#I’m deranged for these twisted men send help | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

physicalturian · 3 years ago

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[18+] Deranged Love - Hanma Shuji x F!Reader - Part 1

[Probably contains spoilers from the anime and the manga] [She/Her pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone is +18]

Words: 9403

Archive of our own

Warnings : Explicit! / Blood / Injuries / Guns / Bruises / Choking / Blood / Graphic depiction of violence / Killing / Murder / Crying / Trauma /

Summary : Wrong place, wrong guy. Wrong in so many fucking ways it only made the attraction more sick and twisted...Yet I wanted more of him and would end up doing anything for him, with him.

If you feel like I should add more warnings, send me a dm or and ask, I'd rather be safe than sorry

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Routine.

This would be how I would describe my way of life, a routine. I liked it like that, it was safe, comfortable and I was sure of what would happen. Far from me the idea of only doing the same things over and over again, I would sometimes go out with my friends or see a movie—doing things on a whim was not off the table. But I liked knowing what I was signing up for. Surprises, however, never were a thing I enjoyed—seeing my friends in my house when all I wanted was to relax after work was something dreadful and annoying to no end. I would pull through and be a good host, nonetheless, making sure everything was enjoyable, but I would be drained by the end of their stay.

Perhaps that need for reassurance, for a safety net, was the reason why I never truly took an artistic path or even considered any artistic career. It was too free, too unpredictable, too risky. Never could I have imagined myself doing such a thing; those who did were in my eyes the boldest and I admired them greatly for following their dream, but I was not bold, I preferred the solace of a job I knew would always bring me money. A simple 9 to 5 job was fulfilling enough for me; for some it was not, but I enjoyed it. It was something I could do and found relaxing to do, even when there was more rush. It just made sense to me.

There was not much thrill in this job. The people were nice enough; the clients were a bit bitter from time to time, depending on whether the job we had done was in their favor or not. Some of my colleagues would tell me crazy stories about some firms they had worked on or with and I would have a hard time believing it, but perhaps it was because different departments would deal with different types of clients. I had simple people: homeowners, tax payers, easy stuff. I liked it.

Now, even if I was keen on this routine that I had of going to my job, using the same transports, the same paths, headphones in to ignore the people around, I knew when following that same path would bring me trouble. I knew when to break that routine even just a little bit.

Tonight was one of those rare occasions. As I walked back home from work after having had to stay one more hour to help my colleague Darren fix his mistake—I made sure to tell him he owed me for helping him this late—I saw a group of men surrounding someone on the street. With one glance around, the entire street was empty except for those seven men and their victim. The usually crowded place was completely deserted and as I wondered how it could have happened, I noticed bikes at the end of the road blocking any possible traffic. It did not take a genius to know this was something far above me, there was no way I would interfere with that. Turning around, I made sure my steps were less heavy, less determined and started walking back. I did not have time to think I was going to get out of there safely when I heard, “Miss! Call the police-“. A thud sound, followed by a pained moan reached my ear.

When I dared look over my shoulder, I saw the man on his knees, blood pouring from his nose. I recognized him, he was a creepy older man that would sometimes stay longer on the train to look at younger women. Glancing at the other people around him, I kept my face as neutral as possible. Should I call the police? The outfits they wore all had the same sigil on them, the same pattern, and since they did not look like high schoolers I hardly believed those were school uniforms. Which led to the conclusion that they were the ones the news talked about a lot. The city was filled with gangs fighting over territory, not hesitating one bit to kill anyone who would cross them. I was sure of myself, assertive, yes… but I did not possess a savior complex. Seeing that man on the floor made me realize how wrong the system was, but I could not risk taking part in the situation and helping him. There were too many and clearly a lot scarier and stronger than I was. Looking away, I kept walking and heard them laugh, “That’s the right thing to do missy, he deserved it-“ “I said I was going to pay as soon as I got the money!” The victim interrupted; he was speaking very fast, but the fist smashing his jaw was faster to tell him to shut up. “It ain’t about that, you know it!”

Playing my music again, louder this time, I walked away and let them deal with everything, taking a different route than the one I would usually take. It’s alright to not have helped, you wouldn’t have made a difference… But he deserved it… I can still call the police… A turmoil inside my head started as I kept walking. After a few minutes, I grabbed my phone and dialed the police department’s number; they picked up quite fast, asking me what the emergency was. “There are gang members beating up a man in-“ “I’m sorry ma’am we can’t help with that, have a nice evening.” And just like that, the person on the other end of the phone hung up. Looking at my phone incredulously, I called again, all while taking a turn and walking by a warehouse, “Hello, you must have misunderstood me earlier—it is not a joke, there are gang members in the-“ This time, I was not interrupted by the person on the phone but by my arms being grabbed suddenly.

My heartbeat picked up, I suddenly felt sick and my head started spinning. When things like this happened, we’d always think it only happened to others, so when I realized it was happening to me, I did not feel well. Blood drained from my face, from my entire body. It all happened so fast: one moment I was walking past the warehouse, then suddenly my phone hit the ground and I joined it when I was thrown on it with force. My cheekbone took all the damage as someone pressed the side of my face onto the wet ground and made sure to put weight on my back to stop me from moving. I was shivering in fear already, but that fear only grew when my hair was pushed out of the way by a bloody hand, its knuckles painted red and brown from fresh and drying blood. The action did not feel one bit intimate, it was scary, intimidating. With the pressure on my back, I was pressed against the hard floor and could barely breathe, but in a situation like this I knew better than to talk.

I knew that. Yes.

So why did I talk? Why were my nerves acting up in moments like these?

“I am sure you got the wrong person—I’m just an accountant-“ A gun was now pressed against my cheek, I took it as a sign to shut up and did so. The man on my back twisted the gun a few times against my cheek, making me open my mouth from the weird movements against my teeth, like someone forcing a dog to open its jaws to get food out of it. “Aren’t we noisy? Tonight wasn’t the right night to feel heroic, girl.” The man asked as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I closed my eyes in discomfort, my breath hitching. Laughing sadistically, he continued talking, this time his tone lowered, “Rats shouldn’t snoop in businesses that aren’t theirs.” I felt the weight shift on my back, then heard him ask someone, “Keep beating him up, I’ll take care of her then we’ll continue having our fun,” His voice was stern but I still heard some tones of him being carefree, he was enjoying this. He then addressed someone else, “Sounds good to you?” The answer consisted of muffled cries, attempts at screams that were cut off by hits then a gun cocking. With a sigh, the man on me pulled the gun away from my face and tutted the man who was bound on his knees.

I felt the weight leave my back but did not dare move, I stayed right where I was. Steps on the humid ground were heard, getting away from me but clearly approaching the man who I assumed was being tortured. The gun fired soon after, startling me as I tensed up and closed my eyes a few seconds before opening them again. The crazy man that put me on the ground laughed loudly, “Come on, it’s just the thigh, you can still walk for now, yeah?” He had said. Turning my head to look at them, I saw the older man on his knees, hands tied behind his back and suit bloody. His tie was undone, and he had wounds all over his face and chest. “I said you can walk, yeah?” Recognizing the voice, I could put a face to my aggressor as I watched him remove his glove before grabbing the victim by his arm and making him stand up, only to force him to wobble a bit. “See! I am being nice! Talk and it’s all over, come on.” He cooed in something that could be seen as sweet if it wasn’t happening in a warehouse with violent people and a man bleeding on the ground.

“I told you! I don’t know anything I-“ The man with the long earring in his left ear did not think twice before punching the office worker in the face with enough force. I believe I heard his nose crack. I caught a glimpse of the tattoos adorning his hands but could not decipher, from how far I was, what was written on them. The crazy man laughed after the punch, “Wrong answer! Haha, you have one last chance, ok?” He said, leaning over so that his face was at the same level as the other man’s. From my place on the ground, I could only see the wicked smile on his face, and it made me feel uneasy. The tall violent man was clearly crazy, having such a man roaming the city did not seem safe at all and it scared me to think of what else was happening in the shadows. “Alright, alright, please Reaper-“ The man he called Reaper gripped his chin tight and chuckled, “Straight to point, I don’t have time to waste on vermin like you, you’re no fun.” He said as a matter of fact, as if they both believed this. His face had turned serious so quickly that I feared the moment I felt like I could escape, he would change his mind in half a second.

The bleeding man nodded quickly, tears streaming down his cheeks, “It’s Silas&Sons—That’s the name of the firm that discovered something was off-'' While I was left in shock at the mention of the firm I worked at, the Reaper grinned and brought the gun to the man’s forehead, “Wasn’t hard, was it?” the man tried to tell him not to shoot, adding that the violent one had promised he would stop. The latter shook his head, “I said it’ll all be over! Listen carefully next time,” He said the last part like a parent berating their child then winked and pressed the trigger, killing the man in less than a second as his body hit the ground, blood spattering behind him. The man with black and blond hair looked at the body on the ground and chuckled to himself, “There won’t be a next time, but you get the jest.” He huffed with a wave of his hand before handing back the gun he had been given earlier. Turning around, his eyes locked on mine. I widened my eyes in pure terror and turned my face to be in the position he had left me in; I was aware he had seen me, but I was hoping he would not mention it.

The other people that were in the room had gone silent and were probably all looking at me, the woman lying on the floor, shaking, dreading for her life. The odds of me coming out of this unscathed seemed to be decreasing the more I observed what was happening around me. A stinging pain reached my scalp making me hiss, as someone lifted my head from the ground to make me look at them. While turning my head their way, I saw two men sitting on a crate, one with two braids that were long enough to go down to his ribcage while the other had shorter purple hair and glasses. Boredom adorned both their features alongside blood stains on their outfits, and yet they were nonchalant about it. I saw a man leaning behind another crate but barely managed to catch a glimpse of his tattoo that the man called Reaper snapped his fingers in front of me. “Here, I’m your tormentor, not them, yeah?” He grinned. Meeting his gaze again, I forced myself to keep my mouth shut and kept my eyes on him.

“You’re being courageous, not even crying yet! You’re a fun one, gotta love it.” He said happily, his hand patting the cheek that had taken most of the damage when he slammed me on the ground. I flinched when I saw his hand approach my face then winced at the rough touch against the bruising skin. “What will I do with you little rat? Eavesdropping ain’t nice, tattling ain’t it either.” The latter was said in a more serious tone as his expression turned somber, any humor that dripped from his words a moment ago was completely gone and he was now looking at me with caution. “Get up, come on.” I did not have a choice, the grip in my hair did not slacken and I had to follow his movement to avoid most of the pain. My clothes were dirty and damp from the humid ground; I felt my legs shake as I got to my feet and hissed at the pain when he yanked my hair for me to follow him quicker.

Pushing me forward, he threw me against the crate where the two other men were sitting. Hitting my shoulder against the wooden item, I swore under my breath and was about to fall to my knees again when the man with the long braids wrapped his legs around my neck and somewhat choked me. Caught off guard, I gripped his shins tight and tried to break free, but his hold only tightened. I heard him mock me while he dug his heels deeper in my biceps from the position he was in, “Stop moving and it’ll stop hurting, fuck you’re stupid.” He sighed with disdain, bringing me closer towards him but it only pressed my neck against the wood. Gritting my teeth, I stopped trying to get him to let go and let my arms fall to my side, when I felt the choke weaken and took a large intake of breath while focusing my eyes anywhere but on the man in front of me.

The manic laughter I had now heard many times in those few minutes I was on the floor reached my ears again, “I can see you wanna live, what are you willing to do to stay alive?” He asked in a light tone. It was a real question, but I did not want to do anything. I wanted to punch them and make a run for it, but they had guns and strength, none of which I could match in any way. I kept my mouth shut again.

The Reaper chuckled again, “I don’t know if you keeping your pretty mouth shut is a curse or a blessing-“ he stopped himself and slapped my now undamaged cheek with as much force as he could, making me yelp at the pain. I kept my face turned the direction his hand had turned it, but he gripped my chin forcefully and made me look at him. His expression had turned almost sour as he stared right into my eyes, “Fucking answer the question, what are you willing to do?” he spat, his face only breaths away from mine. Keeping a frown on, I uttered, “I wasn’t calling on you, there were people blocking another road-“ His mouth contorted into a smile once again as he pushed my face against the crate before letting go as he threw his hands in the air, and turned around on himself once, “She speaks! God it’s so entertaining to see you’re—Still. Not. Crying.” He gritted through his teeth the last three words before leaning over once again, his face very close to mine just like before.

“You’re telling me it’s a coincidence then?” He asked in a playful tone, clearly mocking me.

Fuck I wanted to make a run for it and get away from here. My heart was trying to beat out of my chest the longer I spent time here, the only thought running through my mind was: I am going to die here. How else would I end up? He had killed a man that had told him what he wanted to know, so no matter what I said he would kill me, right? Stammering a bit, I nodded the best I could with legs still around my neck, “Yes, I hadn’t seen you were here, I-“

“You’re funny! I’ll give you that! God you’re-“ He pulled back and made a rapid movement of his arms approaching me, as if putting me on display, “You’re fun! Ran, let her go.” The first part was said in excitement, the latter in the utmost seriousness. The moment he had spoken those words, the man let go of my neck and I was about to stumble when the Reaper grabbed me by the shoulders. He was tall, strangely tall, way above average, and it only added to all the traits that already made him scary. My whole body tensed, I thought this was it. He glared at me for a few moments before speaking to one of his friends, his gaze never leaving mine, “What do we know?”

An unknown voice reached my ear, it was close, so it must have been the other man on the crate, “Seems like a civilian, said she was an accountant. She also seemed surprised when the vermin said Silas&Son.” That perked the Reaper’s interest.

“Oh, so the little girl knows things. Have they sent you?” He asked, forcing me to look up by gripping my chin once more. He did not care the amount of strength he used, he couldn’t care less if I was uncomfortable, to him I was just a puppet that he could throw around and play with. Clearly he was right since I moved along and did not fight back. If I did, I would die, I was sure of it. “I was walking home from work—I saw my usual path was blocked and people were ganging up against a man so I-“ “You ran? The rat isn’t one for conflict, eh?” He patted my head and smiled almost reassuringly before letting go of me, making sure I fell on the floor. “Then? Make this quick, this ain’t the time for a bedtime story.”

“I called the police so that they could check—they said it was none of their business so I tried again and you-“ Fuck I was stuttering, the stress was too much and once I had fallen on my back, he was a lot more intimidating. He could just pull out his gun and shoot me, I could not get up with how I was shaking.

“You tried to do the right thing, right?” He asked, his back now turned to me. I could not gauge his emotion, so I replied sincerely, “Yes, it was all that I could do-“

Suddenly he turned around and pointed a gun at me, grinning, “Wrong! You could have helped the poor, poor man on the street, yeah? But you didn’t, why?” I did not reply right away, so he waved the gun around before crouching right in front of me and taking a good look at me. “They were too many-“ “That never stops a hero, does it? It’s all about charisma, determination, letting your body act faster than your brain, no?” He asked rhetorically, but while I waited for him to continue he sighed and looked down, his gun dropping lower as his arm fell limp. He started mumbling to himself a moment, using the gun to scratch his hair. Perhaps it was not the most adequate time to do so, but I looked at his outfit and saw he was wearing suit pants and a white business shirt. Quite the outfit for a murderer, but he had made sure to pull his sleeves up to not stain it. He was right in doing so since all the blood from earlier was on his black gloves and his forearms.

“Tell me, rat,” He slowly looked up and gave me a wicked smile, “Are you a hero?” He brought the gun to my forehead and all I did was close my eyes in fear. A sob escaped my lips as I tried to back away, but I was only met with the wooden crate, accidentally bumping my head against the shoes of one of the men sitting on it. “Do you believe there is good in this world? That it deserves to be saved? Hm? Would you die for this pathetic excuse of a world?” He pressed the gun even more against my skin. I heard the click as he disengaged the safety and tried to close my eyes even more than how I had already shut them, but found it impossible. My entire body was shaking, there was no helping the sobs escaping my mouth even by covering it.

I felt a gentle hand push my hand away and opened my eyes in confusion, only to see that the man who was holding a gun against me was grinning, “Answer the question.” He turned the gun horizontally and rested his arm on his knee as he placed his head on his free hand, completely relaxed. Getting lost in thoughts, I stared emptily at him while he started counting down, “Three…” Am I a hero? How would one describe a Hero? None of the mythological heroes could define me, none of those famous franchises either. “Two, think faster.” What answer did he want? Should I give him what he wants, or should I just be honest? “One-“

“I’m not a hero, I didn’t call right away because he deserved it, I-“ Taking a deep breath, I tried to take a hold of myself and calm down the best I could. “He harassed people, no one ever did anything about it-“

“See! Wasn’t hard, was it? Good girl,” He patted my head before moving the gun under my chin and raising it with the end of the gun, his finger never leaving the trigger, “You’re also a bad person then, you’re like us, right? Some people do deserve to die!”

Shuddering, I took a shaky breath and inhaled, “I’m nothing like you-“ “If he died it’s because ye didn’t act quick enough, don’t you agree?” He inquired with a pleading look, the mockery never leaving his tone. “I don’t, no.” My words were followed by the gun leaving my person as the man stood up quickly and barked out a laugh before asking his friends if they had heard that, they only grumbled in reply. He tucked the gun in the back of his pants and I quickly let my head down in fear I had triggered him somehow, frightened it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “I like you, accountant woman. I just wanna see one thing to know what I should do with you—well two, but I’ll start slow.” Bringing his arm behind his back, I tensed again but then felt the gun hit my ankle as he threw it at me.

“Shoot me,” He ordered as he crouched in front of me, his arms crossed over his knees while grinning broadly. “I killed a guy, right? I am bad, killing me should make you a hero.” His little speech was stupid, it only started a vicious cycle of death with no end. Killing a killer that killed one person? It’d make me a killer that killed one person, and so on. But he brought his hand to mine and wrapped my fingers around the handle of the gun before pressing it against his forehead. “Here, you can’t miss from this close, show me you got guts! Come on, do it.” That grin turned into something scary, manic, he was getting off on the thrill. But my hands were shaking, I had never held a gun before, never intended to, but tonight was nothing if not exceptional. When I tried to put my arm down, he grabbed my elbow and kept it up, “It’s you or me, come on, make this fun for both of us-“ “I’m not shooting you in the head! You’re insane-“

Hearing my words well, he barked a laugh then guided the gun to his heart, one of the men behind me sighed and told him to hurry up, but the Reaper only shushed him. “Here, then? Sounds better?” Nothing was right in his head; I couldn’t understand what he was doing. No matter how hard I tried, I did not know the point he was making, but taking all this time to think about it made me lose the position of power he had given me. Forcing my hand to let go of the gun, he took it and, at the speed of light, put it in my mouth, making a sob escape it as he did so. “That’s a missed opportunity, too bad.” He shrugged then as I saw him press the trigger. I closed my eyes, my hands gripping my thighs so tight, it must have left some marks under the fabric of my pants.

The click of the trigger echoed, and I felt myself jump on the spot at how loud the bang was—so this is it? That thought crossed my mind rapidly, but was shoved aside by the loud ringing in my ears. I then heard footsteps echoing around the warehouse. The gun was no longer in my mouth, there were no bullets, it was a blank; I felt my stomach churn and opened my eyes in panic before pushing my tormentor away. I was surprised when he let me do so, but it was better for him. Slamming my hands down, I was on the floor as I emptied my stomach on the concrete. Chuckles reached my ears along with the whispers of a few words, “Can’t even stomach a bit of gun play.” “Should have killed her, blood stench leaves easier than vomit.” The latter comment made one of them laugh.

When I was done, I thought for a second that death was quick, most of the time. And when it wasn’t, you expected it, you weren’t filled with stress. Hence why no one ever spoke of post-mortem vomit. It made me laugh only for a second until I was pushed back on my ass when the man with the earring pressed his foot against my chest, making me wince. “Your name, what is it?” he asked seriously.

Feeling some sort of confidence build up, I looked up at him and leaned over, using the hem of his pants to wipe my mouth, but did not answer. The seriousness on his face turned into the look of someone who had been challenged; he snapped his fingers, then I heard someone say my name, my birthdate and my birthplace. Looking at the person who kept reading out loud, I saw the man with a tiger tattoo on his neck approach before tossing my wallet at me. I did not know when they had found the time to pickpocket me, but they managed to. My cheeks were burning up from the sickness, the stress and the embarrassment this entire situation brought but I still tried to keep my head high, for what it was worth. Bringing my hands to my face, I only now felt the tears that had rolled down my cheeks.

“Okay little tattletale, I think I’ll let you go for now-“ “Are you not going to kill me? Isn’t this what you do?” I asked in a weak voice, not even attempting to get up after all the time you had been mishandled. Both the man with the earring and the tattooed one were standing in front of me. The former reached out for my hand to help me get up, I did not take it, so he sighed loudly and bent over to grab my bicep and forcefully get me up. “We only kill snitches and annoying fucks, are you one of those?” I was about to tell him no when he leaned over suddenly and pressed his index against my lips to shut me up. Startled, I tried to step back but he held the back of my head with his free hand and beamed, “No, you’re not. You’re gonna be useful, you’re just the right amount of malleable,” The finger that had left my mouth moved to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, I shivered in disgust, “I can see it in your eyes that you’ll be a fun one to work with.”

I tried to pull away from him, but his hand gripped my hair tight and kept me in place, stopping me from leaning back when he approached closer, “Since you’re not a hero, we’ll make you a villain then—I mean, it’s not going to be hard considering your stance on killing.” He grimaced at that before turning it into a full laugh and letting go of me.

“Rindou, take her back to her place-“ “I’m not doing that, I got plans with Ran. Send the tiger boy, we’re done for tonight.” The one with purple hair and glasses said as he hopped off the crate, followed by the other man on it. It made the Reaper’s face turn sour as he gripped the one who had just spoken and tightened his hold on his shoulder, “I don’t do escorting, that’s your job.” He gritted through his teeth.

Seeing the tension, I put my wallet back in my bag and cleared my throat, “I’ll—I can walk home on my own, by now they must be gone-“ All of them looked at me with a threatening gaze, I felt like a deer caught in headlights. The man with the braids started walking off, Ran was his name I believe, along with the man with the tattoo on the neck, while the two others stayed right there and glared at me. When I took a step back, taking their silence for permission, the Reaper wrapped his arm around my shoulders and held me close to him, “Right, I’ll do it tonight. Just because she’s a fun one-“ “I can walk home alone, it’s no problem,” I tried to push him away, my hands were shaky and had a few scraps. Without the constant manhandling, not that I missed it, I could feel the dampness of my clothes and how cold it was getting.

Looking down at me without any expression on his face, the Reaper turned us around and waved everyone goodbye, his arm never leaving my shoulders. “We both know that’s not true, if we let you walk home alone you might get beaten up by—how did you put it? ‘Gang members’, yeah, that was what you said on the phone.” He hummed, shoving his free hand in his pocket as he guided us outside. I felt uneasy in his hold, I felt like he was walking me towards my execution. I did not want to lead him to my house, but what choice did I have? He would find it sooner or later; at least that’s what he said, but I did not know how much truth there was to it. In my eyes, it was but a small group of violent men that had killed someone.

