you and for a moment he was disappointed.

He thought you were hiding yourself.

And the conversation subsided becoming more chatter.

Soft and sweet chatter, almost as if they had always known each other.

“… are you thinking of celebrating Midsomar, here?” you had asked him, after he had told you that he had been coming to Iceland since he was a child and he worshipped the ways of the old gods, leaving you quite impressed, as you explained your fascination for the Nordic style of life “… the girls… my other friends at my hotel want to go to some party… but…”.

“… but you want the whole experience” finished Ivar, as if the words had always been there for him to say “… flower crown, comprehended”.

“Don’t tell me that you won’t wear it?” you teased him back with an easiness that made him smirk lightly.

“… maybe”.

A blush appeared on your cheeks at his devilish tone.

Then a shade of seriousness passed in your ancient eyes.

“… we might think about passing Midsomar together, if you have an idea on how to spend it that is better than holding back your drunken friend puking in the first bush they find” you suggested, innocence appearing in your eyes as you suddenly almost seemed to hear for the first time the words you had spoken, before mumbling hurriedly “… I mean… it might seem crazy… Gosh we have just known each other”.

“… I don’t mind it” his words were suddenly in that old and the accent of the old language of reeked them, as you met his eyes again “… we should pass Midsomar together”.

Your whole face lighted up as you raised your face to meet his eyes.

“I know this might seem crazy…” your voice seemed almost a prophecy “… but it seems like I have known you all my life”.

---

Like What You Read? Want To Support Me? Buy Me A Ko-Fi!

---

Everything Taglist:

@maggiescarborough

Ivar Taglist:

@youbloodymadgenius, @alexhandersenx, @lonewolf471, @flowers-in-your-hayr, @a-mess-of-fandoms

#Ivar #Ivar The Boneless #Ivar Reader #Ivar x Reader #Ivar Imagine #Ivar Fic #Ivar The Boneless Fic #Ivar Angst #Angst #Ivar Fluff #Fluff #Ivar Moodboard #Ivar The Boneless Moodboard #Modern! Ivar #Vikings #History Vikings #Vikings Imagine

141 notes · View notes