#another reason why skull is so deeply attached to her

[llamagoddessofficial]

Oh Llama, could I request general headcanons for evil Mc? Also, can you elaborate on how she met Skull? Cause I think it's so cute how she saved his life, and now he would give his in exchange.

Here's some tidbits on the supervillain Mc au!

The boys get on surprisingly well. They don't get on perfectly- there's still some natural jealousy as a result of all vying for the same villain. But they're all aware of the fact that they fill their own valuable niches in her life, and they take pride in those niches. Sans is her trusted friend, Red is her valued commander and occasional paramour, Skull is her utterly devoted guard dog. And at the end of the day, infighting would be detrimental to her plans.

@iridescent-serpent's banger art means her having a spooky veil is canon. Her boys are the only ones privy to her face.

People who commit particularly egregious crimes against her have three possible ways of being dealt with- death by one of Red's blades, being fed to Skull, or being sent to Sans' lab as a test subject if he so requests.

(Skull is the best way to go. It'll be quick. Red likes to make a show of it to impress Mc, and Sans... well. Sans will make it last a long time.)

Red's actually a very good general. Sure, he has a temper, but who doesn't? He's ruthless, strategically minded, and surprisingly forgiving of genuine mistakes by his underlings.

Red has stopped the most assassination attempts against her. You'd think it'd be Skull, but Skull's constant looming presence means very few have ever had the bravery/stupidity to get that close.

Sans designed her outfit.

To many, Sans appears like he feels absolutely nothing. She's the only one privy to his real emotions- they often communicate with single nods... and sometimes, even a nod is too much, and only a glance is needed.

Sans is the only one who's seen her cry. In complete private, they have nicknames for one another.

Skull has his own room. He rarely uses it, too busy being glued to her side. But he appreciates the gesture.

All three of them carry some kind of memento of her within lockets. Sans has a lock of her hair, Red has a piece of fabric with her kiss mark on it, and Skull has a small vial of her favourite perfume.

As for the subject of how she met Skull... he was most likely being held prisoner by heroes. They saw a beast lashing out and assumed he was a mindless monster that needed locking up- no one stopped to think there might be someone within that monster, crying out for help. He was simply muzzled and locked away to rot.

She set him free. But... more importantly... she was the first to ever treat him gently. She spoke to him in soft tones, soothed him with a hand against his cheekbone. Reminded him that he was still a person, a person who deserved warmth and love like everyone else.

... There was never the expectation that he would follow her. But he did. The moment she treated him with kindness, he would've followed her anywhere. Hero or villain.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 6

So we’re slowly but surely getting into the Hannigram shit I promised.

Someone with murderous intent finds y/n just as she thinks her life is beginning to improve. Little does she know, it will. 

@deadman-inc-bikeshop and @dovadokren here you go homies

Trigger warnings: Suicide bombing, graphic descriptions of violence, gun violence, death, cults, cult manipulation

You waited until he had left the restaurant to read that all-important scrap of paper. For some reason, you felt the need to hide in the bathroom to read it. It was probably just a name and phone number, but your brain was anticipating some kind of love letter. 

You carefully unfolded the receipt like it was your most treasured possession. Inside, it simply read ‘Hannibal Lecter’ followed by a phone number. 

You hugged the paper against your chest and a huge smile overtook your face. You couldn’t attach any rhyme or reason to why you suddenly felt so alive, other than you were completely and utterly infatuated. You felt like you could break into song. 

“Hey, [F/N]!” Charissa said, banging on the stall door. “Not to interrupt whatever this is, but could you take out the trash please?” 

“Oh.” You answered, your voice cracking. “Yeah. I’ll be right there.” 

Charissa trailed close behind you as you collected the bags from each can around the restaurant. She was uncharacteristically quiet, probably waiting for you to start spilling every detail of your night. The joke was on her, because you could let the silence go on forever. She wasn’t getting a word out of you. 

“So you’re not going to tell me?” She sounded deeply offended. 

“What’s to tell?” You said, hoisting a very full garbage bag over your shoulder. “Nothing happened.” 

“He sunk his teeth into you, didn’t he?” Charissa asked. At this point, you weren’t sure if she meant it metaphorically or literally. “That’s why you’re acting all, y’know, not downright miserable?” 

“Is that how I act usually?” You began to make your way to the back.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but,” She prefaced. “You basically have two moods. Depressed and customer-service happy, which is just depressed with a facelift. And whatever is happening here doesn’t fit into either of those categories. So something happened.” 

“Detective Charissa Rodriquez does it again.” You rolled your eyes and put one hand on the back door. “Some things just have to stay between a bartender and her... possible love interest.”

You punctuated the last sentence with a wink, sending your friend into a righteous fury. 

“Holy shit, [F/N]!” She exclaimed, smacking her hands together. “Come on, [F/N], I’m your best friend. You’ve got to let me in.” 

“I’m still trying to process what happened myself.” You said in earnest. “Believe me, if I’m telling anyone, it’s you.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” Charissa wagged her finger. 

You tightened your grip on the garbage bag and lugged it outside. The night had fallen, and the orchestra of cicadas and crickets was in full swing. The warm pre-summer air welcomed you. As much as you resented her for bringing it up, Charissa was right. You hadn’t been truly happy in a very long time. And, as terrifying as the thought may have seemed, in a way, you owed it to Chase Mulvaney. 

You hauled the garbage bag into the dumpster and slammed it shut. The crash echoed and you turned back towards the door. 

Someone grabbed your arm. Your immediate thought was that it was just Charissa playing a cruel joke, but then they twisted it back and shoved you against the wall. You felt the cold blade of a knife against your neck and you froze up. 

“You didn’t repent.” A manic voice hissed into your ear. You could feel your heartbeat against the cold brick wall. The hands that bound you were soft and the voice was much more female. This was noticeably not Chase. 

You sputtered as you tried to articulate any of your thousands of questions. “Who the fuck are you?!” 

“Silence, she-devil!” The girl slammed you against the wall. “Keep your forked tongue between your teeth or I’ll cut it out!”

Her voice and hands shook and she enunciated as if she were reading off a script with a gun to her head. The adrenaline turned to genuine fear when you felt something hard strapped to her midriff. You knew in that moment that she wasn’t going to use the knife. 

"I thought Chase wanted to kill me himself." You muttered.

“Did you really think vanguard would be stupid enough to come back here?!” She forced a laugh but her voice was broken with fear. 

“Yes.” You said back, resigning to at least die with honor. “And, why is Chase the one in charge?!” 

She tightened her grip on your arm and smashed your head against the wall. “Don’t you dare talk about vanguard that way!”

He ripped off his cult leader title from fucking NXIVM? You thought, fully aware that it could easily be your last thought ever. 

“No, but seriously, think about it!” You implored her, hoping that if you got her talking, she wouldn’t hit the detonator. If there was one thing you knew about evangelicals, it was that they loved to hear themselves talk. “Chas- er, vanguard attacked me in broad daylight in front of dozens of witnesses. You’re smarter than he is! You came after me when I was alone in the dark!” 

“Everything he does, he does for a reason.” She shouted. "It's not the unwoman's place to question vanguard!"

“Oh god, now he’s ripping off Handmaid’s Tale?” You said out loud this time.

“Vanguard told me that you would try to fill my head with lies!” She growled. “So long as you are alive, you stand in the way of god’s work! You spread only falsehoods about our savior!” 

“Is this about the TattleCrime article?” You ask. “Because I didn’t say anything about god, I only talked about--” 

Then it hit you, again. “Oh, so this is a cult cult.”

"It's not a cult!" The girl screamed. This was the first time you'd sensed any genuine emotion behind her words. "Vanguard takes good care of us. And he can take care of you, too [F/N] [L/N]."

"By sending someone to kill me?" You spat.

"No!" The girl exclaimed. "No, no, no, no, no! Silly! I'm here to save you. If you repent now, and let Jesus Christ into your heart, your earthly shackles will be broken!"

"And what's in it for you, huh?" You struggled against her grip. "The privilege of blowing yourself up for Chase Mulvaney?"

"I was a sinful being like you, once." She said. "My grand reward is to give my life to save another."

You heard the click of a gun behind you. “Put the knife down and take off the vest!” 

The girl grabbed you by the neck and turned you to face this approaching foe. She held the knife to your throat. “If you shoot, she’s dead.” 

You couldn’t make out the details of his face, because he was backlit by headlights. You could, however, see the face of your captor. She was completely emaciated with bones protruding from her skin. Her head was sloppily shaved and whatever instrument she used to shave it left deep cuts on her scalp. 

She reached a shaky hand into her pocket and pulled out a detonator. Tears streaming down her face, she began to chant. “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

The man let off a shot, sending a bullet into her leg. She fell backwards, dropping the detonator and the knife and giving you an opportunity to run. The man gestured for you to get behind him and you obliged. He then let off a second shot, this bullet hitting her right through the skull. The girl collapsed backwards, her brain matter painting the side of the building. 

The man dropped his gun, mumbled something about a bomb squad into his phone, then turned to you. Finally, you could get a good look at his face. Immediately, you noticed his rich brown curls and a smattering of scruff around his jaw. His features were soft, comforting even. But a long enough examination of his face told you that he was just as deeply haunted as you were. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, weakly.

“You...” You said over desperate gasps for air. “You saved me.”

Soon enough, the first responders joined you. But for a few minutes, it was just you, the man and some unspoken mutual understanding words couldn't articulate.

[cinebration]

It Isn’t Enough (Captain Syverson x Reader) [Request]

Thank you for opening requests, i love your writing!

If you feel up for it: I like fics where one is an complete asshole in the beginning but notices it after some time and tries to make it better/apologizes.

So maybe a Captain Syverson fic where you are an soldier that comes new to his troop and he for whatever reason starts to humiliate her/has her do drills that would be extreme even for men and does that for days. And reader never complains because she hates beeing seen as less for being a woman, but is completely exhausted.

And idk either she collapses and some point or for extra drama gets wounded in a fight because she cant defend herself because she is so weak from his treatment. And he notices what a asshole he was.

Idk something like that would be awesome but I love all your fics, write whatever you like 😄 — Requested by anon

Hooo boy, anon, this was fun to write. Not sure you’ll like the ending, though.

Warnings: gunshot

Gif Source: calebduume

You wanted to punch Syverson in his goddamn face and make him bleed. Perhaps that was a byproduct of growing up with two older brothers, of having to fight and scrape your way to be “valued,” but the urge to beat Syverson into submission was strong.

It was bad enough you were the only woman assigned to his unit. It was worse still that he was holding it against you.

When the orders had come in that you were being assigned to his unit, you had balked. Bunch of grunts like that were guaranteed to make hell for you—even more so because you were being sent to them to help deal with the female population. The men intimidated the women and therefore were missing out on vital intelligence.

It chafed you that you were solely being selected based on your sex. You had gone out of your way to distinguish yourself in the hopes that you wouldn’t be seen only as a female soldier. You had performed comparably with the men in most categories and had exhibited great improvement in the ones you were lacking. Your old CO had lauded you for your diligence and determination.

Only now you were back at square one, dealing with a captain who clearly did not want a woman on his team of brutes.

You refused to let him see it, but you were suffering. As part of his campaign to scrub you out of the unit, he had you working unpredictable hours. He had you running the perimeter at two in the morning after only an hour of sleep, then made you clean the toilets. The other men noticed but didn’t quite say anything. Only one dared to offer you sympathetic glances and tried to shoulder some of the excessive responsibilities being heaped on you. When Syverson caught on, however, the man was punished alongside you.

When the summer arrived, some four months after you had been assigned, Syverson had you running suicides at high noon. You nearly collapsed from heat stroke, but you persisted, aware he and the others were watching you. After, you shambled into the building, clothes soaked with sweat, and made it to your room before passing out.

An hour later, Syverson all but kicked down the door. “Get up, we’re rolling out.”

Flushed and still shaky, you glared up at him. “Yessir.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched, but he stormed out, leaving you to suit up.

You knew something was wrong when you had trouble getting into your gear. Your fingers fumbled, and you felt dizzy, the floor rocking beneath you. You struggled to think straight, everything fuzzy inside your head and out.

Get it together, you hissed inwardly, and then you were out the door.

The merciless sun beat down on you, cooking you in your fatigues and body armor as you moved with the others through the empty square. Everything baked in the heat, waves shimmering off the streets and buildings. Your vision wavered as you scanned through the haze.

The silence stretching over the market square should have set your nerves jangling, but your unsteadiness countered that, making you trudge after the others without a word. Something fluttered in the corner of your eye. Squinting, you turned sluggishly toward it, saw a figure leaning against a building.

Why are they doing that, your addled mind asked.

Pain exploded through your chest, knocking you down. You didn’t so much as cry out, the breath in your lungs gone. The dirt pressed into your face, shoving your sunglasses against your temple. Gunfire cracked around you. Heavy hands yanked you back, dragging you across the dirt with ease. You faded in and out, hearing shouts as you were flung to safety behind the Humvee.

~~

You woke slowly, grainy eyes peeling open unpleasantly, as though every grain of dirt and sand had worked their way under the lids. Mouth gummy, you swallowed thickly and tried to get your bearings, your head pounding. The room around you resolved into the medic tent.

A light breeze toyed with the flap of the tent, making the harsh sunlight play in jagged lines across everything.

Voices cut through the fog in your head.

“You almost killed her!”

“It’s not my fault she didn’t see—”

“She should never have been out there! Thanks to your drills, she was suffering from heat stroke!”

Silence.

You tried to elbow up into a sitting position. Pain flared through your chest, another wave through your skull. You groaned despite yourself.

The flap smacked open as the medic stormed back into the tent, rushing to your side. “Whoa there, take it easy.” He eased you back down onto the bed. “You took a bullet to the chest on top of the heat stroke.”

You glanced at the IV stuck in your arm and the saline drip attached to it above you. “Everyone…okay?”

The medic arched his eyebrows.

“Yes.”

Captain Syverson’s voice sent a jolt of surprise through you. He stood at the foot of the cot, arms folded over his broad chest. He didn’t quite meet your eyes, his brow creased deeply. Dirt clung to his features, plastered there with sweat.

The medic fussed over you for a few minutes, checking vitals and talking to soothe you. You ignored him, painfully aware of Syverson’s presence and resenting it.

“I want to speak to her alone.”

The medic shook his head. “I don’t think that—”

“That’s an order.”

The medic glared at him for a long moment before relenting, backing out of the tent. You shifted uneasily on the cot, tensing as you felt Syverson shift his attention back to you.

“You’re a stubborn fuck,” he growled.

Your mouth curled into a snarl. “Save it for when I’m back on my feet.”

The muscle in his jaw clenched. “You should have said something about the heat stroke.”

“Why? To give you the satisfaction of having ��beaten’ me?”

He glanced away, making you frown. The man usually stared you down, not flinched. “I’m sorry.”

The words took the breath out of you. “You’re joking.”

“I don’t joke. I shouldn’t have run you so hard.”

Shaking your head, you leaned back against the pillow. “Well, it worked. You’ve successfully driven me out.”

“What?”

“I’m requesting a transfer.”

The statement hung in the air between you both, stifling. You heard Syverson shift on his feet. Good, you thought. Leave.

“You should stay.”

You blinked, glanced at you him. Had you heard him correctly? “Excuse me?”

“Don’t make me repeat it.”

“Why should I stay? You did everything you could to make my life a living hell.”

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being genuine. You scrutinized his face, the way he couldn’t meet your eyes, as though terribly uncomfortable. “Why did you do it? Because I’m a woman?”

The words seemed to be yanked from him. “I didn’t think you could manage it out here. I didn’t think you should.”

It was exactly what you thought, but it still stung. Hand curling into a fist, your bruised chest aching, you said, “I guess you were right.”

“I’m trying to say I wasn’t,” he growled.

“Just promise me the next woman sent to this unit doesn’t suffer the same treatment.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “So you won’t stay?”