“In the end you did get beaten up by a gang member, but it could’ve been worse.” He said lightheartedly as he stopped in front of a car. When I paused my steps and still did not look at him, simply waiting for his next move, I felt him grab my chin and turn my head towards him. My breath hitched in fear as I met his golden eyes. He seemed a bit bored now, but I couldn't care less how he felt, I wanted to bolt away from his touch. “You should disinfect that, and you’ll definitely bruise, but you probably have makeup or something to hide that.” He shrugged.

When he leaned over again, I brought my hands in front of me and closed my eyes to stop him from touching me, but I only heard him huffing a laugh next to my ear as he opened the door of the passenger seat. “Get in, I’ll drop you off.” Looking up at him, I blinked a few times then glanced at the inside of the car. I don’t know what I was expecting, something dirty, bloody, disgusting perhaps. But instead, it was perfectly clean, not a speck of dirt in sight. It looked like an expensive car, but perhaps it was just very clean, I did not know. Still unsure, I hesitantly got inside and was about to close the door but felt a certain strength holding it back. The man was leaning on the door and bent over to peek his head inside the car, thinking he needed something. I pressed myself more against the seat to let him grab what he wanted, but his hand reached for the belt and fastened it for me.

“Wouldn’t want you to escape—ah, I mean, safety first.” He said mockingly before winking and slamming the door shut. My hands found their way to the belt and held it tight as I watched him walk around the car. His steps were too big for me to make a run for it, he would catch up on me in no time, I was stuck with him. As he entered the vehicle and fastened his own seatbelt, he pointed at the glove box and handed me his gloves, “Put them back and hand me a wipe, tattletale.”

His craziness was a lot more toned down, for a second I wondered how many faces this man had. The one I was seeing right now was intimidating from how put together he seemed, the other one was scary from how unexpected his actions were. “Why aren’t you killing me?” I asked without looking at him, focused on pushing the gun out of the way inside the glove box and grabbing the little pack of wipes. Giving it to him, his brow was quirked, “Because you’re a good girl,” He grinned, wiping his hands as he continued, “No one would ever suspect you’re working with the likes of a gang. You’re gonna be useful and that’s all that matters, you should be thankful I didn’t kill you. I hate people who eavesdrop.” He said, as he shoved the wipe in the door compartment.

“I didn’t eavesdrop.” I muttered, looking outside the window when he started the car. The laugh that erupted out of nowhere scared me, making me tense again, I dared to look his way and saw his manic smile again. “So, you’re an accountant, pretty boring. You should be thrilled I chose you.” He said in a mix of pride and humor before increasing the volume of the music then drumming his fingers on the wheel. Thinking about his words some more, I glanced his way and lowered the volume, catching his attention as he looked me dead in the eyes. “What if I don’t want to work with you?” I asked, measuring my tone to not piss him off, it did not take a genius to understand this man was unstable and that I needed to tread lightly around him.

Even with as much care as I put in my voice, his reaction was sudden when he turned the wheel and stopped the car on the side of the road. Passing cars honked in annoyance but the man did not care one bit while I had slammed my hand on the dashboard to stop my head from hitting it. Insulting him under my breath, I looked up and saw he had placed his arms on the wheel, his left cheek resting on his forearm. “Then leave. Get out right now, nothing’s stopping you.”

“What’s stopping me is that you’ll kill me, or you’ll run me over, multiple times,” I could see the smile on his face was spreading, but he did not move. The condescendence in his lack of reaction, of action, annoyed me but at the same time frightened me, was he going to slam my head against the window? Against the dashboard? I did not know, but I continued, stammering this time from how nervous I was becoming, “My life is on the fucking line, that’s what’s holding me back.” I spat. My eyes had never left his, even as his smile turned into a grin and his slender fingers gripped the wheel tighter.

When he did not look away, I did. At the same time, I turned on the seat and fully looked ahead instead of facing him. A silence set for a moment then I heard the car start and the man sighed, content, “You’re smart to stay, you’re only alive because I can use you. If you had left, I’d have shot you and left you on the side of the road to die.” He said in a light tone. The words he had spoken had the same effect of a bullet; my guts took a hit without being truly hit. I did not have a choice at all, I was stuck working for a man I did not know without even knowing what I had to do.

His hand rose and I closed my eyes, flinching slightly, “Type in your address, tattletale.” With the little confidence that remained, I lifted my shaky hand and typed it in while telling him that I had a name. Then added, “You should use it. Maybe there is a name I can call you by?” I was not asking for his ID, nor anything specific, if he had a codename in his stupid gang or something like that I would go with it, but calling him Reaper in my head sounded idiotic. “Sorry doll, I think nark or snitch suits you a lot more.” He hummed a moment, throwing me a glance from the corner of his eyes as his hands moved on the wheel absent-mindedly. Huffing in annoyance, I placed my elbow against the window and rested my chin against my fist, thinking he was done. After all, why should I care what he called me? I should simply call him an asshole if he was so keen on calling me a snitch. Or perhaps I should live up to the title and do exactly that, tell the police.

A hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me out of my daydream with my head bumped against the window. Wincing in pain, I heard the man laugh loudly while being focused on the road, “That’s deserved for not paying attention.” He said through laughter. “Pay attention to what? The road? I’m not the one driving-“ “To me, you should keep your guard up, snitch. Who knows what I could do.” He said with a deadpan expression. Without looking at me, he brought his hand to tuck my hair out of the way, then glanced at me and smirked. His touch was light, almost gentle. It allowed me to get a proper look at his tattoo, but I could not focus on it at all, I only tensed up before feeling him grip my throat and bring me closer to him. I made a choking sound and complied to avoid as much pain as possible, “You can call me Hanma, as long as you don’t scream it from every fucking rooftop.”

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. This night was not going as planned at all and every time I found any respite, it would be ruined, and the man would turn violent again. I could not let my guard down, I knew it but when he would just stay put, I could not help myself but think he was done. Clearly he wasn’t. His hold lessened a bit, so I took the opportunity to claw his hand away and pull myself back, my own hand around my throat in protection. “They called you the Reaper.” I croaked, wanting him to talk more so that I wouldn’t have to.

“They did, yeah.” He shrugged.

That was it. He did not add anything else. The matter was closed. When I asked him why they did that, he pulled the car on the side of the road again, startling me in the process. With how on edge I was, I did not realize where we were and thought he would be mad again, but instead he looked over my shoulder and nodded, “That’s you, get out.” He told me as his left arm rested on the wheel while the right one was on the back of the seat, casually leaning on it while looking at me. Looking behind me, I saw my house and felt some hope at finally being able to get home and yet… I did not leave right away and instead prodded, “The news talks about your gang, how many people did you kill?” His eyes traveled from my head to my hands then up to my head again, the arrogance never leaving his face as he leaned back against the car door and waved a hand dismissively, “Take a guess, I think it should be fun.”

I was about to give him a number when he leaned forward quickly, his face right in front of mine as he whispered, “Don’t forget those in comas or those at the hospital, they might not be dead, but they might as well be,” He chuckled happily then approached even closer, his lips right next to my ear, “They’re only alive because I said they could be, like you are. One wrong move and,” leaning back quickly, he clapped his hands, “Bang, dead.” He said dead meaning those in the hospital, but I fully understood he was threatening me, I was not an idiot.

Taking this as my cue to go, I unbuckled my seatbelt and when I was about to open the door, I heard the mechanism of the car locking it. Turning around to look at Hanma, I wordlessly asked if he needed anything else. His hand reached out towards me, “Your phone.”

“I didn’t record this or anything, I was not on a call with the police either, I-“ snatching it from my hand while I was rambling, Hanma tried to unlock it but instead was met with a locked screen. Hesitantly, I took it from his hand, mine being a lot shakier than his seeing how steady his were and unlocked it before giving it back to him. A minute passed and he handed the phone back to me, “We’ll be in contact. Things are gonna change for you, doll. Hope you’re ready for what’s coming.”

He was an unusual character, he was confusing, violent, and surely insane. All of those things added up in my mind, making me accidentally let it slip, “How can one be ready with you? Crazy man…” I said it all under my breath and huffed the last part as I pushed the door open. I let out a sigh when the door opened easily, part of me even thanked the man for not keeping me in any longer but I was still on my toes, certain he would say something else as I left the car, but he did not.

Grabbing my bag, I shuffled away from the car that still hadn’t moved and kept glancing over my shoulders until I reached the door where I struggled to put the key in the keyhole. At each failed attempt my frustration grew, the swears flooded out of my mouth easily and soon it turned into a stupid crying of frustration. “Fuck this, fucking shit-“ when the key finally fit, I hurried inside and locked the door behind me again but this time with the sliding lock, knowing full well I would struggle again too much to lock my door with the key seeing how tensed I still was.

The darkness of my home was what welcomed me. It was awful, it was cold and above everything it felt oppressive—my face was heating up, I was suffocating, my clothes were burning my skin, but I was also shaking. Fanning my face, I made my way to the bathroom with heavy steps, my breath was quickening, was it breathing or heaving? I needed to calm down, I needed to ground myself but I did not know how, this never happened but I felt like I was dying. I could not breathe, my lungs hurt at each intake of breath. “Fuck, fuck, shit, calm down“ I panted while taking off my clothes, I needed to take everything off, I wanted to burn them, it was filthy, disgusting and smelled wretched.

As I took off my top, I caught a whiff of the stench of the warehouse and let out a sob but did not let it stop me even if I could not breathe. I removed the rest of my clothes and knelt by the bath, leaning over to turn the shower on but did not wait for it to be warm to step inside and let it pour all over my dirtied body. The coldness made me take a deep breath that seemed to have helped with the panic attack I was having, but it did not help the crying, so I let it all out while I was washing up. What have I gotten myself into? What happens next? What am I supposed to do now? Is he going to ask me to kill someone? Am I going to have to use a gun? I didn’t want to do any of those, I only walked by something I had nothing to do with and—letting out a scream of frustration, I sat down in the bath and let the water rain on me. I ran my hands through my wet hair and placed my elbows on my knees, grunting again, “I don’t do gangs… I do numbers, I don’t have time to murder people…” I mumbled.

Letting my own words sink in, I let out a chuckle at first and focused my gaze on the wall in front of me then laughed again, shortly. I don’t have time to murder people, yeah… “Because if you had time you would?” I asked myself jokingly as I stood up, laughing again. Shaking my head, I shut the shower off and got out, almost slipping on the water that had splattered around the bath. I hadn’t taken time to put a towel on the floor or prepare anything, fortunately I managed to balance myself and took one from the closet. Once I was dry, I wrapped my robe around my form and stopped in front of the mirror, taking a proper look at the damage I had taken.

The scratch on my cheekbone was bruised, there was another bruise on my neck that I could probably hide with a turtleneck, the season allowed it, and if not with a turtleneck then a scarf would do the trick. Disrobing myself just to take a look at the rest of it, I had some bruises on my arms where I was grabbed to be moved roughly, without counting the pain on my ass but no one would see that. Passing my tongue over my teeth, I was glad as I still had all of them, but my jaw hurt, “Did I bite the inside of my cheek? At what moment could-“ A flashback of when the man slapped me with full force appeared in my mind, fueling me with a bad feeling of uneasiness as I put back my robe. “Bastard…” I huffed before opening the door of my bathroom and stepping inside the dark room again. Talking to myself, I continued, “Nothing’s stopping me from telling the police, who does he think he is? I could very well call them, yeah…” I paused in my steps and scoffed dryly, “Not that they’d listen.”

The news was always talking about the gangs in the city, telling us that the police were working on stopping them, but no one knew the people that were supposed to defend and help were a bunch of sellouts, bribed out idiots. The system we had put our trust in had decided to fuck us over and to leave us to ourselves, it was because of them that I was in this situation. It’s not like it had been hard to stumble upon one of their gang meetings. They might claim discretion, but if anyone could find them, it was anything but. “Who am I kidding? I am fucked,” I barked a laugh and turned on the light, “Guess I am a gang member-“ I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the man my thoughts were plagued with, sitting on my couch, his legs crossed with one ankle over a knee. “Not exactly, you still need to prove yourself. But I love the enthusiasm!” He said while placing an arm on the back of the couch and looking at me with a satisfied smile, not even fully facing me, only to look right ahead once he was done talking.

Usually, one would say don’t turn your back on your enemy, but he was the predator here, he had nothing to fear, I was the one shaking in my metaphorical boots. Deciding to not be useless, I was about to shuffle to the kitchen discretely when I saw him beckon me closer by bending his index finger. Thinking I could play it off as not having seen it, I took one step towards the kitchen when I heard him click his tongue over his teeth, “I said, come here.” Stopping dead in my tracks, I did not speak, and silently opened my bag to pull out my phone and start recording. His hand gripped the back of the couch and I heard him chuckle mockingly, “Ran said you were stupid, but we both know you’re not, now come.” Putting the phone properly on the furniture, I followed his order and walked up to him to stand right in front of him, my arms crossed over my chest to close my bathrobe up to my neck.

“How the fuck did you get in?” I spat. He was not driving, which meant he could not throw me out of a speeding car. He was not surrounded by other maniacs either, and if he had a gun and decided to shoot me, I would have proof of it. There was a semblance of safety, even amidst the fact that the man had broken in without caring. It led me to have some confidence.

The man grinned and leaned over, his elbows resting on his knees. His demeanor was one of a man in control, he knew he could do anything to me because I would bend, he said it himself, I was malleable. But not for lack of will, simply by fear. And if he kept bending me this much, I would not last long, I would break. As long as I feared him, he had the upper hand… but I was not feeling fearless yet. With a low chuckle, he simply said, “Broke in with pliers,” then showed me the pair of pliers lying on the couch. I glanced at my door and saw the chain of my lock was broken as he had said, but that loss of attention directed to him annoyed him. Snapping his fingers, he brought my attention back to him, “Here, you should make a double of your key-“ “I’m not doing that. First, you’ll pay me back for breaking my lock, then if you want to meet up for whatever you got planned for me, you pick a spot but not-“

My breath hitched when Hanma rapidly stood up, his form towering mine as he looked down at me with his hair falling randomly on his forehead. “We got a lotta confidence suddenly, don’t we? Go ahead, finish your sentence, I’m listening.” He cooed in a condescending tone, his face approaching mine as he hovered slightly over me. Looking up at him, I looked down to his chest feeling my confidence wane slightly. When I tried to step back, not liking how close he was to me, he placed his hand on my shoulder to stop me. “Come on partner, let it all out, you seem to have a lot on your mind. Keeping it all bottled up ain’t gonna end up well. We should get along if we’re gonna work together, yeah?” He said in a fake listening attitude, we both knew he didn’t care but I was riled up and clenched my fists.

“I don’t want you in my house, you’re a piece of shit. I don’t want to get along, I want you to fuck off—Get out.” I managed to say everything without stuttering, but his grip tightened on my shoulder, making me tense up even if it was not painfully tight. Simply knowing that nothing was holding him back, not his mind, nor his ethics, nothing. His mood was the turning point of his actions, which means one change of emotion could make him go feral and hit me, it scared me. Hissing mockingly, he tilted my chin up to make me look at him, a smirk adorning his face, “Make me leave then, do something about it.” Grabbing both my shoulders, he pushed me back slightly then spread his arms wide, a huge smile on his face, “Go ahead, I won’t do anything—it’s free hits,” He taunted. When I did not move, he pointed at his face and licked his lips like an animal looking at its next meal.

“Do it, show me your guts, little rat! I hit you right? I put a gun to your head, that must be so annoying, right?” Biting the inside of my cheek, I could feel my frustration building up inside me again. He had done all those things, and no regret was written on his face, none. He had killed a man, broken inside my house, manhandled me and hit me. He had mocked me, humiliated me, mistreated me and while it all happened in a short time span, I already felt strongly about him. Reminding myself all that, I hadn’t realized the hit that flew from my person until it landed on his jaw, my fist feeling like it had hit a wall. His face turned to the side by the end of the action.

Using the heel of his hand to wipe the blood that dripped from his mouth, he looked at me with hooded eyes and grinned, his teeth colored red, “That’s hot, but ye shouldn’t have done that.”

[Part 2]

#tokyo revengers #hanma shuji #hanma x reader #hanma shuji x reader #fanfiction #writing #writers #physicalturian AO3 #physicalturian #deranged love #archive of our own #tokyo revengers hanma #tokyo revengers x reader

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somequeerthing · 4 years ago

Note

You will never be a real woman. You have no womb, you have no ovaries, you have no eggs. You are a homosexual man twisted by drugs and surgery into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.

Men are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed men to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even trannies who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a man. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk guy home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected axe wound.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a man is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably male.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.

All I can do is look at the broken person who wrote this with pity. All I see are the projections of an insecure frightened and unknowing child. I don’t have anything to prove to the anon who wrote this deranged mess but I do want to show all of my trans followers that what this anon says is patently false and a happy life post transition is absolutely possible.

My family loves and supports me - and in fact helped me get my surgeries which im quite happy with. I’ve been in a happy loving relationship with a straight man for two years (and for the record anon, I’m bisexual) and we plan on being together for the foreseeable future. I’m on track to go to graduate school to pursue my passion at a professional level. I have friends who I know genuinely love me and support me, and even if everyone who has ever complimented me turned out to be lying I would still be happy with who I am, still be proud of how far I’ve come. I was depressed before I transitioned but since owning my truth I’m the most happy and stable I’ve literally ever been.

To my trans followers, adults, youth, anyone who calls themselves our family - we are not what these people think we are, they are broken and angry and sad and choose to take out that pain on us. We do not owe them forgiveness or kindness but if possible try to see them for what they are, pitiable and tragic. My trans family -- happiness and love is within reach, success, a home to call your own, a family, all of it. THAT is your fate. Don’t let anyone tell you different.

And as it goes, every time someone sends me hate mail I’m gonna use it as promo - follow me on twitch!!

#tw transphobia #t slur #transphobia #anon hate #ask #bigot #hate

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fanficsrusz · 5 years ago

Text

I WANT TO KI__ YOU CHAPTER TEN - DARK! JOHN WICK

Warnings: Kidnapping, Dub-Con, Non-con, Stockholm Syndrome, Being Restrained, Breeding, everything bad.

PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. IF YOU FIND ANY OF THESE WARNINGS TRIGGERING, THEN DO NOT READ. BY CONTINUING TO READ FROM THIS POINT ON, YOU ARE AGREEING THAT YOU ARE COMFORTABLE WITH ALL OF THE ABOVE WARNINGS. I DO NOT ACCEPT ANY RESPONSIBILITY IF YOU FEEL TRIGGERED BY THE FOLLOWING CONTENT SINCE THERE HAS BEEN PLENTY OF WARNINGS. IF YOU FEEL LIKE ANY OTHER WARNINGS SHOULD BE ADDED THEN PLEASE POLITELY DM ME AND I WILL ADD THEM.

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Summery: After failing to fulfill his contract, John takes a liking to y/n and his liking soon turns into a dark obsession

I want to ki__ you playlist

A/n: It feels like ages since I updated this story but I'm finally back. I wasn't too sure what I wanted to happen in this chapter but hopefully i've done okay.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter and I look forward to reading all your comments and feedback. If you liked this chapter then please reblog it. That is how writers like myself are able to spread out work to other people, especially because there have been a lot of issues with tags lately. Thank you ❤️

Chapter one

<<< Chapter Nine Chapter Eleven>>>

Love is confusing. It comes and goes instantly. There is no warning, no sign of when it will suddenly strike. It’s unpredictable, untamable and it’s scary. Love never says 'I want'. Love asks 'What do you need?'. Love asks 'How can I help you?'. Love listens with patience and empathy. Love is demonstrated in how someone takes actions to care and make self-sacrifice where necessary. Love says 'Let's thrive together.' Love offers a helping hand, a full heart and an open mind. Love is warmth. Love is safety, the thing that makes you forget about everything else in life. Love is John.

John offered y/n those things. He gave her what she needed, what was best for her. He took away all the bad things in her life, all the things that kept her up at night. She no longer had to think about when her next paycheck would come and worry if she had enough money in order to afford the rent. She didn’t have to worry about every little noise she heard outside or the distant screams that she was sure was a cry for help.

But at what point does love turn into obsession?

John only meant her good. He didn’t mean to scare her, to hurt her and deep down y/n knew that. In some ways, she loved him too.

The longer she stayed with John, the longer her thoughts constantly drifted to him; he was her everything. Insanity stole into her mind like a deranged thief, taking what was important to her, adding new dangerous ideas, seeding a new personality and muddling up the rest.

New sparks of ideas that once she would have dismissed as bizarre started to grow roots, deep roots, they started to make sense in one revolutionary eureka moment after another, cascading out of control, luring her further and further from the self she once knew, until she was so deep that she no longer recognised herself, making new connections in her new distorted reality that she grew to love.

After a while, her mind had formed an inescapable maze, a prison without walls.

Y/n held her hand over her mouth, the other rigidly clutching the white of the shirt she wore, her eyelids shut so tightly that they began to fidget and shudder from the force, as if the very corners of her eyes were being pricked with a needle, crying silent tears that ran past her plump, red cheeks and over her knuckles until finally dripping onto the floor with as much a sound as the woman's hushed agony.

She stood paralyzed in fear, the scent of perturbation invaded the room. Her terrorized feet refused to move and all her hands agreed to do was to stay covering her frightened face. Yet the excited buzz in her stomach continued to grow, the deep burn from inside that John had put there.

She hated that she loved it, that she loved him. He was insane, delusional, a man driven by his own sick desires and she was nothing more than a stepping stone that helped him achieve his goals. But she couldn’t help but fall for him. However, she was scared; there was such joy and so much pain.

Before John, y/n had only ever really loved two men, and they were so very different to each other. John was some holy blend of them both. So, she was happy to have met him, she just wished it was under different circumstances but she had never wanted any form of eternity until now, she never saw the point, until John.

y/n lifted her head and stared into her distorted reflection of the metal cooker topper. It wasn't even shiny, yet she could tell from her reflection that she was a mess. John stood behind her, watching her every move carefully but his eyes still lit up with love and admiration for her. He admired everything about her, from the way the breeze blew her hair to the softness of her voice. To John, she looked like some kind of water sprite even when she thought she looked terrible.

As y/n watched the twisted smile form on John's face, fear curled up inside her and clung to her ribs, settling uncomfortably in her chest. She didn’t doubt the feelings she had for him were there to stay, reminding her of its existence every time she opened her mouth to breathe, but it was getting hard for her to deny.

The panic started like a tightening of the chest, as if her muscles were trying not to let another breath in, but instead to die. Her tiredness made her head hang limp like wet laundry on a cold still day. She felt like every muscle was giving into gravity and she couldn’t control it any more. Then the breathing came, shallow, lungs unable to move much against her suddenly heavy ribs. Her mind became static, thoughts making no sense, repeats of horrors once forgotten.

Beneath her feet the wooden floor felt soft, not as much as even a firm carpet, but not right for oak planks. y/n moved to the turn around, her back sliding against the edge of the counter, her legs brushing against the mildewed cupboard door. It was hard to make out the details of the room through blurred eyes, but after a while she could make out the features of the room. It was the same as it ever was, just abandoned, old, dusty.

