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detectivemarvelingcomics · 9 months ago

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Not Your Classic Vigilante [Ch. 15]

Alternate Dimension AU TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Slight Body Horror, Gore, Graphic Depictions of Monstrous Attacks, Gun Use, Weapon Use, Some Talks About Traumatic Incidents, CW: OC Use, See the OC Guide [Here] Genre: Drama, Action, Angst, Light Comedy Pairing: Batfamily & Batsis!Reader, OC x Reader YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her) Word Count: 11.3K

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Notes: FINALLY SHE'S OUTTTTTTT i'm so sorry for the long wait, loves, I just couldn't for the life of me be satisfied with it until now

Disclaimer: This series is originally by@fandom-meanderer who is a close friend of mine, but she has since fallen out of her Tumblr days and asked me to finish a few series for her, hence why I am now in ownership of the Not Your Classic Vigilante series, I hope I can still live up to her writing as I rewrite this series! (I promise not to change too much, hehe)

2005

Your hand was gripped tightly around your mother’s finger. She was one of a few people you’d ever met growing up and, for the longest time, she was the only one you needed. With you on her right hand and with a backpack filled with your things on her left, she knocked rang the doorbell. When there was no response, she rang it again and continued to do so until it finally opened. An older man stood at the door.

“Pardon me, madam, how may I… assist you?” He hesitates slightly. Your mother moves to the side and gently pulls you toward him and there was a spark of realization on his features.

“I need to talk to Bruce Wayne,” she says. The old man looks behind her before opening the door wider.

“Master Bruce will meet you soon,” the old man says after guiding you both to the foyer. Your mother helps you onto the couch before sitting next to you.

“Mom? Where are we? You tugged at her coat and she folds her hands over her lap.

“A safe place,” she says. You looked around.

“Are we moving here?” Your mother looks away for a moment.

“Yes,” she had a tone about her voice. She was lying. One of the first things she taught you was how to tell someone was lying, she always said it was important because of where you lived, and one of the things you had since noticed is that your mother lied alot, especially recently. You’d been noticing it more often now, she’d always look away from you when she lied and that was how you knew. The both of you have been moving around a lot, staying with different people and checking into different motels, it’s been awhile since you’d stayed somewhere longer than a few days. Every time you would move, your mother would say the same thing: “The monsters found us, we have to move before they get here.” And you, afraid of the monsters, would help her pack as quickly as you could and climb into a taxi next to her.

Your mother lied a lot. And nearly every time it was a lie, and only some times was it the truth. Even her being your mother was a lie. But she takes care of you, and if that didn’t make her your mother you didn’t know what did. You’re not supposed to know this. She only told you one night when you woke up after a nightmare and came to her. She was holding a glass filled with a deep red liquid, and she refused to look at you all night. She looked over at you, laughed, and told you that you looked just like your mother and “may she rest in peace.” You don’t think she knows she told you, so you kept quiet.

“What are our three rules, (Y/N)?” She asks. You look at your hands.

“Listen before entering, look in hiding spaces, and don’t overstay our welcome.”

“Very good.”

Before the conversation could continue, the older man returned.

“Master Bruce will see you in his study.”

“Alright, watch her, please,” Selina puts her hand on your shoulder and you hold onto her hand.

“You’re leaving me?” You looked up at her.

“I’ll be right back,” she rubs the top of your head, “where is it?”

“Up the stairs and five doors down.”

“Sure.” Your mother ascends the stairs, and you remained on the couch. The older man sits next to you.

“If I may, what’s your name?” He asks. You look at him and look away slowly.

“My mom says not to talk to strangers,” you muttered.

“A very good principle,” he says. “My name is Alfred.” You puffed your cheeks.

“(Y/N)… (Y/N) Kyle…” you answered.

“(Y/N), that’s a lovely name,” he says. He grabs a box from the table. “Do you like sweets, (Y/N)?” He opens the box and your eyes widen at the chocolates inside. You nodded your head and picked a chocolate, but you hesitated before eating it.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if my mom will be happy if I eat this, mister,” you placed the chocolate back. “She says I shouldn’t eat things from other people…”

“Another good principle,” Alfred takes a chocolate and eats it. “As safe as it is delicious,” he says. With a small smile, you grab the chocolate again and eat it, tasting the sweetness all over your mouth and savoring it as long as you could.

“(Y/N)?” Your mother’s voice drew you away from the box. She descended the stairs and, next to her, was a man with a stern expression on his face. You folded your hands on your lap and looked down. Soon, the man crouched in front of you. “Introduce yourself to her first, she knows not to talk to strangers.”

“Hello, I’m Bruce Wayne,” he says. You squeeze your hands together and your mother sits next to you.

“(Y/N), my dear, this is your father,” your mother introduces you. “You’ve been asking to meet him, remember?” You nodded your head. The man looks at your mother for a brief moment before turning back to you. “Why don’t you say hello?” She asks. You’re silent for a moment.

“Where have you been?” You asked him. The man doesn’t answer.

“He’s been very busy, he couldn’t say hello until now,” she answers for him.

“Why?” You look at your mother.

“I… I’ll tell you when you’re older,” she says. You puffed your cheeks and frowned.

“You have to be nice to him, alright? You’ll be staying here from now on.”

“Just me?”

“Just you.”

“Where will you go?” You looked around.

“Back to the apartment, for now,” she says.

“I don’t want you to leave, though,” you frowned. Your mother sighs and Bruce looks at her.

“(Y/N), do you remember when we first started moving? When the monsters came into our home and destroyed your toys?” She asks. You nodded. “Then you understand why you have to stay here,” she says. You did, kind of.

“But what will I do if there’s a stranger in our bed again?” Though you whispered, it was understood by everyone in the room. That was terrifying, seeing someone you didn’t know just waiting in a place you thought was safe. Selina only shared a quick look with Bruce. “Or… what if I get sick from eating again?” You asked her. You felt terrible that day, nonstop throwing up, nothing was kept down, and you think it was the first time you’d seen your mother cry.

“(Y/N), it’s not safe for you to be with me, but here? You will always be safe,” she says. Tears welled up in your eyes. “Your father will keep you safer than I ever could,” she says.

“But… I don’t know these people,” you said between sniffles.

“You will soon, there’s no one you can trust more than these two,” she rubs your back gently and you wrap your arms around her.

“Even you?” You asked against her coat.

“Especially me,” she responds.

“You have to come visit, okay?”

“Of course,” she holds onto you securely.

“You can stay tonight,” the man says. “It’ll be better for (Y/N), I think,” he says. You held onto your mother tighter.

“… I can’t,” she says. And you turned to her, your expression filled with despair.

“You’re leaving me?” The person you had known your whole life, who took care of you, and who raised you… was leaving you.

“Just for now, (Y/N), you have to trust me, okay?” She stands up and you stood up too, holding onto her legs tighter than you ever have. “(Y/N), let go, have I ever lied to you?” Yes, so many times.

“No,” you lied back.

“It’s only temporary, (Y/N).”

“But… Mom!” Tears streamed down your face. She couldn’t leave you. She took a deep breath. “You can’t leave! I’m so scared!” Your voice pierced the stillness of the manor, and everyone stopped. “What if… what if there’s monsters, what if they get me?!” You hid your face in her thigh. She slowly pulled away from you just enough to crouch to your level.

“They won’t, dear, not here. It’s okay to be afraid,” she coos, “but you have to remember that there are people who will protect you.”

“That’s you, right?”

“Of course,” she sighs, “me, and your dad,” she says. Your glance narrowed at her, and you leaned into her ear to whisper.

“Is he really my dad?” Your voice was so quiet that it strained. You could feel your mother tense as she turned her head to look at you. You couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“Yes, he is,” she says. “I never forget a face,” she quickly adds.

“Do you promise?”

“I swear it.” She wasn’t lying. She looks up at Bruce now. “There’s no one who will keep you safer than him,” she says while standing up. “Be good, (Y/N).” You didn’t look at her. “Take care of her, please.”

“We will see to it that young Miss Kyle is watched over,” Alfred responds. Your mother holds you to her one more time, wiping the tears from your face and pulling her scarf off, she folds it neatly and hands it to you, which you accept with shaking hands.

“We will see each other again, (Y/N),” she says. “You’re (Y/N) Wayne now, do you understand me?” You could only nod.

“Okay,” you shut your eyes and gripped the scarf. And when you opened them again, your mother was gone, and you were standing in a large room with a bed bigger than you’d ever seen and ceilings taller than you’d known. Your father was nowhere to be seen.

“Until we prepare a better room for you, this will have to do,” Alfred says. You looked around, then you approached the closet, opening it slowly and deeming it empty. The curtains were flushed to the wall and were safe, the desk was open enough for you to know that there would be no way for it to be an effective hiding spot, and that left one more place.

But you couldn’t check there.

“Mr. Alfred?”

“Just Alfred is fine, young miss.”

“Could you check under the bed for me?” Alfred only nodded before walking over to it and lifting the comforter. His head touches the ground, seemingly scanning the underside of the bed for a few moments before standing up again.

“No monsters.”

“Promise?”

“I swear it,” he nods and walks to the door. “Just call if you need anything.”

Then he’s gone too.

It’s cold in here.

2022

“So, what’s the verdict, Drake?” Marion looks over the clipboard Tim was writing on.

“It’s smarter than we thought,” Tim says, “it’s displayed critical thinking, problem solving, and memorization, all the three signifiers of high intelligence,” he looks at the daemon. It’s been two weeks since he and Jason had arrived and, while the progress on finding out how to return home has been slow, it’s been moving forward at the very least. Until then, the hardest part was integrating into this new society as if they’d always been apart of it to avoid suspicion.

Tim, at the very least, had a puzzle to keep him busy.

The daemon looked at him and huffed silently.

“You’re crazy, Drake,” Inigo says, “giving the thing a bath.”

“Sure, yeah, but I still have my head on and we can’t study it with spears in its back,” he shrugs. The beast seems to keep its eye on Tim while he circled it, though it made no moves. “How’s research on the tags?”

“Drawing no significant leads,” Marion sighs. “Nico, when does the Captain return?” Inigo huffs.

“Tomorrow, apparently,” he says, “I know she’s been losing her mind in bed.”

“She has tried to escape a few times,” Tim laughs.

“You would know, huh? She do that often when you were growing up together?” Marion asks.

“Oh plenty,” Tim laughs, “and I genuinely couldn’t tell if our dad knew or not, I mean, he had to! It’s not like she was slick about it, Jason and I always caught her,” he laughs.

“You two ever do anything about it?” Inigo asks.

“Nah, just helped her out,” Tim shrugs.

“Rebel kid turned soldier is a pipeline that should be studied,” Inigo shuts the lever as soon as the daemon was back in its cage. The sound of heavy locks moving into place echoed in the chamber.

“I’m going to go check on her, pretty sure she’s already tried to leave,” Tim hangs his lab coat over a chair and raises his hand and Marion dismisses him.

“Good work today, Drake, tell the Captain we said hello- Oh! And before I forget, hand this to her too,” she says while shoving a sealed box in his hands. “It’s fragile. Be careful with it and, I’m sure you know, Captain’s eyes only.” Tim nods and enters the elevator. He looks down at the box. It was wrapped various times in twine and nailed shut with the words ‘FRAGILE’ stamped on top of it. Sure, he trusted you, there must be some ground breaking item in here that would help with the monster outbreak, but he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling at the back of his head. He turned the box slowly and looked at the label on the side.

Project βαV. Confidential. Tim’s brows furrow for a moment before taking a deep breath. He’s the one to talk, right? About secrets? He wonders what really went through your head those years ago. There were always things he just couldn’t tell you, things he’s always wanted to, but in the interest of your safety he always decided not to. Him and his siblings, they were always talking amongst themselves about things with the league or with Gotham’s underground and you were just there. If Cass wasn't there then no one would have taken the time to explain things to you.

Meanwhile, you laid in bed and stared at the clock next to you. Two weeks of bedrest, the audacity of these people. A lot can happen in two weeks and with you not active who knows what kind of emergencies have happened without you knowing. Sure, the Brigade kept you relatively up to date and you knew for a fact that Aldryn couldn’t keep a secret from you, but the anxiety that came from sitting still is one you weren’t comfortable with.

“This is so ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Almost as ridiculous as you not reattaching,” Carter laughs next to you. You looked under your hospital gown, still seeing the healing bite wound across your chest. At least it was still together, is your immediate thought. You sat up in bed and looked at the folder on the stand next to you.

“Think it’s anything I should be concerned about?” You ask while rifling through its contents. Field reports, updates on monitored areas, practical scores, all what you expected.

“Are you asking if you suddenly having a normal human body is concerning?”

“And it wasn’t before?”

“Well…” Carter shrugs. “What do you think, (Y/N)?”

“Hm,” you shake your head. “I’m just wondering why it’s failing now of all the times.”

“Think it might have something to do with Alex’s assignment?”

“Probably,” you muttered. “I never once considered distance to be a hinderance, or more accurately it’s never been an issue, but with him as acting Captain I should’ve taken it into account,” you muttered.

“And what does he have to do with your ability?” You both look up and see Damian at the doorway. You sighed.

“I had to tell you eventually,” you gestured for him to sit next to you and, once he did, you took another deep breath. “It was during a monster hunt dispatch. I had done plenty of them before, the three of us together were known as the best when it came down to it, but this one was different. It was a rank builder dispatch, if we completed the mission to its fullest extent then we’d get promoted. And everything went well until the monster we were hunting cornered us,” you started to explain.

“Real quick, everything was not well,” Carter cuts in. “I almost lost a leg.”

“This is isn’t about you,” you held a hand up, but your small smile contradicted your tone. “Either way I almost died again, but for whatever reason the royal family insisted I be kept alive. As a result of some forbidden magic, boom, reattachment with the side effect of telekinesis with one specific person,” you shrugged.

“That person being Alex, I assume,” Damian hums.

“Yeah, there’s nothing other than that, though. It’s related to some powerful magic thing that I guess Alex has been studying for some time now,” you tapped your finger against the bedding. “It’s been like this for, what, two years now?” You looked at Carter, who nodded.

“Give or take,” he shrugs.

“So that ability you told me about,” Damian starts the thought.

“Is different from my reattachment, yes,” you finished his thought, “but I don’t like using it.”

“Left her with a nasty nickname,” Carter says.

“I hate that shit, it pisses me off every time I hear it,” you rolled your eyes, and they settled on the door right as you heard a knock. “It’s open.”

“Hey, (Y/N),” Tim walks in with a paper bag in hand. “Carter, Damian,” he acknowledges the other two, “I got you lunch! To celebrate your freedom from a hospital room,” Tim hands it to you and you pulled out the burger.

“Finally, real food,” you could’ve praised Tim right then and there.

“You’re not really going to jump right back in, right?” Carter asks. “You just recovered.”

“I loathe to think about what I missed while in exile.”

“Oh, relax, you were on bedrest.”

“How’s the daemon, Tim? Any leads?” You switched the subject before you could get the migraine.

“Nothing conclusive, just theories,” Tim grabs another chair. “Marion says ‘hi’ by the way,” he says. You looked at Carter and Damian.

“There’s our cue, come on, Damian, I’ll walk with you,” Carter nudges his head toward the door and Damian groans and looks at you.

“Just go with him, Dami.”

“I can keep secrets, you know.”

“I know,” you gestured for him to follow Carter anyway and he huffed before closing the door behind him. After a short while, Tim spoke again.

“Are you 100% sure that they used to be humans, (Y/N)?”

“Positive. One of the ones we fought even spoke, Tim,” you said.

“Okay, okay, yeah, I tried crossreferencing some fur samples with the missing person’s data base here but nothing, no registered sample matches it,” Tim shakes his head. “So… I was thinking,” he pauses.

“Maybe he’s like us?” You whispered.

“Yeah, dropped off here after some traumatic event, but someone got to him first,” Tim leans on his knees now, head propped up by the palm of his hand.

“Let’s talk about it when Alex comes back. I sent him off to do some investigating on some movements we heard in the distant areas, so he’s been monitoring their movements for two weeks now,” you pushed the sheets down and opened the closet next to you before pulling out your uniform.

“Before I forget,” Tim hands you the box. “From Marion.” You looked at it for a moment before opening it. Inside was a smaller box, also wrapped twenty fold in twine. You said nothing while you packed it into your belt. You pulled out the small note inside of it.

You’re insane, Captain. Whatever you’re planning on using this on I hope you realize what it can do. And for god’s sake, don’t you dare use it on yourself. - Marion

You crumpled the note in your hand and tossed it in the trash.

“What is it, (Y/N)?” Tim asks.

“A last resort,” you shrugged. “I’ve been working on it for some time, I was hoping it would be a good pinch tactic if it came down to it, and with these monsters all over the place I’m starting to think it’s time I expidited its production,” you explained. “It’s nothing crazy, you don’t need to worry yourself about it.”

“If you say so, (Y/N),” Tim clears his throat. He didn’t believe you. But, then again, he wouldn’t exactly approve of what was against your hip right now anyway.

Your senior thesis project, you remembered enough of it to continue it here and perfect it, or make it as close to better as whatever crude version of it you had in Gotham. You and Marion were working on it together for almost a year now with various trials and errors, but if she’s giving you this one then this is the closest you’ll get for now.

“Let’s do some field work, Tim, grab Jason and Damian on the way. The Brigaders are spread out right now so I’m going to have to settle for the family trip.”

2006

“Dad?!” Your voice seemed to echo throughout the manor, bouncing on every which wall before you couldn’t hear it anymore. You’d been living at the manor for a few months now, slowly getting accustomed to the new environment while Alfred helped you anytime a camera would flash at your face. Slowly, bit by bit, you got more accustomed to the man your mother claimed was your father, you learned from him, about him, and through him. He was quiet, you noticed, didn’t smile often and didn’t tend to stick around the house for too long either. Most of your days was spent with Alfred, the butler, who often took you outside the manor and taught you a few things you’d have to know. Like the cameras. You hated those. They got in front of your face, blinded you with their lights, and deafened you with their shutters, but Alfred taught you a way to look through them. It was so simple that you were amazed when he told you.