“No.” You let your gaze drift up to the tent’s canopy. “I’m done. With all of it.”

Syverson moved to the tent flap. He paused, his shadow stretching across your feet. “I am sorry.”

“It isn’t enough.”

[illneverrecover]

trust my love | pjy

➛pairing: Park Jinyoung x Reader ➛genre: librarian!reader, non idol!AU, Slice of Life!AU, fluff, humor  ➛word count: 2,343 ➛rating: E ➛warnings: I know we are shocked, but since this isn’t smut there isn’t many! Kissing, Making out in a library, Persistent Jinyoung. This is just softsoftcute. ➛summary: Jinyoung frequents the library in hopes of convincing you to go on a date on with him, but you’re not so easy to win over. Luckily, he’s not easily deterred. ➛notes: This is my piece for the Secret Admirer’s Project 2021 for @ksmutclub​! I’m a little nervous to post this because it’s the first time I’ve written about GOT7, however it was an honor to do so for @birbdae​. Thank you for playing along with my asks, Dae! It was fun to get to know you and I hope you like this! 🍒 Also shout out to my sweet sugar bb @taetaesbaebaepsae​ for beta reading and hyping me up, ily. Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone. ➛song: Trust My Love - GOT7 |  Love You Better - GOT7

“He’s here again."

Sighing heavily, you spin around, running your hands through your hair. Not that you cared what it looked like, of course. Why would you?  

“Is he headed this way?”

“No, it looks like he’s headed towards fiction, turning down..” Ara pauses, eyes scanning the room, “the literature aisle - classics, to be specific.” 

“Great.” 

Ara keeps her gaze trained on her mark, angling her body towards you. “What do you think he’ll bring you today?”

“As if I care,” you scoff, moving over to the restock cart and busying yourself by grabbing a stack of books to plop down next to your computer. You had already organized and prepped most of these already, but no one else knows that. “Believe it or not, my work day does not evolve around what’s-his-face showing up unannounced-”

“-his name is Jinyoung, and you know that-”

“-and I have important things to attend to. He’s just another customer, nothing else.”

You can feel her glare boring into your skull, but you refuse to give in to meet it. If you do, you’ll see the disbelief and frustration in her eyes, which will be an open invitation for Ara to give you yet another one of her famous ‘You Need To Live Your Life’ speeches, which you have no patience for today. 

She finally shrugs her shoulders, turning to grab the empty cart. “Whatever you say, dear. I’m off to get the books from the front drop off,” she glides away, the cart squeaking at her increased pace, “have fun with Jinyoung!” 

Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply, wondering how long it’ll be before the man in question comes striding up to your desk, a book tucked under his arm and a disarming smile in tow.

He had been coming into your library now for what felt like years, but in reality was only a few weeks. You aren’t sure what started his interest in you - his first day in your check out line had been a brief and altogether forgettable encounter - but since that day, he has come in three times a week like clock work. He always returns a book, spends anywhere between fifteen and twenty minutes pursuing the stacks, fingers dragging against the spines, seemingly searching for something. And then he finds you, regardless of what floor you are working and what your current task is, and chats you up while you scan his library card, shuffling him out the door as quickly as you can.

Conversation started off innocent at first, usually small talk about whatever read he had just finished and dropped off in the return box. You pride yourself on being polite and professional, even if it was clear he had other intentions. But it was when he began asking more about you, inquiring about your days off  that you felt your hackles raise. The next time he returned a book, he skipped the pleasantries, instead leaving you with a wink and a slip of paper with his phone number inside the pages, right next to the author note. 

‘Go on a date with me?’

Such a simple phrase shouldn’t have caused such havoc in your life, and yet here you were.

Your traitorous co-workers all though it was so sweet, so romantic how he pursued you. Nevermind that he had the face of the type of man who has done this before, who likely has a contact list a mile long of names attached to pretty women that would all fawn over him at a moment’s notice. Or the fact that he clearly came from money; his designer peacoats and dress shirts always crisp, clean, and the complete opposite of anything you owned. 

No, this wasn’t a budding romance - if anything, it was a classic case of a man who liked the chase, even if you refused to run. 

The clearing of a throat pulls you from your thoughts, eyes snapping to address the intruder. “Can I help you with something?” 

“Hi, yes you can. I’d like to check out this book, please.” Jinyoung smiles brightly, eyes dancing with mirth. He’s dressed in a warm khaki color sweater today, the tips of a white collar peeking out of the neckline and tucked into his perfect pressed slacks. He’s handsome, and you both know it. 

Seemingly catching you staring, he raises a brow in question, one that you promptly ignore. Instead, you hold out your hand impatiently, waiting for him to share which novel he’s going to try to use to impress you with today. When you glance down at the title, your eyebrow raises. 

“The Ghost Bride, hmm? Doesn’t really seem like your type,” you mutter, taking the book and flipping it to scan it. His library card awaits beside it, the elegant script of his signature seemingly taunting you. “Are you sure you didn’t mean to pick up something else? I can show you where the picture books are-”

“Nope, this was the right one. I’m just following your recommendations, you know. This was your pick of the week.” 

You scowl, swiping his card under the scanner before grabbing the automatically printed receipt, sliding his items back towards him across the counter. You had forgotten about the ‘See What Our Librarians Recommend!’ board that Mark had put up earlier in the week in an attempt to engage more with the customers. There hadn’t been much thought behind your pick other than it was one you enjoyed; getting immersed into other cultures and their traditions one of the easiest ways to relax your mind. But now you felt self conscious, like he was peering into your head. 

You shake the thought away, turning back to your screen. “Yes, I’m aware of that. Well, have a nice day, I gotta get back to work.” 

“Have you thought about the answer to my question?”

Jinyoung is still waiting at the counter, a small but earnest smirk tugging at his lips, eyes locked on to yours. If you didn’t know any better, you would think his curiosity was genuine with how he stared, how kind he was. 

But you knew better. 

“Yes, and the answer is no. I’m not looking to date right now,” you huff, breaking his gaze once more. There was something intense about how he looked at you, and it made your nerves dance under your skin. 

“May I ask why?”

Sighing, you close your eyes, counting the breath as you pull it into your lungs. What a loaded question. There were thousands of answers, a multitude of reasons why it was a bad idea to accept a date from the handsome stranger that frequents your library. Which would be acceptable to share; that you’ve had your heart broken more times than you care to admit, and don’t want to be hurt again? That you’re too immersed in your work and your goals that you don’t have time for a relationship? Or that you spend your days lost between the pages of books, delving into new worlds and reading about loves so pure and avowed that you know anything you come across in real life will be a disappointment?

Instead of those truths, you give him a tight smile. “Because I don’t know you, and you haven’t earned one yet.” 

There was an unspoken challenge in those words, but you didn’t care. You knew that Jinyoung with his pretty face and captivating charm would give up soon, and when that time came, you’d breathe a sigh of relief and continue about your life just as it was before he came in it. 

“I get it, you don’t trust me,” he looks down at his shoes, inhaling deeply before returning his amber eyes to you. “But I’m serious. I’ll prove it to you.” 

He stands there a beat more, as if he wanted to be sure you understood his promise before turning and walking away, giving a final grin over his shoulder. 

You should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.

The harsh refusal of his proposal didn’t deter Jinyoung in the least, if anything, it renewed his commitment. He continued his visits to the library, this time determined to speak with you more, get to know you better. He had befriended Mark shortly into his endeavors and your traitorous coworker had told him everything he knew about you - favorite foods, your favorite color, sweets you indulged on when the mood was right. And Jinyoung had weaponized this information, bringing you Peruvian lilies  in the palest of lilacs, leaving tiny boxes of nougat de montelimar on your cart on top of the books for you to find. 

Each time he came to your check out line, he was prepared with a new book and more questions, always briefly discussing his thoughts on the novel before peppering you with inquiries about anything from mundane preferences to how your parents were doing. 

The most infuriating part was it was working. The once practiced guard you had built around yourself slowly coming undone piece by piece, day by day as Jinyoung gave you patient smiles and cheeky winks. Your heart was softening to his antics, and soon you caught yourself thinking about what a date with him would be like, how being the sole object of his affections somewhere that isn’t covered in a fine line of dust and doesn’t smell like old books would make you feel.

It’s this train of thought you’re lost in when he strides up to your counter, another book in his arms, face lighting up once he sees you. 

“Hi, beautiful. Just this for me today,” he murmurs, placing the book he selected directly into your hands instead of on the counter as usual. 

You didn’t have to look at the cover to know which novel he’d handed you, the story itself being so familiar that you could recognize it by the weight of it in your hands alone. “You’re telling me you haven’t read The Great Gatsby before?”

He chuckles then, head ducking down sheepishly. “Ah, it was one of those we had to read in school ages ago, but I don’t really remember it. I wasn’t as into books back then.” 

You nod, remembering how your peers didn’t seem to be as obsessed with reading as you had been. “That’s fair. This is one of those that the meaning tends to be lost on a bunch of teenagers, anyway.” Scanning the book and his card, you place it back in his open palm, feeling like you were giving him a tiny piece of your heart.

“I decided to give it another shot - since it's your favorite, and all.” 

Warmth spreads in your cheeks and you wonder briefly if he notices the way you fight a smile. It had been a passing comment, something said while he watched you restock the non fiction section one afternoon, but the fact he remembered caused something in your chest to ache. 

“Well, let me know what you think. I mean, if you’re able to follow along, that is.” 

His slow smirk transforms into a beaming smile, his face softening as he tucks the novel under his arm. “I think I’ll manage. I’ve been able to keep up so far,” his gaze drops to drag over your form before meeting your eyes. “And I’ve been loving every minute.”

He wasn’t talking about books, and the thought had you floating on air for the rest of your shift. 

That night, when you’re safely tucked into bed and far away from the library, you grab the wrinkled slip of paper and type Jinyoung’s number into your phone.

The metal of the old bookcase was ice against your bare skin, back arching up as you lick into Jinyoung’s mouth. What started off as a gentle press of lips in the back stacks of the reference section quickly intensified when his tongue sought yours, the kiss hungry and dripping of pent up desire. 

You hadn’t planned on anything happening, only wanting the abandoned aisles so that you could accept his date offering without your coworkers lurking, not wanting to do it over text. However you didn’t account for Jinyoung’s excitement, the way he looked like he won the lottery when you told him before swiftly backing you into the shelves in a heated kiss - not that you’re complaining. 

His body is firm as he presses into you, hands cupping your cheeks in a gentle way that offset his fervent exploration of your mouth. You melt under his touch, body seeking him like a moth to flame, unwilling to leave his warmth.

“Jinyoung,” you breathe, pushing him away from your lips. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”

He chuckles, a hand snaking around your waist to tug you close once more. “Probably not. But you have no idea how long I’ve been dying to do that.” 

“Do what? Fondle me in a dusty library?”

He shakes his head lightly before leaning in, his mouth inches from your own, the look in his eyes seizing the air in your lungs. “He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God.”

Swallowing thickly, you ignore the painful gallop of your pulse, the way your defenses seem to crumble each time you’re in his presence. You don’t tell him how much it means to you that he didn’t give up, that he did all of these things just to earn your trust. That he put in so much effort to learn everything about you, took time to memorize the lines from your favorite novel just to make you smile.

Instead, you look up at him through heavy lashes, an easy grin on your lips.  “Did you just quote ‘The Great Gatsby’ at me?” Giggling, you swat his arm. “That was a little cheesy.” 

Jinyoung just meets your gaze, says everything with how he peers into your eyes without saying anything at all. “It only gets better from here, trust me.” 

[dadsbongos]

Liebeskummer

Movie/Game/Show: Danganronpa: Killing Harmony Dynamic: Korekiyo Shinguji/Reader (and his sister shit but i actually take it seriously, unlike kodaka) Warnings: korekiyo’s backstory/trauma (his sister), sexual/physical/mental abuse implications (and outright said but not described in detail except the emotional and mental), anxiety in both kork and reader and mental breakdown(s?), airhead shit but it’s sad Summary: It’s all her fault. ~~~

Korekiyo suddenly turned to the girl beside him in his quiet research lab, “Have you ever heard of Jack of Fables, (Y/n)?” at her, albeit confused, nod, he continued, “Well, all those myths, fairy tales, and even nursery rhymes in reference to ‘Jack’ are actually about the same man. What this means is that Jack Be Nimble, of the candlestick, Jack the Giant Killer, who sold his cows then murdered and robbed a giant, Stingy Jack, who tricked the devil so relentlessly that he was banned from both afterlives, Jack of Jack and Jill, who cracked open his skull, Jack o’ Lantern, Spirit of Halloween and Headless Horseman, and Jack Frost, Spirit who ends autumn and begins winter are all one in the same. He made so many poor life decisions that he now serves as an immortal representation of winer with a pumpkin serving as head and flashlight. Is that not fascinating?”

“Aw,” (Y/n) grinned, nodding once again, “Like the American ‘Florida man’.”

Korekiyo sighed, disappointment palpable in his tone, “That is… actually much more accurate than I wish to admit.”

“Wait, wait,” she tilted her head, patting the man’s arm despite his attention already being on her, “So… like, was he also Jack the Ripper…?”

His eyes widened at her statement, “(Y/n), I must be grateful you were not born to the life of a woman of the night in Victorian London because I assure you, Jack the Ripper was incredibly real.”

“Oh, that’s so sad…” she pouted before clearing it back into her usual smile almost instantly, “Well, thanks for the folklore fun fact, Kiyo! I didn’t know that Jack was so dumb! God, I’d hate to be like him…”

“You do realize you’re not so bright yourself, yes?”

She shrugged, “I’m fine with that, but at least I’m not tricking the devil!”

So sweet and kind, the Ultimate Composer was. Against all expectations, she wasn’t highbrow or traditionally genius, but she was more than excellent company. And, to top it off, the idea of turning her into one of Sister’s friends was oddly… sickening.

It should’ve been perfectly fine - she was a deeply respectable young woman unlike Miu and Maki, there’s no reason he could have against her.

It just felt wrong.

“Oh! Oh!” she burst out, clapping her hands together, before turning and reaching into a bag slung around her hip. Rooting through scrapped sheet music and notes, once she found what she’d been searching for she held it up excitedly, “Boom!”

Korekiyo took the item, just barely brushing his wrapped fingertips against hers, “Cleopatra’s Pearl Cocktail… much appreciated,” he pressed the small bottle into a pocket on his uniform, “If you enjoy giving gifts, perhaps we can discuss cultural gift-giving practices?”

“Ooh, Kiyo’s gonna teach me?”

“Hmm,” Korekiyo hummed quietly to himself, “Well, perhaps… you would prefer I tell you of a composition piece in relevance to mythology, yes?”

“That’d be nice,” the girl giggled softly, rubbing the back of her neck, “To be honest, I just like when you talk… you sound so smart all the time!”

“My thanks, (Y/n),” he nodded curtly, muttering to himself before coming to speak up, “Alright, I believe that the composition for you would be The Ring of the Nibelung, of Germany.”

“Oh, I know that one!” she knew most ‘ones’, to be fair.

“I had suspected so, but have you heard of the heroic legends behind the pieces?”

“Ah, no… are those what you’re gonna explain?”

“I had planned to, yes. Alright, well, the four parts, as you know, are The Rhinegold, The Valkyrie, Siegfried, and Twilight of the Gods. Nowadays, they are most commonly played as individual, separate works despite making one complete story. They were always intended as a sequence - as The Ring cycle, cleverly. Each piece revolves on a loose basis to German heroic tales and Norse legendary sagas, with the overarching tale of the magic ring forged by the Nibelung dwarf, Alberich, which grants the power to rule the world,” he paused at the sight of (Y/n) yawning, his lips pursed and eyes shot down to his shoes before flickering back up to the girl, “Ah, my apologies for taking far longer than necessary. You must find this- “

“Ah, no!” (Y/n) shook her head, waving her hands about as though it would physically prove how far from needed his apology was, “That’s not it! I’m just kinda tired, ya know?” as if to prove her point, another yawn washed over her, “I hadn’t slept well last night after Kirumi…”

“I see,” Korekiyo nodded, closing his eyes to think over his words, “I apologize for making it about myself. If you wish, I could walk you to your dormitory. Now that you mention it, it has been quite the long day.”