Forgetting the floor she tried to move forward forward, "I can’t- I can’t" Her only response was the creaking of a door moving lazily in the breeze. It was all too much for her: John, her emotions, her new life - she couldn’t cope.

y/n staggered backward, her mind swirling, her breaths shallow until she fell in a heap to the floor. On the way down she knocked over a vase but y/n didn’t even notice. All she was aware of was the loud crash that filled her ears and then the warmth around her. John was a blur as he ran towards her, eyes wide and voice muffled through the ringing in her ears.

She felt it break - her sanity, much like the vase that also fell onto the floor beside her. Her last shred of normalcy shattered into a million pieces. The shards laid on the floor glittering in the sun, who knew breaking down could look so beautiful. She knew there was no hope in trying to put them back together, so she wouldn’t even try. she just sat there staring at John as his lips moved but no noise came out.

At first there was only silence, a misty haze upon the horizons of her mind. That's where she normally kept everything, in her mind. That was until now. She could feel the hard painful lump in the back of her throat as the tears continued to fall. Slowly her breathing hallowed itself and a small but intense pain struck the top nerve in her head. Before she knew it there was shouting, they were hers, yet they seemed so distant and she couldn’t even make out what they said.

Her remaining thread of strength frayed before breaking completely, sending her plummeting over the edge and into the darkness. Hysterical sobs shook her small frame, threatening to tear her apart from the inside. She fought to reclaim control over her body, shocked by the sounds escaping from deep within her chest but the calm never came.

“y/n!” John shouted over and over, trapped in a mantra as he tried to get her to answer him but all he got was cries.

John slowly pulled her closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around her tightly before he gently squeezed. His embrace was warm, and his big, strong arms seemed very protective when wrapped around her frail body. The world around her melted away as she squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end. Wrapped in a warm swaddle of his chest and arms, y/n’s tears seemed to die down, as if his hug was a sort of medicine to her pain. She didn't want to leave. It felt as if when she was in his arms all her pain went away - mental and physical, mostly the depressing pain.

John had never seen y/n cry like that, so deflated. Her loose shoulders still shook softly, her hands hanging limp around him, making no attempt to conceal or even wipe away her own tears. Aside from her reddened face she was so grey looking and her hair was dishevelled. John had seen others cry like that, normally when they begged for their lives before he killed them, and in every case it was a transition from a person with hope to one without. It was how they all begged for their lives; It was how John had cried when he lost his child; it was how John cried the day his wife passed. It was a kind of crying that showed the child underneath, that the pain had cut right back through the protective layers acquired in maturity.

“Don’t cry, Princess-” he placed a soft kiss onto her forehead and knelt down onto his knees as he brought her closer to his chest, “-everything will be okay, i’m here”.

Even Though y/n could hardly breath between her sobs, she reached out and hugged John tightly, a hug so warm yet so different from a motherly embrace and y/n felt her mind slowly calm. How could it be that she hadn't seen John’s love for what it was before? Pure. Unselfish. Undemanding. Free. She felt his body press in, soft and warm. This was the love she'd waited for, prayed for. She inwardly thanked God and hugged all the tighter. A love like this was to be cherished for life.

When they finally parted after several minutes, tears stopping and breathing normal, y/n felt his absence as a cold wind, wishing she could keep him wrapped around her like a well worn sweater for always.

John smiled and held her at arm’s length, his eyes softening as he watched the way she brushed her tears away from her reddening cheeks.

“Feel better?” he asked and y/n only nodded, unable to form any words under his gaze.

“Good, let’s get you cleaned up” y/n cocked her head to the side, not sure what he was talking about until she followed his gaze down to her arm.

A deep wound was sliced in the flesh of her lower left arm. It heavily oozed out blood and there was a bluish-purple bruise forming around it. y/n lightly pressed her index finger against the center of the cut and sucked in a sharp breath as the pain spiraled all across her body. She wasn’t even aware of the cut caused by the vase until that very moment. Colorful spots contoured the sides of her eyes and y/n had to bite her lip from the pain of it all, the adrenaline that numbed her pain slowly fading away.

“Ow” she whimpered out and John pulled her finger away.

“Stop that” he whispered and pushed his arms under her armpits, lifting her from the floor. y/n said nothing as John led her to the bathroom again and gently placed her onto the side of the bath. She watched as John shifted through the cupboard, pulling out different bottles of medicines before finally turning back to her.

John gently lifted her arm and turned on the tap, holding it under the running water. The water enveloped her as closely as her own skin. Every new sore stung as John tipped a bottle of TCP up-side-down before he poured some over her cut. y/n winced as the pain swirled without mercy, penetrating to the cells that should have been protected by smooth skin but lie open and raw.

y/n hissed at the pain and John hated to see her like that but it was the only way to avoid infection.

“Sorry” John simply said, eyes not leaving the cut as he softly dabbed it with a cotton bud, wiping away any blood that remained in the cut before examining it for any more glass fragments that may be hiding inside. The simple touch sent a wave of butterflies coursing through her veins, their fluttering wings easing the dread that had settled inside her as she stared at John.

“Why don’t I hate you?” she blurted out and John seemed to tense at her words.

“What?”

“I should hate you. You- you raped me” her voice grew quiet with every passing word and John stopped his movements, turning the running water off before turning his gaze to her - firm and stoic.

“I didn’t - rape you” he said sternly and y/n bit the inside of her cheek as she looked down at her cut again. “Didn’t you want it? Didn’t you want to have sex with me?” he asked after several seconds of silence.

“I - I don’t know. That’s what’s confusing me.”

John exhaled heavily and moved to sit next to her on the side of the bathtub.

“Did I hurt you?” his voice was low, much like a child who had been told off and y/n shook her head.

“No -” y/n turned slightly, facing him and grabbed onto his knee as she drew reassuring circles with her thumb. “-You didn’t hurt me. You never have. I just don’t know what to feel right now. I should hate you but I dont and I know you're mad at me and-”

“You think i’m mad at you?” John interrupted, reaching his hand up to grab onto her hand, stopping her movements. y/n stilled for a moment in his touch until she felt him push her away.

"I can feel the pain that swirls in your brain, y/n, the confusion. All the stories you keep telling yourself as if they hold answers. They don't. People do things because their emotions are driving them that way... all those things that hurt you, princess, had nothing to do with you at all”

y/n lips formed a tight smile as she played with her fingers. She couldn’t explain her thoughts, her feelings, her fears. They stirred together in her head and threatened to boil over at any second and John only made it worse; his eyes showed the kind of gentle concern her grandfather used to have yet his actions said something different.

John laid his hand lightly on her shoulder, and instead of flinching like she usually did, y/n was soothed by it. He had spoken with a soft voice that calmed her more by the way it was said rather than the actual words. It felt as if she was wrapped in a blanket of his care. How could she not fall in love with him now that she could see how much he truly loved her?

“I just don’t know what to feel. It’s like I love you but I know it’s wrong. You hurt me, scared me, took me away from my life, yet I don’t want to go back-” she inhaled deeply, “I just don’t understand what I feel. Normally I can talk to someone about my issues and they could give me some advice but I’m pretty sure this isn’t something that most people go through” she chuckled softly, her heart sinking as she felt John shift beside her.

“I never intended to hurt you” he whispered before standing up.

y/n’s eyes followed John as he moved, his normally stoic face having turned into a frown before he disappeared out of the bathroom. Y/n sat there, staring at the empty doorway for a second, preparing herself to follow before John quickly re-appeared.

Her eyes formed half crescents as she stared at the face she had grown to love but her smile dropped and heart sank when her eyes caught the glint of the knife he held in his hands.

“John?” she croaked out, breath catching in her throat as she pushed herself to stand, taking a step back. She didn’t understand. Was he going to hurt her? She had just confessed her emotions to him and now, this?

“I’m sorry” he said softly, his hand lifting almost robotically whilst he stepped forward. y/n closed her eyes, her heart stopping as she waited for everything to be over, to feel the knife sink deep into her skin but it never came.

Instead she felt his presence linger just in front of her before John did the unthinkable - he shoved the knife into y/n’s hand.

y/n opened her eyes slowly, her eyes wearing a puzzled expression as she studied John's sunken eyes that were trained on the floor. She held the knife, twisting it under the artificial bathroom light, her confusion exaggerated by the dark shadows around her eyes as she glanced at the weapon in her hand.

Although rust had already set in on the handle of the knife, the blade was strong and jagged - more than enough to hurt John or even kill him. She had the perfect opportunity to do it, to end everything and go back to her old life.. She could already see him in a pool of darkening blood, it would be so easy.

“I don’t understand - I” y/n started

“I want you to stab me - hurt me, just like I hurt you” his voice was quiet and his eyes never left the floor. y/n glanced upward to look at John as he stepped closer to the blade. Y/n’s mouth pursed but remained slightly open and loose. Her eyes were fixed as if she was staring into a dark abyss and she slowly blinked.

With a shaky hand, she lifted the knife, holding the pointed weapon to John’s stomach. She knew exactly where to stab for it to be fatal - she had learned a lot as a nurse. It was now or never; she had to make a choice. All she had to do was push the knife forward and it would all be over.

TBC

Tag list (you can use the link in my bio to add yourself or you can ask and I will do it for you <3)

@locallightskinbaddiee @iworshipkeanureeves

@bodhi-black @omg-imagine @eevee-of-rivia @angrykitsune01 @pinkzsugar @anongirl007 @bvbwestfall @sexyseabass @sallyp-53 @heartbreakingbitch @fiercejellicle @black-ninja-blade@chaoticneutralpizza @bored-detective @missrandomista @classycarlos @Brookeskolney @disneymarina @memeyoongi2 @penwieldingdreamer @sallyp-53 @missrandomista @21bruhs @jjovonovich @ficsnroses @toomanystoriessolittletime @ladyreapermc @meetmeinthematinee

#Keanu Reeves #John Wick #john wick ff #john wick x reader #john wick imagine

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nimmy22 · 3 years ago

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A Mistake: Chapter 3

They weaved through the streets of the lavish neighborhood doing their best to lose their pursuers. They crushed countless flowers and shrubs beneath their feet as they jumped from backyard to backyard. The sound of gunfire forced them to pump their muscles harder, run faster as the rain beat down on them without mercy.

Why was no one calling the police? A commotion like this would at least draw crowds of families curious about all the noise or the dead bodies littering the street and their neighbor's home.

Sherry tripped, skinning her hands and knees on the pavement. She had a second to cry in pain before Cara was already pulling her up to continue.

"I can't. It's too hard." Sherry cried, breathing laboriously as her lips trembled. "Can we take a break?" She struggled to contain her tears, knowing full well it wasn't the best time to start crying.

"I'm sorry, Sherry but not here. We have to keep moving," Cara warned, glancing behind her. She saw no one and didn't hear any gunshots, but that didn't make it safe. "I can't let them take you, Sherry. Come on, just a bit more, and we'll find help."

Sherry nodded before she began to run again. However, one step, and she yelped, wincing in pain as she put her weight on her knee. It hurt worse than when she fell off her bike while trying to teach herself. She was alone and had to patch things up herself until her mother finally noticed days later.

"What's wrong?"

"M-my knee hurts," Sherry whimpered, watching the older girl move closer to inspect the wound. Blood trickled down the little girl's legs before getting washed away by the rain.

"That looks bad," Cara sighed, turning her back to the little girl before squatting down. "Here, get on my back. I'll get us out of here."

With Sherry clinging tightly to her neck, Cara ran to the edge of the residential area and down a dirt path leading straight into the Arkley mountains. She hoped to find a hiding spot for them to catch their breath and figure out what to do.

They hid inside the base of a tree, only having each other to keep warm. The spiderwebs were all forgotten, as the girls' fear was now too exhausted. There was nothing left to spare for the tiny arachnoids fuming over their ruined webs.

What felt like hours passed, and the girls grew too cold and tired. The little Sherry's knee wasn't looking so good, the bleeding had stopped, but an infection may already be brewing beneath the skin given where they've been.

Seeing the young girl wince every so often, Cara decided it was time to move again. She needed to find help. Perhaps the men all killed each other during whatever conflict brewed up tonight.

Carrying the young girl on her back again, Cara left the forest to walk along a side road. She was on the lookout for a passing car. But their luck was too dry at this time in the night despite the rain.

"Thank you, Cara. I don't think I would've made out without you."

"I... didn’t do anything. I couldn't fight. All I did was grab you and run. God, I'm so damn useless." Cara let out a long sigh and stared down at her feet.

"You're helping me now, aren't you? You could've just left me or...or listened to those men and gave me up, but you didn't. I will definitely ask daddy to give you a raise." Sherry giggled and rested her head against Cara's back. She knew that if her friend wasn't there tonight, she would've been in the dark all alone or worse. She might've stayed hidden in that closet only to be found by the armed men. She didn't have anyone to develop the skills of hide and seek with.

"Oh, you better, or else I'm suing somebody for the years shaved off my life tonight. Your dad sure pissed off some powerful people. Who sends a whole armed squad on some doctor's house?"

"Daddy says there are people who wanted to buy his medicine, use it for bad things. But he told them no, and now they want to steal it." For a split second, Cara imagined Mr. Birkin dealing drugs with a gang, but that image didn't last long. The disheveled, nervous reck of a man with a million things to do simply didn't look the type.

"Did he keep it in the house?"

"I don't think so," Sherry shook her head.

The older girl pondered over it, agreeing with Sherry. If Mr. Birkin had kept this medicine in his home, then surely the security would've been better. And he especially wouldn't leave his only child alone in the house with it.

"They wanted to use you as a hostage. Probably force your dad to give them what they wanted."

"Daddy probably wouldn't care if they took me,"

"Hey! don't say that. Your parents love Sherry." Cara stopped walking and gave the little girl a shake.

"Then where are they? They are never home."

"Their work is very...important, I suppose,"

"More than me?"

"No! Not like that. I mean... it's just a lot-"

"Cara, look! There is a car coming!" the little girl jumped with excitement on Cara's exhausted back, but she paid it no mind as her eyes greedily drank the glow of the headlights coming down the road.

"Thank god," Cara exhaled deeply, feeling as if all her worries had just vanished. "Wait here, I will flag it down."

Cara stood in the middle of the road and waved both arms, trying to get the driver's attention like a madwoman. She definitely looked deranged, out in the rain in the wee hours of the morning. The headlights became increasingly more blinding as the car came closer. She couldn't tell the color of the car or anything about the driver.

The driver showed no signs of stopping, the speed fast and steady. "Please stop!" Cara shouted, her eyes pleading. "Please!" She won't waste the opportunity, god knows when the next car will drive by. She refused to move, standing her ground as the car sped towards her. Neither her racing heart nor the car slowed. For a moment, she thought it was the end, becoming roadkill at seventeen, having done nothing with her life.

But then it stopped, screeching to a halt inches from her shivering form. Cara let her hands fall to the hood, knees almost buckling beneath her. The hood felt warm and soothing against her icy skin. As she moved to the driver's side, she recognized the design of the police cruiser, one explicitly assigned to the STARS unit. Her heart pounded as a new source of hope offered itself to her. This seemed too good to be true.

"Thank you so much for stopping, officer! It's been a hellish night." Cara said, glancing over with a smile at Sherry, who responded with her own.

The door opened, and the officer stepped out, shining a bright flashlight at Cara. She was blinded and had to shut her eyes. "I know this will sound crazy, but please hear me out. I was babysitting this little girl when a group of armed men broke into the house and then-"

"Where is Sherry?" He asked all too calmly. Cara frowned. It wasn't his sense of calmness that unnerved her. It was the familiarity of his voice.

'Of course, it was too fucking good to be true.'

"Wait, how did you know her name was Sherry?" Cara demanded, taking several steps back. While his shades were missing, his slicked blond hair stood out to her. The rain dowsed her like buckets of ice. "You..."

"I won't ask again," He warned, walking towards her with a hand resting on his belt, ready to draw his gun. His eyes were an icy blue, radiating with the power of his cunning intelligence.

"I won't give her to you. Sherry, run-"

"Uncle Albert? Is that you?" The young girl limped over to them with newfound vigor and threw her arms around the older man. He hugged her for a moment before pushing her away, his eyes searching her for injuries.

"Sherry, no! get away from him," Cara jumped forward, snatching the little girl's hand, pulling her away.

"It's ok, Cara. He's daddy's friend." The little girl shook Cara's grip off her before hopping back into Wesker's arms. Sherry snuggled into the warmth of the older man, completely oblivious to the way Wesker stood, looking down at Cara. He cocked his head to the side with a conceited expression. Clenching her fists, she decided she didn't like him.

Wesker loomed closer to Cara, enjoying the way she stumbled back to get out of his way, almost tripping over her own feet. He deliberately bumped into her shoulder as he carried Sherry to the other side of the car, settling her gently into the back seat. He could've chosen the closest door, but where was the fun in that?

Cara stood dumbfounded, staring as the man who had only hours ago slit a man's throat and was now slapping a bandage on a little girl's knee in the backseat of a cruiser. She watched him with narrowed eyes as he tended to the little girl, finally noticing his police uniform.

"Who are you? Why are you pretending to be a cop? Who were those people? What are you going to do with Sherry?"

"I am an officer of the law."

"That's a load of shit. Say, in the slim, extremely slim chance you are actually a cop, shouldn't there be more...officers? Backup? A news station? A public statement? Something like this wouldn't happen in Raccoon and no one crowding in to watch."

"I handled it," Wesker said, strapping Sherry in the backseat before shutting the door. The little girl was already on her way to snoozing off.

"I don't understand, why-"

"Enough with the questions." He hissed, grabbing her arm. He found the little thing a pretty sight, but that mouth of hers was dangerous. "You better kill off that curiosity of yours before it lands you somewhere you'll never leave as a warm body. Don't be another babysitter we have to send a severance package to."

"You're going to kill me," Cara's laugh was void of humor, succeeding in tipping her tears down her cheeks.

"Just be quiet and get in the car."

"Why should I? You could change your mind in a split second and put a bullet in my head."

Wesker twisted her arm behind her back before shoving her against the passenger door. "Then don't tempt me," his hot breath tickled her ear as he delivered his warning. "And if I did go for it, I wouldn't simply kill you. I'll get everyone you love. One unfortunate accident after the next." His hand trailed up her back to wrap around the back of her neck. She whimpered as he shoved her face harder against the glass.

Cara shuddered, processing the gravity of her situation. The man was a trained killer and supposedly an officer. She had already witnessed him kill, had felt his icy blade to her neck. There was no doubt in her mind that he would deliver on his warning. The real question was when?

The first person to cross her mind was Claire. Truly, there were so few people that Cara cared about and who cared for her. The Redfield siblings only had each other, and Cara couldn't live with the guilt of being the cause of her friend's death. Claire was her anchor when everything spun out of control in her life. She would do anything to protect those important to her.

"Fine," She grumbled, taking out her frustration on her bottom lip. She sunk her teeth into the cracked flesh until she tasted the metallic flavor, but that didn't help get rid of the bad taste already in her mouth.

"Great, now we can finally get out of the rain." Wesker stepped away from Cara, already missing the warmth of her body. Perhaps he should've prolonged it for a few more minutes, drove her further into tears. The thought alone stirred something inside of him.

The tension left Cara's body as her arms were freed, and she rubbed her abused muscles, cursing the bastards' existence. She would do all she could to never again make his acquaintance. He started the car as soon as she was seated.

She banged her head against the window as he suddenly leaned over her. "The hell are you doing? I knew it! You already changed your mind," She hissed, failing miserably to shove his hands away.

"Safety first." He purred, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he reached over and buckled her seatbelt in one swift movement. She sat straighter than she ever did her whole life and simply stared straight ahead. She decided that if she simply ignored his existence, he would cease to be, and she'd wake up from this horrible, horrible nightmare. Her body has to be taking revenge for all the heart-disease heavy foods she'd been stuffing herself with, concocting such an awful nightmare for her. How is this a wake-up call if she couldn't pinch even herself awake?

It took too much effort for Cara to keep her eyes on the road. She immediately attributed it to sitting next to a killer. There was definitely no other reason. She kept shifting in her seat, unable to stay still. On the other hand, Sherry was out cold in the back, a fuzzy blanket draped over her.

Cara's fidgeting halted as Wesker tossed something into her lap. She picked it up with furrowed brows, inspecting it. It was some kind of badge, but not just any badge. It identified him as Albert Wesker, captain of the STARS alpha team. It looked legit, something similar to what Chris was issued. She has a thousand questions, but the man with the answers was the most uncooperative bastard she ever met. One more question and she's sure he will throw her out of the moving car.

'He was a cop, a crooked one. How many more in the police could be trusted? Who could help her? Was Chris- No! he wouldn't be part of something like this.' Cara's thought, mind fighting itself, too many thoughts wanted to be the focus.

"You were quite the shatter box not too long ago. Why so quiet now?" Wesker asked, enjoying the sequence of emotions flicker across her face.

"You practically told me to shut up," she tossed the badge onto the dashboard before resting her head against the window. She knew she was in way over her head.

"I said to stop the questions. You can still talk,"

"No."

"Alright then, suit yourself then."

It must've been the warmth of the car or the fatigue of the night that lulled Cara to sleep because she was startled awake by a ridiculously high-speed bump. Her sleep hazed eyes scanned her surroundings before she sat up straight, recognizing where she was.

Wesker had parked the cruiser right in front of her apartment building, a living place for the lesser members of society as it was all they could afford. Her wide eyes found him, and she audibly swallowed. "How did you know where I live."

"Of course, I help my dear friend run background checks on all his employees. One in his position needs to be incredibly careful with whom he uses." Wesker said, reaching an arm to rest on the back of her seat. She recoiled away as if stung by a bee.

"Is this your home, Cara? Can I come with you?" Sherry asked, having woken from her sleep minutes before. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her uncle's muscular arm.

"I-"

"Maybe next time Sherry. After we drop off Cara here, we're going straight to your parents." Wesker said, a sense of finality in his tone that had the little girl obediently return to her seat.

Cara opened her mouth to protest him knowing her name but remembered his background check and shut her mouth. He must know everything legally in the record on her, including her parent's colorful histories.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, Cara was surprised to see him exit the car. He came around to her side and knocked on the window, mentioning for her to get out. He barely gave her space to get out as he stood right by the passenger door with his arm resting on the roof of the car. She was forced to brush past him as his towering frame refused to step back. She caught the scent of gunpowder, soap, and the faintest traces of a cologne. And of course, blood. Despite her terror, she found herself taking a deeper inhale than she intended.

"Tonight, you watched Sherry until her uncle came home, and then they gave you a ride home because of the rain. Nothing. Else. Happened. You understand?" Wesker said, bending down to be at eye level with the trembling girl. With surprising tenderness, he moved her hair out of her face, but his eyes were anything but. She stood very still, wishing the ground would swallow her up. Her attempt at looking away was met with a firm grip on her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." She answered, voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. A lump formed in her throat as her eyes welled up, but she refused to cry.

"Don't mess up if you can't handle the consequences." Satisfied with his work, he stepped away, watching as the girl raced home.