Look straight at the person taking the picture. And suddenly the cameras weren’t scary anymore. The cameras that followed your father around, they never seemed to cease. He was so different from your mother who ducked out of sight and warned you about them, and that constant line of thoughts was always playing on repeat in your head.

You had already wandered the vast extent of it and you’d almost say that you knew it like the back of your hand, amazingly enough.

The only thing you didn’t know was where your dad went during the night, but Alfred always insisted he went to work. Life must be so hard for a CEO.

Alfred told you that you could be like that too someday, if you so wanted.

The manor was larger than you could ever dream of. Despite you having internally mapped the place, there always seemed to be something new if you had the energy to seek it out. But it seemed too big for three people, let alone you. Your echoing voice was just a reminder of the lack of… anyone, really.

Not to mention, it was always so cold. You shivered slightly, rubbing your arms up and down for warmth.

“Dad?” You called for him again and still, nothing. You wanted to ask him to turn the fire on, and you hadn’t seen Alfred all day. You peered over the railing, looking at the ground floor below. “Oh,” you spotted your scarf hanging on one of the light fixtures attached to the wall next to the railing. Perfect timing. Your mom gave it to you before she left your first night here, it was just a small thing of hers that she wanted you to keep, and you thought you’d lost it after tying it to the end of stick and playing baton with it. Looks like you just flung it over the edge at one point. You stood as close to the rail as you could, reaching your small arms through the poles to grab at the fabric, but each time you got closer to it it seemed to move further. You looked behind you, pulling the chair to the edge and climbing ontop of it. You held onto the rail with one hand and, with the other, you made a grab at the scarf, feeling it’s soft material in your hands. “Yes!” You grinned. Then you felt your hand slip down the rail. Then you were falling. Clutching onto the scarf in your hands like it would do something.

“(Y/N)!” Your dad’s voice was beneath you and in moments he caught you. “What were you doing up there?!” His voice was laced with concern. You held the scarf up and he let out a sigh of relief before shaking his head. “That was very dangerous, next time let me or Alfred know you need help,” he says, placing you down gently.

“Sorry, dad,” you looked at ground.

“It’s okay, you know now not to do that though, right?” He asks. You nodded. “Why were you doing something like that anyway?” He looks up, spotting your makeshift stool.

“I was cold,” you muttered. He sighs above you, then takes your scarf and wraps it around you, securing it well enough to stay on.

“That’s it?” You nodded. “In that case, I’ll turn the fireplace on for you,” he walks off and you followed close behind him, watching the backs of his heels to be sure you didn’t tread on them on accident, and finally you were in the office watching him throw logs into the fireplace.

You’d never seen a real one before, and the wood felt rough under your touch.

“Careful,” your father says. Your hands fly off the log and he tosses the last one in before throwing a match inside. You feel him hold your shoulder and push you behind him only slightly before you heard the crackle of fire. You watched it spark to life before engulfing the pile, and you found yourself flinching back at the suddeness of it. Then, near immediately, warmth. “Don’t stand too close to it, you might burn yourself.”

“Okay.”

“You can stay here as long as you want,” he says. You watched him walk back to his desk, his face growing stern as he read through whatever on his computer. You crossed your legs and sat on the ground, reaching toward the fire with open palms to feel it more. “Here, sit on this here, the ground’s cold. And if you need it I brought a blanket,” he left both items next to you. You didn’t even notice him leave, he didn’t make a single sound. You pulled the ottoman toward you and sat down on it instead while holding the blanket in your hands. It was soft to touch, softer than any motel bed you’d slept on, but not as soft as the scarf around you.

You didn’t want to get it dirty.

2022

“Captain Wayne?” Bruce’s eyebrow arched and the child nodded enthusiastically.

“Yessir! Our little village is usually one of the Brigade’s stops on their way to their campaigns. We’re lucky to even get a glimpse of the captain!” The child grins. “If you stick around long enough you’ll be able to catch a look too.” They ran off after that.

“Constantine,” Bruce called him over, but the man was too preoccupied on the phone to do say much.

“Liverpool! Where the hell are you, lad? You sent me the wrong bloody address!” He shouts. “You’ll be here? What in the blazes does that even mean? Fine, fine, I’ll hold you to it, but I don’t remember when you got so bold to make to teacher wait here.” Constantine hung up the phone and turned back around. “What?”

“What are the odds of running into different vesions of ourselves here?” Dick asks.

“Not impossible, I’ll give you that,” Constantine shrugs. “But pretty unlikely too,” he adds after. “Why?” Just then, a newspaper flies into Constantine’s face and when he peeled it off he quickly read the headline. “Oh…” he mutters and hands it over to the boys.

“In the wake of daemon attacks Captain Wayne says the Brigade has it handled during hospital stay,” Dick reads the opening sentence. “Doesn’t sound like they have it handled.”

“And that’s why I got called here, probably,” he shrugs.

“Constantine,” a new voice enters the conversation.

“Liverpool!” Constantine spreads his arms wide with an even wider grin. “Look at you, lad, Zee says hi, by the way.”

“She here?” Alex leans over to look behind him, but instead makes eye contact with Dick. “Oh no…”

“What?” Constantine looks behind him.

“Alex?!” Dick’s jaw was nearly on the floor.

“Long time no see, Mr. Wayne,” Alex greets Bruce first.

“Alexander,” Bruce clears his throat uncomfortably. Alex’s hand rests on his chest for a moment before he relaxes again.

“We have a bit of a monster problem,” Alex says quietly. “Let’s go somewhere private,” he nudges inside of one of the homes and the men follow him. “Take a seat anywhere, this is the Knighthood’s outpost,” he says.

“Little shabby,” Constantine wipes the dust off the table.

“Our treasurer got eaten by a daemon,” Alex saids chidingly. He tosses a circular device on the table and a hologram appears from it, displaying a monster they had never before seen. “This is just one variant of them, we have this one in captivity right now and it’s being studied. But it’s traits greatly differ from others we’ve encountered,” he says.

“And how many is that?” Bruce asks.

“Enough,”Alex grimaces. “We haven’t been able to track where they come from, they’ve been found all over the continent razing villages to the ground and taking out whole squadrons. At first we were able to keep it under wraps but recently it happened too close to the capital, now the media’s all over it,” Alex shakes his head.

“Shocking you kept these nightmares out of the public eye for so long,” Constantine mumbles while he leans forward to take a closer look. “Either way these things are new to me,” he says.

“You haven’t the slightest idea on what it is? Science is hardly working on this thing, I was so sure it was magic,” Alex continues.

“It would help me more if I saw it up close,” Constantine says.

“If my theory’s right then you will soon,” Alex says quietly. Constantine straightens.

“What do you mean by that?” He asks gravely. Alex changes the hologram.

“If this pattern of attacks is to be followed then this is the next village they’re going to attack,” he says quietly. Dick steps up.

“What’s the plan then?”

“Wait until the captain gets here,” Alex responds, “our elite squad is spread out right now, but they’re ready to respond to an emergency. Our captain is on the way right now so we’ll discuss it once enough people are here, but I’d say we have a night to prepare. Once I get the manpower I’ll start evacuations, I’ve already sent notice of it to the headwoman so everyone should be preparing now,” Alex reports, his hand over his heart before he beats on it a few times.

“And what should we do?” Constantine asks.

“Help? Watch? Whichever comes naturally,” Alex shrugs.

“Any briefing at all? Weak points? Strengths? Things to avoid?” Dick pressures him.

“Before, yeah, but the daemons have become so specialized that our original modus operandi doesn’t work anymore. It’s like they all mutated overnight,” Alex shakes his head. “This whole monster problem has gotten out of hand, and from the pressure coming from the royal family the entire knighthood is on a tight schedule, and we’re running out of manpower fast, I don’t think we can sustain things by blind fighting anymore, but our strategies are always upended when a new daemon comes in. Just two weeks ago we had one that controlled the weather, for christ’s sake, it almost ripped the captain in half when another daemon suddenly learned empathy and saved us all,” Alex holds a hand to his head now.

“So, you’re desperate,” Constantine says.

“Extremely,” Alex shakes his head. “Onto other matters, why the entourage?”

“I figured a little extra manpower couldn’t hurt,” Constantine shrugs. “Why?”

“Well…” Alex whistles, but is cut off by the sudden roar outside.

2008

You are awoken suddenly by the crash of glass on your floor, and the shock of it all was enough to make you scream. You held onto your blanket, clutching it tight within your hands as you crawled toward the edge of your bed, and in an instant you gasped.

And so did Dick.

“This isn’t my room,” he says between pants. You were quick to rush out of the safety of your covers and to his side. He was covered in bruises and shallow cuts, probably more from the glass than anything else, whatever happened to him. But… you could help. Your mom used to come home with bruises too, she’s walked you through how to help her and what to use, you just wondered if there were any in the manor. Or even Alfred, you could call him for help.

“What happened to you?! Who did this?! I can help you,” you brushed the glass off of him and winced when it cut your hand only slightly.

“Whoa! Careful there, (Y/N),” he takes your hands now, observing the cut.

“What about you?” You pulled your hands out of his grasp and reached over to him, but he caught your hands again instead.

“I’m fine, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he struggles to stand up and you tried to help him, but he got up himself. You drew your hands back, clasping them in front of you instead. “I’m sorry, (Y/N),” he says. You looked at him now.

“You’re… you’re Robin?” You asked him. You looked at your walls, crude drawings of the boy wonder littered it. You idolized him, Robin, the sidekick to the dark caped crusader all the boys at school raved about, and there you were, becoming a fan of the boy who helped him.

And here Dick was, someone you considered your older brother after two years of living together, beaten up and wearing the iconic insignia.

“It’s… it’s just a costume, (Y/N),” he says. You shook your head and stood up.

“You’re going to lie to me too?” You looked away from him. Everyone lied to you. And you thought at least he wouldn’t.

“I…” he rubs his arm, wincing slightly. “(Y/N), I’m so sorry,” he says. “I was just playing around with a few friends and we got out of hand, don’t tell Bruce, please.”

“Okay,” you shook your head again, grabbing your blanket that had fallen next to the bed and climbing back on top of it. Dick wiped his face of whatever dirt got on it and looked at you. You pulled your blanket up and over your head.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats. You should’ve known. And maybe a part of you did know. When you saw the videos of Robin doing amazing acrobatic feats, the very same Dick would show you, maybe you did know. And when you would tell Dick how much you liked Robin, when you’d show him the drawings, you wondered what he was thinking.

You wondered if your dad knew.

So here you were, eating breakfast with the both of them. Dick across from you, your dad at the head of the table, and you. It had been a few days since the incident, and neither your nor Dick brought it up. Now, though, you can hear him entering his room early in the morning, his room which was right next to yours, and now you check every morning if he was in there.

“So, (Y/N), I hear you have a test today,” Bruce breaks through the silence.

“Yeah,” you nodded, playing with your eggs.

“What’s it on?”

“Spelling,” you mumbled.

“You’re good at that.”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Is there something on your mind?” He asks, his eyes sliding to you. You looked up from your eggs and glanced at Dick before looking at him.

“Nope,” you shook your head and chugged down the rest of your milk. “I have to go to the bathroom.” You placed it on the table and folded your hands on your lap.

“You haven’t finished your breakfast.”

“I’m full.”

“(Y/N).”

“And I really need to pee.”

“Okay, go ahead, you’re excused,” he says. You rushed off before you could let the cat out of the bag. You’re lying to your dad, great. Not telling is also lying, your mother always said, but it had to be a little better than just… completely lying, right? Plus, you didn’t want Dick to get in trouble, how many times has he helped you out? You could help him out, even if you were a little mad at him. You hid behind the wall, wanting to catch any conversation they have. “Dick.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s good that the two of you get along well, but I hope you know she’s still my daughter,” Bruce says.

“I know.”

“So you understand that I know you two are hiding something, right?” He says. You held your breath and peeked over the wall, his back was still turned to you. “Which is fine, I suspected you two would eventually, as long as it doesn’t hurt her or interrupt that business, it’s fine,” he says. Dick nods, catching your glance only quickly before clearing his throat. Did he know too? Your dad? That Dick was Robin?

“It’s neither of those, sir, I promise,” he looks at the clock on the wall, “and we should probably get going to school too,” he says.

“You’re right, I’ll see you both at home later,” Bruce stands up first and Dick follows. You rushed to the foyer before your dad could catch you eavesdropping and you hauled your book bag up from the floor.

“Whoa, what do you have in there?” Dick walks up behind you and opens the door for you.

“So… many… books,” you threw it into the back seat of the car.

“For school?”

“For fun,” you sighed. You pulled one out and handed it to him.

“American Girl?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Uh… sure, okay,” he shrugs. “Why don’t we keep them in here for now and you can just carry one,” he pulls the stack out of your bag except for one and you reached over and grabbed another.

“Just in case I finish that one,” you say.

“Fair enough,” he shrugs. The car slows to a start and Dick glances at the closed window that separated the two of you from the chauffer. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For?”

“For keeping my secret,” he says quietly.

“Yeah…”

“I’m sorry I lied to you, I just got scared,” he says.

“I know, I would’ve been scared too,” you nodded. You played with the handle on your bag. “But if you ever need help… just ask, okay?”

“I should be saying that to you,” he nudges your softly and you smiled.

“Just don’t get hurt too bad, okay? And… and you have to tell me the coolest stories,” your eyes shone.

“What? You still like Robin even though you know I’m him?” He scoffs.

“Are you kidding? I like him even more now!” You defended. “I always thought you were cool, but now you’re even cooler,” your voice was filled with awe.

“Yeah, yeah, you think everything I do is cool,” Dick laughs.

In the front, meanwhile, Bruce seemed to let out a sigh of relief, prompting Alfred to chuckle.

“God, I was so worried it was something worse,” he says.

“As I’ve told you before, Master Bruce, they’re as thick as thieves, those two,” Alfred says. “Although, you don’t think this will become a problem in the future?”

“What? Her knowing Dick’s Robin?”

“Precisely.”

“As long as she doesn’t get into danger,” he says, “there’s no harm from it.”

“But you worked so hard to separate her from the Batman, and here she is with a direct line to him now.”

“Dick knows what he’s doing,” Bruce sighs, “plus, maybe it’s safer for her to know.”

“And will you ever tell her?”

“Eventually, if she hasn’t figured it out already.”

“Do you think she will?”

“She’s a sharp girl. Selena raised her well.”

“I worry about what she had to go through before she came to us,” Alfred looks into the monitor near him, watching Dick tell a story with exaggerated hand movements and you being more engaged in it than he’s ever seen. “She looks happier now.”

“I hope she is,” Bruce doesn’t look up from his phone. Alfred steals a quick glance at it and spots the American Girl dolls on his screen. Alfred couldn’t stop the satisfied chuckle this time.

2022

“Oh we are so fucked,” Jason’s hands drop to his sides when he saw the fires.

“Shit… they’re earlier than we predicted,” you shot a quick text to the other Brigade members. “And we might have another issue on our hands too,” you watched the daemon freeze over the landscape.

“What, the mutants?” Tim shudders.

“No, them,” you nodded forward, spotting Dick electrocute a smaller daemon.

“Shit,” Damien grumbles.

“Shit,” Jason scoffs.

“What’s the plan, (Y/N)?” Tim asks.

“Uh… don’t die,” you shake your head, “and get any survivors out. I’ll rendezous with Alex first and figure out a better plan from there,” you drew your rapier and scanned the field. One, two, three… four of them.

“Captain?” Your earpiece crackled and you pressed down on it.

“Alex, give me a run down,” you watched your brothers each tackle a different daemon.

“One with ice, one normal one, two with super strength, and one with wings.”

“One with wings?” Your face contorted into one of confusion. Until something grabbed you and left you airborne.

“(Y/N)!” Jason called after you.

“Oh fuck,” you grabbed onto the daemon’s claws that dug into your shoulders. Your breathing quickened, the air growing thinner the higher up you got, and you swallowed your thoughts down and reverted to plain instinct. It roared above you and you pulled yourself up and onto its back, looping the rapier around it’s neck and locking it in place with your arm in an attempt to strangle the bird-like monster. Ignoring the stinging pain in your shoulders, the daemon flapped erratically until it took a nosedive, and you held your place as best you could with the wind blowing against you, all you could do was brace for impact. As soon as the bird hit the ground, the earth around it caved in, you felt the shock run through your bones and you felt the fragments inside of your body before they ultimately, painfully, reconnected to each other, and you stood up, dragging your rapier with you and smoothening down your hair. The bird twitched under you and you dug your sword into its heart, pulling the tag from its neck. CH-95. You staggered back, feeling the crunch in your bones and holding back the wince. You never get used to it.

“Just a second!” You held your hand out, catching your breath. This is wrong. Alex was practically right next to you, you should be reattaching with ease, but you weren’t. You were just surviving.

“(Y/N)? Jesus, fuck, holy shit,” Dick let out a string of curses while he helped you up, but he quickly slowed his movements as soon as he had felt the jelly that was your arm. “God, why the hell did Jason bring you here?” He muttered under his breath and you stopped.

“Excuse me?” You looked up at him and pulled your wrist from his grasp, standing up tall and closing your hand into a fist once it had finally finished mending together. You stretched out your fingers now, making sure the mobility was just right. “Like you know what’s going on,” you told him.

“(Y/N) you’re not trained for combat, this is dangerous, hell, one of them just grabbed you and launched you in the sky,” Dick shouts. “Get out before you get hurt,” he eyes your arm, a quick look of confusion danced over his features when he saw it balled into a fist once more.