“You don’t have to, Kiyo, I’d hate to bother you so much in one day let alone one sitting,” the composer puffed her cheeks out, “That’d be so obnoxious…”

“I don’t find it obnoxious whatsoever, especially if it’s to aid- “ he hesitated, “to aid a friend.”

He hadn’t had friends before. People usually found him creepy and that was the end of the story - nobody approached him and he didn’t branch out. Life went on. The world spun. His loneliness was everlasting and yet nonexistent. He has Sister. Though, deep down, he knows. She’s on another plane of reality with loneliness stronger than his, that’s why he sends her respectable young women.

Just like (Y/n).

But just… not (Y/n). For reasons he personally chooses to not disclose to even himself.

“Aww, Kiyo! You care!” the girl placed a hand over her heart as if to show that the organ itself was squeezing in delight at his offer.

“Of course, I do,” Korekiyo didn’t like how quiet she made him. How jittery and nervous. And he didn’t like how it made him question the way Sister made him feel.

She also made him nervous but it felt different. He liked to pretend it was the nervousness of a love you don’t quite have yet, but he fully knows he’d be lying. She was a mean girl, a bully in school before being hospitalized. Prone to violent and outright frightening outbursts when she had the energy to do more than force him to her side.

But he didn’t like questioning those feelings for Sister. Who he was, was based on her. His uniform. His passion and talent. His hair. His perfect complexion. His life as the universe knows it is an ode to her.

It’s too late for him to go back now… he’s already done so much in her name it’d be cruel to give up now. He might as well continue for Sister.

“If you really don’t mind, then yeah, I’d like it if we could walk together… I get a little nervous going around at night, you never know who’s gonna snap…”

“And you trust me?”

Shit. That’s what gets him in trouble. It’s as Sister always said. ‘Too naive to make his choices, and once he’s free, too inept to make the right ones.’

“Well, yeah,” (Y/n) spoke as if there was hardly any thought to the answer, “All you’ve shown me is somebody worth trusting,” then, she’s quick to remember poor Kaede, “Well, maybe I’m being silly. But hey, if I have to choose between dying trusting my friends and paranoid beyond myself, then maybe I’d- “ she paused, “Ehhh, I don’t like the way that’s coming out.”

“I understand what you’re attempting to say,” Korekiyo reassured, turning towards his research lab’s exit, “Let us start towards the dormitories, yes?”

“Right!” (Y/n) nearly found herself jogging to catch up to Korekiyo’s long-strided head start, she clutched the strap of her bag as she did so, “So… you heard about Angie’s plan, right?”

“To perform a resurrection?”

“Do you think it’ll work?” she seemed antsier than was typical for her, “I mean, you’re into anthropology, so, like, has there ever been a case where that did work? Do you know?”

“No, besides, that would be more akin to history, remember?” she probably didn’t, her memory failed her at an ungodly amalgamation of best and worst of times.

“Oh, yeah,” she murmured and nodded, pretending to recall the difference between the two.

“Who would you desire back into this game, if you could?”

“Rantaro,” her answer was quick, her fingers looping together nervously, “We didn’t really talk much, but uhm, whenever we did - he was really nice. He said I reminded him of a sister of his… so that’s a good thing, right?”

Depends on who you ask, really.

“You grew attached to him so quickly?” there was no jealousy there, he tried to convince himself.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish I’d gotten to know him more. He was always running around, trying to save us, and in the end… it got him killed.”

A lot of things will get you killed.

Korekiyo shook off the thoughts racking his brain, “Your care for him even through his estrangedness and peculiarity is truly beautiful, (Y/n),” he fiddled with the locket piece hanging around his shoulders, “Even your care for myself. I’d be lying if I’d said it wasn’t endearing.”

“You’re not…” her words died out, not wanting to lie to a dear companion of hers, “You’re a little off-putting but you’re not undeserving of love, Kiyo.”

It was a complete 180 from what Sister had told him his entire life. A new lesson coming in far too late. He had to earn love. He should’ve been crawling on his knees and pleading for affection, but now he was supposed to simply receive it? It sounded so incredibly fake. A fictitious tale told alongside gumdrop fairies and candy trees.

No place for someone of realistic standard.

No place for him.

“You’re far too kind, (Y/n).”

“Maybe you just haven’t known nice people,” she suddenly stopped, slapping a palm to her mouth and muffling against it, “I’m so sorry!”

“Worry not,” Korekiyo continued walking, “I’m unphased.”

Because maybe it was true.

Maybe Sister wasn’t so nice.

There was an itch at his skin in the thought and he shook his head.

Sister was kind enough to love someone like him. Who was of rotted soul and rancid heart.

“I shouldn’t have just said that, especially since I don’t really know your life…”

“Would you like to learn it someday?”

(Y/n) was fairly shocked at how quickly he seemed to breeze by her insult to his family and friends - well, if he had any friends - but she wouldn’t refuse. It was extra time with Korekiyo! Who could turn that down?

“I’d love to.”

~~

“Tea and cookies,” (Y/n) pumped a fist in the air, “What could be better than enjoying those with a friend?”

Korekiyo felt his lips twitch up behind his mask at the rhetorical question, he reached out for his teacup, “Perhaps freedom from this killing game?”

“Oh, yeah, huh…” she deflated, “Jeez, I can’t believe I’d say that…”

Oh, great, of course, now he’s gone and made the local ball of sunshine in this school upset.

“Nevermind that, (Y/n), it was a tease…” he gripped the cup a little tighter, cheeks heating up in humiliation at his failed joke, “I apologize if it seemed like anything other than such.”

“No, don’t apologize, it’s fine! It was kind of a dumb thing to say, now that I put some brain into it,” so it made sense she’d said it, (Y/n) frowned at the bitter thought.

“Ah,” the clink of a cup against the table caught the girl’s attention, “I must change my mask in order to properly enjoy this tea and these cookies,” as the anthropologist went to turn, he was stopped by another outburst from the girl.

“No, don’t! Uh, here!” she clenched her eyes shut, papped her palms over her face, and turned her head downwards, “See? Now I can’t!”

“You don’t have to go to such lengths, I could simply turn- “

“No, no, I want you to feel comfortable and I heard once that doing things to make your friends comfortable is, like, a way to make them like you more?” she huffed at the wording, “Just, I don’t know… I want you to know that I care. Ya get it? No need to turn yourself away like that when I can just not look.”

A tuft of air passed through his nostrils at the girl.

Sister would adore a friend like her.

Korekiyo pulled down his mask, brows drawn tight towards his eyes at the new realization. It was no longer a matter of her being respectable, it was now the knowledge that someone as tender-hearted as (Y/n) would be loved beyond comprehension by Sister.

But… no. Sister couldn’t have her. She’d understand, right? Of course. She could have someone else - the other bubbly girl, what’s her name? Angie. She could have Angie.

Korekiyo just… he just needed (Y/n). Something about her was calming and sweet. He picked his mask for eating from a pocket in his uniform and carefully adjusted it over his lips so as to not smudge his lipstick. It wouldn’t anyway, he knew this, but it usually never backfired to be too sure.

The lipstick in itself was quite the hassle. Another homage to Sister that she might not even be seeing. So was the hair. It got tangled and knotted and was hell to dry after a shower.

“Not to rush you at all, but are you done? Cuz my eyes are starting to hurt… I think I’m squeezing them too hard.”

“Right, yes, I am.”

He really shouldn’t think like that… Sister deserved to be honored.

As if she’d been reading his mind, (Y/n) leaned over slightly, pointing at Korekiyo’s hair, “Hey, hey, how do you manage that? It always looks so silky and soft and well-kept.”

“Ah, well, it is quite troublesome most days, but with patience and rather expensive products, I keep it together.”

“I was wondering, too, do you ever put it up?”

“Not usually, though, that would be… nice on occasion,” he sipped at his tea, enjoying the way (Y/n) shyly glanced away to prove she didn’t want to invade his privacy. She was too delightful to be in a place such as this, even if he did enjoy the beauties of law-absence.

“Uh, I don’t want to come off pushy or like you have to let me, but if you want, I’d love to put your hair up! To be honest, I’ve been wanting to for a while,” her eyes widened at her own statement, “Oh, that sounded creepy. I’m so sorry.”

“I am hardly one to judge,” he reached over for a cookie, “But, if you’re so inclined, I won’t protest.”

“Yay!” she bounced slightly in her chair, “Oh, that’s great, Kiyo, thanks.”

“Shall we go to your dorm after finishing our refreshments?”

“I’d like that,” (Y/n) grinned.

And to think she almost didn’t approach Korekiyo on that first day in the school. How ridiculous could she have been to judge based on looks? Sure, he was a little strange and the way he spoke was unlike any teenager she’d ever met, but he was still a person. He deserved to be given companionship.

Besides, he’d only ever shown her kindness and support.

He didn’t even make fun of her when she said something stupid in front of everyone.

She cringed at the memory of every time Kokichi or Miu or Maki prodded at her. Even Ryoma and Kaito had picked on her when she misspoke during the first trial and just brought up a point the class had already proven. It made her heart wrinkle and shrink at the mere thought. Kokichi still made fun of her for questioning Tsumugi’s whereabouts during Rantaro’s murder.

“You’re staring into your tea, it will grow cold if you only look at it.”

“Oh, yeah,” shaking her head, (Y/n) silently cursed herself for spacing out. What an awful habit of hers, it was, “Sorry for taking so long.”

“You shouldn’t apologize, I’m not upset in the slightest,” he felt his heart lighten at the tiny smile that illuminated her face, “I simply enjoy spending this time together.”

“You’re too nice sometimes, Kiyo,” she giggled, but they both recognized the tingle of nervousness jumbling within it, “If you’re not careful, I might fall for you or something…”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing?”

I wouldn’t mind, she wanted to say.

If you’ll have me, he wished to murmur.

Then he felt his chest tighten.

“Can I…” he tapped a finger to the table, “ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Uhm,” she bit her lip as she thought back, “No… why?”

“How do you think it feels?”

“Like, you could be free and yourself around the person? I’m not too sure, but I think if you and someone else are in love then you’ll accept each other completely, you know? Sure, there’s flaws in every person, but I think you accept those, too.”

“I see…”

“Kiyo, why do you ask?”

“I…” his brows furrowed, “A lot has been on my mind as of late.”

“Alright, I won’t pry,” standing from the dining table, (Y/n) clapped her hands together, “Now, if you’re still down, I’d love to put your hair up!”

“As it stands, I am still, as you put it, ‘down’,” Korekiyo nodded before joining the girl and starting towards her dorm room.

“Nice!” she pointed directly ahead, “Now, onward!”

A total airhead at her truest, Korekiyo thought. He didn’t usually partake in the type, but something about (Y/n) just pulled him in tighter every time he tried turning away.

So, what’s the harm in giving in? Swimming against the tide only ever led to drowning anyway, so why fight it?

Sister… Sister was dead. Is dead. Resurrection isn’t possible and hasn’t been in human history. And she had changed so much of him. (Y/n) would never force him to bend to her ideal.

The more he thought about Sister in comparison to (Y/n), the more he realized that Sister felt like a ball and chain - and (Y/n) felt like a breath of fresh air.

Just her name inside his own head sounded as sweet as the best form of heaven.

“Here we are!” (Y/n) cheered upon their arrival to her room, “There’s probably a bunch-load of unfinished works in here so just… don’t judge them too harshly, okay?”

“I could hardly judge an unfinished masterpiece.”

“I don’t know about masterpieces…”

“If you create them with heart and soul, there’s nobody who can effectively say they aren’t except for yourself,” Korekiyo enters the room after her, legs carrying him towards her desk as she roots around her bathroom for a hairbrush and hair tie, “Sadly, this is also applicable to disasters with effort put into them. However, just from skimming these, I can tell you they are not such disasters.”

“Aw, thanks, Kiyo, you know - I know I’m the Ultimate Composer and junk, but jeez it gets so nerve-wracking when people hear my stuff. I like what I write, but who’s to say other people will?”

“I understand that. Showing others your work is extremely unsettling at times,” he followed the girl to her bed and sat between her knees on the floor, “I recall feeling that way when I would dabble in artistry.”

“You can draw?”

“I would when I was much younger,” he felt her fingers run over his scalp and through his hair and the weight looming over his shoulders practically melted off, “I haven’t held onto any of them, and they’ve likely aged poorly, but I know how I felt showing them around.”

“Why’d you stop? If you don’t mind my asking,” reaching around, (Y/n) threaded her fingers through Korekiyo’s bangs and, as gently as humanly possible, pulled the hair hanging over and around his face back into a slicked style.

“My… sister, she always rathered that I participate in anthropology with her. I wasn’t all that good anyways.”

“Aw, that’s kinda sad. Even if you weren’t good, you could’ve improved over time.”

“Do you truly believe that, (Y/n)?”

“Of course, I mean, talents are just developed over time, right? Angie didn’t pop out of the womb an art genius and I didn’t start off great at writing music, you just keep at it and eventually your skill level is way better than when you started.”

Sister always said he’d be garbage at drawing. Somebody like him could never learn.

She tied off and twisted until the bun was perfect - well, not perfect. It was presentable enough, and it was just a bun anyway! Not like they had anywhere to be.

“Sorry it’s messy,” she scratched at her cheek, feeling anxious that he’d be upset with her work.

“I…” he felt another little smile peek over him, it was indeed messy with stray hairs sticking out here and there and a few tiny bumps running over his head, but even so, “I love it.”

“You do?”

“It’s a gesture from you, why wouldn’t I?”

Standing beside Korekiyo at the mirror, (Y/n) twiddled her thumbs before spewing out her question, “It’s totally cool if not, but can I hug you? Sorry if that’s weird!”

“No… it’s…” Sister never asked to touch him, and now that he thought about it, she never seemed to care when he told her to stop, “That would be wonderful.”

As her arms slowly came around him, he felt truly at ease. With Sister, there was always this fear of never being what she wanted. That she hated him deep down. With (Y/n), it felt like finally being attached to someone you were meant to. Returning to a place of deep affection.

“You truly do care about me, don’t you, (Y/n)?”

“What kind of question is that?” she back-pedals, “I mean, of course, I do. You’re very dear to me, Kiyo.”

Maybe even a little too dear, considering the current climate of the killing game.

But even so, neither of them pulls away. Neither cares enough to wrangle themselves from indulging in the other’s touch. It feels too good against their skin.

It’s then that Korekiyo’s brain strikes the flint to create the burning thought - maybe Sister wasn’t all that great. Maybe Sister didn’t love him.

She’s only ever made him miserable, now that he recalls it all.

(Y/n) doesn’t. She makes him feel human and alive and adored. He likes the way she makes him feel. And between the two, he much rather would be praised than berated.

~~

Oh God, what did this mean again?

Where do the creation myths go?

Who’s Princess Kaguya?

Her head throbs at the thoughts rumbling through her. She tried to get Korekiyo to get someone, anyone, but her to organize his notes.

Shuichi would love this stuff! You two should bond!

Gonta could learn about being gentlemanly from you! It’d be a great learning experience!

I know you don’t like Miu that much, but maybe spending more time together could make you understand each other more?

Anyone.

And yet, Korekiyo denied. He liked spending time with her. He wouldn’t mind answering every question she had - no matter how many times she asked it. He was a patient person, he could handle it.

(Y/n) looked at all the books and stray papers surrounding her alike, bottom lip tugged between her teeth in focus and face beating hot in vivid embarrassment. He wasn’t even looking at her, thank God, but still… it was so mortifying that she’d already lost track of what she was doing.