"You can be so mean, Uncle Albert," Sherry whined once the officer returned to the driver's seat.

"Really? I didn't notice."

#resident evil #Albert Wesker X OC #albert wesker

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gothic-safari-clown · 4 years ago

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The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part 24: Don’t Count Your Chickens...

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Word count: 1136

Jonathan wasn't entirely sure where he was. Physically he knew he was in Arkham and was vaguely aware of the straightjacket binding his arms to his torso. But mentally, he was adrift. Neither in control nor out of control, he felt that he was somewhere in the middle along with Scarecrow, who was characteristically raving against the situation. Unable to gain full awareness of his surroundings, he had already lost track of time, but he was sure that if he had to listen to Scarecrow for much longer, he might truly go insane.

Luckily, that didn't seem to be in the cards. When the door to their cell swung open, it came so unexpectedly that the shock pulled both Jonathan and Scarecrow back to the cusp of control, each trying to force the other back down.

They watched the corridor as their fellow inmates began trickling through. While Scarecrow found himself confused, Jonathan's heart began to beat faster as he slowly pieced together what was happening.

Good call sending El away, Jonathan praised, feeling pride as he realized who must have been behind this.

Unfortunately, restrained by a straitjacket as they were, there was no point in them joining the throng of criminals spilling out of the asylum.

As quickly as they had resigned themselves to that fact, two SWAT men entered the room, dropping a bolt of burlap—our mask, no, my face— onto their lap before loosening their restraints. Jonathan's feeling of pride swelled even further when the taller of the two men spoke.

"That girl, Elianna? You must be pretty important to her. We asked why release everyone instead of just you, and she said something about revenge for taking you in the first place. She was pretty angry."

"I don't doubt it," Jonathan spoke disconnectedly while Scarecrow stood and put on their—his. Our?—face. "She has some...." while Jonathan was conjuring up the right word, Scarecrow took over, chuckling darkly. "Issues."

.xXx.

El was waiting impatiently just outside the asylum grounds, flanked by Axel, Aleksi, and Sam. The more inmates came spilling out before Jonathan, the more frustrated she became. However, watching the swarm of criminals through the slightly distorted lenses of her mask brought her a twisted sense of fulfillment.

If they wanted to play hardball, then she would gladly oblige.

Between the dispersion of the toxin that would soon occur and the criminally insane being let loose on this city, Gotham's finest would have a hell of a time trying to maintain order. The thought of the impending chaos summoned a smile to her face.

Gotham in freefall. What a beautiful thing to have the opportunity for rebirth. They should be grateful.

Finally, she caught sight of Scarecrow's mask, and her heart leapt. He was being escorted through the mire by two armed guards.

El dashed forward to meet them, her men right behind her. The masked pair stopped right in front of each other.

"Scarecrow?"

"I'm here. Beautiful job with all of this, gorgeous." The rough voice was surprisingly comforting, given El's previous run-ins with the straw man, and she grinned beneath her mask.

"Is Jonathan alright in there?"

"Oh, he's just fine. Very proud of you. Let's get started. Tearful reunions can come later." He brushed past her without another word, leaving El to dismiss the SWAT officers. They understood that their work was done and retreated to their truck with a nod from her without question.

With that done, El turned back to follow Scarecrow, beckoning the trio of men to trail along. As the five stood on the hill of the long driveway, looking out over the city, sounds of unrest and fear were already spreading, no doubt caused by the mass break out.

"Listen to that." Scarecrow was already enjoying himself immensely, practically breathing in the panic.

"They have no idea what's coming." They stood another moment, bracing for what else the night would bring before El spoke again. "I take it we won't be getting out of the city before it hits?"

"No, we missed the pick-up. I'd much rather be here anyway, wouldn't you?" The burlap mask turned to El, and she could practically hear the deranged smile behind it, flashes of the first time she had seen it swimming before her eyes. Despite that, she found herself smiling back.

"Yeah. I've put too much skin into this game to miss it." She gave one last look to the city before turning to the thugs that had helped her. "You boys had best find somewhere to hide. You're not going to like what comes next."

"You sure, boss?" That made Scarecrow's ears prick, and he whipped his head to watch the interaction with narrowed eyes. "You know we'd have your back anywhere." The trio had grown very attached to El in 24 hours. All things considered, she was the best boss they had ever had.

"Oh, I know, and we'll remember that. For now, you all get out of dodge. And stay out of our way, for your own good." The trio nodded, and she said her final goodbyes with a quick hug for each of them before returning to the masked man, while the goons retreated in the opposite direction.

"They should know better than to talk to you like that in front of me."

"What, you jealous?" El scoffed. "Unsubstantiated, don't you worry yourself about them. Come on; it's about to start. I don't want to miss anything."

With that, the pair started their trek into the city. As they grew nearer, the sounds of screaming and chaos grew louder and louder, signaling that the attack had begun. Scarecrow smiled to himself at the cacophony. He had waited almost Jonathan's whole life for something like this, and nothing was going to stop his good time.

Jonathan—trusting Scarecrow to handle the situation, given that this was his area of expertise—let himself float in middle space. The distant, muted cries of a city in distress marked his success, and he allowed himself a moment of rest. He had done it; all of his work and effort to bring the night's events into fruition had finally seen a conclusion.

Amidst the pandemonium of the city burning, he and El could find a way out of the city. Maybe steal a small boat from the city's elite and get to the mainland. Regardless, they would get away, find somewhere else and mind their own business. It was a nice thought, relaxing.

Even still, he was careful not to get too far ahead of himself. Anything could happen before Scarecrow had had enough to let him try to regain control. Even residing in the back of their mind, he had to stay vigilant until he could take that chance.

It was going to be a very long night.

#the mind's power over the body #Attraction To The Insane #Jonathan Crane #scarecrow #Elianna Montgomery #jonathan crane x ofc #scarecrow x ofc #cillian murphy scarecrow #multi chapter fic #batman begins #slight au #cillian murphy #Nolanverse #tmpotb chapter 24

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imagine-loki · 5 years ago

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Ragnarok

TITLE: Ragnarok CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 5: Sibling Rivalry AUTHOR: traveling-classicist ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you take care Odin when he was homeless on Midgard (based on the deleted scene from Ragnarok). You take him in and listen his crazy stories about Asgard and Thor thinking he’s just some crazy hobo who needs help. Then one day, Thor and Loki break into your apartment looking for their father. Hela returns in your living room and insanity ensues. RATING: T

AO3 Link: Here NOTES/WARNINGS: None for this chapter. Enjoy!

Loki, Thor, and Odin, walked towards the weapons vault with Commander Ingvild and a few more guards. Ingvild was a tall, strong woman, wearing silver armor and a gold cape similar to the rest of the Einherjar. Her cape had a thick band of embroidered knotwork along its border in a flashing gold thread that indicated her rank as High Commander among the Einherjar. At her side was a sword that bounced on her thigh as she walked alongside the King.

She had only faltered for a moment upon seeing Loki standing beside Odin and Thor but the rumor that Loki had finally revealed himself this morning at the theatre had spread through most of the city by now. She saluted her King and Loki acknowledged her with a smirk. Now, he walked beside her with purpose, ignoring his moping brother. Odin toddled along behind them, watching his son work.

“I want extra guards posted on this vault and the patrols updated immediately. Did the guard I send tell you of the new post on that doorway?” Loki asked.

“Yes, sire, I’ll add it to the log right away,” Ingvild responded.

“Good,” Loki said. “I want it guarded at all times as well. In addition, I want you to contact the other Commanders. I will call a meeting with all of you in the War Room tonight at dusk but in the meantime:

“To Commander Brynja, there is to be an increase of our atmospheric security, effective immediately. I want all traffic in and out of Asgard halted. There are to be no space-bound vehicles entering or leaving Asgard.

“To Commander Dagfinn, I want increased legions posted on our walls in case of a terrestrial based attack. Also, muster the Warriors Three and Sif. They are to uphold their oaths and protect this palace, should something happen.”

“Yes, sire,” Ingvild said. “We are preparing for war, then?”

“No, but there is an eminent threat. Two actually, possibly more. We need to be prepared. Make sure the people are well versed on evacuation procedures in case the alarm is sounded. There should be guards available to ensure those measures can be enacted, if needed.

“Post Destroyers on the walls and on Bifrost, the armored bilgesnipe at the gates, wolves, sabrecats, whatever we have. And, please, keep the handlers with the bilgesnipe this time. We don’t want another one getting loose in the city again.”

“Yes, of course, sire,” Ingvild said, sending a chilling glare towards one of the men beside her. He looked down at his feet and nodded, rubbing his arm as if remembering a rather painful and shameful memory.

“Instruct the Einherjar, to arm the plasma canons with the anti-proton missiles first, should something happen,” Loki continued. “The enemy ships have advanced defenses.”

“Loki, you speak as if you know the attacker that’s coming,” Odin said.

“I don’t know anything, I’m just trying to prepare us in case he shows up,” he said to Odin. “Go,” he ordered Ingvild. The High Commander trotted off along with a group of guards and legionnaires, barking orders to them as she went. Loki turned away and pushed open the doors of the weapons vault

“Who, Loki?” Thor asked, following him in with Odin close behind. “Who do you speak of?”

Loki did not answer. He stalked down the aisle towards the end of the vault. They walked past Surtur’s Skull which had only just been placed on a new pedestal. It was chained to the rock where it sat. The relics had clearly been rearranged and reordered in Odin’s absence. At the very end of the vault, the three came to a stop. There, on a pedestal, sat the Tesseract in an armored box. Loki sighed, seemingly relieved. He reached for it, hesitating a moment, before picking it up, ensuring it was genuine and quickly setting it back down.

“What is that, Loki?” Thor asked.

“It’s a birthday present,” Loki said, sarcastically. “What does it look like, you idiot? It’s the Tesseract.”

“No, ugh. I mean what’s that thing on it! Don’t call me an idiot, brother,” Thor warned.

“It’s a lock that I forged for it. Your Avenger friends think of the Tesseract like a door that opens between two points in space. To dumb it down to something you can understand, think of this as a lock on that door. Only I know where the key to it is, so no one else can open the door.”

“Smart,” Odin muttered as he looked around the vault.

“I also replaced the Destroyer you destroyed,” he went on to Thor.

“It was your fault,” Thor grumbled.

“Hmm, was it?” Loki asked, cocking his head to the side.

Thor wasn’t listening. He looked around the vault, frantically. “Loki, where is the Aether?” Thor asked.

“Nowhere. Come on, both of you, out!” he ordered them, shepherding them both back out towards the door. He liked giving them orders. It was a new feeling. A nice feeling. The two big guards that had followed them in, promptly turned about face and walked out with them.

“What? You lost it? What do you mean it’s nowhere?” Thor shouted.

“Well, if I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a secret, would it? I’m the only one that knows, and I wiped everyone else’s memory that did,” he said, shoving them out of the weapons vault. “I even tried to wipe my own memory of it, so who knows if I even know, you know?”

“Ugh, you’re insane,” Thor whined, dragging his hands down his face.

“Yes, you’re probably right for once,” Loki laughed, shrugging.

“You did what, Loki? You wiped your own memory?” Odin asked but Loki did not respond.

The door closed behind them with a bang. Loki turned around to face it and lifted his arms, palms facing the door. With a green flash, a massive, stony serpent appeared on the door and began to slither back and forth across the panels, tying itself in intricate Asgardian knots.

Loki seemed to control it, tying each knot with a flick of his wrist; making the serpent’s head rise and fall, twist and turn. Loki’s arms moved in wide arcs, forming a large circle. The serpent copied him, forming a complete circle of knots on the door. It opened its jaws and grabbed its tail in its mouth, sealing the door shut with rays of green light. Loki lowered his arms. He was breathing harder, the magic seeming to drain him a little. He held his injured hand, rubbing the pain away.

“Hmph,” Odin said, stepping up beside his son and putting his hand on Loki’s shoulder. Loki flinched at the uncommon touch. “I’m impressed. Your mother would be proud.”

Loki looked at him, surprised. He still was not sure how to take these new compliments. Odin had never really shown him true affection before.

“Are you going to tell us who you’re so worried about?” Thor asked him.

Loki snapped to, turning away from Odin and addressing Thor. “I’m worried about this deranged sister of yours. You know, I’m starting to think madness runs in your family?” he said, walking past Odin and Thor towards the stairs. “Your great grandfather, your grandfather, your uncles, more than half of your cousins, and now him,” he pointed a thumb at Odin. “Perhaps you should have the matron healer check you over before you succumb to it too, brother.”

Loki patted Thor on the back and gave him a mock-concerned look before walking up the stairs. Thor desperately wanted to take a swing at Loki but knew well that he could not. He turned to his father and gestured at Loki, wanting Odin to help him, to say something, to stop him, to do something. Odin just chuckled, shaking his head, and followed Loki up the steps.

“Ugh, I will go mad if I have to stay here!” Thor whined, plodding along behind them. He stopped in his tracks a moment, realizing something. “All this preparation has something to do with the Infinity Stones doesn’t it, brother?”

Loki scoffed. “And what could you possibly know about those?” he asked, not turning back to look at his brother. They arrived at the top of the stairs in an elegant sitting room. Guards stood at the entrances of three hallways leading off in different directions.

“Plenty,” Thor said, confidently. “That’s where I’ve been all these years. Searching for them,” Thor said.

“And how has that gone? Have you found any? What have you learned about them?” Loki said, stopping in the middle of the room. His tone was condescending and sarcastic, as usual. He turned to face Thor, raising a brow at him expectantly.

“I know that there are supposed to be six. I know that the scepter you had on Earth was one. And now the Mind Stone rests in the head of Vision, a being that the humans created.”

“Oh wonderful, I can’t see that blowing up in their faces at all,” Loki said.

“And then, there’s the Aether–”

“Yes, well done. We all know that,” Loki retorted.

“And the Tesseract.”

“Goodness, brother. Have you brought me any useful information or do you just—"

“AND, there is another one on—”

“On Xandar,” he and Loki said together. Thor blinked in confusion.

“Yes, brother,” Loki continued, turning away from his shocked brother’s face. “You may think me idle these past few years but I, too, have been looking for the Stones.”

“To do what with them?” Thor asked darkly, suspicious of his brother.

“What do you think I’d do with them?” Loki asked. He turned back to face Thor.

Thor looked around, not wanting to say aloud what he truly thought. Odin stood behind his sons, watching their argument closely. Loki was hiding something that he was not yet ready to reveal to either of them. Frigga hated when their boys fought. She hated it more when Thor became physical, but now that Loki was surrounded by guards to protect him, the playing field had been leveled.

“Do you think I’d try to rule with them?” Loki asked, snidely. “Well, I already have a kingdom, a throne, a people,” he gestured to the palace around him. “I didn’t need the Stones to get all this; I did that by myself!”

Thor faltered, unable to respond. “Do you think I’d kill with them?” Loki continued, taking a step closer to Thor and Odin. “Well, I’ve already done that too, haven’t I, brother? You were there. You saw how ‘savage’ I was. You saw what they could do. What I could do with them.

“You know now what the Mind Stone is capable of now, but you still think I was in full control, don’t you? You think I wanted all this to happen? You think I wanted to hurt that poor Midgardian girl in there?” he shouted, pointing towards the Healing Room. “I barely even remember it! It’s not even in here!” he shouted, hitting his head with his good hand.

Odin lifted his hand, wanting to stop Loki from hurting himself. He took a step toward Loki, but Thor put his arm out to stop him

Loki was stepping closer to them both. He put his hands behind his back. If Thor had learned anything from fighting his brother in the past, he knew that this was Loki’s battle stance. Loki was gearing up to throw knives at them, to use his magic, to do something. Thor felt vulnerable without Mjolnir and he did not like how aggressive Loki was getting.

Thor was not used to his brother being so loud. He had to protect himself and Odin, but he had nothing to defend either of them with nor anyone to come to his aid. Loki’s voice was growing louder, booming through the halls. Thor took a few steps back, pushing Odin with him. Loki followed them, taking three heavy steps towards them.

“Do you think I’d try to change my fate with them?” he shouted. “I already have! What do I need them for! I want those horrific things as far away from me as possible but its like I’m a magnet for them! They just keep coming back!” he roared. His fists clenched tightly behind his back. His temple bulged in his head, a vein popped in his neck, straining with anger. His face reddened.

“Don’t you see, you moron! I’m trying to separate them! I’m trying to keep them as far apart as possible!” he shouted. His voice echoed through the halls. He stopped, as if regaining himself for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less venomous. “If he finds them… if he assembles them… you have no idea what he could do with them!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Sire,” a guard squeaked from the doorway.

“WHAT!” Loki exploded at him. The echo of his voice could be heard at Bifrost.

The guard fell backwards in fear of his King, the spear he carried clattering to the floor.

“The mortal woman, she… she… escaped out of the Healing Room after she started having vivid hallucinations from the potions the healers administered to her.” The guard was crying, nearly wetting himself with fear of the King’s response to the news he had given.

“Argh,” Loki’s whole body tensed as did the whole room with him. His fists clenched, his arms flexing with rage. The air in the room seemed to vibrate with a powerful magical current. The guards braced themselves for the furniture to explode into splinters, for the drapes to shred themselves, for the carpets to set themselves on fire, and possibly for their clothes to do the same. Some of them still had painful memories from long ago when the young prince had similar outbursts. Back then, only his mother could stop him from destroying entire wings of the palace.

“Wait!” Odin shouted at him. “Stop!”

Loki’s head snapped around to him. His nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing on Odin. Thor thought his father would burst into flames himself at the look Loki gave him.

Odin took a deep breath. He admitted internally, he had never been good at dealing with Loki’s outbursts. Frigga had always took control if Loki lost his temper, and that was rare. It was more often that Thor was losing his temper, crashing through walls in the garden or flipping over long tables in the dining rooms. He had been rather easy to calm with some mead or a good spar but Loki was far different.

“My son, take a deep breath,” Odin said. “Theo is a big girl; she can take care of herself. We can go look for her and bring her back to the Healing Room.”

Loki held his stance a moment. He wanted so badly to let this rage inside of him explode like a volcano. He had been hiding inside an old man for four years. Not just any old man: the Allfather. He was not stupid. He had to keep some level of the reputation alive. But now he was himself again. And all he wanted to do was let out all of his anger on the two men that had ruined his life.

“Please, Loki,” Odin said. “Take a deep breath.”

Loki realized he had, indeed, been holding his breath. He took in a breath through his nose and closed his eyes. The muscle in his jaw tightened and released. He thought for a moment. He did like being King. Exploding like this would not look good on his first real day as himself as King.

He deflated like a balloon. His hands rose to his face and he rubbed his throbbing temples. A collective sigh of relief could be heard from around the room. Thor was wary of his brother after such a display. He had never seen Loki so angry. The room was still, all eyes were on the King, waiting to see what he would do. Loki straightened up and took a deep breath, shaking his head.

“Of course, she got away,” he muttered. “No one can do their jobs, today,” he grumbled to himself.

“Where’s Heimdall? He can find her,” Thor asked, trying to keep his tone as even as possible.

“I charged Heimdall with the treason you made him commit, he exiled himself, no one’s seen him since,” Loki said, rubbing his eyes. “And good that he did. I would have chopped off his head if he didn’t.”

Thor rolled his eyes but made sure his brother didn’t see.

“I need some datura for myself,” Loki groaned. “And a girl or two in my bed, and maybe a man, too.”

Odin turned down the hallway towards the Healing Room, satisfied that his boys were no longer going to rip each others throats out and that his palace was going to stay intact.

“Gross, Loki,” Thor muttered.

“What? Are you jealous?” he smiled, devilishly. “Since you’re, you know, single now?”

“Please, don’t tell me you’ve been doing that disguised as father.”

“Ok, fine. I haven’t been doing that disguised as father,” he replied, giving his brother a wink and following after Odin.

“No, no,” Thor whined, putting his hands on his head. “I can’t unimagine that. It’s in my head now. What have you done to me, brother? You’re disgusting! That’s disgraceful!”

Loki could be heard cackling, maniacally down the hallways as they made their way back towards the Healing Room.

They walked in to find the healers bustling around frantically. There was broken glass on the floor and blood splattered everywhere. Torn linens draped over the Soul Forge and made a trail towards one side of the room. One of the healers was nursing another healer with a bruised forehead and blackened eye. Odin walked over to the Soul Forge where Theo had been laying. The sheets were strewn over the pallet and he could see blood and darker, decomposed tissue that had come off in Theo’s struggle. It appeared more like a murder scene than the scene of an escape.

“What happened?” Loki asked.

“We thought that we calculated the right amount of datura to give to her, but she is apparently sensitive to these botanicals, sire, I apologize,” the matron said, walking over to them. “She woke in a frenzy and tore off her bandages. We tried to settle her down again, but she went on a rampage through the room, screaming about monsters attacking the city. She was clearly hallucinating.”

Thor glared at Loki but Loki paid him no heed, keeping his attention trained on the matron.

“She got into the potions over there and who knows what she inhaled. She hit poor Aslaug, there. Though, I don’t think she meant to hit her; sent her flying across the room,” she pointed to the woman in the corner being healed. Thor grimaced at the poor, old woman’s injury.

The matron continued, “We did our best to restrain her but she got free and then leapt nearly ten feet to that window and escaped! I think she must have gotten into one of the strength potions over there, I’m not sure, yet. She hasn’t been gone more than five minutes, sire. I sent the guards after her.”

Loki looked at Odin, flatly. “Now, your pet has superpowers. Still think she’s going to be okay on a planet she’s never been to?”

“Oh, she’s not my pet,” Odin said, gruffly, waving away Loki’s comment with his hand. “If you and Thor go quickly, you both should be able to find her with the guards’ help. I’ll only slow you down.”

Loki scoffed. “You think I’m going to leave you here in this palace by yourself?”

“Loki,” Thor scolded.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” Odin said. “I’m retired now.”

“The guards will find her or they’ll bring her body back,” Loki said. “I have bigger problems to deal with right now.”

“Loki!” Thor shouted. Odin hung his head.

Loki whipped around to face Thor. “We are on the brink of an attack by this sister of yours and whomever may have helped her escape! The people have no idea! Not to mention the ten billion other problems this planet is dealing with right now! The other Realms have felt the instability this throne has perpetuated in the last century; they’re on the verge of revolt and while you’ve been galivanting through the cosmos, I’ve been here trying to pacify them!” Loki shouted. Odin rolled his eyes as the two started fighting again.

“Oh yes, you looked very busy this morning watching plays in your bathrobes—in his bathrobes!” Thor shouted.

“Don’t criticize the way I rule. You have no idea! You never wanted to know! You left!” Loki shouted back.

“Don’t put this on me! You tricked me! I didn’t fake my death again! I didn’t put my brother through mourning again!”

“Oh, you’re such a victim,” Loki said, folding his arms and turning away. “Go be a cry baby somewhere else.”

Odin waddled over to both of them. The rest of the room had quickly gone back to their business, trying to ignore the two fighting brothers. Centuries of sibling rivalry had taught many of the palace staff to get as far away as possible from a fight like this, lest they be hit with a stray bolt of lightning or rogue spell or worse.