“Did you not just see how I killed this thing?! What the hell do you think I’ve been doing for three years?! Don’t tell me you bought my bull shit story about that lab! Obviously I was making myself fucking useful!” You didn’t know why you felt the need to argue, now was not the best time to be doing this. “I should be asking you why you’re here!” Maybe it was because you felt like you had something to prove.

“I’m here to bring all of you back home!” Dick shouts. “And instead, somehow, Bruce and I get roped into this monster business and I definitely wasn’t expecting to see the four of you here,” he says. He looks over to the side, seeing Jason and Tim bring one of them down. “You especially, you’re a civilian, (Y/N), get somewhere safe,” he says. You took a deep breath. He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know the shit you’ve been through, and you had to be fair towards him because of that. But god is he pissing you off, you didn’t even know how you tolerated this behavior before you died and you definitely don’t want to deal with his holier-than-thou-I’m-the-best-leader attitude now.

“I don’t have the time or the fucking patience to deal with you right now, Dick,” you shook your head.

“Captain!” Alex’s voice was loud and you tore your attention away from Dick who was rambling again about how you shouldn’t be here. Alex tosses you your rifle, something that probably fell from your figure when you were unceremoniously turned into an aircraft. One thing you learned quick, even before the transmigration, was how to tune out sounds you didn’t want to hear. So, just as easily as usual, you loaded the rifle and aimed it toward the daemon that Jason and Damian were struggling with and you took the shot. The bullet pierced through it’s head and the beast as stunned long enough for the two to finish it off.

“Thanks, (Y/N)!” Jason shot you a thumbs up and you rolled your eyes while slinging the rifle behind you. You turned back to Dick, no words were exchanged, but the silent conversation was enough for you to figure out what he was thinking. He was pissed. But so were you, so… where did that leave you?

“Got a plan, Lex?” You looked over to Alex.

“I’m going for the ice one, don’t think we can have the newer two on it,” Alex was already running off, joining Constantine in his struggle while Jason had pushed the remnants of a wall off of a few survivors.

“Move over!” You had turned back to Dick to settle the argument, but when you saw the daemon fast approaching you shoved him out of the way instead, and you very nearly got caught in its rampage by just a hair. You ran toward it now, you couldn’t let it run amok any longer with the possibility of heavy civilian casualties, but the stinging pain from your steps was making it hard to focus on anything other than that.

“Help!” The shrill voices of survivors always found a way to be louder than others, and you turned to them quickly, seeing the children hidden behind the broken wooden foundations. Could you even get to them on time in this state? Everyone else is too far to get to them.

And for god’s sake, don’t you dare use it on yourself. Marion’s note appeared in your head. But you’d always meant to use it on yourself, you just couldn’t find the right formula, you couldn’t nail the correct combination that wouldn’t end up with you combusting after taking it. Until now, you fed it to the test specimen and told Marion to keep a close eye on it and, after two months of controlled dosages, the specimen was still alive. But you understood why she was afraid, she was a woman of science and she knew that its boundaries shouldn’t be tested. But you’ve seen it work before, and you knew you could make it better. Hell, you have a degree in this. You have to put it to work at least once, right?

Fuck it. You ripped the package open and pulled out the green vial.

Tim, meanwhile, was the one in shock. βαV, that was the name written on that package, and seeing its effects put two and two together. Bane and Venom.

You never got over that, did you?

“(Y/N)!” He shouted out, not from the recognition, rather, the daemon that had appeared behind you. No time, you moved as far as you could from the monster as it crashed into the wall previously behind you, but it was enough for Tim to run over to you. “Is that-”

“Safe, probably,” you inverted it in your hand. “Safer if I take it than if anyone else did.

“You can’t!” Tim makes a move to take it and you unscrewed the lid, holding it close to your mouth while keeping your sights on him.

“Why not?” You eyed the monster stepping out of the broken building.

“You…” Why couldn’t you? Tim was at a loss. Everything he’s seen, everything he’s observed, pointed to you being the most reasonable choice to drink it especially in this situation. But it just didn’t sit right with him. He held you in this amazing regard, this near unattainable standard that never could’ve been realistic in any universe, one that not even you could uphold. “I never thought that you’d think like him,” Tim mutters. You didn’t answer, instead opting to drink the down quickly.

The world around you rang as you took heavy steps toward the daemon that had regained it’s footing, and as soon as it noticed you it charged with its maw near unhinged, and you caught the daemon’s open jaws between your hands, your hands that were traced with green veins that were clear even through the blur at the edges of your eyes. You took deep breaths, the world around your shifted in and out of focus as if echoing just like the sounds of the battlefield, and once your vision somewhat stabilized you pushed further and ripped the daemon’s jaw in half. You tossed it’s mandible to the side and used your foot to roll it over on its back and you pulled the tag off. DP-82. Your breaths only deepened and you felt your heart rate quicken, like your heart was going to burst out of your chest from the adrenaline. Your hands were shaking, or was that your vision shaking? You felt the venom run through your veins with a burning sensation, threatening to rip your skin open with each pump of your heart. This is insanity, you could barely form a coherent thought.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to take this so suddenly. Or at least, not all of it.

“Shit…” your teeth grinded against each other and you held your head in your hands, trying to get past the searing headache. You could feel your own searing blood run down either side of your face, and whether that was from the daemon or from yourself it was unclear. Then you felt two hands over yours pull them away from your head, and you looked up.

“(Y/N), take deep breaths,” Bruce says. One hand goes to his belt and pulls out a small vial, and he places it in your hands. “Take it.”

“Not yet,” you shake your head, would it even work? Your vision focusing on the daemon who was sprinting toward the both of you. You pushed the vial in your pocket and you pushed him aside, taking heavy steps toward the daemon before slicing your rapier once it got close enough. And the wound it left was so deep it fell back and you climbed on top of it, stabbing the beast repeatedly and even breaking the tag that was on it. In two pieces it landed on the floor with a simple DT-82 engraved on it. That’s four down. You looked around and spotted the ice daemon cornered by Alex. Readjusting your grip on your rapier with a rotate of the hilt around your palm, you charged forward and stopped only when the daemon had the thought to protect it’s frontside with a slate of ice.

Intelligence? Tim had mentioned it but you were wary to believe him considering the data came from the outlier in the basement.

Either way, this one was going to be harder to get rid of. Such was clear when you held your rapier above you to block the blow, instead feeling your boots sinking into the ground. You pushed through and powered the daemon’s fist off of the blade and you surged forward, redirecting the rapier into a crack between the ice armor the monster adorned, and just as fast you were pushed back. You wiped the fluid from your lips and took heavy breaths.

“Hey, Captain,” Constantine caught wind of the situation easily, “try using that rifle of yours against the ice plate, I have an idea,” he says. You nodded, pulling your rifle forward again and aiming it at the intended spot, but your hands wobbled slightly with the dizzying effect that was controlling you. You squinted your eyes, doing your best to make sense of the monster that was now appearing double. Then, you felt your hands stabilize, and you realized that Alex was holding the rifle steady. You aimed it as best as you could and took the shot, the bullet landing on one side of the plate, then you took more successive rounds until it was seconds away from shattering. You could just barely make out the magic circle that appeared on top of it until it pushed into the daemon and left it screaming while it ripped off its own skin. “Now’s your chance!” He shouts. You grabbed your rapier and sprinted forward, the double vision coming back together as you got closer and, with a push of your hand, the daemon’s thrashing stilled until it was no more. You pulled on the tags around it’s neck: CS-03. You pulled the second vial from your pocket, the top had broken off but there was still a sufficient amount of liquid inside of it, enough to drink anyway. And slowly you regained your senses, and slowly you became more aware of the shouts around you, but they all mixed and garbled into one incoherent noise underneath the ringing.

“Thank you, Captain Wayne!” The townspeople, whoever was left, had arrived again, all expressing their thanks in some way and, as you had found out later, due to Damien and Dick’s due diligence the number of casualties were greatly reduced compared to the previous attacks.

“Are you alright, (Y/N)?” Alex’s voice rang in your head. “It’s a mess in here.”

“It’s a mess out there. What does my mind look like?”

“Fractured.” His voice was an echo.

“Can you fix it?”

“It’ll fix on its own. Give the antidote time to work.” You nodded your head absently while holding it with one hand. Dick was saying something to you, but you couldn’t hear him. Jason grabbed his shoulder and now it was clear they were arguing but their shouts were incoherent to you. Tim was talking to you now, waving his hands in front of you with his brows knit together while Damian was speaking to your father.

You looked at him.

Your father. Why was he here?

Surely, not for you.

He was looking at you too, walking over slowly and looking into your eyes with a discerning glance. You’d be able to read their lips if not for the blur and the shakiness.

“Get me to Marion.”

“Certainly. Eve’s just arrived.” Speaking of, the woman ran up to you, unceremoniously pushing the boys out of the way as her hands cupped your face and moved it around gently. He seemed to ask what had happened to you, the proximity making her voice somewhat clear. Her hand waves next to her and a portal opens up as she guides you into it and, once again, you found yourself in a hospital room.

“Now this is just bullshit.” You thought to yourself.

“How is it your thoughts are louder at a distance?” You looked down, your hand still over your heart.

“Fuck. Keep me updated on what they do.”

“Sleep well, Cap.”

“I’m killing that Doctor if he puts me on bedrest again.”

“I await the headline.”

“What were those two arguing about?” You said nothing while Eve sat you down on the bed, seemingly calling for help.

“Dick and Jason?”

“Were there others arguing?”

“Not… Necessarily. They were talking about you, of course. I don’t think Dick understands the whole situation yet, they’re explaining it to him now.”

“Great. Maybe I will sleep.”

“Can you blame him? The last you he knew was…”

“Weak?”

“Different.” You pulled your hand off of your chest just as the Doctor entered with Marion in tow. Marion hands you a vial and you drink it, ever so slowly the world quieted down and stabilized.

“How do you feel, (Y/N)?” Eve asks.

“Like I’m human again,” you shook your head.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” Marion shouts and your winced. “Did I not leave clear instructions to not use it on yourself? You’re insane, (Y/N), I don’t care if you can reattach, this is your basic biology we’re talking about now. If one calculation was off in our work you could have been like that forever, do you understand?”

“Of course, I understand, I fucking made it,” you grimaced. Marion frowns and slumps her shoulders.

“You talk to her, Dr. Bronte. She’ll listen to you,” Marion grumbles on her way out of the room.

“You know she’s just worried,” Dr. Bronte’s words were obscured by his mask.

Samuel Wyach Bronte was a strange man, brilliant, but strange. He sports a full face mask, a result of a chemical explosion that had occured years prior to your advancement into the role of Captain, leaving only the blue of his eyes clear. He was a tower of a man, standing straight with discipline and holding an air of composure around him. He had been your primary care physician since you started and will probably continue to do so as long as you continued to rip your body apart in combat. But his medical prowess is unmatched, he’s a leader in his field and has since garnered a strong legacy. There is no one more capable of treating your conditions than he is, at the very least.

“But this… this is reckless even for you,” he says, observing your arms. “You have burst blood vessels all along it,” he points at the small patches of red. “What exactly did you take?”

“It’s confidential, and a work in progress still, I wasn’t anticipating those side effects,” you looked at your blistering hands. “You’re not imprisoning me again, are you?”

“Well, that depends on your reattachment.”

“Eve, get Alex over here,” you muttered.

“Right away,” she waves her hand again and the portal opens wide, Alex looks over his shoulder.

“Oh, hello,” he says. Clearly, you just interrupted a conversation he was having with Dick and your dad. “Having trouble?” He asks. Dr. Bronte finds a way to sit up straighter upon seeing the crowd. Alex steps through the portal. “Until next time, Mr. Wayne,” Alex nods his head and Eve shuts the portal.

2014

When you found out that your dad was Batman, you were as over the moon as you were when you found out Dick was Robin. Your dad is a superhero, who wouldn’t be surprised at that? You had heard stories about how the caped crusader was unstoppable, how he kept Gotham safe from the night prowlers, and you were so proud of him, you were so proud to be his daughter.

But slowly you saw the toll it took on him. You saw the toll it took on you. On your brothers, on your sisters, and on this whole family. As you got older you realized the truth behind the mantle and the weight it carried.

But it was probably one event that truly spelled that out for you, the truth of what your dad did at night and its consequences. And when you came home that night, you had no idea there was someone else waiting there. Sure, there was the occasional photographer that somehow got past the front gate but, good god, never did they make it under your bed.

So when you walked into your room, ready for a night’s rest but not before sitting at the edge of your bed to type out a quick text to your then partner, you never could have expected a hand to tap at your ankle. When was the last time you were scared to look under there? Years ago. You jumped away quickly, your back pressed against the door while your shaking hands attempted to open it, and before the intruder had the chance to crawl out from under you had already begun your descent down the stairs, and then further into the cave. It was late, you knew that at least Alfred had to be down in the cave at the very least if not your dad, you never would’ve expected to see someone you’d only seen on the news.

Bane. He said nothing, you said nothing, the only difference now is that aside from your racing heart you felt your fear in your bones. He was terrifying, more so than you could’ve ever imagined even from the pictures and the case studies you had seen. The tubes filled with that dangerous green liquid drained into him quickly with every movement he made, and with every passing second it was clear to you that he was getting stronger. Then he took a step toward you, you took a step back, and this repeated until he was close enough to lunge at you. You were shaking. They were never supposed to get this close, they were never supposed to make it to the manor. This was supposed to be a safe place. What was he going to do to you? You thought back to the stranger under your bed. What would he have done to you? What was he going to do to your father now that he’s seen you? Your mind was in a frenzy and you stumbled, you fell frozen in fear, your legs that had taken you so far were rendered near useless. And this time even the batarang that flew at Bane’s head wasn’t enough to calm you.

“Go!” Your dad’s voice echoed. He was tired, you could tell. This was the first time you’d seen him in weeks after the entirety of Arkham broke out. You couldn’t move. “I said go! Call for help!” You stumbled to your feet, grabbing the comm while you ran out of the cave. Your hands were shaking, you couldn’t see clearly, but you pressed the first contact that was there.

“Bruce? What’s going on?” His voice, as always, was your beacon of hope.

“Dick!” You were out of breath, his name was the only thing that came out despite the jumble of words that plagued your mind.

“(Y/N)?” A new and more concerned tone was clear. “Why are you using the comm?”

“It’s dad, he… you need to come to the cave now!”

“I— What’s going on?”

“I… dammit,” the words weren’t forming. “Bane!” You finally shouted out. You were at the front gate of the manor now, it was as far as your mind could take you, whatever response Dick had said was unknown to you except that he hung up right after and you, still afraid, slid down the side of the column and onto the floor.

You ran. You ran. You should’ve stayed behind, you should’ve helped somehow, anyhow, you’re the daughter of the Batman, for Christ’s sake, why aren’t you doing anything other than holding your head between your hands and trying to control the fear? Would Dick even get there on time? Did your dad have everything handled?

“(Y/N)?” Tim’s voice was distant, and even though you knew he was in front of you, he seemed miles away. “Hey, come on, deep breaths, what happened?” He was trying to pull you back into reality. He grabbed onto your shoulder, squeezing it gently until you felt your breaths steady, and once you had come to your senses, Tim pushed you into the bushes, his hands over your mouth and one finger over his, then he looked over his shoulder. You stood in a tense silence, crouched behind the shrubs and unable to hear the reason why Tim had pushed you in here in the first place. Finally, he pulled you out of the hiding spot and, with no hesitation, you ran back to the cave with Tim close behind. Your mouth felt dry, the words still couldn’t come up while you stared at Dick and your dad.

You often tried not to think about how close death was to this family, very rarely did it take one of you, but never did it leave without leaving a mark.

If only you were stronger.

You thought about that for nights on end, you lost sleep over it even. Stronger, what did it mean? You weren’t an acrobat like Dick, you weren’t strong like Jason, and you weren’t smart like Tim. Everything you had ever owned was because your father had handed it to you. If only there was a snap solution to this, a quick way to become useful.

It had only crossed your mind once. Bane’s Venom, that is. Seeing it work inperson was grotesque, horrific actually.

But… maybe if you could…

You dismissed the thought.

Yet when you saw a vial of it in the cave once, many years after your father had healed and you had gotten older.

Well, how bad can it be?

You took it and took a quick look at it, just going over the basic chemistry of it all one day in your university’s lab long after hours, and it was fascinating. A drop of it had killed a mouse, yet Bane nearly overdoses on it every time he uses it and he’s fine.

If you could change it just enough to avoid the body horror, just enough to avoid the blind rage that came with it, you could very well have a type of a super soldier serum.

You could be stronger. You could help your family. You wouldn’t have to run all the time and get out of their way, you could be one of them, standing at their sides, a true member of what you have heard referred to as the Batfamily.

Then your father would have to acknowledge you.

…

Right?

Not Your Classic Vigilante: @gabytodd @peachydokii @marshmallow12435 @f0leysgurl @luminaaz @lolsnack @akuri-shinsou @pansinspace @time-shardz @lovely-maryj @urminebutidontwantyou @y3oudsc @rainnyydaysworld @underworlder @franini @mayo-0-o @mileskisser @nightw-izhu @alishii @bluebear142077

#dc #batman #batfamily #batfam #batsis #batsis fics #batfamily x batsis!reader #batfam x reader #batfamily scenarios #batfamily x reader #batsis!reader #batfam fics #batfamily fics #batfamily x batsis #batfam x batsis!reader #batfam x batsis #my writings #nycv

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simp2537 · 5 months ago

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𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔄𝔩𝔦𝔠𝔢

A/n : We finally start the series 😁. We get to see class 1-A. And Alice!reader being a daddies girl.