She tried so hard to pay attention, she really, really did!

She wanted to help so bad. She wanted to be useful so bad.

But she knew… she’s not a smart person, per se. It was beaten over her head repeatedly her entire life by her family, schooling, peers, and even her friends. She was an idiot who couldn’t do anything right.

It’s why she wanted Korekiyo to ask someone else.

But how could she say no to him? He was always so nice, it’d be downright mean to refuse him. Right?

She felt her eyes burn, vision growing blurry through tears. Setting down the papers in her hands - (Y/n) covered her eyes to keep any wetness from splotching the notes below. It was the least a fucking moron could do.

“(Y/n)? Are you feeling okay?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

She nodded shakily, just wanting Korekiyo to ignore her and continue his work. Better yet, he’d kick her out and she could dodge the incoming humiliation altogether.

“Yeah,” her voice cracked, lips trembling.

Goddammit.

She heard papers rustling before she could feel the presence at her side. Fingertips just barely grazing her body before hesitating back, “You’re lying.”

Understatement of the year.

“I just… I’m so sorry, Kiyo. I’m such an idiot, I knew I couldn’t do this,” she whimpered, desperately trying to grab and suffocate down her bubbling sobs before they wracked her throat, “I’m too fucking dumb to do anything right… I’m sorry…”

“No, no, don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong and you’re no idiot,” he’s immediately slammed with every memory of every time he’s called her such a thing. No matter how nice he tried to be about it, he still aided her insecurity, “I’m sorry for ever saying you were. Intellect is not measured by how well you can do a task nor should everyone’s mind be measured the same. Intelligence is fickle and is spread over a vast variety of subjects. You’re not an idiot for not being able to do something you’re not accustomed to.”

“I just… I- I wanted to help you but then I forgot everything you said about organizing them and then which regions are which and what even is a gorgon?”

He chuckled quietly at her question, “A creature in Greek mythology most commonly in reference to three sisters - Medusa, Euryale, and Sthenno - with hair made of living, venomous snakes that turned those who so much as looked upon them to stone,” he glanced around at what (Y/n) had gotten done, “I see that the filing in relation to music is nearly completed for your half.”

“That’s about all I’m good for.”

“And I would not have managed that so easily, music was never an incredible strength of mine - though I do admire it.”

“Don’t lie to me, Kiyo…”

“I would never,” he moved his notes away to sit more comfortably next to the girl, “In fact, if you’d be willing to listen…” his throat tightened and heart thumped in his chest, “I would like to tell you of something that’s been troubling me for quite some time.”

“Yeah,” she wiped away her tears, sniffling, “of course.”

“I told you of my sister, correct?” he waited for her nod of confirmation to continue, “Well, it’s my belief that…” his fists clenched.

What if she didn’t believe him? What if she blamed him? How do you tell someone your older sister raped and abused you when you’re barely even coming to terms with the fact yourself?

“(Y/n), I…” he stopped, gut bunching in knots before he suddenly ripped down his mask and turned to face her, “I think I need help…”

“What? You’re just wearing lipstick, Kiyo, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, no, no, no,” he shook his head, hands shaking wildly as he pulled out the ponytail (Y/n) had done up earlier and yanked through his hair, “E-everything I am is because of her! She consumes me even in death! She- she- she hurt me…”

“Oh,” the girl moved to sit up on her knees, hands reaching out but not yet touching him, “What happened, Kiyo? You can tell me, I’m listening.”

“She told me I was an awful boy, nobody but her could love someone so foul and creepy… she- “ he moved to grip his sleeves, “She touched me,” he looked into the girl’s eyes, “Is it my fault? Am I so disgusting? Why would she do this?”

“Do you want me to hold you or no?” at his shaky nod, she instantly took Korekiyo into a hug, cradling his head and shoulders to her body and stroking through his hair, “You’re more than what she made you. You’re bigger and better than her manipulation. And it’s not your fault she did what she did. It’s completely and totally on her. She took advantage of you, Kiyo, that’s not your fault.”

He grabbed her arm and pressed his face into her shirt as she held him, “Am I rotten? Am I lovable?”

“You’re the best person I’ve ever met. You’re worthy of love and care.”

His lipstick smeared over her shirt and across his cheek and neither of them minded. It would wash off eventually. Her stain on his life would come out.

“When we get out,” (Y/n) began again, “do you want to seek professional help? You can get it, Kiyo.”

He was slow to nod, beginning to grow tired from dosing out tears and trauma at once, “I do… thank you, (Y/n)...”

“No need to thank me.”

“(Y/n)?” she hummed quietly in acknowledgement, “Even if it isn’t for field work… I wish to travel the country with you. I want to show you the beauty of humanity as I know it… for our sakes.”

Looking down, (Y/n) caught the gentleness in his eyes, tender and soft and awaiting her response, she smiled softly, brushing back his hair, “I would love to, Kiyo. If it’s truly something you want to do, I would be happy to go anywhere with you.”

~~

Nighttime was quickly approaching and with the atmosphere and turmoil of the class, (Y/n) didn’t feel very safe being out so late.

“You’re certain you don’t wish for me to walk you to your room?”

“No, you finish up here,” (Y/n) waved off Korekiyo’s offer, “Don’t be such a worry-wart, yeah? I’ll be fine! You better take care of yourself while I’m gone, though.”

He nodded, a small smile stretching over him, “I will, dear (Y/n), don’t worry.”

The girl’s eyes widened slightly before she returned his beam, “You have a cute smile, Kiyo.”

“Oh,” right, he didn’t have his mask on at the moment. It was refreshing to wake up and not trouble himself with makeup for a woman he wasn’t sure even cared - dare he say it, it was nice, even.

He’d only taken his mask off around (Y/n), it felt intimate. Sweet. Something passed only between them.

“Thank you.”

She nodded before turning back and pressing outward from his research lab, “I’ll see ya tomorrow, Kiyo! You better have the sweetest dreams, ya hear me?”

“You as well.”

He returned to cleaning up his lab, occasionally stumbling over a floorboard looser than the others. How troublesome.

That’s when her voice picked up from within his brain.

“You never loved me.”

He looked around despite knowing exactly where the voice was coming from.

“You let her do this to you. You let her take you from me.”

Pushing past them, he persisted in rooting through his notes and organizing his papers.

“She hates you. She’s scared of you. She’s just trying to be nice. You scare her. You scare all of them. You rotten, rotten boy. You’ve been ruined - only I could love a face so hideous and broken. A horrible, horrible boy lucky enough to be given the love I did.”

His hands shook, fingers twitching and heart thrumming heavy, “No. (Y/n) likes me. She enjoys my company.”

“Why would she enjoy the company of someone so lonely and depressing? So gross and foul? She probably hates you for partaking in your own sister’s touch.”

“No, she- she doesn’t… she knows it’s not… it’s not my fault…”

“Are you inside her head? How do you know? How are you certain? I’m the only one who ever loved you - and you’ve abandoned me. Left me all alone.”

“No, I- I haven’t abandoned you, Sister! Please, believe me, I never abandoned you.”

“So, you know what you must do to prove yourself to me.”

“(Y/n) wouldn’t like that…”

“(Y/n) wouldn’t like you anyway.”

She’s right, right? She’s right. Someone as wonderful and beautiful as (Y/n) could never adore him the way he does her. He loves her and she must find him repulsive. Staying out of fear.

Out of pity for the boy abused by his sister. And so, who better to return to than the more predictable of the two?

(Y/n) may have felt more like coming home than Sister - but Sister was home. (Y/n) was comfort. Sister was familiarity.

He found his foot planted against the loose floorboard once again. He knew how he had to make up for his misdeeds and abandonment.

~~

“I’m truly relieved to see that you got to your room safely,” Korekiyo murmured to (Y/n).

“Huh? Oh yeah,” she pointed over to their local gentle giant, “Gonta and I crossed paths on my way and he wanted to walk me to my room and I just couldn’t say no to him. It’s nice to have someone you trust in this ‘game’. Well, other than you,” the elevator jumbled slightly as it dove down into Monokuma’s makeshift courtroom, “I trust you, obviously.”

She shouldn’t. And he wants to tell her that.

But as Kokichi and Shuichi take glances at him from across the elevator, he knows that she’ll figure things out soon enough.

And, during the trial, when Shuichi’s convicting Korekiyo of the murder of Angie Yonaga and Tenko Chabashira - she does. And she cries and screams and throws a fit. Demanding Korekiyo to fight back harder. Demanding Shuichi to stop lying and get serious. Because Korekiyo would never kill somebody.

He was nice. He was a gentleman. He cared about people. He had stolen her heart - and a man who managed that wouldn’t kill anybody. So, of course, Shuichi was lying.

“Do I have to remind you of what’ll happen if you don’t vote?” Monokuma bit out.

(Y/n) clutched at her hair - she knew what she had to do. But every time she went to vote for Korekiyo, her body wouldn’t let her.

Reaching over, the boy himself took her hand in his, “Allow me,” as he guided her hand over her voting panel. No matter how she swatted at his hand or tried to wrench herself from Korekiyo’s grip, he pressed her vote into his name.

She was forced to watch as he was strung up and spun. Made dizzy and sickly. She was made to watch as he fell into the melting pot. Fires eating at his body until he was no more than spirit.

As Monokuma and the sister who had harmed him so horrifically worked as one to rid the world of his soul.

Eyes went to (Y/n) as the execution subsided. Her sobs and hiccups drawing everyone’s attention.

Gonta was the first to approach, a large hand settling on the girl’s back as she cried, silently taking her into a hug.

Her heart wrenched, fingers squeezing at Gonta’s suit and throat rubbing raw with her wild wails.

He could’ve gotten help. He could’ve gotten out with everyone. If she’d just stayed with him then she could’ve done something. Angie and Tenko would be here. Korekiyo would be here.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Kaito’s voice peeked through, “Don’t cry because he’s gone, (Y/n). Move forward - for both of you.”

“I…” she shook her head, choking on a sob, “I don’t think I can…”

Shuichi placed a hand on Kaito’s shoulder, “Just give her a little time.”

As the group moved out of the courtroom, Gonta stayed by (Y/n)’s side up until she clumsily made her way into her dorm room.

Immediately, she collapsed into her bed sheets. Dreading tomorrow. And the next day. And the one after that. And the one after that. And so on. And so forth. Maybe she should’ve known better than to go around falling for a guy in the killing game. Maybe she should’ve held herself up in her room all alone.

There was no escape from this feeling. No hiding. It may get better over time - but Korekiyo would always be gone.

A buzz at the door caught her attention. Her movements were sluggish, honestly just hoping that whoever was there had given up and left by the time she finally answered.

Shuichi stood there, classically uneven, anxious smile and all, “I think there’s something you might be interested in? If you’ll follow me.”

No verbal response was given, only (Y/n) stepping out of her room and shutting the door behind her to give him her confirmation.

He began towards the casino. With a sigh, (Y/n) was about to tell Shuichi off - she didn’t need to start gambling to get over Korekiyo’s death - until he stopped in front of the building.

“I mostly just wanted you to get some fresh air,” he says earnestly before digging in his pocket and pulling out a key with a heart-shaped handle, “I got this from here. You can get your own or keep this one, I think you need it more than I do,” at her confusion he continues to explain, “It can take you into this weird dream-like state where you can see what ‘ideal’ you play in our classmates’ minds… I think you know who I gave this to you for.”

“Kiyo…”

“Yeah. You can see him again, if you want.”

She wanted to be strong and push the key back into Shuichi’s hand - instead, she just looked between him and the key in her hold and nodded slowly, “Thank you, Shuichi…”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, “Sleep well, (Y/n). I know you can grow past this.”

Because he did.

“I’ll try.”

But he wasn’t her. And Kaede was gone far before Korekiyo. And their grief was not the same.

“Thanks again, Shuichi.”

“Just take your time, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

~~

Her knees felt like collapsing under the weight of her nerves, hand falling to the doorknob of the hotel room.

She pushed through her anxiety and found herself in a red-tinted room, a large heart-shaped bed in the center with a merry-go-round circling it. Then, she found Korekiyo standing to the side.

What would his ‘ideal’ version of her be? A friend? An out-of-touch acquaintance? A lover?

Her heart throbbed at the last possibility.

“Ah, my dear, back so soon?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry…”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I’m, uhm, not sure?”

I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.

“Then don’t,” he seemed to glide across the room, taking the girl’s cheeks in his hands, “You’ve always had a problem with that, my love.”

My love? My love.

“Ah, yeah, sorry,” she huffed at her own word selection, “Oh…”

Korekiyo chuckled quietly, pulling down his mask to kiss her forehead, “I already took my medication while you were out.”

“Your medication?”

“Yes, from the doctor. You were the one who pushed me to go, have you forgotten?”

“Right! No, no, I just blanked,” she quickly lied, giving the boy a broad grin, “I’m glad, though.”

“It’s only medication, dear.”

“Still,” (Y/n) reached up to cup Korekiyo’s cheek, “it’s good that you’re following through with your meds.”

“Your support always helps,” he pressed another kiss to the girl’s forehead, “We’ll be leaving early in the morning tomorrow, I should warn you,” at her furrowed brows he explained, “In order for us to catch the first train to Iwate prefecture. Did you forget, darling?”

“Wait, wait, let me guess…” she waited for his nod before tossing out her suggestion, “We’re traveling for field work!” she was then quick to tag on, “As a couple that’s, like, super in love?”

“You didn’t forget at all, my love,” Korekiyo pulled away slightly, and sat on the bed, removing his shoes, “You play that memory of yours down too much. You’re far more intelligent than you think.”

“You think that?”

“Of course, I do. It’s not just because I love you dearly, either. You mustn’t let the words and actions of others control your opinion on yourself - you’re better than they say.”

This is his ultimate fantasy. He’s her lover. They travel and see the beauty of humanity together, just like what he said he wanted. He loves her. He thinks she’s so great.

He’s wrong.

She should’ve stayed with him that night.

He’s wrong.

She could’ve done so much to keep him with her.

He’s dead.

Because she should’ve stayed.

“Kiyo,” her eyes burned and began to soak, “I’m sorry!” her lungs rapidly expanded and contracted with her sporadic breaths, her hands clutching at her shirt. Her knees finally buckled and she collapsed to the ground, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry for being a stupid, stupid, stupid failure! Please… forgive me…!”

Korekiyo immediately stood up and rushed to (Y/n)’s side, bringing her into a tight hug as she fell to the floor, his fingers running through her hair. He kisses at her temple and cheeks, waiting until her cries settle enough for him to be audible in the room, “It’s interesting, dear, I first realized I’d fallen in love with you in a situation similar as this. I desired to comfort and reassure you just as I do now. You’re not stupid nor a failure, and I adore you above all else.”

Shaking her head, (Y/n) only began to cry harder into Korekiyo’s chest. This could’ve been their future. This could’ve been what they had to share and hold between only each other. If she’d only stayed. If she’d been with him that night.

“Oh, my dear, I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

“It wasn’t you,” she clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to keep back her cries, “I- I- it’s all my fault… it’s all my fault…”

“You haven’t done anything wrong, darling,” Korekiyo held her tighter, “I love you, my dearest (Y/n). No matter what you’ve done, I will always forgive you.”

And once again, her tears only came out harder. Her head pounding ruthlessly at the ache and consciousness fading out in her exhaustion. Korekiyo was dead. And no amount of her tears could ever bring him back.

[wandsandwheezes]

Fake It | Weasley Twins | CH6

one // two // three // four // five

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, mature themes, fake relationships, secret relationships, love, sex, drama, angst, fluff, masturbation, hate sex, heartbreak, blood

Summary // Fred Weasley has been set up to publicly date Y/N, London’s best Quidditch Seeker in order to drum up some publicity. Y/N however has a different ginger man on her mind; George Weasley.