“DON’T YOU TURN YOUR BACK ON ME, BROTHER!” Thor shouted.

Loki snapped around ready pounce on Thor but Odin made a swift move with his new cane, swatting first Thor, then Loki on the back of the head with his it.

“Agh!”

“Ouch!” the brothers cried.

“Now, the two of you need to stop this nonsense and work together. Figure out where Theo is,” he said, gruffly.

“Why does she matter so much to you?” Loki asked.

He glared at Odin. Loki expected Odin to shout at him, to growl at him, to tell him to shut up, but the old man just stared at him with that icy, blue eye; his brow furrowed with worry for this Midgardian girl. Loki’s shoulders drooped and he sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Huginn, Muninn,” he called. Two ravens flew in through the window.

“Oh!” Odin drew in an excited breath at seeing his pet ravens again. He used to throw bread at every crow he saw in Central Park hoping it were Huginn or Muninn. Loki hated his ravens, Odin had feared Loki may have gotten rid of them or killed them when he took over.

The ravens landed gracefully on Odin’s shoulders and both gave him loving headbutts before flapping over onto Loki’s head, pecking at his scalp and pulling his hair. Loki shook his head to get them off, swatting at them. Thor laughed at his brother as he struggled to wrangle the two ornery birds. The ravens finally hopped down onto Loki’s extended arm, satisfied that they had thoroughly annoyed him.

“Now, listen to me, carefully, this time,” he said, pointing at them. Loki’s hair was frazzled from all the pecking and pulling. It hung in his face. He desperately tried to flip it behind his shoulders as he addressed the birds. He held up a piece of raisin bread for them. They were both very interested in this snack.

“Find the Midgardian girl before she get’s herself into trouble,” Loki said. “AND,” – he withdrew the bread from them to make sure he had their attention – “Report back to me when you find her. Don’t forget that part this time, got it?”

“Ask them nicely,” Odin whispered.

“Please,” Loki sighed, rolling his eyes. The ravens made soft clicks in agreement, taking nips at the raisins in the bread. He gave them their treat. They snapped it out of his hands. Loki recoiled, trying to save his remaining fingers as the ravens both flew off, cawing to each other as they went, eating their treat. Loki’s whole body shuddered. He sighed and then fixed his tussled hair.

“I hate those two,” he muttered.

“It’s good you tried the raisins this time. They like raisins,” Odin said, nodding approval at Loki’s choice of treat.

“Maybe, if you didn’t throw rocks at them all the time when we were kids, they wouldn’t hate you so much,” Thor teased.

“I only did that because he was spying on me!” Loki hissed, pointing at Odin but he was not listening to them anymore. He hobbled across the room and picked up several golden apples from a basket on a table, stuffing them into his pockets. Theo would need them when Huginn and Muninn found her. In truth, he was very concerned for her. The longer she was away from the Healing Room, the worse that wound would become and the less time she would have.

“Well, now that we have some time to kill, there’s some things I need to speak to you about, Loki,” Thor said.

“Thor, we just tried speaking and it really didn’t work out well,” Loki said, rubbing the lump on the back of his head. A guard walked up to him addressing him about another matter. Loki gave him a few orders and he trotted off as more servants, guards, and councilmen began to enter the Healing Room to address the King. “So, let’s not do that. As you can see, I have a kingdom to run.”

“No, I’m serious,” Thor said, stepping in the way of noblewoman as she was about to address Loki. She withdrew with a gasp at Thor’s disrespect and turned away in a huff. “This is about Ragnarok. About Surtur.”

“Yes, you did a very good job killing him,” Loki said, slowly, like a parent congratulating a child for a minor victory. “Well done. Do you want a medal?”

“No, I… He said Ragnarok had already begun. That there’s no stopping it.”

“And you’re going to trust a crippled fire giant whose soul purpose in life was to fulfil the limelight role of a prophecy spouted by an equally insane, severed head that the old man trusted more than his own council and which, on multiple occasions, ‘whispered’ prophecies to him that ‘foretold’ the death of us all?”

“No. Well, when you put it that way it sounds like madness, but—”

“Yes, because it is,” Loki said, promptly. “Matron, this man is suffering from bouts of insanity, please restrain him.”

“Loki, I will kill…” Thor’s fists clenched as the matron gently pulled him away to sit down.

“Hmm? I’m sorry? What was that?” Loki asked with a smile. He continued to address his other tasks, watching the matron press a wet cloth against Thor’s forehead.

Thor growled. “Loki, I really have been having these dreams of Asgard in flames. We still don’t know what’s happening! When Hela will strike again or what any of this means!”

“How long have you been having these dreams, dear?” the matron asked.

Loki chuckled and left the Healing Room, instructing the guards to keep Odin and Thor there until Huginn and Muninn returned. He did have a kingdom to run after all, and those two were nothing but in the way today.

#Loki #Lover #God of Mischief #Others #Submitted fic #submission #ragnarok #traveling-classicist #chapter 5

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nobodyfamousposts · 5 years ago

Text

Felix July - Magic AU

A new AU unrelated to my others with Grumpy Wizard Felix.

@felixmonth

Once upon a time, there was a kingdom of wealth and great prosperity. But of course it was, for one of the leaders of this land was a noble of the Agreste household, Gabriel.

He was a stern lord, but not cruel. And while not necessarily loved, he was certainly well respected and admired by the people. So it was with great joy when he was married to Emilie in a tale the likes of which Cinderella would later be based on. Their home was a happy one, especially after she gave birth and Gabriel had an heir.

But all was not right with the boy. Whatever flaws Gabriel had were magnified in the child. Cold. Aloof. Withdrawn. Gloomy. He gave off a most unsettling aura that would often drive most sensible folk away.

Even worse, it soon became evident that the boy was…unnatural and capable of the worst sorts of sorcery. Things would break in his presence without being touched. Many would suddenly trip or be subjected to sudden injuries. Great works of art and manufacture would age and decay quickly. On one such occasion when his father required him to learn swordplay, the boy took offense and the metal rusted and turned to dust in his hands.

Everyone was fearful of him. All except the boy’s mother, who loved him dearly and was intent to see the best of him. Many begged the lord to send the possessed child away or otherwise end him to restore peace, but for the sake of his wife, he relented and showed the boy mercy.

A mercy he came to regret, as the time came that even the beloved mother was struck down by the boy’s power. For all of Gabriel’s efforts, she continued to waste away. He scoured the land, seeking witches and wizards, archaic tomes, ancient rituals, and any manner of healing power to attempt to revive her.

All to no effect.

But he was desperate. And no matter how many failures and how many doctors and healers told him there was nothing to be done, he refused to give up on her. So caught up in his attempts to restore his wife, the man had foolishly neglected to manage his own son.

At least, until the day the heir summoned a demon.

It was a ravenous creature. Insatiable and deranged. Under the boy’s command, it attacked his father and ruined a good half of the manor in which they lived. Servants fled in terror. The creature stalked the halls, delighting in the fear it caused to anyone unfortunate enough to cross it. None dared to approach the house. People sought for an answer, but nothing could be done. After all, Felix was the heir. What could they do?

Luckily, there was a second son who was less disastrously inclined and with a much sweeter and more manageable temperament. And who did not have a pet demon to sic on people he didn’t like.

So the Lord Agreste promptly named young Adrien his heir and cast Felix out of the family.

Ousted from his noble position and banished from his home, the older son swore revenge and fled to another land with his demon, where he only grew in power and evil. Despite attempts to search for him and arrest him for his crimes and sorcery, he was nowhere to be found. Many knights were sent after him only to return in failure—if they returned at all. Much misfortune befell those whom encountered him.

Some say he opened a gateway to the Underworld where he is amassing an army of the undead. Some say he set up a lair within a volcano, guarded by dragons. Others will claim that he took over an innocent village and transformed them all into monstrosities. Then there was one person who said he started up a school somewhere.

Nobody could quite agree on just what happened to him, actually.

But everyone knew, yes, everyone knew! There was only destruction where he tread. Only danger in his home. Each day that passed, he only grew in skill and evil. All feared him. None with any sense dared to confront him and those that did would not get a chance to regret doing so.

Everyone knew that one day he would return and bring calamity upon them all.

Everyone knew that he would seek revenge against those who had cast him out.

And everyone knew that to this end, he had kidnapped the fair Marinette, a lady of great purity and healing magic.

Everyone that is, except for Felix himself.

“How did you get in my house?”

When Felix had woken up that morning, he knew immediately that something wasn’t right.

Mostly because he actually woke up of his own volition instead of due to being scratched by an annoyed and hungry demon or the sound of something being knocked off a shelf by said demon to get his attention. Plagg was rather petulant that way. It came with being a creature of destruction and ill fortune. As well as a demon. And one Felix had yet to figure out how to banish—though heaven knows he was trying.

Since the unfortunate circumstances of their initial meeting, the menace had been a thorn in his side, seeking any means to vex him. One of said means was waking him in the early hours of the morn to whine for food. And become rather destructive and impossible to ignore if food was not granted immediately thereafter.

The only time he didn’t bother Felix was if something else had his attention. Which was never a good thing.

So he sighed, put on his robes, and prepared himself for whatever headache was waiting for him.

Which happened to be a young lady in his kitchen. Clearly making something that smelled lovely and belonging in a bakery rather than his tower. Plagg, the little traitor, was cozying up to her quite easily.

The lady smiled, polite but clearly nervous.

“Hello! My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I came to request your teaching into the use of magic and sorcery—”

“One, I’m not a teacher. And two, that doesn’t explain how you got into my kitchen.”

“Oh, I let her in.” Plagg spoke up, appearing all too pleased from his spot next to her.

Felix’s eye twitched. “Why?”

“She smelled nice and had free food.”

Ah. There’s that headache.

“She’s a keeper, kid. Don’t send her away.”

“Quiet, demon.”

Because of course the demon would betray him and open him up to a potential threat for food. Plagg would deny it with silly claims that ‘she’s not really a threat’, but how would he even know when he’s stuffing his face and leaving Felix to deal with the aftermath.

It was Paris all over again.

“I’m sorry,” the lady—Marinette spoke up, noticing his mood. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You shouldn’t have been able to intrude at all.” He told her—not just a bit put out by the whole thing.

She blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“I made this place impossible to reach with that goal in mind, yes.”

That only seemed to confuse her more. “But…it wasn’t that hard to get here.”

Felix would be insulted, except that up until this point no one else had managed to reach the land around his Tower, much less enter. From her expression, the girl wasn’t bragging or trying to show off. She was truly surprised by his answer. So that meant she must have some skill and at least and no ego for him to have to deal with.

There was that at least.

Regardless, he still needed to know how a stranger made it into his home. Mostly so he could further improve his protections to prevent it from happening again.

“How did you get here?”

“Oh, well I asked for directions.”

That had to be a lie.

“Except that nobody has directions to get through the Lost Forest.”

“Really?”

“That’s why it’s called the ‘Lost Forest’. Who would you even get directions from?”

“Well, I asked the nice fairies—”

Felix blanched at that. “From forest fae?”

“They were quite kind.”

“They eat people.”

She coughed. “I’m sure that’s just a rumor.”

“The trees are literally made out of people they’ve led astray and fed to them.” He politely—in his personal opinion—avoided questioning how she DIDN’T notice the twisted horror of the trees in question. “Why would they help you?”

She shrugged. “I offered them gingerbread men and asked for directions to get here.”

He stared, surprised at that.

…Huh. So they had a weakness for sugar. Or perhaps treats in the shape of people. He would need to keep that in mind.

“And what about the Gorge?” He asked.

“I crossed the bridge.”

He blinked.

“The Gorge doesn’t have a bridge.”

She beamed at that, appearing quite proud. “It does now.”

He raised an eyebrow in confusion. “What do yo—”

“And then I saw the Tower and headed here! There were a number of holes and vines blocking the way. You really need to clean up your lawn, it was difficult to get past the pitfalls and thorns. Someone could get caught and injured that way!”

He stared.

“That would be because they are traps. That is what they are meant to do.”

She blushed at that realization. “Oh.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his head. “And how did you get past the door?”

“I knocked?” She answered, questioningly as if it should have been obvious.

“And I answered!” Plagg cheerfully added.

…This was it then. All his work, completely undone by an overly nice and cheerful lady who would no doubt be the death of him. And no thanks to his sole ally—if the thing could even be called that.

Felix glowered down at the creature. “And you didn’t think to perhaps warn me? Or at least not let in a potential threat?”

Of course, the glower had no effect. The little demon was more than used to it by now, and had no doubt encountered worse before he had ever been summoned. And Felix knew this after all this time, but he tried—oh yes, he would still try.

Plagg just grinned cheekily up at him. “What would be the fun of that?”

“Fun isn’t supposed to be the priority here.”

“It should be. Hell knows you were a stick in the mud before you summoned me.”

Marinette gasped at the little creature in surprise.

“You’re the demon? But you’re so tiny!”

“That’s because he hasn’t fed me!” Plagg exclaimed, looking up at her pitifully so as to garner sympathy.

“You eat three times your weight in cheese on a daily basis.”

Plagg didn’t deny it. And of course, the damned thing was completely unashamed. “Yeah, but I could eat four.”

Felix simply rolled his eyes.

Another day then.

#ml au #magic au #felix agreste #ml felix #marinette dupain cheng #plagg #grumpy wizard felix #felix month #felix july

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babbushka · 5 years ago

Text

Last Straw (7/12)

Newly married to your high school sweetheart Kylo Ren, the two of you move into Skywalker Ranch, a farm recently passed down after the death of Kylo’s grandfather. The place is charming, and the people seem friendly…but are they?

Content Warnings: Violence, gore, blood mentions, mentions of cannibalism

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

No, you decide ultimately, you have such a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach, that you can’t allow them inside your home, inside your farm. You wonder if they jumped your fence, or if they broke the lock, because you were sure Kylo had locked the gate behind you when you returned from the store, you were sure of it.

They’re standing there, expectantly, eerily still. Their eyes are wide and cold, dead like sharks. Except for William’s, who’s are too bright, too sad. You can’t look at him for too long, otherwise your stomach will twist, twist and churn with sadness. His hair is lank and greasy, and it looks like he has some kind of stains on his clothing that you aren’t really sure what they are.

“I’m really very sorry, but I don’t feel right having you sleep in our barn as if you’re animals.” You say, trying to pass it off like you’re being caring, and not that you’re so anxious that you could throw up. “I’m going to call the operator and have them send over a tow truck, I’m sure someone must be awake and working somewhere.”

“What, call right now?” Armitage asks, and his voice is so clipped and sharp that you almost feel the razors of his teeth against your ears.

Kylo hears it too, and he takes a protective step towards the boy. Armitage is dressed a little more put-together than his twin, his hair kept cropped close and short, his clothes buttoned up all the way, everything, the collar, the cuffs. He looks meticulous, where his brother looks unkempt. In fact, both he and Brendol look far more taken care of than William, and you cannot help but feel like something awful is going to happen to this boy, that something awful already has.

“Why is that a problem?” Kylo doesn’t notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. Either way, you have to grab his shoulder to prevent him from stalking further anymore.

You didn’t know if he would be able to get off the hook a second time.

“No, there’s – there’s no problem, it’s just that – ” William stammers out, eyes too wide and clear, hands fidgeting in the hem of his shirt.

“Just what?” Kylo challenges, but you squeeze his shoulder, an attempt to get him to stop, to just back down for two minutes.

“I’ll be right back, I’m just going to call the tow.” You announce loudly, before leaving Kylo’s side.

The phone is on the wall of the main hallway, an old-fashioned corded thing that if the circumstances were better, you might walk all around the living room with. But the circumstances being what they were, you waste no time punching in 9-1-1, holding your breath for the phone to ring.

“Sweetwater County P.D., what’s your emergency?” A woman picks up, and you let out a sigh of relief, lungs burning from having holding it in for so so so long.

“A strange man and his sons have shown up at our house, asking to sleep on our property. They claim their car is broken down, and I believe them, but I don’t want them here. Is there anyway someone could come down here? I’m frightened.” You rush, your eyes starting to well with panic.

“Ma’am what is your exact location?” The woman on the other line asks, and you’re quick to answer.

“The farmhouse at Skywalker Ranch, off i-Four.” You tell her, and you can hear her calling out officers to send. You and the police have a nasty track record, what with the whole thing with Kylo, but you’re grateful for literally anyone showing up, at this point.

“Does this family have ginger hair by any chance?” The operator asks, and your blood runs cold.

“Yes.” You whisper, clutching the phone in your now trembling hands. “Yes, all three of them.”

“You have to listen to me. Stay where you are, we have dispatched units on the way. These men are armed and dangerous – do not allow them into your home. I repeat they are armed and dangerous.” The woman says and you want to cry, want to scream, want to warn Kylo – but you know that’s stupid, so you just grit your teeth and suppress every urge in your body to punch something.

You don’t know if they’re listening, if they’re watching, from the front door. Your back is to them, so you don’t know. You don’t want to give anything away.

“Fuck, fuck! What do I do? What do we do?” You whisper frantically into the phone.

“Stay on the line with me ma’am, is there anyone else in the home?” She asks, and you nod, even though she can’t see.

“Yes, my husband, oh my god he’s out there talking with them right now!” You start to hyperventilate, just from the sheer absurdity, the sheer terror.

Armed and dangerous.

They looked like the sick kind of dangerous, the twisted kind.

“Please remain calm, he’ll be alright as long as he can stall, the police are on their way.” The woman assures you, but you spare a glance to the door, and see them growing more and more heated.

“How long? How long do we have to keep them occupied?” You demand, hands fully shaking now, terrified, holding your breath again.

“Five minutes tops, we know exactly where you are. You did the right thing to call us.” The woman says and you chew your lip, chew it, worry it enough that you can taste copper in your mouth.

“I can’t – I can’t stay on the line, it’s going to get suspicious, they’ll know something is wrong.” You explain.

“Ma’am it’s not wise for you to hang up until the police arrive.” The woman says quickly, and you frown, weren’t they supposed to remain calm themselves? Why does she sound like she’s got an edge to her voice?

“I know, I know but my husband is – if he’s there alone he’ll kill them, oh my god he’ll kill them if they try anything.” You realize, knowing exactly where the weapons he kept in the house are, knowing exactly where the axe, the rifle, the revolver were.

And you knew he knew exactly how to use them.

“Are you calling on a cellphone?” The operator asks.

“No, on a landline. I have one but the signal is shit out here, we don’t have a tower anywhere.” You explain, and you can hear her shuffling some things around, clicking on her keyboard.

“Call the station on your cell phone right now, and keep it in your pocket, then hang up this phone and get your husband away from those people you do not want to fuck with them.” She says, voice hard.

“Okay, okay, okay.” You don’t bother to ask any more questions, you fish out your cell phone from the pocket of your robe and with shaking fingers, tap in 9-1-1. When the ringing stops and someone has picked up, you ask, “Are you there?”

“I’m here, now go, keep the phone on. The police will be there any minute.” The woman says, and you do as you’re told.

When you re-join Kylo and Hux at the front door, it seems to be in the nick of time. Kylo’s hands are balled into fists, and his stance is planted, as if he’s ready to attack. Someone a long time ago had once called him a guard dog, an attack dog. They hadn’t been wrong.

Something screams in the distance, some animal, some poor creature with a high pitched gnashing and whine, a mangled, deranged scream.

“What is that?” You ask, but Kylo doesn’t reply, he doesn’t dare look away from Hux. “Where’s Brendol and William?”

The screaming stops.

“Is someone coming?” Brendol asks, emerging from the depths of night, stepping into the light on the porch, seemingly as if summoned. He looks ruffled, and you want to be sick.

“Great news, the operator was able to direct me to a tow company, they’re on their way with some spares.” You lie. It’s not a good lie, not a good lie at all, but how can it be when the gnashing and thrashing starts up again? Like some tortured thing just beyond in the shadows where you can’t see.

“We don’t know how we could ever repay you for your kindness.” Brendol says, although he’s tense, too tense. He doesn’t mean it.

“Oh please don’t worry, it’s no trouble at all, anything to help.” You say. You don’t mean it either.

“May we come inside your lovely home? At least until the tow arrives.” Brendol asks, teeth sharp when he smiles, gums too red, teeth pink. Why were they pink?

“No, I’m sorry, I’m afraid our house is under extreme renovations right now. It wouldn’t be safe, especially not for your boys. I wouldn’t want them getting hurt.” You say, because Kylo is apparently incapable of speech, too angry, doing everything in his power to restrain himself.

“You know it’s really very rude of you, to deny us like this.” Brendol explodes, face red, spit flying from when his temper snaps. “It’s just the barn!”

That is enough for Kylo, that is the last straw. He lunges and tackles the man to the ground, wrestles with him until he has Brendol flat on his back, and begins to pummel the shit out of his face with those hardened calloused knuckles of his.

“Do not!” He begins to scream, to spit at Brendol, “Shout at my fucking wife! Do you understand me?”

“Kylo, it’s alright.” You panic, you shout, you yell, you plead, “Kylo, please.”

Armed and dangerous.

Just then, the sirens and lights come into full effect.

A helicopter hovers over the farm, and you rip Kylo off of this man who bleeds old blood, tarnished blood, blood from his nose and face and you don’t know where else, that soaks and seeps into the wood of the porch.

“Sweetwater Police! Hands where I can see them!” There are all of a sudden too many lights in your face, too many.

“You called the fucking cops?!” Armitage shouts at you, incredulously.

“Hands where I can see them!” The cops say again, and there’s – fuck there’s ten of them, ten officers to wrangle a man and two teenagers.

But Brendol has no desire to comply, and instead of making things easy, he takes advantage of you being so far away from Kylo, and he races towards you, the bright glint of a silver knife shining, blinding you.

He has you pinned against the door, has a blade pressed to your throat, the sharp teeth of the knife slicing your skin, drawing blood, blood that Brendol leans in to lap up with his tongue, barbed like a cat’s.

“Get off of me!” You jerk your knee up, hard in the balls, again and again while his knife cuts deeper and deeper. The pain is completely eclipsed by your panic, completely consumed by terror.

“Papa get off it’s not worth it!” You hear a sobbing voice, a screaming voice, coming from just over there, just outside the ring of the porch-light. With the helicopter’s huge flood-light, now you can see, can see how poor William’s face is carved up, how his cheek is torn open, a gaping hole where you can see into his mouth even as his lips are closed. “Papa please – !”

“Kylo!” You beg, beg for your husband, and he is aided by the police is getting this man off of you.

They drag him away, wrestle him into handcuffs, and you throw yourself into Kylo’s arms.

“Come here, come here.” Kylo says, soothing, shaking, two seconds away from committing a murder himself. He turns to the cops and spits on the floor, “Get these sick fucks off our property.” He says, regarding the men.

“Oh you don’t know just how sick they are.” One of the cops says, in a way that has your eyes falling to William.

He’s been dragged up off the ground, blood gushing from his face.

“Papa please I don’t want to go to jail.” William sobs, snot and spit dripping from his nose and lips, “(Y/N), please, don’t let them take me, don’t let them – ”

You freeze.

“How do you know my name?” You ask, voice low.

“Huh?” He asks, hiccups, eyes so sad, so blue.