Word Count : 1,595

Trigger Warnings: Gore, Blood, Horror, Cursing, Child Abuse, Human experiments, Child abandonment, Angst, Depression, Anxiety, PTSD, Insomnia, etc

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕹𝖎𝖓𝖊

The screens of the teachers observation room played with different future students battling against the testing bots. Next to Aizawa, Y/n sat on the ground slumping on her noddles as she watched her future classmates.

“Who’s that one?” Y/n mumble her mouth full of noodles. Aizawa tired eyes moved to the screen she pointed her perfectly manicured finger.

“Izuku Midoryia.”He mumbled as he sipped in the latte his daughter brought. She hummed softly as she watched the green haired boy battle around the bots. She’d seen him somewhere she just wasn’t sure where.

Maybe in passing when she was out of maybe… wait he was the boy with the sludge monster. Her gaze moved to another screen where a raging blonde was, destroying everything in his path. He was the sludge boy too.

Y/n had watched the fight at home when she was studying with Hizashi. The blondes explosiveness made her giggle softly. He jumped around blasting every bit that moved.

“Remind me again N/n why don’t you go spend time with Todoroki?” Hizashi asked as he sipped the peach tea Y/n brought him from her favorite shop.

“Cause I wanna see the kids who’ll be in my class. Other me and Shoto.” Her uncle nodded his head as he pet her hair. Her eyes trailed on all screens with a smile. All these kids were talented, some more than others. None of them were in her level other than maybe a few.

“Scoping out the completion early huh?” She gently shock her head as she sipped on her matcha.

“Not really, I’m just curious.” Her eyes trailed back into the screen as she happily ate her food. All the teacher around her sipped on the drinks that Y/n brought them as they watched the students taking notes.

Aizawa studied his daughter for a moment. Her eyes trailed over some of the examines. It was obvious to him that she saw potential in them. She was always able to determine one’s abilities to say.

Perhaps it was a a side effect of her childhood before him. A childhood he had limited knowledge over. To this day Y/n don’t hold many close to her heart. She was emotionally unstable sometimes, swapping between joy and rage often.

If not rage than she merely had this dazed out look on her face. Like she was in a different world, maybe this world was the different one for her. She seemed so out of place when she was here. New things still excited her.

Her newest obsession was getting her nails done. He didn’t mind that though, he liked the way she would bounce over to him showing off the gems and girly colors on her nails.

As he studied her, he knew she was studying her future classmates. She would analyze them till there was nothing left. She did it to Todoroki, and he was always changing.

He sighed softly as he looked back at the green haired boy.

………………………..

Y/n stared down the large door to her new class. Class 1-A, what kind of students needed this big a door. She pushed the door open as she pulled her skirt down slightly.

It was kinda cute, if only it was in a different color. All the other students turned to her, immediately stopping their argument.

“If you’re just here to make friends then you can pack up your stuff right now.” Aizawa’s voice came from behind her. The green haired boy gasped as the pretty brunette and blue haired boy turned to fully look at them.

On the ground in his yellow sleeping bag her dad laid on the floor. She giggled softly as she moved through the trio. She listened as he scolded the trio. Quickly finding an empty sit behind the blonde boy she watched turn the exam.

“You were late Y/n.” Aizawa uttered. The rest of the class turned to the girl who was popping a candy in her mouth.

“My feet were in the class before yours, if anything you’re late.” She muttered. The class whipped their heads around between their teacher and their peer.

Aizawa sighed softly as he reached into his yellow sleeping bag.

“Right let’s get to it. Put these in and head outside.” Aizawa pulled their gym uniforms out. One after the other her classmates grabbed their uniforms Y/n lingered behind.

She took her uniform from her dad a smile on her face. She liked the way her classmates looked. She recognized a few of them.

“Go Y/n, make some new friends.” She gave her dad a tiny smile as she skipped away towards the locker room.

………………………..

“What? A quirk assessment test?”

Y/n sat on the ground next to Shoto while drawing in the dirt. She lazily drew small pictures with her nail, not worried about the dirt.

“But orientation! We’re gonna miss it!” The pretty brunette said. Y/n rested her head on her other hand.

I think her name is Uraraka.

“If you really wanna make the big leagues, you can’t waste time on pointless ceremonies.” Aizawa spoke. Y/n nodded her head softly. She’d been watching the first year ceremony since she was eight, it was a huge bore.

The students around her gasped, Y/n yawned. As Aizawa continued his lecture Y/n grab onto her h/t hair, playing with a lock of it.

I wonder what Hatter is doing? Is he having a tea party? I want tea, and cakes. Oh and those muffins that March Hare would make. They always had this pink frosting that tasted like berries on it.

“Bakugo, you managed to get the most points in the entrance exam. What was your farthest throw with a softball when you were in junior high?“ Aizawa asked cutting of her thoughts.

She huffed softly as the angry explosion boy from the exam answered. She stared at him, a small smile. He looked like a Pomeranian.

“Sixty-seven meters, I think.” He answered. Y/n kept her gaze on him, she liked his voice. It wasn’t tired and scratchy like her dad’s. Or cold and smooth like Shoto’s. It was deep and kinda rough.

She watched him as Aizawa made him stand in the throwing circle. She watched him roll his shoulders slightly.

“DIE!” The ball when shooting into the sky with Bakugo’s explosive power. Her eyes widened and she cast her gaze up at her popsicle friend. He gave her a slight nod and she returned her gaze to the blonde.

The Queen of Hearts would like him.

“All of you need to know your maximum capabilities. It’s the most rational way of figuring out your potential as a pro hero.” Aizawa clicked his device showing off how far Bakugo’s ball had gone. 705.2 meters.

Everyone stared in awe and the Pikachu boy spoke up. “705 meters, are you kidding me?” As her classmates all began to get excited Y/n popped a Carmel in her mouth.

She’d never really taken these kinds of test before. Aizawa had his daughter retain strength and endurance of course. Morning runs and Sunday nights lifts were a part of there routine.

Eight physical tests, last place meant expulsion. It didn’t worry Y/n. Her dad would never expel her even if she would get last place.

Being everyone else must suck

…………..

A four tests were already done and Y/n smiled softly to herself as she sipped on her juice. She’d done pretty well for herself, not that she was worried. She was Y/n Aizawa of course she was doing good.

Everyone was staring at her though. She wasn’t sure why. It’s not like she thought she stood out much. She wasn’t all the pretty.

𝐸𝓍𝒸𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓂𝑒! 𝒴𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒾𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓈! 𝒴𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓃 𝒜𝐿𝐼𝒞𝐸!

Sorry, didn’t mean to be mean to myself

𝐼’𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃!

Y/n shuffles to Aizawa’s side, a small pout in her face.

“They’re all staring at me.” She mumbled softly. Aizawa gave his a softly look as he too had noticed all his students.

“Do you not like it?” She shrugged her eyes down cast.

“I dunno.” Aizawa sighed softly as he motioned to his students.

“Talk to a few of them, maybe they’ll stop staring.” Y/n left his side, not giving much indication of what she was feeling.

She looked around, she didn’t want to talk to them. What if they don’t like her. Slowly she approached a pink haired girl. Her hair was fluffy. She pat the girls shoulders. She turned around, stopping her conversation with a few other girls.

“I like your hair.” She uttered. The pink girl laughed.

“Thanks.?”

“It’s like cotton candy.” The pink girl froze. She stared at Y/n differently. She stared at Y/n’s large and doe like eyes. Her full and pretty lips. Her smooth clear s/c skin that seemed to shine softly. She even smelt good, just like sugar.

“Well aren’t you a cutie! I’m Mina Ashido!” Y/n smiled softly as she looked over at Uraraka throw her ball. The two girls who she now knew as Mina (who insisted on being call by her first name) and the pretty raven head Momo Yaoyorozu.

“Thank you.” She squeaked softly. The two girls went wide eyed as they stared at her. Y/n curled her nose as she watched Aizawa stop Midoryia.

The rest of the class looked over at her as she rubbed her eyes and yawned sitting in the floor.

So cute!

Y/n rolled her eyes as she watched Aizawa scold the broccoli looking boy. It’s gonna be a long first day.

#platonic! aizawa x reader #bakugou x kirishima x reader #kiribaku x reader #kirishima x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔄𝔩𝔦𝔠𝔢

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erinwantstowrite · 3 months ago

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hi! hope your having a good day/night/timezone/etc.! u got any writing tips (like how to not lose motivation/use up as much of it as u can while u have it, any ways to get the words flowing/“get in the writing mood” that have worked for u) for any of ur fellow fic writers? (idk if this’s been asked b4 (it seems like a common question lmao), but if it has, ‘pologies, lolol ^^)

i have a few that i've been thinking up to try and post!!

remember that you aren't on a deadline to write, and to take the time you need. no one wants to read something you rushed, let alone do YOU want to read it. and it REALLY matters if you love what you're writing. you'll kill your motivation trying to keep up with something like that!! if you only had time to write 300 or you had a great day and wrote like 3000, you're doing great either way!!!

there's a lot to keep up with when you're writing, and you have to remember and understand all of it. if you're trying to write while you're tired/upset/etc, you'll likely end up with something you're not that proud of. (granted, art is art, and sometimes these emotions can create something beautiful or meaningful). take metal breaks so you can come back to your work with a fresh mind, and don't overexert yourself. you'll remember and understand more if you treat your writing time like you would when you're studying. sometimes i make flashcards to remember characters, places, events, etc.

sometimes i can get too analytical with my writing, or it starts to become flat? if that makes sense? meaning, like... i'm putting words on paper rather than delving into the story. too many "they felt this way" and not enough "Character A turns to face the man that had changed their entire life with the single shot of a bullet, careless to what damage he could have caused. It's haunting to see that the man is simply that: a man. Not a monster as they had imagined, laying awake at night and wondering what their father had seen in his final moments. He's just a man." what helps with this is putting myself into the shoes of a narrator, remembering that i am telling the story as if i already know what's happening (even if I don't know where I'm going with a scene yet). i imagine that my reader is right there next to me and i'm telling them the story in real time like we're sitting around a campfire telling ghost stories, or that i'm the quirky narrator of a book they just picked up.

During times where i'm losing inspiration or feel like i'm in a loop, i like to go back to my favorite medias and spend some time with them. i recently rewatched Gravity Falls, the Sea Beast, and the Adam Project, and it was a fun mental break that got me into the writing mood. i try to find similar media to what i'm writing at that time. if i want a scene focused on funny banter or a comedic effect, i read or watch comedy. if i want to write a scary scene, i'll watch a horror movie. etc etc. "studying" your favorite media and putting yourself into your fav writer's writing shoes is a great way to improve your own writing. think about why that joke was funny, what the set up was that made it that way, and if it would have been a different joke if another character said it (Gravity Falls is one of the best media you can use for this, but really, reading mysteries in general can help)

physical exercise, if you can. getting your blood flowing and treating your body well!! when i was in band, we used to do "body warm ups" set to music, and i still do them to this day. it gets me awake and alert while also letting me listen to fun music before i write

#erinwantstowrite #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #writing #writing advice #writing inspiration #writing tools #it's important to learn your trade!#just like you would look for tutorials on how to get better at art #or sports #if you're trying to get better at writing #you need to study what came before you #and go looking for lessons!#thank you for the ask!#and if you're trying to find motivation #remember that how you treat yourself has the most impact on that #you have to experience!!

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newtabfics · 10 months ago

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soft astarion getting sentimental during sex after a rough battle and ends up being extremely touchy and loving but he's totally "i don't like you. you're crazy. that's silly" still

"Not Like I Did Yesterday." Summary: Tav gets badly hurt which makes Astarion realize a few things suddenly. He can't quite explain it but in that moment, he knows it's her he needs. Takes place after Tiefling Party before Act 2 because I love the Underdark and is lightly inspired by the lyrics from "I Don't Love You" by MCR. Triggers for Canon Typical Violence. Some Angst. Frantic/Needy Smut. Spoilers for Astarion's story quest.

"Shit!" He hissed as his arrows ran out. "I'm empty!" He announced to the others as the monster closed in on him.

He tensed as he gripped his blade. He was ready to fight to his last breath if he had to.

Then a stone struck the beast in the face, cutting its vulture-like face before hissing in her direction.

Astarion felt a coldness wash over him as the beast charged and swung.

The Hook Horror tossed Tav aside like a ragdoll. Her body was beaten and broken as she tried pushing herself up, squinting at the monster as it charged at her.

There was a roar that she couldn't quite make out.

She barely saw the flash of white before Astarion was on the creature.

"Oh shit," Shadowheart said, seeing Astarion losing it as he attacked the monster. "Tav!" She called out. "Get away from him!"

Tav shuddered as she pushed herself up slowly as the rest of the group eliminated the rest of the monsters. Astarion kept stabbing at the dead beast beneath him.

"Astarion," She called out to him, staggering.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Shadowheart barked out.

"Stop," Karlach said firmly. "She's got this."

The two watched as their leader staggered towards Astarion. She hobbled as her eyes focused on him.

He was plunging the blade down again. His back heaved as his soft growls could be heard.

He was losing himself.

Gotta help him, She thought to herself as her legs buckled. She collapsed into him as she hugged him tight from behind.

His arm froze in the air.

His breath came in broken shudders.

Her scent flooded him.

She's here…She's alive, He repeated as he lost its grip on the knife.

The metal clattered to the ground as he slumped in her hold, hands gripping her arms tight. Alive, he told himself again as he let out a shaky breath.

"You're okay," She whispered into his shoulder before her body went limp.

Astarion's eyes widened when Tav suddenly dropped to the ground beside him. "D-Darling?" He asked as he turned to her.

Shadowheart hurried over in that moment, focused on healing their leader.

Tav was blinking hard, looking a bit dizzy. She was alive. "I'm okay," She mumbled.

"The hell you are!" Shadowheart snapped. "That was reckless! I don't care that he's an ally. When a vampire goes feral like that, don't fucking touch them!"

Tav grimaced and gave her a look. "I wasn't gonna let him lose his mind!" She defended.

Astarion could only watch as the two bickered while the cleric healed her. His heart thudded wildly as she looked annoyed by the woman's scolding. When her eyes met his, she smiled softly and crossed her eyes in mock irritation.

He couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped him as the action earned her another scolding.

Tav carefully got up with Shadowheart's help, stumbling forward. His arms were there to catch her, holding her upright as she sighed.

"You should carry her!" Karlach beamed. "Like a princess!"

Tav blushed as the vampire almost immediately complied and lifted her. She looked up at him and hummed. "Not gonna lie; this is new."

He studied her as his hands tightened on her.

"Let's get back to camp," Shadowheart sighed. "You need rest."

She nodded in response as Astarion carried her the whole way.

The silence wasn't deafening but it was worrying for her. She watched him practically stare off into space as he carried her to safety.

As soon as they'd arrived at camp, Tav was hounded with questions of her well-being to the point she asked Astarion to set her down. He was hesitant to do so but when Halsin brought her his cushion to sit on, he amended.

He waited patiently, studying her.

She's alive.

It was like he needed to keep reminding himself of this.

His heart ached as he watched her be healed. Why did it irritate him to see Halsin healing her? That's what he's good for. For healing!

She was smiling at Wyll as he playfully messed with her hair. When did they get all friendly?

He knew she was good friends with him but what about him?

Tav blinked when Astarion suddenly stormed towards his tent.

The sun had set when Astarion heard the tent flap move. His eyes, trained at the ceiling of his tent, slid over to Tav as she sat beside him, looking down at him. Her hair fell from the ponytail, messily framing her face as she looked down at him.

She gave him a gentle smile. "Hey."

"...hey." he raised himself to his elbows. "You alright? Everything still…fully functioning?"

Tav smiled at his awkward question. Nodding, she said, "Yeah. I'm okay."

A beat of silence passed between them before she slowly asked, "Are…you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. Good. Great."

She watched his jaw clench as his fingers drummed on his knee nervously. The vampire was avoiding her eyes. Heart thudding in his chest as he tried to think of how to begin.

Should he apologize? Explain himself? Did he need to do something?

He had to say something, for certain.

He inhaled sharply as he tried to speak quickly.

"Astarion–"

"Darling, I–"

They stopped as their voices overlapped. Tav giggled softly as he looked away with a smile. Another pause settled before he finally took a deep breath.

"I don't know what happened. I saw you and…and I lost it," he sighed. "I've never blacked out like that. And…when you collapsed…"

Tav watched him for a moment before cupping his face. "Hey," she said gently. She turned his eyes to her.

His heart lurched up into his throat as he studied her features. She was alive, his mind whispered again.

"Darling," he finally breathed as he leaned in and kissed her.

It felt…different somehow, he realized as he laid her back into his bedding. Her fingers tangled into his hair like that first night. She was kissing him sweetly, just as greedy as him.

That's all this is, he tried to tell himself. It's only physical. She gives blood. He gives orgasms—a fair trade.

Except this wasn't an exchange.

Tav's hands cupped his face, pulling him closer and protecting him almost as he frantically shed her clothing.

His ruby eyes scanned over her body. He bent, licking and kissing at every bruise on her body from the fight. Every scratch or scar he could find was vulnerable to his mouth.

She gasped out breathless moans as she gripped his hair, scrambling helplessly to reach his belt.

"Not yet," he whispered against her stomach as he kissed down, pulling her trousers with him. "Need this."

Her cheeks went hot as she watched his kiss along her inner thigh. His teeth lightly nipped, fangs pressed gently near the artery.

Tav gulped and nodded her consent and he was diving in.

His tongue lavished desperately over her clit. His soft moan made her gasp as he suckled on the bud eagerly.

"Still so fucking delicious," he groaned, tongue flicking gently.

"Fuck, Star," she gasped out, gripping the blanket beneath her. His hand was splaying over her stomach as fingers prodded at her entrance.

His body shuddered as he pressed himself against her leg. He bit his lip as he pumped and curled his fingers before adjusting to sit up. His eyes were trained on her face as he watched her writhing from his touch.