A/N // thank you to my angst goblin, Lanie @gcdric​ and my angel Zahra @starlightweasley​ for helping me get this one out bc otherwise id be STUCK

One new message

The sound of the answer machine rang through Fred’s flat, he was staring out over London and her twinkling lights. His waistcoat was loose, hanging open at his chest - tie discarded the moment he stumbled through the door. He’d pretty much flung the sliding glass door to the balcony open, letting the biter breeze whip through his hair, blowing the once still curtain so that it flew in a way that mimicked the way a superhero’s cape flows. 

The night of partying had been a wild but well needed distraction. Fred couldn’t stop the image of your kiss from playing over and over in his head, his fingers ghosted over where the absent feeling of your lips lingered, wishing you were here. 

“Freddie…” You breathed down the phone, your words slurred still as the liquor clung to your senses. 

“About what happened tonight, I don’t think it was-” His heart began to race at the simple thought, the steamy kiss was crossing his mind once again, He heard you take a moment, a pause for thought and he held his breath with you. 

“I just - we need to talk. We- I have something to tell you.” You sighed, he was praying he could just call you back, checking his watch, he knew it was too late. What If he did call, would that be so bad? 

“I’m sorry, Fred.” the sound of you putting down the phone echoed in his brain. Sorry. What could you possibly be sorry for? It could possibly be one of the best kisses of his life. He couldn’t deny the electricity that he felt from tip to toe and he knew deep down that you felt it too. So why did he feel a pang of sadness hit his chest, winding him like a dementor was sucking the soul out of his body.

Fred fell asleep that night clutching his pillow as he imagined you in its place. He wasn’t sure what made the tears roll down his cheeks, but shrugged it off as the alcohol getting to him. He was snivelling, contemplating leaving you a text. He needed you to know how he felt, that he was aching for you to be with him. He didn’t want things to just be staged anymore, there was undeniable chemistry there between you, he felt it in the way you looked at him. Surely it would be better if you were his, he could kiss and hold you all he wanted without the need for press or cameras. You could have a beautiful, normal life together. You were one of the last thoughts on his brain as he drifted off, his grip against the plush pillow only growing tighter out of desperation. 

Waking to the midday sun shining directly into his eyes wasn’t making the pounding headache rattling around in his skull any better. Fred didn’t remember anything about how or when he got home, only recalling the mellow flow of your voice reverberating around his flat. He managed to drag himself from his bed, searching every unorganised cabinet for the sight of even one lonely ibuprofen, sighing as his head fell to rest on the counter with no luck. He realised the grave mistake he had made when his head started thumping, the room spinning and his sight going hazy. Water, he needed hydration.

Two pints of water later, Fred was still feeling the sour effects of last night’s burning liquor, feeling the burn in his chest with every breath, like all the liquid was ready to come right back up at any moment. He sat himself down at the island counter as he pressed the button to replay the voicemail from last night. 

I’m Sorry.

The words wouldn’t leave him, he replayed the voicemail over and over, internalising every single word as it played through the speakers. He sat for hours, sat too long until his feet had gone numb from dangling over the seat. The Great British weather had taken its turn for the worst, a clap of thunder distracting Fred from his thoughts, not knowing how deeply the words were hitting him, until he felt a tear drop against the back of his hand. It was too much for him, realising that he needed to see you, touch you, feel you. 

I’m Sorry

His feet dragged him towards your place, he didn’t care that he’d been walking for miles or that the rain was drenching him to his very core. It was desperation that drove him to find you. It was like a sign to him that one lonely red rose grew from a bush he passed, stopping dead in his tracks before turning around to look at it. He plucked it from the bush, holding it up to his nose, breathing in the scent. Rose petals mixed with the cold drizzle and muggy air sent him over the edge. He was walking quicker now so that he could get to you, pace kicking up into a small jog, his shoes slapping against the wet pavement with each step.

One light shone dimly from the confines of your apartment. Fred stood outside, debating how he was going to approach this conversation. He loved you, wanted you to be his and he struggled in that moment to find the appropriate words to express it. You were towel drying your hair, supposedly from the rain as you came into view by the window. You looked like an angel, a pure piece of heaven on earth and his heart beat faster, beginning to move closer to the flat’s entrance. That’s when he spotted another figure coming into view from the window, face covered by the towel as you dried their hair. Whoever it was, had at least a foot on you height wise, their hands snaking around your waist to pull you tight and close to them.

Fred’s heart sunk, like it had fully fallen out of his ass, seeing you in the arms of another man made his stomach churn, his grip on the rose growing tighter as the thorns pierced his skin. He didn’t even feel the pain, just the emptiness in his chest. He watched as you pulled the towel from the figure’s face.

The messy ginger hair, round cheeks and adoring smile were obvious. Fred knew exactly who he was seeing, he was blinking so hard wishing that it was just a terrible nightmare. As George’s lips connected with yours, it was as if it rumbled Zeus himself, a bolt of lightning illuminating the dark sky. It was like watching his whole world come crashing down, watching you chase his brother’s lips desperately, the same way you had done with him last night. He couldn’t help but watch as the kiss deepened, George using his strength to pick you up, watching your legs wrap around his waist, walking out of sight. 

It was like watching a glimpse of a life he’d never have, the rose fell to the floor, petals breaking off of the stem. Blood was dripping from his hand to the floor, diluted by the rain as it splashed against the stone. Not a single car drove by your house, not one person was outside but Fred in that moment. Loneliness was the only bitter feeling left, it tasted like hell in his mouth, unable to shake the image of you and George together, only hearing two words in his head over and over like a broken record.

I’m Sorry. 

Raindrops danced along Fred’s skin, the soft pitter patter mocking him, everything reminded him of you, even in a moment of heartbreak, the glow of Christmas lights, the thunder or the distant sound of horns beeping at one another, it all reminded him of you in the most ridiculous way. His phone chimed, pulling up the messages he realised that his thoughts had overpowered the importance of the messages.

>> I miss your touch Freddie

>> I can come see you tonight

>> why aren’t you responding Fred?

>> don’t you love me?

‘Maybe this is what I need’ Fred thought, Perhaps he needed the out, the quick fuck to get the aggression out of his system. They say it’s wrong to sleep with your boss, but Cherry wasn’t his boss, she was just the publicist. The publicist you shared. If you could sleep with anyone you wanted, why should he feel guilty about it now? After all, if there was one woman who could help him forget, It would be Cheryl. 

<< sorry, doll

<< of course i love you

<< come see me x

>> I won’t be long, i’m so desperate for you, Freddie x 

It was wrong for him to say that, especially when he didn’t love cherry. Not one ounce of his body felt a connection deeper than just sex. That's all it was to him with Cherry; mindless, carefree sex. Why he kept going back to her like a lost puppy however, was still up for debate. 

Cheryl wasn't an unattractive woman, but she wasn't you. She was taller, accentuated by her constant need to wear heels, not that it mattered much to Fred when he towered above most people he met. She had long blonde hair that was always beach waved and perfectly sun-kissed skin like a Miami model. Fred didn't care too much about superficial looks, but it was undeniable that part of the reason he enjoyed Cherry so much was the way her tits, although obviously fake, would bounce in his face begging to be touched as she sank down onto him or the way her full lips looked as they wrapped around his throbbing cock. Fucking Cheryl from behind was as much fun, he had all the ass he could hold onto before him and a tight cunt that always struggled to take him. 

Reaching his home Cherry was already waiting for him. She spun around as soon as his presence behind her was felt, lips attaching to his immediately. The red lipstick she wore while unique to her, was now being transferred to the man's lips as they kissed. He wasn't disappointed to be kissing someone, it was disappointment that it wasn't you. Your kisses were heaven compared to what he was getting now, he found himself picturing you in his arms and that seemed to work. 

They wasted no time stripping each other's clothes off, Fred was aching to pound his cock into something, even if it had to be Cherry. When the girl tried to straddle him, he grabbed her hips, throwing her against the mattress, causing a giggle to erupt from her lips. "Hands and knees tonight, Doll." 

Being seethed inside Cherry felt amazing. He tried to stretch her out, push as much of himself inside as he could, but she was simply so tight. The pace he set was animalistic, fucking the girl raw against the sheets, he couldn't stand to look at her, closing his eyes and pretending it was the girl he’d been longing for. It wasn't enough, he needed more control. Fred's hand was pushing Cherry's face into the sheets, his thrusts more violent and possessive as he continued fucking her senseless. 

Back at your home, George was seethed all the way inside you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. The way you two fit together was like lock and key, a perfect size for each other. "I'm so deep inside of you princess, can you feel me in your belly?" You were nodding, grabbing his hand to press against your abdomen, his thrusts were slow and purposeful, he was trying to make you cum over and over and over again tonight and you were already waiting for number four. "Yes Georgie, right here, it feels so good when you fill me up." he hummed as he felt the tip of his cock hitting where his hand was pressed with every thrust. His precious girl. All for him. 

Fred was on the edge, skin slapping as he chased his orgasm, Not caring much for Cherry's desperate moans, no matter how good he was making her feel. He wanted her to shut up, it sounded so fake, but he was ready to release, pulling out to let his cum drip over the curve of her ass. He flopped on the bed next to her, immediately feeling her hand on his cock, stroking gently. "You're so good, Freddie, So big." 

She took him into her mouth with ease, it was the only time he could be fully inside of her. His head was back against the mattress as he pictures your soft lips replacing hers. His hand came up to stroke her hair as she continued sucking him off. Try as he might to cum again, he knew it wasn’t your hand on his cock, or your lips. It was another woman, the thought made him sick to his stomach, forcing him to sit bolt upright, pulling himself away from the naked girl on his bed.

“I can’t do this.” he grumbled, grabbing the boxers he had discarded on the floor, pulling them up. Cherry sighed, running a hand through her hair and pulling it over her shoulder, “Do you want me to stay Freddie?” she smiled, playing with the ends of hair as she watched him walk into his bathroom across the hall. “I don’t care.” he spoke plainly, the hurt in his chest hitting him once again as he slammed the door behind him. 

He could still hear the hums and moans you made against his lips. As he leant against the shut door, his hand reached down to start palming himself, feeling himself grow hard again at the thought of you. He was picturing you sprawled out on his bed, begging for him, using your mouth to get him off - He was getting close again as he imagined slamming his hips into you. Just as he reached his peak again, one thought plagued his mind, you moaning his twins name. His heart broke again as he came, sighing as he realised that he was too late. You weren’t his to have.

/// TO BE CONTINUED ///  >>>>>> Chapter Seven

taglist //  @starlightweasley​ @slytherinsunrise​ @gcdric​ @theweasleysredhair​ @whiz-bangs78​ @weasleysflowr​ @vogueweasley​ @minty-malfoy​ @vivianweasley​ @feetoffthetablee​ @thisismynerdyself​ @rip-us​ @witch-and-a-half​ @sarcasticallywitty15​ @pandaxnienke​ @loony-loopy-lupinn​ @pigwidgexn​ @mackaywhore​ @softlyqoos​ @colorfulprofessornickelangel​ @fandomscombine​ @satellitespidey​ @txtdreamss​ @aaannabbanana​  @starkidpotty​ @mollydarling-hphm​ @amwithers2001​ @mrmoonyy​

[rosecolouredmind]

Savior

Nicholas Scratch x Reader

The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Part One:

The Beginning

Somehow, it felt like the fates didn’t think much of you.

You were lucky enough to be the youngest soul inducted into the Stela Consulate — your untimely death on your home planet was a quiet, humble affair. The fates took you young, by sickness; your family mourned, then moved on. Your parents grieved for longer, but then they too moved on with their lives.

Fate had a larger destiny in store that what Earth could have afforded you; or, at least you thought before...now.

“Stela Treis, I...Earth cannot be my assigned domain.”

The following silence in the room was palpable. Above you was what looked to be a seat made of live stars, gaseous and glowing. The platform below it was an endless black, along with the surrounding room.

You had just seen the stars from this same “chair” slowly spread across the now dark platform, your body seated atop it just moments before. The Stela Council had observed quietly as countless galaxies traversed beneath their feet, beneath your feet. You’d waited for this moment for what you felt, and were told, was your entire existence. You felt as if you were human again, insecurity and discomfort culminating into a massive pit in your stomach. You were convinced that if you could have, you would have shat yourself.

Whenever a new stela sat atop that chair, the fates mapped their destiny...and subsequently, the destiny of their star domain. You felt as if you had become one with the universe, the powers that be imbuing you with strength and purpose.

Your purpose.

Was...Earth?

The pretty blue object before you certainly looked familiar, the green colored earth standing out proudly. This unassuming planet was where you’d come to be, thus your learnings were centered around it’s history. Earth was not yet to the level of requiring an assigned stela as it has not reached the level of interfering with other cosmos; interplanetary travel within their own solar system was still far out of reach, for Fate’s sake! So how could your homely little birthplace have put itself on the map after billions of years of not even being a blip on the radar?

And smack above it was a brilliant green star. The North star had turned green.

“Head Stela Treis. That cannot be a - an unlucky star! Above Earth! How did I even get Earth?! Isn’t the likelihood of being assigned your home planet like one in a -- a -- an impossibility?!”

The blasted woman continued to ignore you, staring fixedly at the North star — Polaris. There were many iterations of the importance of the North star in Earthling history, but they all had the same general concept and meaning for what the star represented:

Home. A Guiding Light.

And such a symbol was currently heralding the dark days.

“Stela (Y/n),” Stela Treis began slowly.

This damned woman actually used your name, your actual name with your title, and your heart finally sunk to the floor. Stela (Y/n). You were Stela (Y/n) of fucking Earth with a goddamn green star hanging above it --

“Stela (Y/n) of Earth. This is your mission,” she continued.

Every eye in the room was on Treis, the massive throng of alarmed voices quieting down. Your heart was nearly beating out of your chest, and you were sure your face was a picture of horror. No new stela had ever taken over a green star before; it signaled the end of days for a domain and was nigh impossible to get rid of. Stelas who have had a history of leading turbulent domains to an unprecedented era of peace are generally reassigned green star domains -- much more seasoned and powerful stelas than you. And even amongst those figures, only a tiny amount across countless systems have actually succeeded in rehabilitating such a star. Darkness wins far more often, enveloping those systems in black holes, stellar explosions and obliteration.

It was a glorious thing to save a green star, but if you failed…

“Earth is in...trouble. I cannot yet tell what of, as the coming ominous lies beyond the domain still. It’s origin star has turned green, but there’s also a few more stars in your domain that concern me.”

Hearing Earth officially called your domain made you want to puncture your own eardrums in annoyance, but the serious look on Treis’ face and the clear discomfort of the councilmembers surrounding her made you swallow your indignation and elect to glare at the floor instead.

You’d spent your entire existence once inducted into the consulate learning the conflicts of Earth - something about learning on home ground and how it prepared you for your own domain some day. And now that day has come, and you learn that you’re going to be stuck in the same exact place?

It may be willful, but you were eager to prove yourself capable like every other accomplished stela. This included establishing yourself and your influence in new territory, your territory. The glory of your domain would rise and fall with you.

You had wanted to prove yourself, but this…

This terrified you.

The moving of the constellations beneath your feet once again snapped you out of your train of thought, the stern voice you’d previously been drowning out floating into your ears once again.

“This particular star seems to have been the beginning of it all. And even more peculiar is what it’s attached to -- or what’s attached to it,”

Treis had brought the map deeper into your star domain, finally stopping on a bright red star.

“Is that a star of misfortune?!” you shriek. Your eyes are wide as saucers, and normally you’d melt under the looks of disapproval you were receiving but right now you were too stunned to care. A bloody star of misfortune was the cause of all of this, one person! That was the brightest red you’d ever seen on a star, and you’d seen the stars of plenty of terrible figures in history.

The deep frown on Treis’ face said it all, the woman walking forward until she stopped right in front of you. She stared you dead in the face, placing her arms behind her back before responding.

“That is the star of Lucifer Morningstar.”