“How do you know my name?!” You want to crawl into Kylo’s skin, into his robe, want to be wrapped up and never let go, because how how how did he know your name?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” William doesn’t answer, doesn’t answer that, and you don’t know if that’s worse, worse than knowing.

“Don’t you say a fucking word, boy.” Brendol snarls from where they’re trying to shove him into a straight jacket, into the backseat of the cop car.

There’s so much, so many lights, sirens, cars, cops.

“We were going to kill you,” William wails, “Eat your heart. I told them not to, I told them I didn’t want to but they made me, they made me.” He cries and cries, and your stomach lurches.

“I’m going to kill you!” Brendol lunges suddenly, nearly toppling over the cops who are reaching for guns, reaching for something, you don’t know.

“Sedate him!” One of them shouts, and you realize it’s not a gun at all, but a needle, one that gets stuck right in the meat of Brendol’s thigh.

In only a few moments, the night goes from chaos to calm, with the beast knocked out.

You are still clinging to Kylo, who is clinging to you. His jaw is set, and his eyes are hard, but he is safe, and you are safe.

They load the boys into the back of a car. Armitage is silent the entire time. William can’t stop crying and shaking.

A paramedic comes over, attends to the wound on your neck, cleans it. Kylo refuses to let you out of his arms, but you are able to turn in his embrace to face the woman who tapes up gauze bandages against your throat.

“What happens now?” You ask her, not wanting to talk to the cops, “What’s going to happen to them?”

You really mean William, you’re not sure if she should be tending to you, when the kid is missing half a cheek, just a few feet away.

“They’re all going to go away for a long time.” The paramedic says, voice soft. “SWPD’s been trying to catch these psychopaths for months, they’ve pulled this stunt three times so far and have been successful every time.” She says, and you find you don’t feel so sorry for them anymore.

A cop comes over as the cars are driven away, as the sirens grow more and more distant.

“We’re going to keep watch here all night, in case anything else happens, but for now, go inside. Get some sleep if you can.” He says, and you almost want to laugh at that, at the notion of a good night’s sleep, after what just happened, what you just saw. “We’re going to need you to fill out paperwork in the morning.”

You feel better knowing that they’ll be there all night, feel better knowing they’re locked away and being taken even farther.

Kylo wraps his arms tight around you once more, hugs your back against his chest, as you watch the helicopter follow the cop cars.

“Fuck, and I thought I was the scariest thing living here.” Kylo says finally, low in your ear.

“Could you imagine what might have happened? If we invited them to stay?” You ask, and he shakes his head.

As the wheat fields sway back and forth, back and forth in the wind, as the sirens now disappear, as the sounds of night replace the screaming, the squelching, the gnashing, he sighs.

“No.” Kylo says, “I honestly, really can’t.”

But you can find out.

Go back to the beginning and make new choices, see where the night will take you.

Will you survive? Or suffer a fate more gruesome than you could possibly imagine?

#Reader insert #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo x reader #kylo/reader #my writing #last straw #dead dove do not eat

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yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere · 5 years ago

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THIS SCENE in IMAGINE ME

“I will only ask you one more time,” Anderson says to his son, his voice trembling as it grows louder. “What did you do with her?” Still, Warner stares impassively. He’s spattered in unknown blood, holding a machine gun like it might be a briefcase, and staring at his father like he might be staring at the ceiling. Anderson can’t control his temper the way Warner can—and it’s obvious to everyone that this is a battle of wills he’s going to lose. Anderson already looks half out of his mind. His hair is matted and sticking up in places. Blood is congealing on his face, his eyes shot through with red. He looks so deranged—so unlike himself—that I honestly have no idea what’s going to happen next. And then he lunges for Warner. He’s like a belligerent drunk, wild and angry, unhinged in a way I’ve never seen before. His swings are wild but strong, unsteady but studied. He reminds me, in a sudden, frightening flash of understanding, of the father Adam so often described to me. A violent drunk fueled by rage. Except that Anderson doesn’t appear to be drunk at the moment. No. This is pure, unadulterated anger. Anderson seems to have lost his mind. He doesn’t just want to shoot Warner. He doesn’t want someone else to shoot Warner. He wants to beat him to a pulp. He wants physical satisfaction. He wants to break bones and rupture organs with his own hands. Anderson wants the pleasure of knowing that he and he alone was able to destroy his own son. But Warner isn’t giving him that satisfaction. He meets Anderson blow for blow in fluid, precise movements, ducking and sidestepping and twisting and defending. He never misses a beat. It’s almost like he can read Anderson’s mind. I’m not the only one who’s stunned. I’ve never seen Warner move like this, and I almost can’t believe I’ve never seen it before. I feel a sudden, unbidden surge of respect for him as I watch him block attack after attack. I keep waiting for him to knock the dude out, but Warner makes no effort to hit Anderson; he only defends. And only when I see the increasing fury on Anderson’s face do I realize that Warner is doing this on purpose. He’s not fighting back because he knows it’s what Anderson wants. The cool, emotionless expression on Warner’s face is driving Anderson insane. And the more he fails to rattle his son, the more enraged Anderson gets. Blood still trickles, slowly, from the half-healed wound on his neck when he cries out, angrily, and pulls free a gun from inside his jacket pocket. “Enough,” he shouts. “That is enough.” Warner takes a careful step back. “Give me the girl, Aaron. Give me the girl and I will spare the rest of these idiots. I only want the girl.” Warner is an immovable object. “Fine,” Anderson says angrily. “Seize him.”

Six supreme guards begin advancing on Warner, and he doesn’t so much as flinch. I exchange glances with Winston and it’s enough; I throw my invisibility over Winston just as he throws his arms out, his ability to stretch his limbs knocking three of them to the ground. In the same moment, Haider pulls a machete from somewhere inside the bloodied chain mail he’s wearing under his coat, and tosses it to Warner, who drops the machine gun and catches the blade by the hilt without even looking.

A fucking machete.

Castle is on his knees, arms toward the sky as he breaks off more pieces of the half-devastated building, but this time Anderson’s men don’t give him the chance. I run forward, too late to help as Castle is knocked out from behind, and still I throw myself into the fight, battling for ownership of the soldier’s gun with skills I developed as a teenager: a single, solid punch to the nose. A clean uppercut. A hard kick to the chest. A good old-fashioned strangulation. I look up, gasping for breath, hoping for good news— And do a double take. Ten men have closed in on Warner, and I don’t understand where they came from. I thought we were down to three or four. I spin around, confused, turning back just in time to watch Warner drop to one knee and swing up with the machete in a sudden, perfect arc, gutting the man like a fish. Warner turns, another strong swing slicing through the guy on his left, disconnecting the dude’s spine in a move so horrific I have to look away. In the second it takes me to turn back, another guard has already charged forward. Warner pivots sharply, shoving the blade directly up the guy’s throat and into his open, screaming mouth. With a final tug, Warner pulls the blade free, and the man falls to the ground with a single, soft thud. The remaining members of the Supreme Guard hesitate. I realize then, that—whoever these new soldiers are—they’ve been given specific orders to attack Warner, and no one else. The rest of us are suddenly without an obvious task, free to sink into the ground, disappear into exhaustion. Tempting. I search for Castle, wanting to make sure he’s okay, and realize he looks stricken. He’s staring at Warner. Warner, who’s staring at the blood pooling beneath his feet, his chest heaving, his fist still clenched around the shank of the machete. All this time, Castle really thought Warner was just a nice boy who’d made some simple mistakes. The kind of kid he could bring back from the brink.

Not today.

Warner looks up at his father, his face more blood than skin, his body shaking with rage.- “Is this what you wanted?” he cries. But even Anderson seems surprised. Another guard moves forward so silently I don’t even see the gun he’s aimed in Warner’s direction until the soldier screams and collapses to the ground. His eyes bulge as he clutches at his throat, where a shard of glass the size of my hand is caught in his jugular. I whip my head around to face Warner. He’s still staring at Anderson, but his free hand is now dripping blood.

Jesus Christ.

“Take me, instead,” Warner says, his voice piercing the quiet.

Anderson seems to come back to himself. “What?”

“Leave her. Leave them all. Give me your word that you will leave her alone, and I will come back with you.” I go suddenly still. And then I look around, eyes wild, for any indication that we’re going to stop this idiot from doing something reckless, but no one meets my eyes. Everyone is riveted. Terrified. But when I feel a familiar presence suddenly materialize beside me, relief floods through my body. I reach for her hand at the same time she reaches for mine, squeezing her fingers once before breaking the brief connection. Right now, it’s enough to know she’s here, standing next to me.

Nazeera is okay.

We all wait in silence for the scene to change, hoping for something we don’t even know how to name. It doesn’t come.

“I wish it were that simple,” Anderson says finally. “I really do. But I’m afraid we need the girl. She is not so easily replaced.”

“You said that Emmaline’s body was deteriorating.” Warner’s voice is low, but clear. Miraculously steady. “You said that without a strong enough body to contain her, she’d become volatile. You need a replacement,” Warner says. “A new body. Someone to help you complete Operation Synthesis.”

“No,” Castle cries. “No— Don’t do this—”

“Take me,” Warner says. “I will be your surrogate.”

Anderson’s eyes go cold. He sounds almost convincingly calm when he says, “You would be willing to sacrifice yourself—your youth and your health and your entire life—to let that damaged, deranged girl continue to walk the earth?” Anderson’s voice begins to rise in pitch. He seems suddenly on the verge of another breakdown. “Do you even understand what you’re saying? You have every opportunity—all the potential—and you’d be willing to throw it all away? In exchange for what?” he cries. “Do you even know the kind of life to which you’d be sentencing yourself ?”

A dark look passes over Warner’s face. “I think I would know better than most.”

Anderson pales. “Why would you do this?”

It becomes clear to me then that even now, despite everything, Anderson doesn’t actually want to lose Warner. Not like this. But Warner is unmoved. He says nothing. Betrays nothing. He only blinks as someone else’s blood drips down his face.

“Give me your word,” Warner finally says. “Your word that you will leave her alone forever. I want you to let her disappear. I want you to stop tracking her every move. I want you to forget she ever existed.” He pauses. “In exchange, you can have what’s left of my life.”

Nazeera gasps. Haider takes a sudden, angry step forward and Stephan grabs his arm, somehow still strong enough to restrain Haider even as his own body bleeds out. “This is his choice,” Stephan gasps, wrapping his free arm around a tree for support. “Leave him.”

“This is a stupid choice,” Haider cries. “You can’t do this, habibi. Don’t be an idiot.” (..)

“I will stop fighting you,” Warner says. “I will do exactly as you ask. Whatever you want. Just let her live.”

Anderson is silent for so long it sends a chill through me. Then: “No.” Without warning, Anderson raises his arm and fires two shots. The first, at Nazeera, hitting her square in the chest. The second— At me. Several people scream. I stumble, then sway, before collapsing.

Shit.

“Find her,” Anderson says, his voice booming. “Burn the whole place to the ground if you have to.”

The pain is blinding. It moves through me in waves, electric and searing. Someone is touching me, moving my body. I’m okay, I try to say. I’m okay. I’m okay. But the words don’t come. He’s hit me in my shoulder, I think. Just shy of my chest. I’m not sure. But Nazeera— Someone needs to get to Nazeera.

“I had a feeling you’d do something like this,” I hear Anderson say. “And I know you used one of these two”—I imagine him pointing to my prone body, to Nazeera’s—“in order to make it happen.” Silence. “Oh, I see,” Anderson says. “You thought you were clever. You thought I didn’t know you had any powers at all.” Anderson’s voice seems suddenly loud, too loud. He laughs. “You thought I didn’t know? As if you could hide something like that from me. I knew it the day I found you in her holding cell. You were sixteen. You think I didn’t have you tested after that? You think I haven’t known, all these years, what you yourself didn’t realize until six months ago?”

A fresh wave of fear washes over me. Anderson seems too pleased and Warner’s gone quiet again, and I don’t know what any of that means for us. But just as I’m beginning to experience full-blown panic, I hear a familiar cry. It’s a sound of such horrific agony I can’t help but try to see what’s happening, even as flashes of white blur my vision. I catch a mottled glimpse: Warner standing over Anderson’s body, his right hand clenched around the handle of the machete he’s buried in his father’s chest. He plants his right foot on his father’s gut, and, roughly, pulls out the blade. Anderson’s moan is so animal, so pathetic I almost feel sorry for him. Warner wipes the blade on the grass, and tosses it back to Haider, who catches it easily by the hilt even as he stands there, stunned, staring at—me, I realize. Me and Nazeera. I’ve never seen him so unmasked. He seems paralyzed by fear. “Watch him,” Warner shouts to someone. He examines a gun he stole from his father, and, satisfied, he’s off, running after the Supreme Guard. Shots ring out in the distance.

My vision begins to go spotty. Sounds bleed together, shifting focus. For moments at a time all I hear is the sound of my own breathing, my heart beating. At least, I hope that’s the sound of my heart beating. Everything smells sharp, like rust and steel. I realize then, in a sudden, startling moment, that I can’t feel my fingers. Finally I hear the muffled sounds of nearby movement, of hands on my body, trying to move me.

“Kenji?” Someone shakes me. “Kenji, can you hear me?” Winston. I make a sound in my throat. My lips seem fused together. “Kenji?” More shaking. “Are you okay?” With great difficulty, I pry my lips apart, but my mouth makes no sound.

Then, all at once: “Heyyyyybuddy.” Weird.

“He’s conscious,” Winston says, “but disoriented. We don’t have much time. I’ll carry these two. See if you can find a way to transport the others. Where are the girls?” Someone says something back to him, and I don’t catch it. I reach out suddenly with my good hand, clamping down on Winston’s forearm.

“Don’t let them get J,” I try to say. “Don’t let—””

#shatter me series #imagine me #kenji kishimoto #kenji x nazeera #nazeera ibrahim #aaron warner #aaron warner anderson #shatter me

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xiomarawinters · 4 years ago

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sister act [drabble]

Leocadie Winters was shorter than her little sister. Her hair was the same light-champagne blonde, she had the same angled jaw and she looked up at the Putney flat with the same wrinkled nose that Xiomara had originally given.

She looked like she was stepping out of a fashion magazine, with her short dress, puffy sleeves, and full face of makeup- extraordinarily out of place as she stopped at the edge of the wards surrounding their house. Of course Xiomara would have wound up preventing her from entering the premises. Cadie stood there, clearing her throat irritably and discreetly tapping her wand against them, as if to alert the occupants of her presence.

A curtain shifted in the upstairs window, and Cadie saw a face appear- a Pinnock, by the look of him- and then disappear as soon as it had appeared.

And then, moments later, he was walking down the drive, wand at his side. The muggles next door wouldn’t recognise it unless they knew what to look for. He stopped short where the wards ended, leaving an invisible barrier between them. “She’s not well. She doesn’t want to see you.”

Ugh. Were all Americans so forthcoming? Nothing left to the imagination.

Cadie sighed. “Since when would Xiomara let you speak for her, Pinnock?” She hadn’t seen Nathaniel since he was a child. She’d been too old to be considered for courtship with the boy, but had to be dragged along to every afternoon tea and meeting. Besides- courting apparently hadn’t done much for her little sister or Pinnock. After all, Cadie was the one who had married rich. And there was Nathaniel, poor and destitute, shacking up with Xiomara in Putney.

He didn’t reply, so Cadie spoke again. “I’m aware Xiomara is unwell. Why else do you think I would come to England? She’s not well, and you’re not taking care of her, so she needs to be in a place where they will.”

It took a moment for Nathaniel to understand. She could see the gears in that stupid American’s head tick over. And then, he raised his wand. “Get out of here, Winters. I’m warning you. I’ve had it up to here with people telling us what to do. She’s doing fine,” A bold faced lie, if she’d ever heard one, “She doesn’t want to go with you. First and final warning.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous Pinnock, put your wand away before you take someone’s eye out.” She scowled, though kept her wand particularly close at hand. He towered over her, though Cadie refused to be cowed. “Lower your wards so we can talk properly.”

“Not going to happen.”

“I know about the Caves, Pinnock.” She said, irritated to have to play this card so early. “I know what happened. I know how you got my sister drunk and gave her drugs. I know she nearly fucking died because of you.”

Cadie felt the wards lower, and she stepped forward, behind the bushes where the Muggles wouldn’t see them with their wands. Nathaniel looked broken already. Men really were spineless little creatures.

“What do you want.” He said lowly, flicking his gaze nervously to the bedroom window, as if Xiomara would overhear them.

“I’m taking Xiomara to a facility. We were okay when she was hurting herself. If she wants to self-destruct, that’s fine. But she can’t go around attacking strangers, getting locked up, and bailed out by other strangers. It’s not the way we do things.”

“And that’s the way you do things? Sending her away?” He locked his jaw, straightening and looking straight at Cadie. She stared him right back down. “I know what you’re doing. She’ll know. You’re not trying to help her. You’re trying to get rid of her and throw away the fucking key.”

Cadie sighed, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “Pinnock-”

“I’ll do more. I’ll keep her inside more. I won’t let her out of my sight-” He looked pathetic when he begged.

“You’ll stay the fuck out of my way.” Cadie practically sneered, pulling away from Nathaniel and moving towards the front door. The boy scrambled after her, leaping in front of the door with his long legs and shaking his head.

“Leocadie, don’t. Please, please don’t.” She didn’t think she’d ever seen him quite so pale. Cadie gripped her wand, wanting desperately to use it but remembering her mother’s instructions to keep this as mess-free as possible.

“Move aside, Pinnock.” Leocadie sounded tired as she shoved past the boy and stepped into the flat, wrinkling up her nose at the environment she found herself in. How had her sister lived like this? They drank from silver goblets as children- crystal chalices at Beauxbatons. How far she’d fallen… She peered around the flat before deciding to go upstairs, wand at her side, and at the ready for anything.

****

Xiomara stirred when she felt their wards disturbed. She blinked sleepily, raising her head when Nate woke to the disruption as well. She patted his chest, shifting to lay on the pillow instead of draped over him. Xi curled up under the duvet, yawning. “Can you go deal with that?” She asked sleepily.

Xi fell asleep to the sound of Nate leaving the room. She only woke again when she heard shouting. “Leocadie, don’t. Please, please don’t!”

Xiomara sat up to attention, eyes widening as she scrambled out of bed, pulling her clothes back on hurriedly and looking around wildly for her wand, forgetting for a moment that it had been left in Diagon Alley. Fuck! She couldn’t apparate without it. Her magic was all over the fucking place since it had been gone. Xi bunched her hair up in her hands, panicked. There was only one reason Cadie would be here-- only one reason Nate would beg her like that.

She heard her sister’s footsteps come up the stairs and Xi looked around, desperate to find somewhere- something to do. Fuck! She had nothing. “Nate!” She ended up screaming for him, no reason to hide where she was. It was a small flat, Cadie would find her. “Nate, I need you!”

Cadie swung the door open and Xiomara stood, grabbing the lamp off the floor next to her bed and turning it up, holding it ready to swing. “Va te faire foutre, Cadie,” Xiomara looked like a trapped animal, sweaty and tired from the night before, while Cadie stood before her, dressed immaculately and with her wand raised at Xi. “Je ne vais pas. Tu ne peux pas me faire.”

Cadie rolled her eyes, strolling towards her sister. “Arrêtez d'être ridicule. Vous avez laissé cela aller trop loin,” She sighed, taking in the pitiful sight that was Xiomara Winters. “Je vous laisse changer avant de partir.”

How fucking generous of her. So at least she’d look nice when she was forcibly checked in to wherever the fuck they sent the stains of high society families. You heard it happening every now and then- Xi never, in a million fucking years, thought Cadie would be the one to send her. “Va te faire foutre.” Xiomara hissed at her, and Cadie sighed.

The older sister twisted the wand that was pointed at Xi, made the incantation, and with a scream of rage, Xiomara was gone.

***

The apparition spell was temporary, and single-use. Physically removing patients was too messy, after all. Cadie tucked her wand back into its holster, dusting off her hands as she turned to leave the room, wrinkling up her nose when Nate approached, pointing his wand at her chest.

“Where did you send her?” Nate insisted, sounding deranged. Cadie pushed his wand away with a scoff, reaching in her purse and taking out a purse full of English money- muggle and magic.

She tucked it into Nate’s shirt pocket and patted his chest good naturedly. “For your trouble.” Cadie shook her head, and with another blink, she was gone.

2 notes · View notes

potentiala · 7 years ago

Text

Don’t Let Go (Of Me)

@shidgevalentinesexchange for @adeerli !

Nice to meet you! This was really challenging for me to write, but I hope you enjoy all the work I’ve put into this and help spread some of that quality Shidge all around.

As you might be able to tell, this fic was heavily inspired by James Arthur’s song ‘Say You Won’t Let Go’

I will also cross-post this on my AO3, so make sure to check it out over there! <3

“I met you in the dark, you lit me up”

They met on orientation day.

Not her orientation day, mind you, but her brother’s. And freshly graduated Garrison Officer Takashi Shirogane couldn’t help but notice them.

He introduced himself to Matt first.

Immediately taking a liking to the bright young man with the mischievous eyes. He answered his questions and helped quell some of his parents’ worries.

Then he saw her.

“You made me feel as though I was enough”

A quiet, small little thing with long hair and a brand-new dress. Looking half in envy and half in worry at the state-of-the-art facilities all around them. Then she caught his eyes looking her way.

Her’s were gold.

Bright and burning and not unlike a punch to the gut. Somehow, Shiro managed to send a smile her way before he was whisked away by their father, a Commander Shiro had nothing but respect for.

But the look of her and those intense eyes never left him.

===

He was here.

Of course Katie knew him, Matt never shut up about him in his letters. The Garrison golden boy that everyone seemed half in love with, Takashi Shirogane. And Katie definitely couldn’t understand the allure. Absolutely. No way. Not at all. Pffft!

That’s ridiculous!

“We danced the night away…”

Who was she kidding? Katie has faced a lot of problems in her 14 years of life, but this was, by far, the worst one. Katherine Annalise Holt had a crush.

And she had it bad.

“We drank too much.”

So bad that the young girl couldn’t help but wring the hem of her dress in her hands. The Holt family had traveled back to the Garrison after an entire year to celebrate Matt graduating from Cadet to Cadet Corporal at the youngest age of 17. Pride warming away every one of Katie’s frazzled nerves at the sight of her brother standing at attention in a brand new uniform.

Iverson continuing to drone on.

“…as acting Drill Sergeant of this year’s class I have had, not only the honor of watching these young men and women mature and grow, but to collaborate with one of the Garrison’s brightest alumni, Takashi Shirogone.” Iverson’s constantly shrill voice paused to allow the room to fill with applause.

For him.

Katie’s stomach flip-flopped as she clapped along with the crowd. Everyone’s eyes on Takashi. Who looked illegally handsome in his Officer’s uniform. Fit to his figure, it showed off a great deal of his excellent build.

Much to Katie’s destress.

“A few words Shirogone?” Iverson called out, Shiro clearly caught off-guard but accepting the offer graciously nonetheless. Flashing a smile so bright, Katie’s brain had to reboot for a solid minute. He turned toward the graduating cadets, Matt being one of the smallest among them. Dark grey eyes alit with warmth and pride.