"That's it, Darling," He whispered encouragingly. His eyes darted to her hands gripping the blankets. "What do you think you're doing?" He asked.

Tav felt her body heat as his eyes flicked up to hers. They were full of challenge and desire. "I…"

She blushed when he pulled her hand into his hair, nuzzling her thigh gently. "You're supposed to be gripping it," He murmured before licking lazily at her folds. "Supposed to be clinging to me like before. Darling."

He sounded breathless and needy as he kissed up her body. He watched her melting under him as her hand slid from his hair and to his face. Then, she sat up and kissed him gently.

His hands trembled as he gripped her waist as she held his face to hers. "Star," She whispered against his lips before her hands scrambled to tug at his shirt as her cheeks went hotter. "Don't make me beg for you."

"Why not?" He asked. It had meant to be a taunt, but it sounded little more than a desperate whine. "You sound so pretty when you do."

Clothes were shed and tossed aside in the tent. She gasped as he pressed in. His hand threaded with hers, pinning it by her head.

His ruby eyes kept watching her, taking her in.

Tav lay there, flushed and clutching his hand and bicep. She was whimpering for him. "S-Star, please."

"Fucking beautiful."

Every movement felt too intense, too desperate. Their breaths mingled as he kissed her. His free hand, once gripping her thigh greedily with every thrust, tangled into her hair.

His tongue slid along hers. His cock pressed into her, rubbing everywhere she needed it to. His hips refused to move away from her, keeping him deep inside.

Her eyes watered as he bent and kissed her neck. His face was pressed against her skin as his hand tugged lightly at her hair.

"Tav," He whispered, shaking now.

Too intense. Too much.

Everything inside him screamed with confusion as he let himself get lost in her. Her sweet gasps in an attempt to keep quiet. Her scent. The sound of her heart pumping wildly.

She bit her lip when his tongue licked up along the vein and teeth pressed gently in the bruised bite marks from his last feeding. She braced…but nothing.

His teeth simply gripped at her as he whimpered softly into her ear, making her shiver. It was so unlike that first night. He was gasping softly now and then but his moans were like a symphony.

A practiced one.

"Shit, ah," He whispered against her skin. "Darli…Tav."

That did her in. Her back arched up and he held her tight to him, topping into the orgasm with her. His lips crushed against hers as he shuddered and clung to her.

Alive, His mind whispered before fading entirely in the fog of pleasure.

A long moment passed as the kiss grew gentler, bodies trembling still. Tav's eyes blinked up at him as she smiled affectionately to him.

"Did I scare you that bad?" She teased lightly.

His cheeks flushed a slight as he cleared his throat. "No?" His eyes darted from hers as she giggled, still high on the euphoria.

Her hand slid up to cup his face, pulling him close. "Admit you like me," She whispered to him.

Anxiety flickered through him as he smirked. "I'll never admit a damned thing to you," He said playfully as he watched her eyes flutter. "You need your rest. You took quite the beating today."

"Worth it," She hummed, smiling.

"How?" He asked as he pulled away carefully. He frowned as she curled into him. "Tav, my bedding isn't quite comfortable for you–"

"You are," she hummed, resting her head on his shoulder.

He blinked, watching her. "I'm comfortable?" He asked slowly.

His frown made her smile as she cuddled herself closer to him. She hummed softly in confirmation. "And worth it."

His heart stuttered again.

He's worth it. He's worth…her injuries.

Before he could respond, she was sound asleep against his shoulder.

He held her, idly drawing circles on her back and petting her hair to ensure she slept soundly. He could slip into his trance, reflect a bit but…

Looking down at her, he realized that would mean a bit of time from her. Time alone. The thought of slipping away in that moment filled him with a strange dread.

Instead, he lingered on his thoughts, holding her sleeping body to him as a comfort for himself.

It took a long while for him, cycling through his memories, his feelings, everything this woman made him feel.

Her japes.

Her taunts.

The way she rolled her eyes affectionately at his wise cracks about their companions.

The way she laughed at his jokes.

The way she listened to him.

The way she was.

She was alive.

And he wanted her.

Panic began to rise in his chest as he glanced down at her. She looked so peaceful. So blissfully unaware of his thoughts.

With a shaky breath, he decided to push this down. This was just a fluke. It had to be. It couldn't be anything else.

It was just a fluke.

#astarion x tav smut #astarion x tav fic #astarion bg3 #tav bg3 #tw canon typical violence #tw smut #astarion spoilers #tw injuries #ask request #bg3 fic #bg3 smut fic #bg3 smut #tavstarion

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bookmothic-dyke · 4 months ago

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Socialist Witch Dyke

Hello, I’m Gwyndolyn, call me Gwyn, Gwynnie, or Bookmoth.

A 21 year old autistic Californian trans girl majoring in ecology and evolution (Hopefully, if I make it to grad school, I can study writing). A pagan witch and socialist, with so much autism and childhood trauma. And spends most of her time bed-rotting, putting on cute outfits, and writing body horror about monster girls.

Also. Transphobes, racists, authoritarians, zionists, pedophiles, capitalists, homophobes, and all forms of bigots, you ain’t welcome by any measure. Get lost and trip in a ditch.

- Gender🏳️‍⚧️: Trans girl (genderfae) with a splash of xenogender. I use she/fae/they pronouns, and have been transitioning on E since April 2023. Prog since June 2024.

- Sexuality: Lesbian. Nonbinary people and woman. I have a partner, who I adore immensely.

- Zodiac: Sagittarius Sun, Cancer Moon, Capricorn Rising, and Scorpio Venus.

- Special interests: Extinct creatures & fossils, birds & insects, folklore/mythology and magick, vampires and fae, evo and spec evo, fantasy and sci-fi, linguistics and conlangs, and body horror.

- Hobbies: Writing, reading, TTRPGs, drawing, gardening, worldbuilding, walking, watching action movies, listening to music, and thrift shopping.

- Fandoms: Dimension 20, Dungeon Meshi, SCP, Gravity Falls

- Favorite Books: This Is How You Loose The Time War, Lunar Chronicles, The Lost Girls, What Big Teeth, Honeybloods, and Gideon the Ninth

Writing

My current WIP is called DATE BITE. It's a sapphic story about a transfem vampire, Annie Meadows, trying to survive her first night of undeath . . . and possibly kiss her monster hunting high school bff, Bea Baker.

https://www.scribblehub.com/profile/160625/downy_roses/

Side Blogs:

- @changeling-moth: Worldbuilding ramblings for my main settings and works.

- @magpiegirlie: Otherkin and aesthetic images.

- @sapphic-flesh: Horny shitposting, suggestive selfies, and sapphic audios (NSFW/SFW)

#introductory post #introduction #lesbian #useless lesbian #trans girl #trans woman #nerd #geek #autistic #my face #selfie #face reveal #tired #writing #sapphic writing

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violentouch · 3 months ago

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I'm coming back from vacation. I have my last year of study ahead of me, which promises to be incredibly difficult... In the meantime, I want to share my newborn baby with you :D

Baby Eva is a five-year-old girl whom Dhampir D accidentally bumped into while driving through the hills.

Eva's parents, apparently, led a modest life and lived far from the nearest city, among the green mountain hills. The father was engaged in hunting, and the mother grew vegetables in a small backyard and collected field grass and flowers, often taking her daughter with her, teaching her to work from an early age. Since infancy, Eva has been a quiet but bright child, enthusiastically exploring the world around her. There is a dark birthmark around her right eye, for which the baby even received a nickname from her father - "goat". The hair is closer to red, but with a more muted shade. The eye color is bright green.

When the baby turned 5, some time after that, a monster came to the meadow steppes - it was a vampire spawn, instinctively looking for victims to quench its thirst. Apparently, he was once an ordinary peasant who got lost in the fields and met an aristocrat there - a high vampire. The convert came across the house where the family lived. Unfortunately, the father and mother could not escape - the brat killed and sucked their blood right in front of the baby, but she herself went unnoticed. The horror she experienced silenced Eve. Now she communicated only with nods and very rarely in whispers.

Dhampir D accidentally stumbled upon the child only a few days later, when he was riding his horse down the hill. She was all alone, standing in the tall grass and picking the rare berries growing in it into a small basket. When she saw the dhampir, the girl froze completely, not taking her eyes off him and not saying a word. Her house was nearby and D, thanks to his centuries-old experience, immediately sensed something was wrong, so he decided to look around just in case. In the house, he found the corpses of the girl's parents lying on the floor like two porcelain dolls. There were many wildflowers around them, some of which had already wilted. Wreaths decorated their heads-Eve continued to weave those for them.

When D examined the corpses, he quickly found bite marks on their necks. And everything was immediately clear from the pogrom in the house. The vampire spawn had disappeared, but clearly not far away. Now they had to find it and kill it, otherwise even more innocent people could suffer.

Eve watched all this, standing quietly in the doorway and still not saying a word. She didn't even seem to be afraid of a stranger.

It was impossible to leave the baby's parents just like that, so D decided to bury those near the hut, digging shallow graves and dragging the bodies. When it was all over, the dhampir suddenly felt the girl take hold of his cloak with her palm, standing next to him. The silence dragged on, but the dhampir decided to break it first, even if not with words, but with a movement - turning around and moving towards his horse, jumping on that one. Eve, without hesitation, began to follow the dhampir with her tail...

#fanart #my art #oc #oc art #original character #vampire hunter au #vampire hunter d #vampire hunter oc #dhampir #vampire #character art #art #traditional art #traditional drawing

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thunderandsage · 5 months ago

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hannibal fic recs

(in honor of my first ever fandom… yea i get the implications of how that makes me look 😂 anyways, i tend to like the hannibal fics that are closer to the tone and content of the series vs some of the more popular ones jsyk, and i’m putting the more “same characters, different vibes ” fics in the bottom section. my absolute favorites recs are the ones with red titles)

SEASON 1 ERA/VIBES

Pièce Montée, 3k words, episode-style case fic with well-written original characters and plot, sympathetic killers, would kill (ha) for this to be an actual episode on the show

where there is smoke, there is fire, 3k, georgia madchen character study, reading experience comparable to the joy and dread of watching sparks catch on kindling

Foreplay, 1.5k, despite the title not a smut fic but is actually a hannibal character study which takes the premise “seeing people as meat” and seeing how he does/doesn’t view people’s humanity

SEASON 2 ERA/VIBES

Salome, 6k words, tension, delves into the dark obsessive side of oscar wilde’s work, excellent hannibal pov

As Smoke to Flame, 3k, wherein the seduction does include fucking and predictably doesn’t make anything better, focuses on the inherent angst and betrayal of will’s ploy

Trotline, 7k, takes the fluffy-sounding premise of “will takes hannibal fishing” and makes it uh hannibal, an incredible take on hannibal’s sadism/cruelty, gorgeous looming sense of dread

each according to its own kind, 192k, after getting released will ditches the fbi and leaves for the other side of the continent, a love letter to the pacific northwest, the best will graham interpretation i have ever seen, slowburn character study, bonus points bc hannibal gets decked not once but twice in glorious detail, john steinbeck vibes, one of my favorite pieces of writing ever

pitiful things sometimes born in hospitals, 8k, daemon au where will has yet another difference, not a hannigram fic, beverly/will vibes, bittersweet and tragic

your heart is a vast stone desert, 10k, a conversation goes left field and enters the thorny splendor of psychedelic imagery and the most sinuous dialogue you’ve ever read, takes inspiration from ives’s play venus in fur

SEASON 3 ERA/VIBES

Silver Springs, 2k, a Dolce “let’s make this worse,” non-linear writing, heavy angst but god it hurts so good, gorgeous feels from the eponymous song

Tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks, 6k, a short scene in the BSHCI, what it means to be loved gently by a monster, grotesque and tender at the same time

highway 190, 10k, will graham growing up as a queer man in the deep south and beyond, religious trauma, prose as vivid and striking as a poisonous snake

Churrasco, 2k, leans into the avant-garde vibes of the show, all characters start out using false identities and you get to see them revealed slowly

Au Natur, 9k, a bleak but beautiful imagining of post-fall hannigram, fully embraces will graham’s manipulative tendencies

forgiveness, 1k, a poem-with-footnotes format as Will attempts to explain what his life has become to his father

Sins of Omission, 15k, Jack Crawford’s perspective on the development of hannigram, regret, very good outsider pov

VIBES-ADJACENT (aka fics that don’t “feel hannibal” or are vy AU, but are vy good nonetheless)

Adrasteia, 96k words, Kitchen Nightmares AU, nsfc (not safe for chilton), a hilariously sarcastic and done(tm) will graham, the first long hannibal fic that i read

Black Swan, 10k, as per the tags “all serial killers are birds, some birds are serial killers,” a cracky Swan Lake AU

Separately to a Wood, 13k, a “love at first sight” leads to “proposal during the breakfast scene,” soft

They Came to Florence or: Plagiarize This Fic, 5k, hannibal is a huge fan of will graham’s novels and becomes incensed when someone plagiarizes them, the author was apparently inspired to write this after someone plagiarized one of her fics and i respect that

Poppies, 5k, wherein it is acknowledged that for all the horror she’s been through abigail is just a teenage girl and is allowed some soft moments

their beaks not yet turned red, 134k, magical realism au where the baby does miraculously save the marriage, includes hilarious takes on the inherent absurdities of hannibal’s trial

Be Your Dog, 4k, a rock band au that adapts will graham’s proverbial “descent to the dark side” with an ominous intensity

Sagittarius, 13k, a salem witch trials au where will seeks to avenge abigail’s death by any means necessary, dark but cathartic

a siphon; to pass through, 71k, will has type one diabetes and hannibal is an infuriatingly smug vampire, crack but extremely well-written

#hannibal #hannibal fic #fic rec #hannibal lecter #will graham #ao3 #fanfiction

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vicsy · 12 days ago

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maxiel demon hunter au | 4.3 k | M happy halloween! I'm excited to share this little titbit with you. I hope to make this into an entire fic one day (have a title picked out already!) and crafting this universe brings me so much joy. I was really looking to sharing something spooky with all of you. <3 tw for mild body horror | set in the same universe as this fic

This time, they take Daniel's eyes.

It's the sounds that catch up to Daniel first, like whiplash. Dulled squelching, then wet splattering — one, two, three; splat, splat, splat. Daniel is weirdly comforted by counting. It serves as a fitting substitute to the vacuum that eats up the screams, the stuttering gasps of air riddled with desperation. Missing one eye, Daniel watches himself scream inaudibly, blood pouring down his face, his neck, soaking his torn and tattered clothes.

He is but a mere spectator to a leading man in his own torture chamber.

The hard flooring digs into his knees but the ache in them is phantom. Daniel's here and there, tormented and helpless, driven to the brink of passing out and forced to endure a twisted spectacle. A hand, cold as ice, cradles his bloodied cheek, tender. Tilts his head up from where he's kneeling, shackled to the floor, his wrists rubber raw. Here, tenderness is a perpetual deceit. The figure standing by the other him is indistinguishable, a moving black ink stain with many arms and sharp angles. Daniel knows him. It's why he doesn't hold his breath for what comes next.

Pressure on his face, no, not his but it is Daniel. One finger pulls down his eyelid, the other digs into the corner of his eye like a fish hook. Daniel imagines a scoop treating him as a tub of ice cream. It's hysterical. He must still be screaming. His brain must be shutting down. Pain does that, eventually.

It takes time, the remaining eye. Pressure builds in agonizing waves; his vision blanks out but Daniel is watching from afar, out of body, bound and motionless, drenched in animalistic fear. Pulled out of the socket, meticulously and with a caricature of care, Daniel follows the optic nerve still attached to his eye stretching up, up, further up until it snaps like a string. He must be screaming louder. He must be dying. But Daniel hangs on.

In the hollow spaces where his most prolific weapon used to be, blood pools and then overflows, a crimson waterfall marring his flesh. The floor beneath him is slippery, sticky; Daniel feels the blood on his hands but when he glances down, they're clean. It's not right. None of this is. They took his eyes.

He won't know an enemy from a friend; a clean soul from a wretched one.

Laughter. It fills out the void. Fingernails scratching the chalkboard, that laughter. Daniel knows who it belongs to, that distortion of joy. Shadowy figure standing above him raises four of its hands. Some miss fingers, one looks like a scythe. All of those limbs are covered in Daniel's blood. It glistens, taunting.

Daniel's throat closes up. His eye, held in between bloodied fingers, becomes the sole focus of his attention. He blinks; the other him can't do such a thing anymore. He thrashes in place instead, spitting curses that fall dead on Daniel's ears but he recognizes the shape of them leaving his own lips. That figure — the monster, the demon, the death itself — raises one of its arms, studying Daniel's eye under the yellow light coming off the ceiling. Why is there light?

He can't save himself. He needs to save himself.

They took his eyes. He ripped Daniel's only defense to shreds.

The figure moves again, wobbling and buzzing, then it parts at the top where its head supposedly is. Daniel can't make out its features but he knows. Doesn't he? He knows him well. There's teeth now, startlingly white. Black, viscous saliva drips off the tips. A droplet lands on Daniel's cheek; one of him flinches without moving, the other has his skin melting, sizzling, exposing the bone. Fear becomes a creature of its own. And it wants to escape.

Daniel watches, then, consumed by the opulence of fright, as the being made of shadows and everything unholy pops his eye into its gaping maw and snaps it shut.

In the seconds that stretch into an eternity, Daniel's body gets squeezed and lifted off the floor. All the teeth, the open maw, his own eye staring back at him from the inside, unblinking – brown with a tinge of red. There is a roar and a screech; Daniel faces his disfigured state. Then all is ribs crack under pressure and he breathes in at once.

It consumes him.

When Daniel's eyes fly open, as abruptly as a flock of birds spooked by a stray dog driven by nothing but hunger, Max is the first thing he sees. He leans against the doorframe of Daniel's bedroom, already dressed for the day.