The hall burst into noise once again as voices started to raise and people clamoured over each other. Shouts of dissent rang out as everyone in the room voiced their opinions.

How could this have happened?

She’s not ready!

That entire domain is doomed!

Fate has abandoned them.

Disapproval was clearly the common theme the council had decided on, but you were too distracted with the prior revelation to properly acknowledge it.

Lucifer Morningstar had a fated star.

The fucking Devil.

Every soul was born with a fated star. Your star was fate’s marker on you. The only beings without fated stars were celestial beings and the Others - beings who operated outside of the universe’s workings. How celestials came into existence exactly was a mystery. Stelas generally believed it was the power of faith, though. In even looser, and probably more correct terms: ‘believe, and it certainly exists.’ Faith was a medium that didn’t operate within the confines of fate. Major celestials bore from Earth include any figure that has been immortalized via faith. Once borne of the world, they operate entirely on their own and outside of fate. An extreme example would be the elusive figure the humans frequently call God -- the current most powerful example of a celestial born from faith. These can even influence the fate of those in their domain.

This goes to say, even if Earth was not particularly advanced, a stela would have still been assigned to oversee it. But humans are passionate and complicated and a lot more stubborn than most races, which meant an unusual abundance of celestial beings were born from there. Because they operate outside of fate’s laws, their domains are usually hidden from the Constellation Map. This is the first time since humanity appeared on Earth that the planet has been seen on the map, a momentous occasion.

And it was assigned to a newbie like you.

“How on...earth did Lucifer Morningstar get a star? Shouldn’t that be impossible? He’s a celestial, he doesn’t have a tangible soul,” you exclaim.

“He didn’t.” she corrected. “But now…” she gestured to his star as you stared dumbly at the bright red light between you. After focusing your gaze, you can just make out a dim, faintly flickering light at the corner of it.

“Is that someone’s star?” you ask softly, moving closer. The star was barely visible, as if all the lifeforce had been drained from it. The red light from Lucifer’s star nearly made you overlook the pale white glow this one gave off, the two being infinitely close.

“This is the star of a regular person, isn’t it? Why does it seem attached to Lucifer’s? And its lifeforce seems young but very, very weak…” you trailed off. Something about this star called out to you, intense feelings of pity and nurturing washing over you. Your instincts wished to nurse this star, this person, back to the bright light you just knew it would have been. You can tell a lot about a person through their fated star, and you didn’t need to look too deeply to tell that this one was special. So how did it end up in this position?

“You are going to find that out,” a sharp voice rang out. You didn’t bother finding its source, beyond irritated with the situation already. This was the first time another councilmember had spoken this entire time, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes back into your skull. They were criticizing your ability only moments before, but now expected you to play detective to a catastrophe caused by an actual celestial being?

“They are right. For now, this is still your assigned domain, and the fates must have had a reason for it. You are to find the source of this issue, starting with Lucifer. Have a word with him; we will project you to his location.”

“Before my ceremony?!”

“Will will arrange the details of your ceremony later. Until then, we shall deliver you directly to your destination.”

This was not how your domain assignment was supposed to go, you thought bitterly.

It was no secret how shitty you felt about the situation, but the heavy looks of distrust the rest of the council members were sending you as you approached the center of the Constellation Map had you seething. They didn’t believe you could handle it, hell, you didn’t believe you could handle it! But…

You were always a prideful thing.

At the beckoning of Stela Treis, you slowly reached your hand out before you to touch the bright red star in the center of the room. As reality warped around you, you heard warbled words of encouragement leaking through before everything went black.

And then, all you saw was RED.

*

Part Two: The Morningstar will be posted approximately 30 minutes from this one. Stay tuned!

Author’s Note: This story was originally on one of my side blogs, @unaccomplishedwriter. This account was made to post my content with the full site functions available for use unlike the previous blog. The entire story will be reedited, reposted, and continued here.

Please ask if you’d like to be added to the tag list. Thank you!

[fanfictionaries]

The Seduction of Sirius Black - Part 2

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Sirius Black

Summary:

Hermione loves her boyfriend, but there’s just one little problem -- she’s hopelessly attracted to Sirius Black.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Ron bashing (sorry)

Author’s Note: Part 2 is up and now I must go and study for my exam Wednesday! 

MASTERLIST

Part 1

Her head was pounding. Pounding so hard behind her eyes that she thought she might throw up. In fact…Hermione flung her covers off of her, bolted to the bathroom attached to her room, and lifted the lid just in time to expel the contents of her stomach into the white porcelain. She heaved and heaved until there was nothing left for her to throw up, and then she heaved again for good measure. Wracked with full body convulsions, Hermione let her forehead lean against the cool porcelain of the toilet’s edge and vowed to never drink whiskey again. Why? Why had she drunk so much? Oh, right. The events of the previous afternoon came into her mind and Hermione gave another dry heave into the toilet bowl in response.

Ron. Ron was cheating on her. For how long? Was that witch the only one? Who else knew? Did Harry know? Did everyone know? Oh Gods…this was a disaster. No wonder she’d gotten so sloshed. And she was well and truly sloshed. She didn’t even remember paying her tab or how she got home. She sort of remembered getting into the house; there’d been an issue with her key, and she’d tripped quite a lot coming in and then—

Oh no.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

Hermione sat up with a gasp, a jolt of pain shooting through her head that made her groan and lay back down against the cool porcelain. It all came rushing back, her stupid drunk giggles, her blatant stares as she ogled Sirius in the hallway, her kissing him, him kissing her, his mouth on her—oh god, her hand on his—and then he’d stopped her and she’d…she’d stomped off like a petulant child! Hermione wanted to die. If she hadn’t thought the hangover was a bad enough pain to cause suicidal thoughts, then the memories of what she’d done the night before certainly were. What did she do now?

Her brain churned, slowly and painfully, certainly not operating at its usual capability. Damn whiskey. What did people normally do when they made horrible drunken mistakes? Hermione thought back to the one or two times her friends had made absolute arses of themselves while out drinking. They usually spent the next day apologizing over and over again, that is if they even—

That was it! She’d simply pretend like she didn’t remember any of it. That would put the pieces into Sirius’s hands. If he was offended enough by her actions, he’d tell her what happened (a mortifying thought), but if he was just as embarrassed by it as her, then he’d lie and say nothing happened at all. It was like a get out of jail free card, so to speak.

Rising gingerly to her feet, Hermione was barely vertical when a hard knock at her bedroom door sent her reeling back. She gasped, sending shooting pain through her skull once again, and tripped backwards, barely catching herself on the shower curtain. Thankfully, they didn’t rip from the rod, otherwise she’d have a hangover and likely a very nasty bump on her head to deal with. She had just resorted herself firmly on her feet when another, louder knock came at her door, and Hermione jumped again, cursing very loudly.

“Bloody hell!” Her pulse thumped violently in her chest and in her ears as she brought a hand up to her heart, surprisingly out of breath for very little physical exertion. She froze, staring blankly at the dark grain of her door. “Who is it?” she called out, wincing as her headache persisted. Who is it? Who did she think it was? She only lived with one person.

“It’s me, open up!”

Hermione sighed with relief at the sound of the distinctly feminine and more importantly not Sirius voice from the other side.

“It’s unlocked, come on it,” Hermione called back, allowing herself to slump against the sink as she reached for her toothbrush and toothpaste. There was a taste in her mouth she needed to be rid of, and Hermione had the sinking feel that it wasn’t just from to the amount of vomiting she’d been doing that morning.

The door swung open, slamming hard against the wall with a great thud. Hermione winced at the sound, wetting her toothbrush and globbing an exorbitant amount of toothpaste onto it.

“Sorry,” said Ginny, looking sheepish at her loud entrance as she padded into the room, arms full. Hermione spotted the contents of her arms and if it weren’t for her hungover state, she could have sung.

“Please tell me one of those coffees is for me,” said Hermione, desperately, mouth full of frothy toothpaste. She spat into the sink and washed away the frothy spit with water from the tap before returning to brutally brushing her teeth and gums.

“It is—” Ginny grinned devilishly as she set the large paper cup down next to Hermione and held up a large brown bag “—and so is one of these pasties.”

Hermione gasped, spitting into the sink, and rinsing it again before rinsing her toothbrush as well. She set the brush down on the counter and snatched the bag from Ginny’s hands. Digging deep into the grease-stained paper bag she pulled a wrapped Cornish pasty. “Is it—”

“Potato and onion, just like you like,” answered Ginny, already knowing her question before it left Hermione’s mouth.

“I mean this with all honesty and from the bottom of my heart, Gin – you are my favorite person in the world,” she handed the bag back to Ginny before taking her pasty and her coffee out of the bathroom and to her bed. She sat down heavily on the messy blankets and propped herself against the headboard before taking a deep sip of coffee. Good. So good.

“And I mean this with all honesty and from the bottom of my heart – you look like shit,” said Ginny, sitting down at the end of the bed and pulling out her own pasty.

Hermione groaned, leaning her head against the headboard, and running a hand down her face, “Ugh, I know.  It was an…interesting day yesterday.”

“Yes, I heard. Sirius said—”

“What did he say?” Hermione asked, voice sounding a bit too guilty in her opinion.

Ginny gave her a curious look before continuing, “Just that you got home late last night, pissed off your arse. He said you came stumbling in giggling up a storm. What were you drinking?”

Hermione relaxed a bit knowing that Sirius hadn’t mentioned what happened after she came stumbling in. “Whiskey—” Hermione gagged just at the thought “—and too much of it.”

“Yes, well, when you find out your boyfriends been slagging around on you, I guess a large amount of alcohol is warranted,” said Ginny pointedly, finally getting straight to the point.

Hermione sighed, her body deflating as she tore open her Cornish pasty and took a large bite. “So you know then,” said Hermione through a mouth full of potato and onion.

Ginny nodded, now giving her a pitying look. Hermione hated that look. It was the same look she got all through sixth year when Ron was dating Lavender, snogging her all around the corner every chance he got. Apparently, some things never changed.

“And…how long have you known?” Hermione hated herself for asking but she had to – for her own sanity’s sake.

“Oh! —” Ginny’s eyes grew wide “—I just found out last night. I swear. He came round to ours right after he saw you. Scared the bogeys out of Harry and me. We thought he was still on assignment. We were just sitting down to some takeout and he burst through the fireplace, tracking soot across the rug, talking about how he’d messed up. Harry nearly hexed him before we realized it was him.”

Hermione sat back, taking another bite from her pasty. She chewed slowly, a little more relaxed that she now knew the secret of Ron’s infidelity was not just a secret to her. She swallowed her bite and then asked, “So, what did he say happened?”

Ginny frowned; her eyebrows furrowed deeply. “Well…it was all sort of a jumble at first but once we got him to sit and calm down, he basically confessed to it all. He said he’d been seeing someone else…behind your back. Behind everyone’s back. He told us how he’d been getting back from assignments earlier than he said he was to spend time with her. Apparently, she works at Flourish and Blotts.”

Hermione balked. She knew she’d seen the witch somewhere before. Of course! She was the new register girl at Flourish and Blotts. Hermione had seen her before when her and Ron went in to…oh Gods, she was going to be sick again. Ginny must have seen the look on Hermione’s face because she thrust the paper bag in Hermione’s direction and scoot a bit further back on the bed. Hermione took it, giving Ginny a grateful look, but setting it aside. No, she was not going to be sick again. Instead, she took another large sip of coffee, hoping the caffeine would soon bring relief to her aching head.

“I know. I know,” said Ginny commiseratingly. “Obviously, Harry and I were furious. I had to hold Harry back from physically attacking him and the only reason Ron’s arse wasn’t hexed off his body was because my wand was upstairs. I’m…I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

“Did he…” Hermione hesitated, unsure of whether she wanted to ask her next question, but knowing she’d drive herself crazy if she didn’t. “Did he say how long it’s being going on? Are they serious?”

Ginny pursed her lips, giving Hermione another one of those pitying looks. “I don’t think you want to know…”

“Just tell me Gin. I’m going to find out either way.”

Ginny swallowed thickly before answering, “Six months.”

“Six months?!” Hermione nearly shrieked, bringing a hand up to her head when it gave a surging pulse of pain. Merlin, she needed a pain potion in the worst way. Well, that answered her second question. If they’d been seeing each other six months, then it was definitely serious. Still, six months…that was a third of her and Ron’s relationship. Thinking back she realized that six months ago was around the time Ron stopped showing her affection and started spending more and more time away on assignments.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione,” Ginny apologized again. Hermione didn’t really know what she was sorry for though. Ginny wasn’t the one who’d been shagging someone else behind her back for half a year, thought Hermione bitterly. “I just want you to know that everyone’s on your side. Harry practically threw Ron out of our flat last night and told him to not come back until he’d figured out a way to fix things and I owled mum and dad the minute he left. I told mum to let him have her worst. The bastard deserves it.”

Hermione sighed, setting her pasty and coffee down on the nightstand, suddenly no longer hungry. So everyone knew now then. Great. A small part of her had hoped she could go a bit of time in denial. She hoped she could keep it a secret for just a bit before it became a big…thing.

“I guess I should have seen it coming,” Hermione finally said. “He’s been gone so much lately, and I’ve tried to be understanding, but he’s also been pulling away. I thought it might have been something I did…something we could fix, but.” Hermione shrugged, as if to say, ‘What can you do’.

Ginny frowned even deeper before asking, “Do you still want to? Fix it, I mean.”

Hermione frowned as well, thinking hard on her answer before shaking her head and saying, “No. No, I don’t.”

Ginny seemed a bit sad at her answer – perhaps disappointed that they would no longer one day be sisters but gave her a reassuring look all the same. “I completely understand. In my opinion he doesn’t deserve a second chance. I mean, what he’s done is so vile and unforgivable! I can’t believe—”

“Ginny—” Hermione cut of Ginny’s newly rising anger, suddenly feeling very tired “—thank you. Really, I appreciate you coming over here to comfort me. I just, I think I need a bit of alone time now. The last twenty-four hours have been exhausting and I think I just need a bit of a lie down.”

“Oh—” Ginny stood, collecting the trash from their breakfast “—of course. I’ll get out of your hair. Take as much time today as you need. You deserve it. Harry already called you in sick for the rest of the week and I’ll stop by tomorrow to see if you’re up for lunch.”

Merlin’s balls – work. She’d completely forgotten about work! It was only Wednesday. Burying herself into the confines of her duvet, Hermione thanked the stars for Harry Potter. Ginny gave her a soft kiss on the forehead before slipping out of the room. Hermione’s eyes had just closed, the pounding in her head all too apparent now that it was quiet when another knock came from the door.

“Come on in,” Hermione mumbled, voice groggy now that her muscles were relaxed, and her stomach was full of pasty. Ginny must have forgotten something.

“Sorry, Ginny said you were just about to have a lie down, but I thought you might need this first.”

Hermione froze at the sound of Sirius’s voice. Steeling herself, she rolled over and looked up at the older wizard with bated breath. He looked…fine. Calm even. How did he look so calm? He made his way across the room to the side of her bed and held out a small vial of pain potion to her. Hermione sat up a little, taking the vial from him. She uncorked it and tipped it past her lips, letting the bitter liquid slide down her past her tongue and down her throat. Pulling a face at the taste, she grabbed her coffee from the nightstand and chased it, before settling back in her bed.

“Thank you,” she said, purposefully avoiding looking at Sirius directly.

“Sure thing, kitten. How are you feeling?”

“Better, but still not my best,” Hermione answered, wishing more than anything Sirius would just leave. She wasn’t prepared for this. She needed at least four more hours of sleep and maybe another shot of whiskey before she was ready for this conversation. “Did…Ginny tell you what happened?”

Sirius nodded, and then much to her despair, he sat down on the edge of her bed. Hermione scooted her legs over, putting as much space between her body and his as she could without being too obvious.