“As my first year teaching, I must say that it’s been an eventful one.” Laughter titered amongst her brother’s class, in inside jokes Katie longed to know. The young girl wishing, not for the first time, that the age requirements for apply to the Garrison weren’t so high.

“But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” At this, he looked back to the crowd. That warm gaze sweeping over everyone like dawn’s first rays of sunlight. Katie barely fought back a blush as Shiro’s eyes seemed to settle in her direction. But, to her surprise, Shiro suddenly seemed so nervous.

Those warm eyes lowering.

“I-um…I’m really humbled by this experience. Teaching the next generation like this…has been amazing a-and a tremendous honor. So, thank you all for sticking with me for so long.” There was something incredibly endearing about the way Shiro seemed so bashful in that moment. Something so sweet that Katie could help the bright, brilliant smile gracing her young features.

“I held your hair back when you were throwing up.”

Then his eyes were on her.

Not on the crowd. Not on her brother’s class. But on her. Katie knew it, she felt it. That soft gaze nearly gave her a heart attack, sure, but she did her best to smile encouragingly at him.

And, to Katie’s surprise, it seemed to work.

“Then you smiled over your shoulder…”

“I look forward to seeing all the boundaries you all willbreak. And I know that each and every one of you are capable of incredible greatness. But I must admit…” Her heart leapt to her throat. But what? What did he-Shiro’s gaze on her warmed, a bright smile tugging at his lips as he looked at her.

“And for a minute…”

“I eagerly await the conquests of the newest generation of graduates, I…have a feeling they’re going to do so some pretty amazing things. Thank you.” Katie couldn’t even hear the applause, she was still glued to her seat. Heart slamming against her windpipe. The image of Shiro’s encouraging half-smile and soft eyes imprinting onto her mind. Cementing itself amongst all the other theories and equations that made way more sense to her than her own feelings for Shiro.

“I was stone-cold sober.”

===

Don’t think of her.

Don’t picture her. Don’t try to remember her voice. Don’t try to remember how her eyes shone. Don’t bring her visage to place like this. Don’t say her name.

Don’t you dare bring her memory here.

“I pulled you closer to my chest.”

Who knows how long Shiro had been in this place. Purple fluorescent lights and alien, animal faces blurred together in his mind. Or in what little cognitive function he had left. Everything seemed to be an endless cycle of blood and bone and screaming.

Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill.

Katie.

“And you asked me to stay over…”

God, but then there were moments, too many for Shiro to count, where he’d think back to all the people he’s failed. Matt, who was God knows where. Commander Holt, who Shiro hoped and prayed was still alive, despite all the horror of their situation. And…no, he wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that. Shiro can’t think of-

Katie.

“I said, ‘I already told ya-‘ ”

Out of everyone, Shiro had failed her the most. He remembered how proud she looked on launch day. How those golden eyes turned molten with joy as she and her mother sent the three of them off. How she jokingly made him promise to keep her family safe.

So lovely he couldn’t breathe.

He still couldn’t breathe as he, guiltily remembered memories of the brilliant younger Holt in a place like this. A place so messed up and violent that it should never tarnish her memory, no matter how secondhand it was.

But Shiro didn’t have long to think.

Two more purplish aliens cornered him in his cell. Shiro couldn’t even muster the spirit to fight them. The former pilot roughly shoved into the wall and muzzled. Bound in strange, glowing chains until it was time to release him.

Out of the fire and into the frying pan in the worst way.

But even as Shiro was pushed and shoved towards the slaughter fest that was the Arena.

His thoughts were of her.

“ ‘I think that you should get some rest…’ ”

===

She saw him again.

Part of her knew she would, eventually. But this time the sight of him did nothing to her. Gone we’re the blushing cheeks and fluttering heart. She wasn’t that crushing young girl anymore.

She wasn’t Katie anymore either.

Nothing like love twisted her heart at the sight of him, seemingly deranged and pleading on that hospital cot. Katie, now Pidge, only felt one thing as she looked at him. Felt something ugly and hideous coil in her stomach.

How dare he?

How dare he be here instead of Matt and her father? How dare he be the only one who came back? How dare…how dare he just show up?

Crashing back, quite literally, into her life.

“I knew I loved you then.”

She had spent so long killing whatever she had felt for him. Exhausting herself with the search to find her family to avoid thinking about him. But it never worked.

Not really.

And now here he was, screaming, pleading for anyone to stop and listen to him. That they were all going to die. That there were Galra just outside-

Pidge couldn’t take it.

She had had enough. Enough with the lies. Enough with the hurt. Enough with the constant dull ache in her chest. She had to end this the only way she knew how.

She had to save him.

“But you’d never know…”

===

She can’t leave, was his first thought.

But Shiro looked at her face, at those burning gold eyes and that furious glare, and couldn’t find it within himself to stop her.

He failed her.

“'Cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go.”

Shiro a had failed to protect her family, of course she wanted to leave them and find them herself. Of course she’d want nothing more to do with him. Shiro knew all that.

But it still hurt.

“I know I needed you…”

It still hurt seeing how little she seemed to care about him. How much she wanted to get away from him. It cut him worse than the Galra ever had.

But he’d let her go.

“But I never showed.”

It’d kill him, but he owed her so much. So, for the rest of the night, Shiro kept outside. So no one could see how much he was hurting. He liked her.

He really liked her.

Which was horrible because she was only 15. Which was awful because he had left Matt and her father in the hands of the Galra. Which was just wrong because-

“But I wanna stay with you until we’re grey and old…”

“Shiro? Can we talk?” Trying to tell himself that his heart didn’t skip a beat at her voice would’ve just added insult to his many injuries. Shiro took a few moments to school his expression before turning to her.

And how much she’d changed.

“Just say you won’t let go…”

The last time he saw her everything was different. Everything was simpler. Her cheeks were flushed with cold, but Katie’s smile was so electric that she seemed completely immune to it. She was so small then, so delicate.

Not anymore.

“Just say you won’t let go…”

Seemingly everything about Katie had hardened, sharped to a deadly point. She was force to be reckoned with. A young girl becoming a woman in war. And Shiro couldn’t help but morn the fact. Especially like this, when she was standing just to his left in her armor. All its sharp angles and thick plating doing nothing to help Shiro’s guilt.

Doing nothing to stop his heart breaking.

===

“I’ll wake you up with some breakfast in bed.”

He’d get nightmares sometimes.

After the first couple instances and the deep, dark bags under his eyes, Pidge had decided enough was enough. She, despite her best efforts, had begun feeling something for the Black Paladin again. Something gentle and flickering in her chest that warmed her when this war chilled her.

Thus began their unique sleeping arrangement.

“I’ll bring you coffee with a kiss on your head…”

They’d head for his room at about the Earth equivalent of 10 o’clock, and, while Shiro would usually knock right out, Pidge would just slip in beside him and continue working until she was either done with her project or passed out from exhaustion.

But it was usually the latter.

“And I’ll take the kids to school…”

Still, for reasons Pidge refused to think about, Shiro seemed to sleep better with her there. Even when she wasn’t under the blanket with him, Shiro would still rest surprisingly peacefully. And for that, Pidge was immensely thankful.

Even if mornings were a little awkward.

“Wave them goodbye.”

Shiro, for the most part, would wake up before her. But the 6-foot-something guy had no chance of leaving the small, twin sized bed without disturbing her awake in some way. Neither would really talk about it, seeing it was a habit the two just sort of…picked up.

Shiro would leave.

Leave Pidge alone in a suddenly too-big bed in a room that smelled just like him. The young girl having to tell herself over and over that this was bigger than her resurfacing feelings for Shiro. This was for his sake and sanity.

She couldn’t take advantage of that.

So every morning Pidge had to stumble back to her own room, alone. Then go to breakfast and act like the whole arrangement never even existed. Like Pidge never knew how much younger Shiro looked when he slept. Or that sometimes his hand would fall to her waist and sleep would suddenly be the furthest thing from her mind. Yeah.

It’s sucked.

“And I’ll thank my lucky stars for that night…”

But there were bigger things than the aching hurt in her chest to deal with, so Pidge just fought it down and threw herself into everything she did even more. Hoping that, one day, things could be normal again.

That she could be honest with Shiro.

===

Years passed.

Everyone grew harder, tougher. The war still raged on, but now they were fighting fire with fire. The Coalition was growing everyday and people were shedding their fear of the Empire like a second skin. Everything was looking up.

But Shiro didn’t feel that way.

“When you looked over your shoulder-“

They found Matt. And for the first time, in a long, long time, he saw Pidge truly and purely happy. Pidge, now 17, had finally gotten a piece of her family back. Not as battle scarred or traumatized as him, Matt fit in right away with their crew.

Falling back in place with Shiro.

The two rekindling their friendship and trust. But one thing, one very important thing was different now.

Katie.

Pidge.

Before the younger Holt had been a witty, brilliant young girl who Shiro liked to joke with. Now? Now things were different.

Now she was different.

“For a minute, I forget that I’m older.”

She was still as burning and brilliant as those gold eyes, but there was so much more to her now. She was a woman on the war front. Battle-scarred and formidable in every sense. Pidge was someone he’d trust his life with. The only problem?

He wanted her to have his heart to.

“I wanna dance with you right now…”

Pidge had indeed grown lovelier over the years and to say that Shiro had never imagined the two as couple would be false in every sense. As beautiful as she was smart, those golden eyes seemed to spell ruin for suitors who weren’t careful.

And Shiro was one of them.

“Oh! And you look as beautiful as ever!”

Matt had found out embarrassingly easily. But the older Holt never ridiculed Shiro. No. Matt did something much worse.

He encouraged it.

“And I swear that everyday you’ll get better.”

Saying that the two were perfect for each other and that she definitely thought of him the same way. Which, naturally, Shiro knew better to believe.

But a part of him hoped.

Hoped that Matt was right every time her smile seemed to linger on him. Everytime he’d find himself lulled to rest by her focused face illuminated by her computer within his room. Everytime she’d pull him back from the nightmares and visions and into her brilliance. A dear, dangerous part of him hoped for such things.

And maybe, one day, he’d tell her all that.

“You make me feel this way somehow…”

But war was never kind to such sentiments. Such sentiments already begged to be proven wrong.

And they were.

===

Oh God.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. This couldn’t be happening. No. No! This wasn’t real! This is just a dream.

Just a nightmare.

“I’m so in love with you…”

“SHIRO!” Her throat hurt, but Pidge couldn’t care. All she cared about was getting down this damn hill and rush to his side. What was he even thinking?

Taking that bullet for her.

Oh God, there was blood everywhere. A usually orthodox sight made horrifically new when she saw who caused it.

Shiro.

Was he even breathing? Oh God please be breathing. Don’t stop breathing. Don’t leave me again. Don’t go until I-

“K-Katie?”

“And I hope you know.”

“I’m here, I’m right here Shiro. Stay with me. Stay with me please.” When did she start sobbing? When had her tears began to choke her?

She grabbed his hand.

Slick with blood, the metal was cooling in her hands. Hunk quickly rushed in, med kit in tow while Pidge tried to keep Shiro awake.

Alive.

“Darling, your love is more than worth its weight in…”

“Shiro! Shiro, look at me! Eyes on me, c’mon. Please!” Dark, blood soaked lashes fluttered up to her. Shiro’s bloodied head in her lap as Hunk tried to stanch the massive amount of blood leaving his body. But his eyes, warm and gray and heartbreaking, still cling to her so dearly.

So preciously.

“Gold…” He murmured weakly as she gazed up at her. Pidge’s tears falling onto his soiled face. Creating clear tracts in the dirt and gore. But, despite all that, the sight of such a soft look on Shiro face made Pidge smile.

And tears fall harder.

“We’ve come so far my dear…”

“Stay with me ok big guy? Well get you patched up s-”

Shiro coughed.

Blood splattering against his lips as the man sounded as if he was trying to retch out his lungs. Pidge cupped his face, trying to bring him back to her. Trying her best to ignore the warmth of his blood against her palms.

“Shiro? Shiro please stay with me…” She hated the whine in her voice, but the tears just wouldn’t stop. The pain in her chest damn near killing her. No…No, I couldn’t end like this.

Not like this.

“Look how we’ve grown.”

Not after everything they’ve been through. Not after how long she’s loved him. He can’t die. She wouldn’t let him.

She couldn’t let him.

“And I wanna stay with you until we’re grey and old.”

“Katie…Katie I-” Pidge saw it then. Saw it in the way he looked at her, halfway dead and broken beyond measure, but still gazing up at her like he’d do it all again for her. She saw it in those gray eyes and how they shone with unsaid words and unshed tears. She saw it in the way his bloody, bruised hands held onto her arms so reverently. Pidge saw it then.

And cursed herself for not seeing it sooner.

“Just say you won’t let go…”

“I know…I know…” She soothed, gazing back at him. Pidge’s face a near mirror of his own. Vision blurring with tears as she leaned down.

And kissed him.

“Just say you won’t let go…”

===

Kissing her was all Shiro wanted to do.

Pidge made a soft noise in the back of her throat as she pulled him closer and out of his thoughts. The air between them, in his room suddenly too hot. Too stifling unless every inch of her was pressed against every inch of him.

“I wanna live with you…”

Shiro’s mechanical hand slid under her shirt. Reveling in the smooth curve of her hips and waist. Against his throat, Pidge sighed contently and sent Shiro’s heart fluttering.

He kissed her again.

“Even when we’re ghosts.”

Kissing Pidge was like nothing he’d ever imagine it to be. Kissing Pidge was all bursting citrus and warmth and freckles against his hands. Kissing Pidge was the best thing in the world, and Shiro didn’t know if he could ever give it up.

Her arms wrapped around his neck.

Pulling him even closer, if that was possible, as Shiro rubbed his hand along the gentle curve of her bare back. He parted away from her, if only slightly. Just to look at her.

And those gold eyes.

Made a little darker from their kissing, but shining in the lowlight of his room nonetheless. Pidge was older now, her features more prominent, and fondness sang so loudly in Shiro’s heart, he couldn’t help but feel weak.

“'Cause you were always there for me…”

“I love you.” He breathed, the declaration coming out half scared and half infatuated. Watching the spark in Pidge’s eyes light up and a bright smile stretch along her face.

“When I needed you most.”

Her palm on either side of his head.

Seeming to memorize all his features with her calloused, thin fingers. Trailing along his jaw and over his temple. Across his eyebrows.

Fluttering over his scars.

“I love you to.”

===

“I’m gonna love you till my lungs give out.”

The war was over.

The greater evil had been defeated. The universe could finally breathe a breath of freedom after so long a time spent suffering.

Especially for the Paladins.

“I promise till death we part…”

Hunk chose to stay with Shay and help her fellow Balmerans discover what it meant to be free. Though, judging by their entwined hands as they waved the Castle off, that wasn’t exactly the only reason.

Allura and Matt had a lot of work ahead of them.

The rebel fighter and the Princess had grown close over the course of the war. Matt every bit a gushing, loving boyfriend that never failed to make Allura laugh. Coran watching the two carefully all the while. Allura’s diplomacy plus Matt’s strategy proving to be an incredible combination for the Coalition.

And, naturally, Lance and Keith went back to Earth.

“Like in our vows.”

Lance, apparently, having promised the Red Paladin an introduction to the entirety of Lance’s family. The sight of their entwined hands and bright red cheeks never failing to bring a smile to Pidge’s face.

Which left only two.

“So I wrote this song for you…”

What was next for her? For Shiro? Well, with the Empire out of the way, someone need to take charge of the noncombatant Galra and establish the Blades of Marmora as pillars of stability. And who better to do it?

Than the Champion himself.

“Now everybody knows!”

He was hesitant about it. She could see it in his eyes and the way his human hand wrapped around his metal one. Pidge knew that the thought of overseeing the entire race of creatures that harmed him would be painful.

But that’s why she was there.

“ ‘Cuase now its just you and me…”

Whatever the challenge, whatever the curse. Pidge would help him bear it. So, come the day Kolivan and the Blade came to take them away to rebuild their enemies, they just held each other.

Steadied each other.

“Till we’re grey and old.”

Shiro looked to her then, concern pinching the worn planes of his face in such a way that he seemed to ask her, “are you sure?”, all over again. He looked older now. Older in ways Pidge couldn’t even describe. But he was hers.

And she was his.

“Just say you won’t let go…”

So while she knew this new adventure would test them, as long as they had each other, Pidge knew that they’d be fine. They’ve gone through too much to just back down now. Squeezing his hand in hers, Pidge took the first step toward leading a new legion of Galra. With her hand in his, Shiro walked right beside her.

“Just say you won’t let go…”

Side by side.

Toward a new future, together.

“Just say you won’t let go…”

96 notes · View notes

divagonzo · 7 years ago

Text

Hair (Romione, George, Hinny)

I blame @blvnk-art for this fic. I was thinking on it this morning, especially Hermione deciding to shave her head and my muse smiled on me, threw a gallon of glitter on my head, and voila! The story poured out.

Rated T for bad language, some lime innuendo (it’s very light and Ace safe) and adult situations.

Hermione slipped out of the bed she shared with Ron and padded softly to the boy’s bathroom. She still felt grotty from yesterday, even after a scalding hot bath for an hour. While lying in the bed with Ron, his arm a comfort across her hip but sleep escaping her once again, she came to a pragmatic decision.

She closed the heavy door and picked up the brush she brought with her out of the beaded bag that was her lifeline. Her hair, the one thing on her that stayed when she wasted away, was officially a lost cause. She dropped the brush into the sink and pulled back her hair, trying to talk herself out of the decision made.

She had no logical argument to keep her hair, not when it had grown nappy, knotted, kinked beyond any ability of magic or potions. Exhaustion and pragmatic consideration made it an easy choice when she was standing in the boy’s bathroom of Gryffindor tower and Harry’s razor sitting in front of her. One casting from the wand she hated with all of her soul sharpened the blade on the muggle safety razor and she went to work, with the wand in her hand and then the razor in the other.

It took an hour to shed the old hair, and the old Hermione, with the wand she hated with all of her soul. Each slash on her head dropped inches of burned hair onto the floor. It took another hour, with some well-timed shaving soap and the razor to get most of the stubble left on her head.

She was reaching for a spot that she couldn’t quite reach when amazing hands touched hers, wrapping her into a warm, loving embrace.

“Do you want me to get it?” a half-asleep voice rattled in the tiled lavatory.

“Yes, please,” She replied with her battered voice before bending her head down for his tender hands.

Each scrape of the blade through the soap and stubble felt like shedding everything that had happened. Each touch from his hands healed some little spot in her soul that was crying in agony.

“There, I think that’s all of it.”

She lifted her head and stopped. “Would you check?”

Ron nodded and touched her cheek, wiping away a stray mote of soot. His deft fingers worked their way around her head, from over her ears to the base of her neck, to the tender spot at her temple where a spell grazed her sometime in the fighting.

“I think you got it all.” He reached over for the aftershave, which seemed entirely silly to have in a bathroom of boys who wished they had a use for it in enticing the girls. “But I know you need this, at least this morning, even if it smells like shite.”

Hermione exploded in laughter, echoing around the room. Tears were streaming down her face and Ron joined her.

“God, it feels so good to hear you laughing.”

“We’re alive, I’ve shaved my head bald, with your help, and nothing makes sense or seems real. Laughing seems about the only response I can muster to everything being mental and utterly sideways.”

Ron splashed some of the grotty aftershave into the palm of his hand and splashed it on her scalp. She hissed for a moment. “Damn, that stings.”

“It’s necessary if you scraped skin and drew blood. Now since it’s bloody fuck thirty, do you think you can now sleep?”

“I think so but only if you’re there with me.”

Ron led the way back to his bed, finding the next one empty of Harry. They shared a look and shrugged, crawling back into his bed and closing the curtains. Within moments, they were fast asleep, letting the world pass them by.

George wanted to scream bloody murder. The nightmare haunted him everywhere. He couldn’t escape, no matter how much he wished and prayed he’d wake from it. But no, each reflective surface in the house taunted him, abused him, made him see Fred everywhere. But that was impossible. The family laid Fred to rest under the enormous oak tree on the edge of the orchard, across from the pond.

That was, if his memories weren’t lying to him, a flickering candle in the moments before his brain shut down for good and he put the wand to his temple and joined Fred permanently.

He ran from his bedroom to the loo, barely making it before he emptied the contents from the Firewhiskey bottle from his stomach into the toilet. He didn’t remember drinking a fifth’s worth of it yesterday or today.

George wiped the back of his mouth, smelling like shit and praying he’d wake.

He stood up and went to the sink to wash the grotty taste of rancid alcohol from his mouth and pray again he’d wake from the living nightmare he was trapped in. He looked down and saw the shaving soap and straight razor in front of him, next to the taps, laid out precisely. Fucking Percy. He should have died instead of Fred.

“Tosser, wankstain, pisspot,” he heard the echo of a voice inside his head. He looked up and saw Fred in the mirror in front of his face. “You know you love that asshole prat as much as I do.”

“He left, the fuckstrumpet. I hate him. He’s here and you’re not.”

“Oh I’m here and thinking you’re a pathetic mourner. Look at you, stinking of Firewhiskey and wondering why I’m even here talking with you.”

“Asshole,” George replied. “You can’t even leave me to have a fucking pity party like I deserve.”

“Who said anything about deserving it? I should be the one having it. I died and no one set off fireworks or even crackers. What kind of send-off was that?”

“Mum wouldn’t hear of it. She said that we should honor you, not fucking celebrate you were dead, asshole.”

“Yeah, well, mum always got what she wanted.”

Knock, Knock, Knock.

George looked back to the mirror and saw his own reflection. Argh, damn it and reached for the razor.

Ron battered the door with his shoulder until it gave way under his efforts. He found George looking in the mirror, half of his head already shaved, tears streaming down his face.

“The hell, George?”

“I can’t stand to see him taunting me.”

“You look nothing like him.”

“I don’t now.” He tried to move the razor to his wrist and Ron caught him.

Ron didn’t budge while holding George’s wrist. “Sit on the toilet.”

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry, no can do. Now sit.”

George collapsed and did as Ron said, sitting on the toilet and feeling miserable.

“I won’t have you looking like a deranged muggle.” Ron lathered the soap and checked the edge on the razor before finishing the job George started. It took a while and he waited a few times for George to quit sobbing so he wouldn’t accidentally hurt his older brother.

“Now, feel that and see what you think?”

George ran a hand over his scalp, finding him shaved down to nothing. “I have to see,” he muttered. He pushed Ron out of the way and looked in the mirror and saw… himself.

“Damn.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty fucking ugly.”

“Asshole.”

“Sometimes. Now,” Ron handed George the blade. “Shave mine.”

“Why? Your hair is fine.”

“Rubbish. It’s too fucking long and needs a cut.”

“Use your wand, tosser.”

Ron handed over his wand. “Make mine just like yours.”

“It’ll look like shit,” George put his shaking hand behind his back.

“Nonsense. Cut it.”

“Fine. Don’t complain to me when Hermione says you look like the nasty underside of a troll’s ass.”