"Why are you on the floor?" Max asks matter-of-factly. He sounds like himself, maybe a bit croaky. Daniel's gotten used to him like this. And it's not the first time Max drops by his room unannounced.

"Uh. Morning yoga?" Lame answer to the shitty start of the day. Is it still morning? Daniel's back doesn't waste any time reminding him of the comfortable mattress he seemingly fell off of during the night. Not like he has that much control over the horrors clinging to him like an ex that can't take a hint. "Shit. Give me five and I'll be good to go. We gotta pop by Alex's first thing, though."

His legs are tangled awkwardly in a thin blanket. Half of it is still draped over his bed. Daniel rubs at his eyes, keeping himself upright. The soft prickle of eyelashes on his fingertips, the spots dancing in his vision — kind of stupid to need reassurance. This shouldn't be that big of a deal. Fighting off a wendigo and getting to keep all your limbs, now that is fucking terrifying. Nightmares are practically in his job description, a walk in the park. But this kind–

"Of course," Max says. He sounds closer than he was moments before. Daniel looks up and spots a helping hand. Ah, his poor dignity.

"Mate, did you sleep in the freezer? Your hands are cold as fuck," Daniel mumbles while Max hauls him up to his feet without much trouble. Huh. Maybe Daniel's just running hotter than usual. Shouldn't be a surprise considering his nighttime adventures.

"It was very tempting to spend the night in there," oof, bitchy. Now that's his Max. He huffs, annoyed and lets go of Daniel. "I had a Red Bull with all the ice we had. We need to buy more on the way back. It's a fucking desert outside."

No fucking wonder.

Daniel sways on his feet a bit, admittedly shaken. Looks down at himself and spots a new stain on a faded Bills t-shirt he slept in. He must be sweaty and gross after a night he had but there's a foreign tackiness, too. Remnants of the horrors conjured in the depths of his subconscious stick to his skin like molasses. Daniel's getting the urge to scrub himself clean with bleach, wiggle out of this weird state. At least for Max's sake.

"Fucking peachy," scratching the back of his head, Daniel pads to the adjoining bathroom. "I'll be out in a tick."

Max's response reaches him as he shuts the door.

"I'll wait in the car, Daniel."

He always does.

Splashing cold water onto his face rewards Daniel with a handful of miraculous minutes where he isn't trapped in the suffocating heat of the summer. A shower would have been ideal but he's running late. Alex would bitch about him not being on time again for the next month or so. Looking himself over in the mirror, Daniel assesses the need to shave sometime soon. It can wait. Sporting a beard isn't all bad. He stares his reflection in the eyes longer than necessary — two normal eyeballs, both intact, same color to them. Brown tinged slightly with red. People barely notice but those who know what to look for are always the ones asking Daniel to remove sunglasses he wears most of the time.

Funnily enough, it's the one thing he forgets in haste on the way out. Daniel never leaves the house without his hunting knife, strapped securely onto his lower back under a billowy t-shirt so nobody calls the cops on him for carrying a scary looking weapon. But, fuck, his shades. The sun shining mercilessly in the cloudless sky will give him a headache soon enough. Daniel curses himself, shielding his eyes from the sunlight with a palm of his hand.

His neighbour walks by on the sidewalk, a tiny dog trotting next to her. Daniel stops just short of the driveway to give her a nod and a slight wave; a cursory motion. She beams back at him and her dog decides to join the interaction by yapping uncontrollably, pulling on the leash. Daniel tells himself to be cool about it but he still tilts his vision sideways out of sheer habit. His eyelids twitch, reacting to the sun blasting from above. Daniel keeps his smile cheerful and his gaze trained on his neighbour. A translucent glow enveloping her shoulders and chest greets Daniel as it did numerous times before. She's perfectly human. The dog, on the other hand… he can't vouch for that creature.

Finally making it to the car, Daniel opens the door and climbs into the driver's seat. It's cool inside. The aircon is doing its magic just fine but the wheel feels like lava to the touch. Thank fuck Max had the car running before Daniel dragged himself outside. He can do with a little less worry, today of all days.

When he turns his head in the direction of the passenger seat, Max looks like he's seeing an army of ghosts.

"Max?" Daniel waits for the other shoe to drop. It's been weeks. His hand finds the hilt of his knife on pure instinct ingrained into his bones. Max remains unmoving, staring ahead through the windshield. His mouth falls open, his lovely lips look chapped. "You alright there, buddy?"

Daniel counts the seconds of uninterrupted silence. Studies the side of Max's face, the sharp line of his jaw. Counts his steadily increasing heartbeat, too, waiting. Max's lips continue to move without a hint of sound. Daniel's grip on the knife tightens.

Every scrap of thought in his brain comes to a screeching halt. His vision feels like burning. Max slumps forward, his back bowed. That nightmare Daniel went through flares up at the back of his mind, alive and vivid. His breath catches and a lump lodges itself in his throat like a rotten bone.

He can't be out of time. And Max–

Max snaps out of it. With a full body jolt, he reels back and his body hits the side of the door. He's facing Daniel now, chest heaving. Daniel lets go of the knife and pulls his hand forward, almost placating. It's not fear rattling his bones; it's something worse. His eyes twitch involuntarily. Once, twice. Max seemingly deflates.

"No, I felt like– felt like remembering. But no luck," he swipes a palm down the side of his neck, then the back of it. Daniel holds his breath and only allows himself to breathe evenly when Max shrugs, like nothing happened at all, and nods at him, squinting. "Too bright for you today, no?"

"Sure," Daniel responds flatly. Begrudgingly, he makes a show of reaching for a pair of shades he remembers stashing in the glove compartment and Max thoughtfully moves his bare knees out of the away. He's always wearing the shortest of shorts and Daniel really can't blame him. Swampy summer hellscape in the middle of July is drastically different from where Max is originally from. There is irony in that fact, as far as Daniel knows. "Eyes are kinda itchy today."

Light sensitivity, he explained to Max back when they first got to know each other. Truth wrapped in a crisp, white lie. That, and an occasional migraine or two was a small price to pay for the ability to tell souls apart. Daniel had seen some that shone righter than the sun itself; he'd also seen those darker than a thousand nights. The latter taught him the most valuable lessons. Otherwise Daniel wouldn't be still alive and kicking.

They drive through the morning rush and the cacophony of a small town dealing with the worst possible heatwave in the last decade or so. Daniel blasts the aircon heedlessly, secretly asking whatever powers that may be for his engine not to kick the bucket. Max is looking out the window. Daniel steals a couple of glances at him, rightfully concerned, and only catches the back of his head. He almost reaches to smooth Max's hair sticking out from the humidity but thinks better of it and keeps both hands firmly on the wheel. His gaze darts down to Max's pale thigh instead, his fingers drumming a rhythm on it that Daniel can't place. And it bothers him.

"What do we need from Alex?" Max enquires.

We.

"He caught wind of some shady business. Possible sighting near the place where they're repairing the highway. You know, by that one dodgy looking exit?" pure lies. Daniel clears his throat. "Might check it out tonight."

Max hums. They ride the rest of the way in silence. Daniel tries to keep the dread at bay.

For people like Daniel, Alex's coffee and tea shop is a convenient front. For those who live in the blissful ignorance of the supernatural, it's another pleasant establishment to spend your hard-earned money at. Either way, for the last couple of years Daniel's made the best out of his friendship with Alex ever since stumbling to the shop after closing hours, bleeding out and poisoned. Alex kindly saved his life – for free since Daniel was a new customer – and the rest is rapidly evolving history.

Daniel parks in the free spot right by the entrance and kills the engine.

"Wanna head in with me? We could grab a bite after," to his offer, Max makes a noncommittal sound. Daniel's nerves ease up, strangely.

"Not hungry. I'll just walk around," Max fishes his phone out of his pocket, wiggles it in front of Daniel's face, sounding pleased. "I'll keep myself busy."

He promptly exits the car and stops to watch several cars drive by. Daniel follows Max suit. It's easier, if he's being honest with himself, to make these visits by his lonesome. Daniel catches himself missing Max's company from time to time but not this instance. He eyes the broad line of Max's shoulders, the back of his neck. Then convinces himself not to let his gaze slide down and maneuvers between people passing him by.

Walking inside the coffee shop, Daniel's senses gets hit with an amalgamation of enticing smells and monotonous pre-lunch hubbub. The guy behind the main counter is new. Super young and super into flirting with a couple of customers who are way out of his league if Daniel was to judge. He should not pry so publicly but does so anyway, briefly lifting the shades up. The glimmer of the new guy's soul is patchy, purplish but mostly light blue. All clean across the board. Daniel covers his eyes again, then turns on his heels and walks towards the opposite side of the cafe. There, stashed in an artisanal looking corner with a myriad of meticulously stacked wooden shelves, Alex has his hands folded across his chest and his hip propped against the sturdy looking counter. He's giving Daniel a pointed look.

"That's your new guy?" Daniel asks instead of a greeting, pointing back at the counter with his thumb. "Is he–"

"Witchy?" Alex interjects. His smile seems twitchy and he blinks a bit maniacally. "Absolutely. You saw yourself, didn't you? Franco has a long way to go but I can work with that. Though, checking out my recent hires is not why you're here, Daniel. We both know it, so let's get to it."

Daniel places his elbows on the mahogany table separating him and Alex, then slips his shades to the tip of his nose and stares in faux indignation.

"Oh my, Alexander, so forward," he drawls. "No special treatment for little old me?"

Alex levels with him, lips drawn into a thin line.

"Uh-huh," he eyes Daniel with utmost suspicion. "Are you done playing house with a demon?"

Yeah. That.

"Alex, c'mon–"

"You yourself told our good friend Charles not to beat around the bush and deal with a hitchhiker in Pierre's soul with your fancy demon knife," Daniel unglues himself from the counter, turning his back on Alex, exhaling audibly on purpose. Anger is an old friend paying him a new visit but Daniel's hospitality appears lacking. When he turns back around, Alex places his hands in his hips and continues on with his tirade. "You know, the knife? One that, wait, let me remember this correctly. Hm. Right! One that famously sends demons back to the luscious green pastures of hell."

"I don't think they're green," Daniel tries. His attempt at a joke lands limply between the cracks. Alex is not having it.

"Daniel."

He rolls his eyes and cranes his head to beg the painted ceiling for mercy.

"God, you're so testy today."

"I'm just looking out for you," Alex exclaims and then lowers his voice. "You think I wouldn't prefer less funerals?"

Daniel clamps his mouth shut. He looks outside the panoramic window by the entrance and, by design, spots a familiar figure. Max is leaning against his car, bathed in the afternoon sun, tapping on his phone. Next to him, a cat sits on the hood of Daniel's car, languidly swaying its tail around. From where Daniel stands, the cat seems to watch Max keenly.

They made him take an oath, back in the day, official as hell. Daniel swore on some dusty ass book and got a hunter's coin in return. Thing is, folks don't become demon hunters on a sudden whim or because they're craving to spice up their life. Nobody gets dropped into this life willingly. Daniel has learned that lesson the hard way.

Daniel did a couple of hunts with a guy named Carlos, who came from a long generation of demon hunters. He was a peculiar fella but so damn good at his job. Daniel made sure to stay in touch with him, just in case. Making connections is part of the whole family shebang. Carlos spoke of hunting like it was written in his destiny or whatever, like it was a testament to his skills and his family's legacy. Daniel, on the other hand, felt a gap in that connection. He was just born with funky vision. Otherwise, perfectly mundane.

As long as Daniel had his eyes, he was a valuable asset, a diamond cherry on top. Without his vision, well. Demon hunting doesn't have a pension plan.

He took that oath just for the hell of it. Apart from being outdated and unnecessarily convoluted, it has one golden rule that every hunter, young and old, should follow unequivocally. Daniel abided by it without much thought, up until the ever-present oath came in butting heads with his own set of morals and his gut feeling screaming at him to abandon it at all cost.

"Yeah. I know," Daniel murmurs, switching his attention back to Alex. "Look, I'm taking care of it. It's not all bad, ya know? Just a little more time before I can do my thing. And save a life."

Save himself.

Alex regards him with something akin to pity. Daniel slips his shades off and pockets them away. He can't bring himself to find any solace in the azure hue engulfing Alex from head to toe. And he could do without lectures surrounding his fuck ups.

"I'll be right back," Alex says, finally. He disappears behind the door next to the shelves that have medicinal herbs written on them in intricate cursive.

Daniel lets his eyes rest, shutting them softly.

Then, he remembers.

A summoning circle laid out with bones. Markings older than time itself etched into the stones on the ground soaked in rain. Bile rising up his throat as the smell of sulfur hanging thick in the air hits Daniel and his knees buckle. Eviscerated bodies, dozens of them, their faces burned off; an assortment of limbs strewn all over the circle. And blood. Rivers of it feeding the soil beneath.

He remembers, again — shaking, gripping his knife until his hand went numb. Rain pouring into his eyes. Silence ringing loud, louder than the screams Daniel heard from afar. In the middle of the summoning circle, curled in on himself, a naked body of a man. Pale as death. Daniel's legs leading him forward, his instincts going off like a siren. Kneeling on the ground and ignoring the squelch upon making impact with the ground; rolling a cold and limp but breathing body onto its back. And then immediately going half-blind.

He broke the oath that night.

The door creaks. Daniel opens his eyes.

"Don't forget," Alex says as he pushes a piece of what looks like parchment paper across the table. Daniel stares at the scribbles written all over. They wouldn't make sense to him, ever, but Alex is a master of his craft. "Skin to skin, then the activation word. Don't mess it up. Took me a week to draw this seal properly. I already feel the build up effect of all the previous ones diminishing. Rapidly. There is only so much my seals can do."

Daniel folds the paper and carefully slides it into the back pocket of the jean shorts he's wearing. He shouldn't delay activating the seal.

"My thanks to you, Alexander, the great seal master," he tries to sound cheerful. Beams with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, then end up dropping the act. Daniel studies the cracks in the table before he manages enough courage to look up at Alex again. "Hey. Can you do me a solid?"

"I'm still in the middle of doing a rather big one for you but sure," Alex sighs, overdramatic. "I'll just add it to your tab."

Daniel chews the inside of his cheek, ruminating. He breathes in, then, lowering the pitch of his voice.

"What's the color of Max's eyes?"

"Max's eyes? Why–" Alex catches himself momentarily. Daniel sees when the full weight of realization sinks into his mind. His eyes soften and he gives Daniel a tight-lipped smile, rolls back his shoulders. He looks aside, to the panoramic window, then back at Daniel. He's talked to Max before, and seen him up close. Daniel knows he's stalling. Solemnly, Alex says: "Blue. Rather pretty."

It fits the picture Daniel had painted in his head. During some sleepless night, it was all he could think about.

"Pretty, huh?" he repeats. Then raps his knuckles on the table, bidding Alex a goodbye. "Thanks, mate. I really owe you one."

"Use protection!" Alex yells loudly after him. Daniel cringes, his shoulder lifting up to his ears. Motherfucker. He catches Alex following up, though more quietly: "And don't die."

That's the plan. Easy on paper, impossible in the long run. Daniel could really use the odds being stacked in his favor.

Outside, the air feels thick. Daniel tries to will his lungs to expand but it's a hopeless ordeal. He puts his shades back on, shrinking in on himself in defeat. The paper seal stashed in his pocket feels like it's going to leave a burn mark on his ass. Maybe Alex did something to it on purpose. Daniel could really use a laugh now.

Instead, he thinks of how he's going to covertly press a new seal onto the designated spot on the back of Max's neck, same place he'd placed many that came before. There ought to be some scarring. Daniel thinks of adding another shackle to the gaps in Max's memory and the other things sealed away by Alex's magic, things way beyond Daniel's comprehension.

He thinks of the time running out; of his own selfishness and want. Thinks he might never find it in himself to let go.

"We can go now?" Max asks without missing a beat as he pushes his body off the car. Daniel's head darts up, his train of thought tearing itself away from the plague of possibilities. "I found a woman who agreed to talk to us. Maybe she knows me."

Daniel's stomach churns.

"Great," he steps in front of Max and digs around in his front pocket. "Wanna drive for a bit?"

He offers up the keys and Max swiftly swipes them from Daniel's hand. Even with a brief contact, there is a hint of cold to the touch.

He knows his way around Max by now. Knows how unintentionally funny he is at times and how picky he's with food. Daniel has gotten used to having Max in his space, keeping him all to himself; driving around the city and looking for answers Daniel already knows but he's too fucking selfish and self-righteous.

For the first time today, Daniel has enough guts to really looks at Max.

There is darkness he cannot escape; eyes he cannot hide from. At times Daniel considers his gift of vision nothing but a fatal curse. With Max, he avoids using it as much as he can allow. Look everywhere but directly into his face. Yet every single time Daniel dares to hope the outcome would be different, dares to hope the seals worked their magic, he's proved painfully wrong. His shades are of no use; Daniel doesn't need to tilt his vision sideways either. Not for Max.

As if filled out with pitch black ink, the eyes darker than the cavernous void always stare back at him.

Daniel blinks and his heart gives a devastating tug.

Shadowy arms, familiar in their wretchedness, caress Max's head, his cheek and his shoulders; wrap around his waist, slide down his thighs and envelop him whole. Some hands miss fingers and one looks like a scythe. Those limbs, they are not covered in blood. Not anymore; not yet. Daniel knows it's temporary.

It always ends in blood. And, for Max, Daniel is willing to spill rivers of it.