“It certainly explains last night,” said Sirius, letting out a low and breathy laugh.

Hermione felt her face go hot, and she was sure she was as red as a tomato. However, if there was ever a time to put her plan from that morning into action, it was then.

“I’m so sorry you had to see me like that,” she began, looking down at her lap as she fingered the fabric of the duvet. “I’m ashamed to say I was so drunk I don’t even remember getting home. I hope I didn’t do anything too embarrassing like puke on your shoes, or something.”

There was a brief silence before Sirius cleared his throat and said, “No, no. Nothing like that.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, looking up in surprise. Sirius looked back at her, his grey eyes open and friendly. He gave her a small smile.

“Really,” he responded. “Although if you had puked on my shoes, I wouldn’t really blame you. No need to feel embarrassed for getting a bit too drunk. Can’t say I’d do much better if I’d been in your position.”

Hermione gave a weak laugh in response.

“Now,” continued Sirius. “You get some rest.” He stood and walked towards the door. He was halfway out of the door, handle in his grasp when Hermione called out to him.

“Sirius.”

The wizard turned, giving her a surprised look mixed with, was it worry? Concern? Hermione couldn’t tell. Her tongue faltered, stuck behind her teeth as she realized she had no idea why she’d called out his name. Swallowing thickly she gave him a smile that she hoped looked natural and said, “Thank you, again.”

“Of course, kitten.”

***

“How are you feeling?” Ginny asked, that same pitying look on her face.

Her and Harry sat across the table from Hermione at a small café in Diagon Alley. Just like Ginny had promised, she arrived exactly at noon the following day to see if Hermione was up for lunch. Hermione, who’d been hiding in her room, avoiding a certain older, dark-haired wizard found that she couldn’t say no. She was going stir-crazy and as even a quick trip to the kitchen seemed like too much of a risk, she was starving as well. So, there she was, sat across from the picture of marital bliss, wondering how long it really took to make a sandwich and chips.

Harry, thankfully, wasn’t giving her the same sad look Ginny was. In fact, if she had to put a word to how he looked she’d call it ‘uncomfortable’. He was having a hard time meeting Hermione’s eyes and he kept moving his hands from under the table to on top of it, his thumbs twiddling together.

Hermione sighed at Ginny’s question, bringing a hand up to her temple and rubbing the tired, tender flesh. While her hangover was well and past, she still felt exhausted – strung out really, despite the amount of extra sleep she’d gotten. She blamed Sirius Black for that. Despite every fiber of her being telling her that Ron’s infidelity should have been the main focus of her mind, instead she’d been unable to think of anything but the fact that Sirius Black had let their little tryst be swept under the rug surprisingly easily.

“I’m alright,” Hermione answered, giving Ginny a tired smile.

She should be alright – with the fact that Sirius played along with her little alcohol-induced memory loss game. It’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? The whole reason she’d decided to lie to him was so that he would have an out. So that the two of them could pretend like it never happened. So that they’d never have to have the uncomfortable ‘We almost drunkenly shagged in the hallway’ conversation. Well, she had been drunk. What was his excuse?

“Are you sure?” Ginny asked again.

Hermione looked around the café, hoping to see their waitress coming just around the corner with her food. No such luck.

“Heard anything from Ron?” Hermione asked, surprised that of all things, she’d rather distract herself with the topic of Ron cheating on her than think about Sirius Black.

Ginny shook her head. “We haven’t heard anything, and mum says he hasn’t showed up to the Burrow, which means—”

“He’s been staying somewhere else…like his girlfriend’s place,” Hermione finished for her, her mouth going sour.

A tense silence filled the space around them at the table. It made sense that he would rather stay there than go home and face his mother’s wrath. Did the other witch know about Hermione? She wondered what Ron had told her – if he had told her anything. When she had realized who Hermione was, she seemed to remain friendly enough and she didn’t seem worried. It was common knowledge that her and Ron had been dating. It had been front page news in the Daily Prophet. So what then? Had Ron told this witch too? Had he told her that they were broken up? Perhaps someone should tell her…

“I feel like I should do something,” said Harry, breaking the silence. “I—do you—would it make you feel better if I beat the shit out of him?”

Hermione laughed. Actually laughed, fully and whole-heartedly. “No, Harry. That’s not necessary but thank you. I appreciate the gesture.”

Harry smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Alright then. Just thought I’d ask.”

They fell into a silence again and Hermione found herself looking out the café window for something to do. Her thoughts drifted back to Sirius. After lunch she’d have to go home. Usually she’d kill a few hours by going into Flourish and Blotts, but it felt a bit off-limits at the moment. Not needing any new robes or potions ingredients and having no reason stop by Gringotts, her only option was to go back to Grimmauld Place. She’d have to face Sirius sooner than later, she thought despondently. Still, maybe she could go into Muggle London if she found herself lacking in courage by the time lunch was over.

“Harry, did you have to use the restroom?” asked Ginny, bringing Hermione out of her thoughts. She looked up at the two of them across from her and saw Ginny looking at her husband with wide eyes.

“No?” Harry responded, looking back at his wife in confusion.

“No, no. I’m pretty sure you said when we got here that you needed to use the loo.”

“I think I’d remember if I said—”

“Harry. Bathroom,” said Ginny through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing.

Harry eyes grew wide in both fright and understanding before he made a fidgeting motion, turning slight in his seat. “Right, um, yeah. I forgot. I’ll just—”

Harry stood, walking briskly through the café towards the back hallway where the bathrooms were.

Hermione watched him go, brow furrowed in confusion. Well that was odd. Looking back at Ginny, she found the redheaded Weasley girl staring fixedly at her.

“Everything alright, Gin?” she asked nervously.

“What aren’t you telling me?” asked Ginny, her tone blunt and accusatory.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Hermione’s palms began to sweat. She couldn’t possibly…unless Sirius mentioned something. Did he?

“Hermione. I’ve known you for nearly eight years now. I know when there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Hermione chewed her lip, meeting Ginny’s sure gaze. A raging war battled within Hermione’s head as she sat in the café, the vinyl bench seat squeaking under her restless legs. Should she tell Ginny? If she didn’t, the girl would surely badger her until she did. And Hermione did really need a second opinion on her predicament – needed to tell someone or she might just go insane.

“Promise not to judge me too harshly?” Hermione asked, wringing her wrist in her hand.

“Hermione, of course I won’t judge you—” Ginny’s expression softened “—What is it? You can tell me.”

“You know how I went out drinking Tuesday night after finding out about Ron?”

“Yes…” Ginny drew out the word, her voice lilting up into a question almost.

“And you know how I came stumbling home drunk off my arse?”

“Yeah,” Ginny snorted. “I would have paid big money to see it.”

“Well, when I got home I…I…well you see I—”

“Hermione, just spit it out.”

“I snogged Sirius!” Hermione blurted the words, covering her mouth with both palms as if she could scoop the words out of the air and push them back down her throat. She glanced around her hurriedly, realizing only then that she’d practically yelled out for all to hear that she’d made out with Sirius Black, godfather to famous Harry Potter.

Ginny stared at her, wide-eyed and mouth hung open very much not unlike Ron from two nights previous.

“It—well I was drunk, and I got home, and Sirius was there, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt, you see. And I just…he looked so fit, you know? And I thought, well if Ron can go off and shag someone while we’re dating then surely, I can snog someone else now that we’re no longer dating. So I did.”

Ginny continued to stare at her in shock. Hermione swallowed thickly.

“Ginny, please say something. I’m almost positive I will go barking mad if you don’t.”

“I…I’m not quite sure what to say. Sirius? As in Sirius Black?”

“Yes.”

“Our Sirius Black?”

“Yes.”

“The Sirius Black you live with?”

“Yes.”

“Sirius Black – the godfather of my husband, Sirius Black?”

“Oh for crying out loud, yes Ginny. Sirius Black. That Sirius Black. I snogged Sirius Black,” Hermione bit, now rubbing both of her temples.

“Merlin’s beard…” said Ginny in a tone of disbelief.

“I know,” responded Hermione.

“How was it?”

“Ginny!” Hermione looked across the table at her friend in disbelief. The redhead was grinning back at her mischievously.

“What?! Inquiring minds want to know, Hermione Granger. You can’t just tell me something that juicy and not expect me to have questions.”

“Well yes, but I rather thought the questions in question would be more like ‘What were you thinking?’, ‘Why did you do that?’, ‘What are you going to do?’. Not, ‘How hot was it?’” laughed Hermione in bewilderment.

“So, it was hot then,” said Ginny, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh Merlin…” Hermione sighed, resting her head in her hands.

“Okay but in all seriousness, I do need all the details. So start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.” Ginny leaned forward in her seat, crossing her arms on the tabletop, and looking at Hermione expectantly.

Hermione sighed, but figured she owed it to Ginny to tell her the whole thing. Except, while Ginny was probably expecting the beginning to be her stumbling through the front door Tuesday night, nearly falling ass over tits, in reality, Hermione was going to need to start much further back than that. Hermione took a deep breath and then opened her mouth and told Ginny everything.

“Wow…”

“I know,” Hermione moaned, rubbing her palms down her face once again.

They were quiet before a moment before Ginny spoke, “So how are we going to get you two in the sack?”

“What?” Hermione asked in surprise. “You mean you’re not upset with me for more or less emotionally cheating on your brother?”

Ginny shrugged. “He actually cheated on you. I think it’s pretty fair.”

“Okay…” said Hermione slowly. “Isn’t it a bit wrong to be moving on so quickly? I mean last night I couldn’t really fault myself. I was drunk.”

“You’re not still hung up on my brother, are you?”

Hermione paused for a moment, already knowing her answer before it slipped past her lips. She had loved Ron, she still loved Ron in a way. But they’d been growing apart for quite some time. His infidelity was just the nail in the coffin for their relationship.

“Not really, no,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Good,” said Ginny simply, an acrid bite to it. “He doesn’t deserve you wallowing over him.”

They sat for a moment, letting the statement marinate in the space between them. But then Hermione spoke again, unable to now stop her racing mind and worries, “You don’t think he’s a bit too old for me?”

Ginny snorted. “You say old, I say experienced.”  

Hermione’s cheeks grew hot at the implication of Ginny’s words. A flash of the night before came to mind and she knew she couldn’t say Ginny was wrong.

“Okay, well then what about Harry?”

“Merlin Hermione! Harry will be fine! He doesn’t even have to know if you don’t want him to. I’ll keep your secret and I’m sure Sirius would too if you asked. Are you trying to come up with excuses not to do this?” Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No! I just…last night he rejected me. It leaves a witch feeling a bit apprehensive,” said Hermione, looking down at her hands now clasped together on top of the table.

“Hey,” said Ginny softly, bringing Hermione’s attention up. “He turned you down because you were drunk, Hermione. It’s a pretty bloody gentlemanly thing to do. Plus, he only turned you down after he had a taste. It’s obvious he couldn’t help himself.”

“You think?” asked Hermione, catching Harry walking back across the café from the restroom.

Ginny, spotting her distracted look, turned her head and acknowledged her fast approaching husband. She leaned forward across the table and lowered her voice, “I’m positive. Sirius is clearly attracted to you. We just have to make him realize that you’re both available and willing.”

“How are we going to do that?” Hermione whispered back.

“Simple. Hermione Granger, you are going to seduce Sirius Black.”

[brawltogethernow]

Have you read Phil Jimenez’ Tempest miniseries from the mid 90s? If so, what are your thoughts?

No, but it’s four issues long. Gimme a minute.

Okay, I’m back. That was VERY stupid (compliment). Absolute camp nonsense. Unfortunately it's also kind of bad?

Obviously these aren’t finely aged takes. Plus I have picked up exactly one (1) back issue of Aquafam content prior to this in my life, usually absorbing them exclusively through team titles, and lack of preexisting attachment to the lore here definitely doesn’t do it any favors.

Okay, so. In this title, AQUALAD (Garth), who is already not going by that at this point, has decided it’s time to STAB HIMSELF IN THE CHEST WITH A MAGIC KNIFE to absorb some kind of ANCESTRAL ELEMENTAL POWERS so he can finally update his name and outfit like every single other og Titan did in the eighties. You grow up slow when you’re not very popular! Complicating the planned KNIFE RITUAL, AQUAGIRL (Tula) has SPONTANEOUSLY COME BACK FROM THE DEAD and REFUSES TO ANSWER LITERALLY ANY QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS. This coincides exactly with Garth’s MENTOR GUY who looks like HE-MAN WISHES HE DID being kidnapped, also Tula immediately begins picking fights with Garth’s only other ally present, an EDGY SHARK MERMAID who is trying to enemies-to-lovers route their relationship and doesn’t appreciate being cuntblocked by a rude corpse. Garth decides to COMPLETELY IGNORE this BULK ORDER OF RED FLAGS because of love, which done well could be touching and tragic but in practice makes him look like a moron. He tells his SHARK GIRLFRIEND to gtfo for saying his DEAD GIRLFRIEND is going to fuck up the KNIFE MAGIC, allowing her to FUCK UP THE KNIFE MAGIC IMMEDIATELY. She’s revealed to be a pawn of Garth’s UNCLE, who is a NECROMANCER TRAPPED IN ANOTHER DIMENSION. So NECRUNCLE escapes and uses their (*communist Bugs Bunny meme*) ancestral mojo to summon a SOGGY UNDEAD ARMY. Garth is rescued by his community he thought were all dead but were actually just avoiding him. They reveal that they knew if he tried to claim his family magic his uncle would escape, so they tried to leave him for dead as a baby, and when they found out that hadn’t worked they decided to lie to him instead of telling him not to stab himself with a magic knife, also the knife was just an unnecessary bit of danger they added to the ritual at the last minute for fun. Did they mention they’re pacifists? Except for when they executed Garth’s dad for trying to fight off his necromancer brother, because they felt that was kind of over the line. They’ve been hiding out in a bunker full of COMICALLY NORMAL-LOOKING ANTI-ZOMBIE GUNS, which Garth takes to go fight his UNCLE and his DEAD GIRLFRIEND and his DEAD PET WALRUS, but he still needs to be rescued by SHARK GIRLFRIEND and her family, who she went to get instead of leaving Garth to die of his own dumbassery which he tbh deserved. So Garth yeets his uncle back into the PHANTOM ZONE BUT WET and levels up his magical abilities an unclear amount, the end.

Every single character is as dumb as a plank and deeply unsympathetic, except Letifos (edgy shark) and Atlan (He-mentor), who can get away with acting mostly normal because they are forcibly removed from the bulk of the plot. Every single thing that happens including all of the backstory could be avoided if the cast weren’t completely stocked with dumb jerks.

Great color palette choices, slightly tortured digital coloring on the version online. Nice underwater art that never forgot everything was underwater or succumbed to the urge to just put everyone in a blue void. My inner four-year-old, who is on some level still sitting at the bottom of a pool trying to manifest an uncanny lung capacity and a magical fish companion, was really vibing with it. This is approximately the age I was the last time I interacted with underwater civilization content, but it turns out I still appreciate it as an aesthetic, and this mini nails it.

It was actually slightly too good at remembering literally everything was underwater, in the sense that I had trouble turning my brain off about the logistics and kept pausing to go, “Underwater...blanket...? Why...? How does that...” I am very ready to allow the ocean zombies, however, for cool factor reasons. Although skeletons are also cool and don’t raise questions about underwater mummification.

This was my introduction to the fact that in post-Crisis DC Neptune and Poseidon are two separate dudes, one of whom is blue and has a bubble beard and one of whom is a bald white merman. And they hate each other? Alright! Okay, okay. Like did DC accidentally establish both and they just decided to roll with it?