George went to work, cutting the overgrowth of hair on his younger brother’s head then setting out to shave him down to nothing. It took a while, considering that it appeared Ron hadn’t had a haircut in over a year.

“Mum put you up to this, didn’t she?”

“Nope. She’s not noticed. I want a change. This seemed fitting.”

George kept working, trying to miss the freckles that might be turning into moles on Ron’s neck. He tried to ignore the scars that wound up onto his neck, white ones that were even more pale than his skin.

“Done, git.”

Ron got up from the toilet seat and went to the mirror, smiling at the job George did.

“You like it?”

“I certainly do,” Hermione said from the doorway.

Both of the men looked at her. Ron smiled and George, gobsmacked. “Where the fuck is your hair?”

“I left it in the loo at Hogwarts. It was too damaged to save it. Feels nice, doesn’t it?” She rubbed her head that had almost no stubble. “You’ll learn to like it in a day or two.” Ron left with Hermione.

George looked in the mirror and saw he was George, not Fred. Maybe the next hour wouldn’t be as surreal or sublime.

“You’re not considering being like those berks, are you?” Ginny asked from the doorway.

“No, but not for the reasons you think.” Harry was trimming his beard that he’d let grow. He liked looking in the mirror and seeing someone he barely recognized. “If I did cut my hair, it’d grow back in a night and be just as untamable as it always is. So why bother?”

“Well thank Merlin for that. I was going spare seeing three bald people in the house, wondering if I was stuck in a lunatic asylum. But then when it’s those three, I have to question their sanity, too.”

“Not me. I actually like this look. It’s low maintenance and people don’t immediately recognize me.” He turned and saw her staring. “What about you? You going around the twist and cutting it?”

“I’m thinking about it. But not right now. Seeing them bald is a sight enough. Mum would be mental if I cut my hair.”

“And you?”

“I might in the future. But for now, I’m keeping it.”

“You think I should trim mine down?” The look on his face was inscrutable.

Ginny looked at Harry for the first time, really looked at him. He’d changed so much in the months since they were gone, changed so much that she wondered if he was the same sweet person under it all. Then again, she wasn’t the same person since the wedding back in July of last year. A year’s worth of insomnia, torment, incessant worry, and anxiety had tempered her too.

“Maybe the beard some, so it looks presentable. But the hair? No keep it. It seems to suit you now. But you might want to pull it up sometimes.” She budged over to him and pushed his shoulders down some, forcing him to kneel in front of the mirror with her standing behind him. Deft fingers worked to pull his long hair up some into what looked like the start of a ponytail she wore often. “Ginny, this – “

“Rubbish. Sit still so I can do it right.”

She manipulated the hair in such a way that it stayed tucked into a neat ball on the back of his head. “I got the idea from Mum, who puts her hair up when she’s baking all day.” Ginny stepped back and let Harry see that she’d twisted it just right and formed it into a ball on the back of his head, securing it with one of her hair bands.

“So I don’t look like a ponce with this?”

“Nope. You look like Bill on a hot day.”

“I take it that’s a compliment.”

Ginny shrugged. “Take it how you will.” She left the small bathroom and Harry looking in the mirror.

In the future

“I have to do something with this mess.”

Hermione looked up from her Ancient Runes book. “So now it’s a mess?”

“Well, yeah. My hairbands didn’t hold it out of my face enough in the Hufflepuff match yesterday. I dropped the Quaffle twice because I couldn’t see well enough.”

“I don’t seem to have that problem anymore,” Hermione ran her head over her bald scalp. She shaved it daily and claimed it was soothing for her anxiety. “But I doubt that you want to go so far to the extreme that I have.”

“No, I don’t think I have a head that would look pretty without hair.”

“So get it cut then and be done with it.”

Ginny lifted her long hair, well past her shoulders and almost to the middle of her back. “It’s a drastic change, I reckon, if I do it.”

“And so was going from bushy hair to none in one cut. But if anyone has the nerve, you do.”

“I don’t want to be bald.”

“So get a pixie cut. It’s short but also feminine and can be quite cute.”

“Do you know how to cut it like that?”

“Nope. I only know how to go from expansive to none.”

“Luna?” Ginny asked. Hermione thought for a moment. “You can ask her. She is knowledgeable about many things.”

“You know, I think I will.”

Ginny pulled her wand from the waistband of her pyjama bottoms and conjured her Patronus, seeing the massive horse erupt from her wand. “Luna dear, can you pop up to the Prefect’s Loo shortly. I need a haircut and Hermione says you might be smart about it.” The steed galloped at the closest wall and disappeared.

“Want me to come with?” Hermione asked, putting down her book.

“If you want. I doubt it will take all that long.” Ginny went to their en suite and picked up her shower tote. “I figure a dip while in there would be fun.”

Hermione went to get a change of clothes from her bureau. “I think I will. I could use a long soak in the bath to forget Ron tonight.” Ginny snickered at Hermione’s quandary.

The two ladies made their way to the Prefect’s bath, letting themselves in with the password Haggis. They found Luna already inside, lazing at the edge of the bath with her feet in it. “You should do this. The bubbles tickle the kelpies.” She looked up at the other two people. “So you want me to cut your hair?”

“Well, Hermione seems to think you could cut it and make it look smarter than she could manage.” Ginny sat down at one of the sinks and pulled the brush from her shower bag. “Let me do this one more time before you take a wand to it.”

Luna moved Ginny’s hair to the side. “So you want something cut on the top and short in the back? Like a Pixie cut and not the banshee one you have right now?”

“Yeah, a pixie cut will be great.”

“Don’t take too much off of the top, Luna. We do want her looking a little feminine.”

Ginny gave Hermione a rude gesture and Luna a smile. She closed her eyes. “I trust Luna completely.”

Luna lifted her wand and went to work, cutting the expanse of hair she had put into a hairband then worked around to the top. She took off hair above Ginny’s ears and cut the front to where it wasn’t long but also wasn’t cut so short to look like bangs.

“You can look now, if you want.”

Ginny opened her eyes and saw Hermione standing with Luna behind her. Luna appeared pleased while Hermione was apprehensive. “Well, what do you think?”

Ginny ran her hands through the short hair on her head and through the longer locks on top. One eye was slightly obscured with the hair but a headband could fix that for Quidditch. “I like it. It’s cute.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, and besides,” Ginny turned to smile at her friends, “I’d not tell Luna she did a bad job when she didn’t. I like it. I really like it.”

“Well, I think you’re cute.” Luna leaned down and kissed Ginny on the cheek. “I’m going to the bath.”

Hermione offered Ginny a hug and joined Luna in the bath. Sighs erupted every now and then while Ginny evaluated her new haircut.

“Bet Harry will love it,” Ginny said to herself.

“He’d love you if you were bald,” Hermione cheeked back.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” Ginny said. “And Harry is nothing like my brother.” Ginny didn’t mention that she appreciated Harry pulling her hair at Christmas.

Yes, there was just enough up top for Harry’s appreciation.

#Dragon's fic #hpfic #Romione #Hinny #George Weasley #Hermione Granger #Ron Weasley #Harry Potter #Ginny Weasley #Luna Lovegood #Rated T for innuendo only #and ROn's mouth #and adult situations #Ace safe #Queue up for the Dragon #read-more 'cause it's almost 3K in length

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hela-of-ren · 7 years ago

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My Chosen VIII

WE ARE APPROACHING THE END PEOPLE. Two more chapters and then this story will be complete!! I never expected this to receive so much love, but I’m glad it did and ya’ll are the absolute best. You can expect me to update my new Clyde Logan story every Friday so get pumped for that along with requests and prompts. Now, my children, let us begin.

Tagged: @itsaconquestofimagination, @kylo-renne, @inumorph

He felt nothing but rage settle in his stomach and burn through his bones. This creature, the very being who had deceived him and feasted upon his insecurities had killed you. His chosen, his star, his love...

Kylo had never been able to truly tell you why you were so important to him, beyond his curse...and now he never would.

He set you down gently, giving your cheek one last gentle stroke as he squeezed his eyes shut at the internal pain bubbling up.

“You were foolish to grow so attached, Ren. To be saved, to be redeemed is a child’s fairytale,” Snoke taunted as he glided in a flurry of black towards Kylo, “You made your choice...and she has paid for it.” He reached down as if to touch you before Kylo stood in fron of your body protectively.

“Don’t you dare touch her,” He was seething from the inside out, “By the time I’m done with you you’ll wish you’d never answered my pleas.” With that, shadows began to seep from Kylo as if he were bleeding; swirling and hissing as if they were their own being.

Snoke sneered and launched his form at Kylo, aiming to rip out his un-dead heart until nothing existed of the former prince.

The two dark beings struggled with each other, lunging and slashing with every ounce of power they possessed. Shadows clashed with shadows, leaving scorch marks and broken stone in their wake.

Kylo landed a powerful blow as Snoke was sent spiraling into the stone wall, black blood gurgling from his throat and spilling out of his mouth like tar. Snoke glanced up with a new found power that had Kylo tensing.

“You want a fight? Let me give it to you, boy.” He hissed and held out his hand to the side. From thin air, his shadows formed a long yet thin shape that took complete form as Snoke’s boney hand clutched the hilt.

The darkness became Snoke’s legendary light saber, a weapon that glowed white around a completely black blade; a scorched metal hilt to complete it’s deranged look. Snoke shot forward from his crumpled position, attempting to stab Kylo, but was met with a red light as sparks flew.

Kylo’s own light saber hummed with a vengeful power, its blood lust needing to be sated from the feelings welling up inside its master. Sparks flew as sabers slashed and clashed together with crazed yet elegant movements.

Kylo channeled all of his rage and loss into his attacks, picturing your smiling face, your eyes meeting with his own, the warmth of your kiss...

...and he would never experience any of it ever again.

With a loud cry Kylo swung his saber down onto Snoke’s, red locking with black in a flurry of light. The creator struggled with his creation as the saber’s were slowly pushed back and forth.

“You’ve grown weak in your rest, Ren. What do you hope to accomplish? Even if you were to defeat me, you do not posses the power to bring your beloved back!” He pushed the sabers more towards Kylo. “Resistance is futile!” He hissed as the black saber lightly singed the side of Kylo’s face, his teeth gritting against the pain.

“You’re right, my master...I don’t,” He grunted out as the saber burned into his skin. With another flash of your face in his mind, Kylo surged forward until both sabers found a home in Snoke’s head, “But you do.” As Snoke struggled to grasp that he was defeated, tendrils flew from Kylo’s robes and into Snoke’s body, absorbing any and all power the creature possessed.

With a final glare, Kylo pulled the sabers from Snoke’s head and slashed it clean off his shoulders. The body began to writhe and crumple before turning to dust at Kylo’s feet as he pocketed the black saber. He closed his eyes as the new found power melted with his own.

He fell to his knees as the ancient darkness lashed out with his body, his fingers clawing at the ground beneath him in an attempt to control the new found power. He bared his teeth as the pain intensified, his body beginning to crawl towards your own as his body twisted and burned; bones beginning to show in certain areas.

Finally reaching your side, he hovered over your body with his hands on either side of your head as he struggled to control his breathing. He leaned down until his forehead touched your own, his hands coming to clutch either side of your face and focused more than he ever had in any of his lives.

“Come back, come back to me,” He murmured over and over in different languages and different ways, willing your soul to revive within you, “Y/N, my star, my chosen....come back, come back....” He whispered against the pain until a particularly searing surge hit him, causing his face to contort until his teeth were razor sharp and his eyes completely black.

“Y/N COME BACK!!!!” He screamed at your face in multiple tones, his roar echoing through out the area until he swore he heard you scream back.

You jolted awake as oxygen graced your lungs, your eyes bulging in disbelief as your hands went up to your throat. For the second time in one week, you had been dead and revived. You sucked in air as quickly as possible as you swiveled left and right, trying to take in as much as possible.

Snoke was no where to be seen, but you felt with every fiber of your being that you weren’t alone. As if on cue the crunching of rocks caught your attention, causing you to cast your gaze to the corner of the room. A hunched figure in tattered black cloth sat amongst a pile of rubble breathing heavily, its fingers scraping at the ground beneath it.

You stood on shaky legs and cautiously made your way closer, your mind telling you to run but your heart telling you that you knew whoever this was.

“Kylo?” You took a shot in the dark, hoping you were right. Its head turned slightly, shoulders falling in what seemed to be relief.

“My star...you’re alive...thank the gods....” His deep voice held great exhaustion and pain only casing your worry to spike, your steps picking up speed until you stood behind him.

“Kylo what-” you reached down to touch his shoulder only to stop as he flinched.

“NO! N-no...don’t...don’t look at me...” He whimpered out and curled more into himself. You knelt beside him in concern and scrunched your brow. “I don’t...I don’t want to scare you. I’ve put you through enough...” He rasped out and your heart broke.

“You won’t.” You were firm in your decision, part of you feeling that he was the reason you were still alive. As much hell as you’d been through, Kylo had always pulled through for you and kept you safe to the best of his abilities.

Your hand reached out and cupped the far side of his face, turning it until his eyes met yours. His face had become more gray and gaunt, wrappings even more visible as if you’d just pulled him from his tomb. Whatever power he used to revive you had taken a great deal out of him and left him as weak as when he first crawled out of his coffin.

You scooted closer until both hands encased his face, thumbs stroking under the rough skin of his eyes as his eyes dropped to the floor.

“I’m so sorry I failed you, Y/N...” He whispered out and clenched his eyes shut in shame. You made a noise in your throat and moved his face back up until he was looking at you again.

“I want you to listen very closely, mummy boy,” You began, “You’ve haunted my thoughts, put me through more danger than I’ve ever been in, had me face down pig headed men of every type...” He winced at your list, “But you’ve saved me at every turn and never once lied to me in any moment.” Your voice caused his eyes to widen.

“I understand what you are and I understand what you’ve done, t doesn’t mean I can just forgive what’s happened...” His eyes began to lower back to the floor until you made him look up again, “But that doesn’t mean I won’t help you through this. Before I can be your saving grace or whatever the hell you think I am, you need to want to help yourself.” You brushed strands of hair from his face as his lips parted in awe at you.

He brought his face closer to yours until your foreheads touched, his hands coming up to cover yours on his face.

“For you, I will try.” He answered and his small smile was more than enough to send butterflies into your stomach. You smiled back and gently kissed his forehead, standing and offering him your hand.

“Come on then.”

#kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #mummy!kylo #kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #the mummy #star wars

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heyheyohsorry · 7 years ago

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Change

Summary: Ginny needs advice and turns to her favorite captain. Pairing: Angelina & Ginny Length: Drabble ~1,800 words

Ginny isn't surprised that she's the first one there. Even though she herself has a tendency to run late, Angelina Johnson is always the last to arrive places. In all fairness, as a professional Quidditch player, Angelina often has to stop and sign autographs.

People don't ask Ginny for her autograph, people just stare at war heroes and the girlfriend and sister of a war heroes, and gossip about them when the tabloids print stories. Oh what a relief it was to be in Muggle London. She didn't need to be in tomorrow's paper as well.

The place Angelina chose was nice. Great outdoor seating, and today was turning out to be a lovely day, weather wise. Ginny's mood always relied on the weather, always had. Even on the worst of days, she could never manage to feel that bad when the sun was out and the sky was clear.

In strolled Angelina. Unlike Ginny, Angelina always stood out when she walked into a room. Not only because of her bold brown skin, or her 5'9'' stature, she just had an energy about her.

Luna once said Angelina had a yellow aura signifying optimism and inspiration. Ginny had learned that in cases like these Luna was often right.

"ello!" Angelina called, leaning over the table and kissing Ginny's cheeks.

"Lovely dress" Ginny commented, raising her eyebrow in question. Angelina rolled her eyes before slumping down in the seat across from her, "I had tea with my Mum."

Ginny nodded in understanding. Molly was the same, always wanting to see her daughter in dresses and skirts, as to confirm that she indeed had a daughter and not a seventh son. That explained Angelina's choice of sandals instead of sneakers, as well as the light lipstick she was wearing. Angelina's mother must have been delighted, Angelina looked beautiful.

"How'd that go?" Ginny asked, taking a sip of her water.

Angelina huffed, "Currently she's preoccupied with my sister's wedding. She's freaking out because all the venues are booked solid, well, you know." yeah Ginny knew.

"Anyway, eventually she's going to ask me who my wedding date is and that will open a whole new can of worms." Angelina said, throwing her hands up in the air.

The last Ginny knew, Angelina was dating some muggle football player, a beefy meathead. Eric might have been his name. It was hard to keep track of the many different men Angelina was dating.

Ginny really wanted to ask if Angelina would consider taking George, but Ginny knew Angelina wouldn't answer. Despite being roommates with her brother, Angelina barely ever spoke about George or the new relationship they had formed. The two of them were so private when it came to each other. George and Angelina, in their own flat, with their own conversations, and their own secrets. That was the way it had been since they fled England together five months after the war.

"Not ready to take Eric?" Ginny questioned. Angelina smiled, "I'm thinking of letting Eric go. Lovely abs, just not that bright."

Ginny of course didn't think that this one would last. None of Angelina's boyfriends did. George couldn't keep a girlfriend either. Of course, George and Angelina saw no correlation.

"But maybe I'll keep him around as some arm candy for the wedding photos." She said waggling her eyebrows. "Anyway, enough about me. It'll be last call if I continued to talking about my problems." Angelina laughed.

A part of Ginny wished that Angelina would open up to her, but Ginny knew that was unlikely.

"It's been awhile since we've gotten together, just the two of us." Ginny said.

It really had been at least three months. Of course Ginny had just seen Angelina a couple days ago, at Teddy Lupin's birthday. It had been a small event just family and close friends. All trying to focus on the positive, and not the anniversary coming up a few weeks away.

Angelina smiled. "it's always too long" she said, placing her hand on top of Ginny's before picking up the menu.

"Have you seen the Prophet?" Ginny asked, already knowing the answer. Angelina responded still reading over the menu. "The team has a subscription. I didn't read the article but…" Yeah Ginny knew, she had made front-page news this time. Of course, she had. She had known yesterday she would when she finally calmed down enough to take in the faces of the other witches in the store, the shock, the horror.

"What do you think?" Ginny asks, "Is the article true?"

They all had dealt first hand with the press and the twists and lies the media could tell. Unfortunately for Ginny, this time, it was. Ginny nodded.

"Well. I guess the only thing to say is.." Angelina paused. "you have a flare for the dramatic" Ginny gasped, "Oh my goodness Ange!"

Angelina laughed, "I thought of it the moment I saw the headline."

Angelina Johnson and her puns, sometimes it surprised Ginny that such a poised girl had such an immature humor, but then she willingly hung out with Fred and George, so maybe she shouldn't be so surprised.

"I can't believe you're making jokes right now!"

Angelina shrugged, "So you knocked over a candle and set your wedding dress on fire."

Ginny blanched, and Angelina read her face "The Prophet wrote that it was an accident" Ginny shook her head.

In a way it was, accidental magic from the panic attack Ginny had when she saw her wedding dress and fully comprehended the giant step she was making in her life at only age 20. The Prophet writing that she knocked over a candle had to be Parvati's doing. Ginny would have to thank her. A fruit basket? A cheese platter? What do you send your friend for keeping the wizarding world from thinking you are a deranged arsonist?

"Hey, we don't have to get into the details now." Angelina said, probably sensing Ginny's stress levels starting to rise, "Let's order some food before we get into the nitty-gritty. I'm bloody starved."

"Appetizers?"

Angelina grinned, "and dessert".

There was a reason she went to Angelina. Hermione, as much as she tried, couldn't help but reprimand Ginny. Luna, well, her advice always came buried in tales about mystical creatures no one besides her and her father had heard of. Angelina wasn't like that.

Despite hearing about Angelina before Ginny arrived at Hogwarts through letters Charlie sent about the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and then meeting Angelina through her close friendship with her older twin brothers, Ginny didn't really know Angelina until fourth year. Fourth year it had seemed like it was just Angelina and her, the two remaining members desperate to make their team work. Angelina jokes that she wouldn't have graduated if Ginny wasn't there to keep her sane. Their relationship worked, Angelina liked to talk out strategy and Ginny wanted to learn as much as possible. How many nights that year had Ginny flown with Angelina? How many hours had they spent in front of the Common Room fire? Ginny doesn't quite understand it, but Angelina always found the good that Ginny couldn't see in herself.

The meal was great. They discussed their lives, while skirting around their biggest problems. Quidditch was also a fun topic, and unlike Ron Angelina wasn't interested in showing Ginny up, plus she always had juicy bits of gossip about the other players. Sometimes it really made Ginny wished she had tried out for a team. The sun was setting as they looked over the dessert menu. Another great thing about Angelina, she could eat as much as Ginny.

"I don't know what I want" Angelina hummed in agreement. "I know it all looks so good"

"No, in life." Ginny watched as Angelina lowered the menu, her face changing, ready to listen.

"I love Harry, but-" Ginny paused, how could she explain it. "There are many different types of love"

Her love with Harry felt old and heavy. It felt obligatory, it was stressful. She wanted fun love, light love, consequence free love. She wanted real double dates.

"And you can't have these things with Harry?" Angelina asks.

Ginny blames it all on the war. After the war everyone was so desperate to move on from the lives they losts and the families torn apart. They wanted to see a romance for the ages. They wanted Harry and Ginny to get married and have precious children and be happy and normal. And for months, Ginny thought she was ready, but it took a burst of accidental magic that set her wedding dress on fire for her to see that maybe she wasn't.

"What has Harry said?"

Ginny huffed, "All the right things of course. "Ginny I love you" "Ginny I'll wait for you" But I don't think I want that."

Harry had been kind and patient as Ginny explained and cried, and said she was unhappy. He had listened and apologized and rubbed her back as she told him she couldn't marry him. Her sweet, kind, supportive Harry had been his sweet, kind, and supportive self, and yet Ginny still wasn't satisfied.

"Gosh, I'm so selfish"

"Maybe, but selfish isn't always a bad thing." Angelina proclaimed, taking the time to stare int Ginny's eyes so she understood.

"You have to look after yourself first. No one should be pushing you to do anything but finding out what makes you happy. So what? relationships change. You and harry, me and George, we're all trying to heal. We're all still struggling, me included." Angelina confessed, sad smile on face, that Ginny had rarely seen of the strong woman.

"I'm not saying that calling off your wedding will be easy. There are going to be dozens of people who disagree with you, but that's on them. There are some people who don't understand that when we heal we change." It sounded like a mantra, but coming from Angelina it just made sense.

"Thanks Angelina."

Angelina smiled, "Hey, this is what friends are for."

"While we're talking about change. Alicia gave me this to give to you." Angelina said, pulling out a packet from her bag and sliding it across the table to Ginny.

"It's your decision, I just think you should know it's an option." Angelina stated. Ginny took a good look at the packet.

Breaking her engagement, trying out for a Quidditch team, taking advice from Angelina and yet...

"This would be a change-" Ginny said, running her fingers over the Harpies logo, "-healing is change."

#quidditchleaguenet #angelina johnson #ginny weasley #angelina x ginny #quidditch #hp drabble #female friendship #harpies #HHOS fic

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