#vicsy writes #maxiel fic #i hope this doesn't have too many mistakes lmao #i'll have a tag for this au specifically #demon hunter au #333 #maxiel #daniel/max #also i'd really love to speak about this fic more cause I am purposefully keeping some thing vague as hell ahahaha #dr3 #mv1

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darsynia · 5 months ago

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Dragonfly (Steve/Reader fantasy AU)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST | Ro Roll

Summary: Evil has prevailed. Your mentor’s dead, home destroyed, family scattered--you’re all that is left. At the last second, a stranger is called by magic to save your life. Can the two of you defeat the villain before he reaches the pinnacle of power?

Words/Warnings: 4,700 | canon-typical violence

draGONfly is 3/7 of my birthday gift set for @ronearoundblindly and is an action/adventure, angst with a happy ending story set after the blip. I know right now is a hugely busy week for you, Ro, and there's no pressure to respond right now, they'll all be here when you have time!

NOTE: it's MCU Steve in here! 'Worlds Collide'

Excerpt:

“You’re afraid,” Steve says from only feet away.

You close your eyes. “Yes.”

“Sometimes fear is a friend. It was definitely that in the army. Kept us sharp. You could tell when a soldier lost his fear because he was suddenly very brave. Problem was, we needed the brave ones sometimes.”

He falls silent, and you can’t help but look at him. The bleak look in his eyes is clear, despite the distance between you, and in that moment you decide to trust him. If he’s another monster construct, if Micht can understand you that well, then the villain deserves the win, and all is lost.

Dragonfly

You’ve been on the run for ten days, with no safe haven to look forward to. The magic hunting you is relentless, fueled by hatred of your now-dead mentor and everything the two of you stood for. Your only reprieve is sleep; your enemy wants to witness the horror on your face in your moment of death.

All you can do is forge a path deeper into the forest, away from any innocent who could be harmed by Jovann Micht’s conjured creatures. As if watching Bram die hadn’t been torture enough, it seems you’re destined to die in the wilderness, alone.

You lean back on a tree and risk a pause to drink from your flask. Deep inside you feel your magic tremble; rest, food, and hydration is needed to stay powerful, but that is the point of Micht’s pursuit. Eventually you’ll falter, and he’ll achieve the last of his goals.

Does he know you bear the vial of his destruction? Those few teaspoonfuls are a potent culmination of your mentor’s study of the arcane, a life’s work of gathering and refining the most dangerous, mystical ingredients and combining them to make a weapon. You’d been able to see just two of the substances interact before being sealed into the final mixture, and the light they’d emitted had lingered in your vision for almost an hour afterwards.

There are three ways this can end: ideally, you’ll pour the vial into the glacial source of the valley’s drinking water and let the power propagate amongst the population Jovann Micht means to control. If that fails, you might be forced to break the vial with your dying strength, spilling its beautiful potential into the ground rather than empower one of Micht’s monsters-- or Micht himself.

The worst, most horrible option is for you to drink it yourself and spend the rest of your life battling to control the power Bram Ersk warned you about.

Heavy buzzing nearby sends your adrenaline racing, but it’s only a dragonfly angling its way past you toward the stream you've been following up to the mountains. They’re your favorite insect, brightly colored and free, with wide wings that decorate tree branches too delicate for a human’s weight.

You tuck away your canteen and check to see that your weapons are ready. The bow and arrows had only served to slow you down, so you’d sent them towards the plains with a burst of precious magic, a misdirection that hadn’t worked. Bram’s sword is cumbersome but necessary, and the daggers scattered through your clothing are a last resort.

Seconds later your preparedness pays off. The barest rustling of the leaves above your head has you crouching down with one leg stretched out for leverage if you need to run. You draw a dagger from its sheath at your back and watch in fascinated horror as your newest attacker reveals itself.

It’s a huge snake, fast and menacing. It strikes out and you dodge sideways, performing a half-roll to distance yourself, dagger still at the ready. Smoke rises from a splash of venom on your padded trousers, and a stab of fear strikes your gut. The snake can spit, likely with magic-enhanced distance. Is this how you finally die? Worn down with nowhere to hide from this acid toxin, then slain once exhaustion drops you?

You curl into a protective stance and tighten your grip on the dagger, drawing the creature in. Once it’s close, you spin up from the ground in a flurry of slashing blades. One dagger connects, but it’s glancing, enough to send the snake into retreat, but not enough to kill.

That only makes things worse. Your field of danger has increased to include the entire forest canopy.

There may only be a few minutes before the next showdown. You wipe your dagger on the nearby moss and place it back in its sheath for now. The forest around you is new growth, full of brambles and other scutgrass that tear at your armor, with a hundred branches arching over your head. You fight your way through to the stream with fear choking your throat, worried that you’ll have to expend more of your depleted magical energy to save yourself. If you need to use magic to survive his enchanted attackers from this point on, there won't be anything left.

You’ve kept that power in reserve for some kind of final showdown, but there's at least a day left before you get where you're going.

Despair hits, and you scrabble at your neck, suddenly furious at the friend and mentor whose plans have brought you to such misery. The locket he’d given you has always been a talisman, a symbol of hope, but now you look at its silver concentric circles and feel nothing but betrayal.

Movement catches your eye, and you swing out blindly, the locket flying from your grip. As it spins, a blinding golden light spills out, growing larger and brighter until finally a figure steps forth--just as Micht’s devil-snake launches directly at you.

“Down!” a voice commands, and you drop, watching in shock as the glowing figure hurls a disk through the magical snake. The horrid thing lands in pieces that immediately shrivel and writhe. They melt into the ground, leaving only a low-lying, putrid fog behind.

The man stalks towards you, still obscured by the now-fading golden light. Instead of finishing you off, he strides past and pulls his disc-- his shield-- free from the tree it had sliced into. When he turns back your way, the man tucks something into a pouch on his chest, and the glowing light diminishes enough to see him. He looks you over, brows furrowed not in anger, but obvious confusion.

“Are you all right?”

“Thank you,” you say, struck near-dumb by the imposing presence of the man. He’s tall and broad, handsomely clad in padded armor with leather accents, but it’s his shield that has your attention. Its concentric circles and inner star look just like Bram’s locket, but in color.

He seems self-conscious about it, spinning the shield around and attaching it to his armor at his back. “Was that-- did I interrupt some kind of re-enactment?” your savior asks, curiously examining the last remnants of the toxic fog. He turns to look at you with the same studious intensity, but your head is spinning. Did Bram conjure this man with some sort of latent magic? “You should sit down,” he declares, thrusting out his hand with the confidence of a commander. The man clearly wants you to take it, but your hesitation prompts him to give up and walk over to a cluster of rocks. “Here. Do you have something to eat?”

Bemused, you pick your way toward him, deflecting your ‘I usually have to forage for something to eat’ answer with a question of your own. “What’s your name, hero?”

The word turns up a shy little smile that flies like a joy-tipped arrow right through your chest armor. “Steve. Yours?”

“Well, Steve, you’ve shown up for a battle, but I’m still fighting a war.” There’s no more time for niceties. You walk past the rocks he’d suggested you rest on, and pick up a sturdy-looking walking stick. It’s safer to stay close to the stream, and you’ll need the stability. “You’re welcome to come?”

There’s a chance that this summoned savior will disappear soon. You only have so much physical strength left, and you can’t spend it like this.

Steve turns in a circle, taking in the trees, the stream, and you, then nods, squaring his shoulders. “All right.” He certainly doesn’t seem at ease here, and you wonder if he’s real, whether he was somewhere fighting with that shield of his before Bram’s magic plucked him away.

Truthfully, you’re afraid to ask, as if naming the magic will destroy its cohesion.

Instead you lead the way along the uneven stones and brush that edge the stream, and he follows in clearly baffled silence. Sometimes you pause to adjust your armor or fill up your canteen and catch his brow furrow as he looks around at your surroundings. Once, he lunged forward to steady your steps on a slippery stretch of rocks. The warmth of his hand through your many layers was enough to bring rare tears to your eyes.

It's been so long since you’ve been touched in comfort.

Steve sees the tears but can’t know their context. You’re not willing to tell him, so you speed your pace, and he remains silent. If he’s been summoned as support, you question what triggers the magic might use to determine you’re no longer in need. If it’s words shared, you’ll hold yours in reserve. If it’s help provided, you’ll labor beside him with every ounce of your remaining strength until you finally ask for that help. If it’s distance traveled… well, you can’t think about that now.

Countless birdcalls and shared silence later, the landscape starts angling up more, and the trees thin out.

“Oh,” Steve says. His stunned tone makes you stop and look back at him. “I came to the forest--a forest to retrace my steps, looking for the echoes of what we lost. I didn’t want to. I didn’t know what I’d do if I found that the dust of my lost friends had fertilized plants that their shadows never--” he faltered, and you make your way to him, powerless to help, desperate to try.

You recognize this grief. It's the hopeless kind, where a person just stands desolate in the aftermath and looks for the signs of their own death.

“Steve--”

“It’s not the same forest,” he interrupts, a catch in his voice. “That’s a mountain.” He tears his eyes from the now-revealed peak in the distance and looks at you, concern and an odd sort of exhilaration in his eyes. “I kept walking because I thought we’d eventually get where you’re going, but we won’t, will we? Not today. Where am I? When am I?”

“‘When’ is easy: my waking nightmare. ‘Where’ is tricky. Who’s to know you won’t be pulled back where you came from if I tell you?” You can’t keep the bitter fear from your voice.

Steve steps forward to look down at you with gentle kindness. He’s so handsome you can’t help but feel self-conscious, clad as you are in shapeless armor, sweating with the exertion of carrying Bram’s sword (actually heavy) and Bram’s vial (metaphorically heavy)-- but you drift closer to your unexpected savior, catching the earthy scent of his sweat. You can see the sheen of it on his forehead, and you lift your hand to draw a finger across and feel the moisture of it.

“You’re real,” you breathe, surprised despite the snake, despite his steady presence behind you for this stretch of your journey.

He moves his hand to touch the drops of freshwater that have spilled from your canteen, going as far as to taste the tip of his finger. “So are you.” As though realizing that’s an intimacy the two of you haven’t agreed on, he steps back and squares his shoulders, the picture of a warrior again, despite his lack of weapon. Perhaps he is the weapon. “So what’s the plan? Camp for the night?”

You sway on your feet at the thought (both that he’d put aside his own situation and at the idea of rest), but shake your head. “Micht will send something else soon. I must reach the base of the stream. Everything relies on that.”

He looks askance at the darkening sky, then back at you. “What would make you willing to camp?”

A promise that you won’t leave me! you scream in your mind. A look of determination crosses his face, and you realize you may not have spoken the words aloud, but your body language has done that for you. You pull in a breath to prevaricate, but he brushes past you, headed into the forest.

“There’s a clearing,” he calls out, a minute later.

“Steve, I can’t--”

“You can.”

A terrible, insidious, horrid thought crosses your mind: that Steve is not from Bram at all, but an illusion with the same purpose as all the others that Jovann Micht has sent you. That his attack is formed from trust this time, rather than fear.

The shape of Bram’s locket is the only thing you can think of to refute your fears, but couldn’t Micht have torn that knowledge from Bram before killing him?

“You’re afraid,” Steve says from only feet away.

You close your eyes. “Yes.”

Steve can hold a lot of supplies in his ‘tek’ suit, as he calls it. He gives you a few dense grain bread things, full of dried fruit and nuts that revitalize you. While you eat he lights a fire for the two of you, meaning you can save your newly bolstered energy rather than using it for warmth-- and best of all, he has a strange silver blanket that seems to hold heat so much better than anything you’ve used at night, even the homemade blankets from your cabin. Despite all this, you find it hard to relax, and Steve can tell. You are reluctant to explain and thus relive the trauma that sent you into the forest, and he doesn’t elaborate on his own.

He seems surprised when you want to sleep right away. That surprise morphs to a quiet, concerned anger when you explain the thin agreement you have with your aggressor, that he’ll only kill you when you’re awake.

“That won’t happen,” he declares, and you believe him. Just like a parent who promises they’ll always protect you, his words have an unspoken caveat; ‘for as long as I’m here to stop it.’

It’s enough.

You wake with the light, finding to your surprise that Steve has slept at your side, his broad back acting as a wall between you and the dangers of the woods. It’s been a week since you’ve been able to lay still in the morning, but your respite is marred by a large worry: why hasn’t Micht sent something else? Had he sent his most fearsome conjurations early on in your journey because you’d been stronger? It would be like him to conserve his energy and insult you at the same time. If you die to something more mundane, that would just add to his narrative, after all. The alternative is that he knows about Steve, and his new plan is to create something fearsome enough to destroy them both.

“You’re barely breathing,” Steve rumbles.

Selfishly, you want him to turn over. You want a memory to cherish when he’s gone. Just once, you'd had someone lying beside you whose sole purpose was to ensure your safety.

He does roll over. He’s no less real for it, and that thought lets you release everything you’d held back since Bram, since the village, since the slain, tortured lamb that was the harbinger of all the horrors that followed.

Wordlessly, Steve pulls you to his chest and lets you cry.

The next attack comes within sight of the glacial moraine. You were right. Micht had sent his worst to finish you.

Steve pulls his shield from his back as soon as you pass through a group of boulders and see the creature. It’s twice as tall as he is, a four-legged monstrosity with the same number of snarling heads. Each serpent-like head is riddled with teeth, and like snakes, they bob and weave easily, able to turn and react with lightning swiftness.

“Your sword, please,” Steve says grimly.

“It’s armored--”

“So am I.”

Adrenaline mixes with the magic surging inside you. “Listen. I have a thing to do. It’s all that matters,” you tell him breathlessly. “After that, I don’t care what happens. Do you hear me?”

He’s looking at the creature, and you can see his soldier’s mind. You watch the fear dwindle, replaced by bravery, and you cannot let that happen.

“Steve!” you beg-- and he looks at you, still alert and ready to fight. “This was always going to end one way, okay? I just need you to--” The thing screeches with many voices, each wielding a knife that slices away some of your resolve.

You swallow hard and start taking off any extra weight, dropping your canteen, the sheathed dagger at your back, even the heavy brigandine leather that covers your blouse. It isn’t a match for a hydra’s teeth and claws anyway, and you must be fast.

“I need to get to the base of the stream. That monster is here to stop me.” It probably isn’t. If Micht knew you bear this potion, he’d have long ago crushed you into paste and taken it for himself. “Don’t you dare lose your fear!”

Steve laughs ruefully. “I wondered if you would remember that.”

“Something sent you to me, and this is why. If there’s any justice, it should send you back, once I succeed.” The words stick in your throat, but you get them out.

“It’s a hydra,” Steve says with a hatred in his voice you didn’t think he was capable of. “I was created for this.”

You both turn to face the horrible creature. Steve lifts the sword and you ready yourself to run.

“Wait,” Steve says, a manic happiness in his eyes. He steps close and dips his head, kissing you. It’s awkward, with the sword and shield held wide at his sides, but that just makes it more real. “Go get him.”

Then he charges toward the beast.

You’d planned to wait until the two were fully focused on each other, but every fragment of magic in your body is screaming for you to help Steve. You tamp that down and hold still, certain that the hydra will only focus on Steve if bloodlust blinds it to your existence.

That’s even harder when there are multiple sets of eyes to look for you.

Steve makes first contact, roaring up and smashing his shield against the first head that lunges toward him. The thing reels back in obvious surprise, the injured head lolling to the side. The other heads rear up, and you take the moment to run far to the side, sticking to the treeline, even though it means farther to run. You weave between trees, catching glimpses of the battle but always hearing it. Screech follows screech follows the smash of metal against armored skin, over and over and over.

Just as you’re forced to cross into the rockfield, the hydra lets out an agonized scream, and you risk a look over. Steve’s holding his shield protectively above himself as he hacks at the two heads he’d sliced from the hydra. He’s panting from exertion, and as you watch, magic bubbles at the sliced necks, growing two new snarling heads from each stump. They sink down to the body of the beast and then stretch back out as individual, fully-realized necks right in front of your eyes.

You can’t send any power to Steve, not yet. Instead, you send it to your own legs, and the burst of resulting speed tears through the remaining distance. You reach into your shirt--

“You could have given it to me right away, foolish child.”

“Liar!” you spit at your enemy, furious and fragile. “You wanted this.” Of course he’d known. Micht had always loved theatrics.

“You’re right. That’s quite a guardian you’ve found for yourself,” Jovann Micht muses, leaning casually back against a large boulder. He’s standing between you and the stream.

You’re done with this. One way or another.

“Move.”

“I don’t think so.” He moves towards you, confident, commanding. “Hand it over.”

Behind you, the screeching gets louder, and oddly, Micht stumbles sideways, hissing. You risk a look over your shoulder and see that Steve’s sliced off more of the creature-- a leg this time. It brings the deadly heads closer to him, and you can’t watch.

Micht has conjured a walking stick that he’s now leaning on with a vicious look of delight on his face. “I prefer an intelligent adversary.”

He doesn’t mean you.

He’s always underestimated you. Everyone does.

Your fingers close around a vial, and you pull it free. It’s been shaken up by your headlong run, as evidenced by the blue glowing light.

“If you want this, you have to catch me.”

Your burst of speed still sings in your veins, and you start to run-- toward the hydra, not the stream. Gathering up all of your magic, you hurl it toward the back legs of the hydra, meaning to destroy them and hopefully disable Micht, if your hunch about the connection between them is correct.

The fireball hits home. The ground shakes as the terrible beast falls sideways, all seven heads turning to assess the damage. One catches fire, its agonized scream piercing your ears even at this distance. You can’t see Steve, but the desperate flailing of the inflamed head soon spreads the fire.

You hook around, satisfied. Micht is in a heap not far from where you’d left him, recognizable by his signature blood-red suit. All that’s left is to get as close to the headwaters as you can. Bram had confided in you about the rip current that swirls right at its base, sucking the water down into a secondary stream that he’d helped the village tap into.

It serves as the drinking water for the whole valley, surfacing down past your former home and bubbling down to the sea, or so it’s said.

If you can get even half of Bram’s concoction into there--

A powerful blow knocks you to your feet, and you lose your grip on the vial. Dazed, you struggle to your knees, watching as a hand curls around the vial.

Get up! You have to be convincing! UP!

You’re unsteady as hell, but you lean into that, begging with a suddenly raw throat for Micht to stop. Your magic is almost gone again, but you grit your teeth and start for the vial. Behind it is your goal, the origin of the stream. Just ten strides, and he’ll think you’re giving up and throwing yourself in instead. Eight strides…

A rough hand curls around your neck and pulls the true vial from your bodice before shoving you to the ground.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” Steve roars. Through tears, you can see him running toward the two of you. He swings his arm, releasing his shield.

Micht stands triumphant with the vial, unstoppering it in preparation to drink. It’s all of your worst fears realized, and the moment seems to hang in time, more misery for you to experience right before he kills you face to face, just as he’s always wanted.

Steve’s shield smashes into Micht’s midsection, knocking him backwards. The vial flies up, its contents fanning out in a glowing blue rain over Jovann Micht. Everywhere it lands, white lightning and red flames erupt. He’s screaming, you’re screaming, thunder and agony crashes all around you, until finally, he’s gone.

The silence is oppressive. It’s as though your blood’s stopped pumping, the air’s trapped in your lungs, and your muscles are frozen solid. The pressure builds until Steve stabs the bloody sword into the ground beside you and slumps over to rest his hands on his knees.

“We won.”

Your body's working again, but you don’t know whether to feel happiness or horror. “Yeah.”

Both of you are exhausted, the kind of bone-weary that isn’t possible without having experienced something unspeakable. The smell of burnt hydra is horrendous though, so Steve pushes to get as far away as you can before collapsing beside the placid stream. You let your hands dangle in the frigid glacial meltwater, needing to feel something bad that isn’t horrible.

“Don’t fall in. I’m too wiped to go back for the rest of your armor, and that’s a white shirt.”

He’s speaking in riddles, and honestly it's the first regular thing Steve’s said to you since… all of that. “What?”

“The water makes it transpar-- Never mind.” Embarrassment drips from his words, and it’s enough to make you scooch around so you can see him.

Steve’s black armor hides most of the blood, but he’s almost drenched in it. He’s got his legs stretched out in front of him, and he’s wrapping a once-pristine white bandage around a gash on his leg, pausing every few revolutions to rest. Noticing your scrutiny, he offers you a weak smile.

“That fireball was something.”

“So’s your swordsmanship.” You search your resources and make a decision. “Want me to heal that?”

“What?” he says, then laughs, the sound genuinely joyful, though astonished. “I just fought a real hydra. Did you know that’s the second bad guy that’s disintegrated right in front of me? Of course you can heal. This place is… this place is something.”

His voice breaks on ‘something.’ You don’t know him very well, but the trauma you’ve shared tells you he needs a moment. Avoiding eye contact, you reach out, sending your magic in a gentle golden trickle across the ground between you. It slides smoothly over his boots and up the fabric of his trousers, finally sinking into his wound. You send a little extra, too, even though it makes your chest ache with warning. It’ll soothe his mind, and that’s worth it.

That done, you turn back to the water, staring past your fractured reflection into the stream’s shallow depths. Across the stretch of rocks and bubbling froth a dragonfly twists and dips, reacting to shifts in the air too subtle for you to notice. It’s a reminder that not everything’s been affected by the life or death struggle you’d just experienced. It helps, so much so that you don’t notice that Steve’s come to sit beside you until he speaks.

“Did you know that dragonflies are a symbol of grief and rebirth?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. “Part of their life cycle is underwater, I guess, and the story goes that each one reaches a point where they need to surface. They each promise they’ll come back and tell the others what they find up there, but--”

“--but they can’t. They’re trapped either side,” you breathe.

“Trapped, yeah, but not dead.” The word is ragged, and you look up at him, even though it hurts your neck. “I lost friends in my forest. They turned to dust. We lost.”

Your hand is freezing, but his armor is thick. You reach out and squeeze his leg, and Steve stays still, clearly moved to quiet reflection.

“There’s a second life, is the moral. I don’t know if this is mine, but I wouldn’t mind if it was.”

You don’t dare hope, but you pour yes please into your expression. He smiles and pats his chest.

“There’s a pocket here. When I first showed up, you threw a locket--” he shakes his head curtly, enough to stop you from speaking. “I only caught a glimpse, but it looks like my shield.”

You squeeze his ankle, and determination hardens his expression.

“I think you might-- I think this place might need me. Do you have enough magic to, I don’t know… freeze it? Put it in stasis so it doesn’t send me back? I know just where I’d like to put it.”

You feel brave, but it’s not due to a lack of hope this time. This time, you have an abundance of hope.

“I’d like that very much.”

#the_slumberparty #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #fantasy au #angst with a happy ending #captain america x f!reader #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rogers #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america x you

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storiesbyrhi · 9 months ago

Text

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: Homeward bound. 2738 words.

1986

Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse of Eddie swooping by, keeping pace with your car. It was mid-afternoon by the time he grew tired, burrowing into his front seat nest and sleeping until twilight. As soon as the sun was safely locked away on the other side of the world, Eddie chittered and you responded by turning him back into himself.

He stretched out, making dramatic noises and pulling faces.

“You okay there?” you asked him, laughing at the show of it all.

“Only trying to make you smile, my little witch.”

Damn.

“So, you were right,” you changed the subject. “About not being the only non-witch,”

“Wolf, right? I could smell him.” Eddie’s face screwed up in disgust.

“What happened to the support group for monster lovers?”

“I draw the line at lycans.”

The seriousness of his expression made you laugh. “Well, you’ll have to redraw it, because Ev has it bad for him. The others already knew all about it too,”

“And we believed we were special,”

“I mean… We still are… Witches and werewolves aren’t mortal enemies…”

“Of course. Wolves’ mortal enemy being their own tail and all,”

“Eddie! Stop,” you laughed, hitting him with the back of your hand.

He grinned at you, then looked out at the road. “And the other?”

“That one is a bit more of a secret. Ash is seeing one of the fae folk. It’s still very new. Taking it slow… Making sure they’re not actually trying to lure her into some centuries old curse. You know how they are,”

“Trickster sprites,”

“Exactly,” you nodded. “And then there’s Steve fucking Harrington… who has elected to inexplicably haunt Mel,”

“Why? I assume he never met her,”

“Yep, but she came and asked me if the ghost in her house was him. It was. He says he’ll leave her alone but had this stupid puppy dog look on his face… So… Maybe there is a whole new world of witch romances to come.”

Eddie grinned, he liked the sound of it. Though, he really didn’t want a werewolf as a brother-in-law. “Do you want me to take over?” he asked then, pointing to the steering wheel. “I’ve been practicing,”

“And here I was thinking you disappeared in the middle of the night to eat,”

“Oh, I do. I find the worst person I can. I eat them. Then, I take their car for a lesson,”

“A two birds, one stone, kind of thing, huh?”

Eddie nodded with a disconcertingly innocent smile on his face.

“I was thinking about that actually. I think I can help,”

“With which part?” he asked. “The eating or the thieving,”

“Neither. The choosing.”

The joy left Eddie’s expression. He looked away from you, suddenly studying the hardly visible horizon out his window. “You don’t need to be a part of it. You don’t have to have it on your conscience,”

“Neither do you. Not in the same way, at least. What if I can take some of the guesswork out of picking who is, you know, bad,”

“It’s not guesswork. I watch them. I find them while they’re-”

“I know. But what if you didn’t have to wait for them to do something bad? What if you could tell what they had already done?”

Eddie stayed quiet. There was a gas station up ahead, the lights shining brightly. You pulled in and cut the engine.

“I know it’s always going to be on you. You’re always going to have to make that call, about if they have sinned and if the sins are…”

“If they justify death,” Eddie finished for you solemnly and still not looking at you.

“Yes. But what if you could see them? The sins. If you could, I don’t know, just touch someone and see the worst of them. And only when you wanted to. Would that help?”

He was clicking two fingernails together, pensive or maybe anxious. Eddie got out of the car and looked around. There was a family inside the gas station. The kids were screaming about peanut butter cups and soda.

“Would it help you?” he asked after you’d got out and walked around to him. His hands were shoved into the pockets of the sweatpants he’d been getting in and out of, vampire then bat then vampire then bat. “It might make it more precise. But it’s still conjecture. Still a judgment. Still a human death.”

You tried to read him, but he’d locked you out for the moment.

He continued, “Sometimes it hurts. Or, sometimes I think it hurts. Or, I think it should hurt. I don’t know if I can tell the difference. I don’t want to hurt anybody. I can stop myself from hurting them. But I don’t know, really know, if it weighs on my conscious. I don’t even know if I have one.”

It had been easy to get lost in Eddie’s goodness. It had been the important thing to show your coven. But it was never going away, the darkness. He might have been a good vampire, not a properly made monster, but it didn’t change the fact that he was still a vampire.

“If I say it would help me-”

“Then, I am sure, it would help me. What is good for you is good for me,” Eddie told you. “But I can tell which of them are more like me than you. I can see it in their faces. But if this makes you feel more in control of it, then I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

The neon sign of the station buzzed and crackled, the cicadas trilling back at it. The family got in their car and hit the road again, the radio turned right up to drown out the noise of bickering children.

You could see the station’s clerk watching you and Eddie from behind his counter.

“Loving you doesn’t make me feel guilty. I’m not ashamed of what you are,” you told Eddie then, looking back at him. “I’m not trying to make you into something you’re not.”

He nodded. “I know.” He saw it on your face, a flash of exasperation. “What are you trying to do?” he asked. “Because I’m not ashamed of what you are either… You don’t have to be a lawful, virtuous witch.”

There was a small smile playing on Eddie’s lips and you knew it meant he’d cottoned on to the fact that the seed of darkness that lived inside you was working its magic.

“It’s not just about making things easier for you or for me. It could be… A kind of justice…”

“Ohhh,” Eddie almost laughed. “I am your weapon, and if you can point this blade in the right direction, then well fuck, it might work faster than the humans’ courts and witches’ spells?”

Eddie had only recently started to swear, a habit he was picking up from you most likely. Fuck, in particular, sounded terribly good coming from his mouth.

You looked at him and slowly nodded. He threw his head back and laughed into the night. The gas station clerk sighed in relief at the sudden change of atmosphere around you both.

“Oh, my little witch. You do continue to delight me.”

Eddie pulled you into a rough kiss, letting the tips of his sharpest teeth run along your bottom lip. You were warm and tasted so sugary. He had been itching to eat you up since leaving the Catskills.

“I love you,” you said breathlessly when he let you come up for air.

“I love you too. Entirely.”

…

Waking up alone was bittersweet. Although you missed the weight of Eddie next to you, the immediate crawl of his body to yours, it did mean he was likely up to something. Mostly, it was innocent domestic work.

Pre-turning, Eddie never really had a place to call his own. As a vampire, the idea of home meant something different too. But now, the boy could nest. He cleaned and picked flowers to put in vases and glasses all across the trailer. He was also dabbling in cooking, though he could not eat the fruits of his labor.

So, mostly, it was domestic work, but now and then, you would wake up to him doing something different. A week after returning from the Catskills, you and Eddie had fallen back into routine, but this morning was out of the ordinary.

Eddie had stacks of books crowded around him. Pages of handwritten notes were spilled across the coffee table, your altar supplies stacked neatly below it.

“Looking very witchy there,” you greeted, voice gravelly with sleep.

“Hi, my love,” he replied without looking up. “I’m almost finished.”

Looking around, you realised it wasn’t just the books Eddie had been combing through. Herbs and other potion-brewing bits and pieces were lined up along the kitchen bench.

“Almost finished what?” you asked.

“The spell.”

Nodding slowly at him, you waited for the explanation. It never came. Instead, you let him work on his craft and went about your day.

By mid-morning, he was ready.

“Little witch!” Eddie yelled loudly. You were outside, watering your potted plants and herbs. “Little witch! Come!” There was childlike enthusiasm in his voice and it made you smile.

“Where do you need me?” you asked him, but he was already ushering you to the couch.

“I have written you a grounding spell,” he announced.

“A grounding spell?”

“Yes. Something to reconnect you to the natural world. To promote health and healing.”

Eddie was wide-eyed and on the verge of mania. He had a little dirt smeared across his cheek, and it was caked under his nails. Although his hair was pulled back in a bun, single coils of curls had fallen out throughout the night. He was beautiful.

“Go on,” you urged.

“It starts with malus domestica,” he began.

“It always does,” you noted, already holding back a giggle. He could have just said apple. Still so very dramatic.

“They connect you to the earth. Sacred. Biblical.” He really had been doing his homework. “Then, black hellebore root.” Eddie was at the kitchen bench, holding up a jar that he’d already dug through. That explained the dirt.

“I hope you’ve been careful with that,” you warned.

“I know. Extremely toxic. Even witches sometimes wear gloves to handle it,” Eddie said, reciting one of the books he’d read. “But it is also symbolic of rising from the past. And has a long history of use in witchcraft.”

Eddie had read about hellebore poisoning, how it brought on hallucinations but could also cure mental affliction. He read about how it could be harnessed and used in banishing spells and for purification. About white versus black hellebore and all the folklore surrounding them.

“Okay. What do we do with this apple and root?” you asked, playing the part of a captive audience.

“Core the apple and thread the root through it. Let it air overnight, by moonlight. Come morning, it gets wrapped in willow then cooked,”

“Willow?” you tested.

“Willow that is strong and true. Willow that takes pain and fever and grief and releases you from it.”

You nodded and smiled.

“When the apple is cooked through, falling apart, you take the hellebore root and powder it,”

“Then what?”

Eddie hesitated. “Alas, I do not know…” he admitted. “I can’t find a way to close the spell,”

“Do you have any ideas?” you asked, standing up and coming to the kitchen counter. You looked at everything he had pulled out of the apothecary.

“Moreso, bad ideas. What not to do. Consume it, for example,”

“Yeah. That could kill me. Maybe even turn me into a werewolf,” you joked. The look on Eddie’s face was priceless. “Kidding. Hellebore is an active ingredient in lycanthropic ointment though… Mostly it’s used in what we used to call flying ointment, or magic salve. So no, I cannot consume it,”

“Yes… Well… I thought then, returning it to the earth. Burying it. That didn’t feel right,”

“Mmmhmm… I think you have a clue here,” you told him, pulling a bowl of eucalyptus seed pods forward. “Did you read about these?”

Eddie shook his head.

“They’re kind of amazing. Eucalyptus trees are native to Australia, but are planted ornamentally around the U.S. They produce a highly combustible oil through their leaves. Little fire bombs, basically. They catch ablaze easily. But, these little seedpods are fireproof, and when threatened with fire, they drop lots of seeds and fertilise the scorched ground. Within a couple of years, the burnt earth is already returning to its gloriously green form,”

“Very smart of them,”

“Very smart,” you agreed. “Maybe we can learn from them. We can not just withstand the blaze, but add fuel, let it all burn, and start again,”

“The powder… we let it go free…” Eddie said slowly, catching on to what you’re saying.

“Ah-huh. We give it to the wind.”

Working side by side, you and Eddie cored apples and filled the void with black hellebore root. You set them on the kitchen windowsill ready for the moonlight. (You’d have to take down all the window’s covers though, sunproof house and all.)

Eddie was proud. It was written all over his face.

“Now who’s the little witch?” you whispered to him, stepping up to his body, pressing yours to his.

In reply, Eddie pulled you close, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame. He kissed the top of your head then pressed his cheek to it, resting on you.

“Thank you. Nobody has ever written a spell for me before… Well… Not a good one…” You looked up at him. “You are good, Eddie. And you’re allowed to be. You can be… both. Everything,”

“Everything,” he repeated quietly.

“Yeah… So… What now? We can’t work on them until tomorrow.”

Eddie swept you off to the bedroom by the time you opened your eyes after your next blink.

“But it’s not bedtime,” you said voice saccharine and purposefully dumb.

Eddie grinned. “It’s not. I don’t want you to go to sleep now anyway,”

“No?” You sat on the edge of the unmade bed, looking up at Eddie.

He stood between your legs, reaching out to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs running softly across your skin. He smiled wide, teeth sharp. “I’m very, very hungry.”

Eddie rarely let himself taste your blood, though the occurrences were becoming more regular. He was scared of a multitude of things. Not being able to stop. Seeing something in your magic blood he couldn’t unsee. Pissing off some ancient and unknown creature that would resurrect if ever a vampire munched on a witch.

Sometimes, if you begged pretty enough, you’d get a small bite out of him. But it was better when he came asking for it. The soft inner thigh was his greatest weakness.

Lifting your arms up, Eddie followed the instruction and took your shirt off. You fell back against the bed and let him push your skirt up. He dropped to his knees and kissed the tops of your thighs. Up, up, up, until his mouth was bruising the skin above where the femoral artery was pumping blood.

You still didn’t know how he did it, how he could make it feel so good. You didn’t want to know. It was his own secret vampire magic and it was one mystery that would never appear on your murder board.

Eddie’s teeth sank in and your hot, red blood began to flow. He pushed you further back on the bed, then held your leg up, so the blood would pour down towards where you were already wet. His tongue lapped at blood and arousal fast. He didn’t waste a single drop.

You writhed under him, eyes screwed shut, and body on fire. The vibration of his tongue was pulling you ever closer to climax, but he wouldn’t stay in one spot long enough to let you get there.

Eddie grabbed your hand and smashed it to where he’d bitten you. “Heal it,” he growled, barely able to form words. You did what he said and he licked your palm clean of blood as a thank you. He hooked his arms under your legs and ripped you back to the edge of the bed. Then, he was positioned exactly where he needed to be to let you get there.

End Note: We're back in Hawkins... Now what? Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

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