Now, you know I love me some undead women.👍 Unfortunately Tula’s agency and interiority are lower than zero, just steeply in the negatives.👎👎👎 Tula is Charlie Brown and agency in this plot is the football. Jimenez’s entire approach to women in this gives him an extremely punchable vibe. I would not go to a bar with this man. He remembers the girls have super strength (and doesn’t keep the violence completly divvied up by gender), at least, but doesn’t seem aware that they’re people, which is unsettling. You could have turned around a LOT with like, a single scene from Tula’s POV after it’s established that she’s been bespelled to experience a completely different set of events from reality so that by the end she’s experiencing her ally losing it and attacking her, or just by working harder to convey that experience through her reactions. But lol no it’s fine that she’s basically a hand puppet, because what matters is the lead’s reaction to her! Jail. Go to jail. Also as it stands I’m confused about how her deal shook out to be that she was both not actually Tula and being mind controlled, and also her real experience of love for Garth was critical to the villain’s plan? Explainy-looking words happened but the zombie logistics absolutely went unexplained in spite of them. While we’re at it, why did Letifos come back for a big damn heroes scene at the end. Devoting a thought bubble to addressing this turn around wouldn’t have even had to break the binding contract that seems to be in place forbidding any lines from her not directly about Garth.

Right, the villain. Great design, very gross. I do kind of want to boil him and then try to crack him open and eat him like a crab. Love that Garth lampshades that Slizzath is a ridiculous evil name by saying he can’t pronounce it, right next to the reveal that Slizzath is his uncle. It doesn’t seem like he took that on as his necromancer title or anything. Garth’s grandparents just named their kids Thar and Slizzath. Really, the way that his face is a skull now is their fault.

I was surprised to see that the contentious dick towers from the Little Mermaid VHS cover have taken refuge in this version of Atlantis.

I feel like I should segue from there into something about Garth’s shrinkwrapped costume’s gratuitously pronounced crotch bulge, but like, I don’t know. Whatever. We’re just uncomfortably up close and personal with absolutely everybody’s anatomy consistently, it’s whatever.

So yeah, that was not good. I enjoyed it. I would punch Phil Jimenez in the mouth without hesitation.

[anonymouslyangsty]

What do you think Assassin!Taka would do if he figured out how much his grandfather was manipulating him? Also, what do you think of an alternative Assassin!Taka where his first kill was his grandfather?

Very good question and very good concept.

Minor derailment for a sec (i swear it's relevant), but let's talk about Takaaki and Toranosuke in this au.

(warning, it ended up not being 'a sec'. I bolded the part where I ACTUALLY start talking about your question)

I feel like Torano's downfall was a bit of a slippery slope. He needed to gain some momentum before he went to murder and child grooming, as ya do. And I think the major step towards extreme corruption came through Takaaki.

I feel like those two have a rather tense relationship early on in the au. Takaaki knows that some of his father's dealings are fishy. Perhaps not criminal at that point, but not exactly clean either.

But Takaaki is still human. He's got a wife and young son to care for. If his father's slimy actions got out, they'd ruin the Ishimaru name. Plus, he isn't hurting anyone, right? So Takaaki leaves it alone.

That kind of dismissal only lasts for so long however, especially when you're as honest as Takaaki. Eventually, he's not going to be able to turn a blind eye, even if acting puts himself and his family at risk.

Perhaps Torano does something that goes a bit too far, that actually hurts people and ruins lives. Takaaki wouldn't be able to stand for it and, even if he cares about his father, he isn't going to deny his duties as an officer because of it.

But I think that Takaaki would make the critical mistake of trusting the goodness in his father just a BIT too much. He thinks he can talk sense into Torano, get him to change his ways without ruining his whole career. All Takaaki does is give him ample warning.

Torano cares about his son. Takaaki is a decent man, hardworking and honest. But he'll be damned if he lets his soft heart get in his way and ruin his legacy. So when Takaaki threatens to release info on Torano's illegal activities, he knows he has to keep his son quiet.

Toranosuke is very careful with how he does it. He can't just kill the man. If Takaaki shared his suspicions with anyone, his sudden death would be damning.

So he does the next best thing. Torano gets Takaaki declared clinically insane and locked in an asylum. He weaves this detailed, damning story, bribing as many people as he needs to to create a false narrative. Takaaki attacked him in his office, spouting conseracy theories and accusing him of murder!

Toranosuke deeply cares for his son, so he obviously wouldn't send him away unless it was for his own good, right? And if Takaaki's wife suddenly finds herself overwhelmed with life under the camera's eye, well. What kind of grandfather would Toranosuke be if he didn't care for Taka while his mother was away visiting family? He's just looking out for his family after all.

So that's all to say that Takaaki is alive in this au, locked away from crimes he didn't commit. After so long of being told he's insane, he slowly begins to believe it. Maybe he was becoming paranoid, seeing crimes where there weren't any. Maybe he had overreacted. Did he attack his father? He didn't recall doing so, but there was video evidence, so it has to be true.

It takes years for Takaaki to be deemed sane. By that point, he's convinced himself that he really had made up all those accusations. Taka's already gone at this stage, off training for his grandfather's purposes. But Takaaki thinks he's just off at boarding school.

Now I'll get to the point of this 'little' tangent. I think Takaaki's the one who proves to Taka that he's being used. Takaaki's an officer, likely far higher in standing than in canon. So it's plausible that he'd be employed to investigate a string of strange deaths that's caught the eye of a few officials.

It would be quite interesting for Takaaki to realize that the 'string' of murders is actually far longer than they'd realized. It'd be even more interesting for him to realize that his son is the one behind the deaths.

Takaaki is a father first and an officer second. There's no way he'll allow his son to take the fall, especially not once it becomes clear that Torano placed him into the role. Takaaki would absolutely try to make his son see reason, which means making him see that he's being used.

Okay NOW I'll actually get to the point.

If Taka found out he was being used by his grandfather...Well it sure wouldn't be a pretty sight. We already know how Taka responds to his world being destroyed: denial, unresponsiveness, and manic behavior. That's how he responded upon learning that a guy he was friends with for 3 days was a killer.

Assassin!Taka doesn't see himself as a murderer. He sees himself as an executioner, dealing out capital justice to those who abuse their power. He kills those that are irredeemable, who harm others without any empathy.

But if that was all a life, if he was working for the corrupt rather than against...He'd be just as bad as the corruption he sought to destroy. He'd be a murderer.

Put that revelation onto the realization that the man who raised him since his parents left, the man he looked up to as the pinnacle of greatness, is himself corrupt. Has himself committed the same crimes Taka killed to stop. That Taka was nothing but a tool for that corruption.

Literally everything that Taka is in this au would be a lie. He's not killing for justice, his mindset isn't the correct path, his grandfather isn't fighting for justice.

I honestly think Taka would have an extreme, violent response to that revelation. He'd see both himself and his grandfather as irreparably tainted, absolutely dripping in the blood of the innocent. And Taka has known no means of removing such blots on human society but to personally wipe them out. So that's exactly what he go out to do.

Now I'm thinking about Taka and Takaaki hunting down Torano for some vigilante justice. All while Takaaki subtly tries to convince his son not to kill both Torano AND himself. It would be very hard for Takaaki to convince Taka that he was a victim of his grandfather, and not equally as guilty.

(this is also making me think of an au where Taka's hired by the FBI for his skills in a Black Widow situation)

Speaking of that, let's get to the "Taka's first kill is his grandfather" au.

The first and biggest question is: who the heck puts Taka up to it? It would not be easy. I'm thinking that, in the normal Assassin!Taka au, Torano spends YEARS grooming Taka into accepting killing. Nobody else would have that kind of extended access to Taka except his parents.

...

Except his parents. I'm literally having ideas as I type this. New idea! I'm going to make Taka's mom relevant (and evil)! Also I'm calling her Nori because I just need a name.

Perhaps Takaaki's marriage was arranged for political reasons more than love. He had to marry wealthy, and ended up marrying the daughter of a wealthy businessman.

And that's a very useful position, isn't it? Nori is in a perfect place to learn the intimate details of the Ishimaru family. She can learn what little squabbles the family has amongst one another, what weaknesses there are, anything she could need.

Her parents are well acquainted with several politicians, all of whom are more than willing to act in favor of her family's company. All of whom are itching to become Prime Minister.

So a plan is made to leave the position of PM vacant. Assassinate Takaaki, frame Torano, get someone who'll act in favor of the company in control. Maybe throw in some Yakuza connections for flavor.

Nori is nothing if not a good actor. So when a bullet comes through a window during a banquet, going straight through Takaaki's skull and spraying the table with blood, she acts just like you'd expect a loving wife to. The event falls into chaos instantly, guards swarming the area. And little Taka, who'd been so excited to wear his new suit to the event, has to be dragged away from his father.

Nori's job at this point is to act the part of the mournful wife, suddenly finding herself a single mother. She also is tasked with beginning the rumor mill, whispering of the animosity her poor late husband and his father had for one another. How she's afraid that Toranosuke is somehow involved and, if she isn't careful, will act against her and Taka.

Somehow Taka ends up hearing about it. And well, Taka isn't the type to hide his feelings as a teenager, and he certainly doesn't do it as a child. It's an unexpected complication to the plan. Taka isn't going to just let the rumor float about. He's ready to go straight to his grandfather and demand answers, which would ruin everything.

They could kill the child, it wouldn't be terribly hard. But perhaps Nori has some attachment to him, even if she knows he was only born as a prop for her role. The only other option is to make him part of the plan.

Why frame Toranosuke for murder when you can convince his grandchild that he's a horrible man? A man so powerful that even the law can't touch him? A man so powerful that only someone truly dedicated to justice can bring him down?

It isn't hard to convince Taka to poison his grandfather. The hardest part is training him to hide his anger long enough to get the job done.

So now Nori has made way for a business partner to become Prime Minister, and she's created a hitman for the company. Taka would be a much more loyal assassin than simple money could buy. He's got a vendetta against corruption and a tarnished faith in the justice system. And Nori is in the perfect position to direct his righteous anger towards those that 'deserve it'. And if her definition of who deserves death is different than Taka's? Well, he doesn't need to know that.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

we poured mud through their veins (part one)

the first installment of an au i am in love with 

in which a new member joins the Deetz-Maitland family!

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

The sky was the color of the ocean- dark, wild, and swallowing everything in its wake. The only thing that could possibly rival its impenetrable wall of thick black-blue were the occasional cracks of blazing lightning that split the roiling clouds like a hot knife. The storm would be cut in half at the flash of its searing glory, then sewed itself back together like a monstrous, watery wound. The wind was so fierce that it seemed to be sent by an enraged being (in which Delia would helpfully say it was “God” or “angels playing bowling”) to punish Winter River for some unruly sin. Water rushed down the streets like baby rivers, threatening to drag anything and anyone in its way down the asphalt with it. Raindrops battered windows and walls and doors, knocking so viciously like an unwanted guest.

An unwanted guest. That was what this damn storm was. And Lydia was at her wit’s end with this elemental stranger.

Her computer crashed for the third time and she finally slammed the lid close, letting out a miserable groan that was soon challenged by a deep rumble of thunder. She cringed, curling her shoulders in, and then sighed.

 “Fuck this storm,” She growled.

 “Language,” Barbara said from the kitchen.

 “Sorry,” Lydia muttered. “Screw this storm.”

Barbara chuckled lovingly. “Better.” She peered over at the closed laptop. “Everything okay?”

 “It keeps crashing,” Lydia said miserably. “And I’m finally not procrastinating on doing my essay!”

 “You had an essay due?” Adam looked at Lydia sharply, yanking his head out from the spice cabinet.

Lydia smiled innocently. “Maaaybe,” She said. She noticed the stern expression on Adam’s face. “Hey, I’m doing it! So don’t worry!”

 “Hmm,” Adam squinted at her suspiciously. “Seems like you planned this.”

 “What? Me? Never!” Lydia said.

Barbara laughed again and then turned back to the pot she was stirring. “What’s your essay on?”

 “Well, my English class needed to write something that had to do with society or the ecosystem,” Lydia explained. “So I chose to do mine on why the eighth amendment should be abolished!”

Barbara and Adam blinked at her proud expression.

 “Reason?” Adam asked.

 “If we don’t have the eighth amendment, then we can torture rapists,” Lydia said confidently.

Barbara and Adam then nodded in agreement.

It had been nine months since the whole incident with the ghosts, and it was honestly some of the best months of Lydia’s entire life. Not only did the Maitlands officially become part of the family, but Beetlejuice stuck around, too, becoming Lydia’s chaotic best friend and older brother figure, at least after being properly “housebroken” as her father would describe it. Waking up each morning always greeted her with new mayhem from one of the otherworldly tenants and more things she could learn about them. It was incredible.

They were a family.

 “It’s really coming down out there.”

Lydia looked over her shoulder to see Delia standing at the back door, sipping a steaming cup of her weird herbal tea (which tasted disgusting, by the way).

 “It’s what you would call ‘Noah’s Arc’,” Barbara said knowingly. Except her ‘knowledgeable’ comment got a weird look from Lydia and a laugh from Adam and Delia.

 “Noah’s Arc was the, well, arc, honey,” Adam said. “Not the storm. But nice try.”

 “It’s so foggy,” Delia commented. “The river may flood at this rate.”

Foggy.

Fog.

That word always sparked a memory in Lydia’s mind.

The Netherworld.

Lydia remembered the Netherworld clearly.

The air there had been wet and heavy, like she was breathing in a thick fog that stuck to her throat like tar. There was a certain sticky humidity in that dark place, pressing down on her in heavy waves, as if the very atmosphere itself was trying to crush her skull, punishing her for even plucking up the courage to step foot in the place where the Living didn’t belong. It was cold, yet uncomfortably warm at the same time, with no wind blowing to ease the mild heat that had settled its oppressive, sultry murk over the Dead’s civilization. It spilled into every street, every alleyway, every house that dared to open the window, thinking that it would help with the clamminess that fogged their home, but to no avail.

This, of course, had brought upon complete and utter dreariness that coated every Dead making their rounds through their daily lives. And, in reaction to her presence, the gloom tried to wrap its dark protections of the underworld around her in layers that pressed deeply into her skin, trying to become a part of her. It adorned her until she was nearly suffocated in the thick, moist air.

She did not belong there.

The Netherworld had been filled with enough freaks to make a whole circus- a suicidal beauty pageant queen with slashed open wrists, a failed skydiver in a shredded jumpsuit, a lady swathed in a smoldering towel and had hair crackling hair that hugged a toaster to her chest, a charred man who breathed smoke like a great fire dragon, a very confused football player, a man with a huge cleaver lodged in his skull as a sign of his infidelity, a gravely-injured jockey that spit blood when she talked, some kind of hunter with a shrunken head, and a very excitable victim of explosion, among many more that Lydia hadn’t seen. Not that she was surprised at the amount of strange characters in the underworld.

Aside from the beauty pageant queen, the jockey was the Dead that Lydia got to know the most. Even for the short amount of time she was down in the Netherworld , the jockey seemed to grow attached to her, talking to her animatedly as if they had been friends for years and hanging onto her arm like a baby koala would to its mother. She learned that her name was Presley.

And Lydia had to leave Presley behind.

It wasn’t because she wanted to- she had to! Presley said it herself: the living didn’t belong in the Netherworld. But still, it kinda hurt to leave her new friend behind.

But she got over it. And she moved on. And she got a new family that made her completely forget about the undead horse rider.

Lydia’s memories were then interrupted by a terrible crash of thunder that seemed to rip the entire town in half. The sound rang in all of their ears, even causing Lydia to snap her hands up to cover her own, much to her embarrassment, and making Adam phase straight into the drywall of the kitchen in reaction to the shock, and the sonic boom that followed rocked the house from side-to-side.

As the rumble faded and the lights overhead flickered, there was a heavy thud from upstairs.

From Lydia’s room.

Lydia groaned. “That’ll probably be Beej,” She said. “Messing with my stuff. Again. Probably thought the thunder could cover up the sound of him setting some kind of prank.” She turned her head to yell up the staircase as she stood up. “But not this time!”

She heard Barbara, Adam, and Delia laugh as she walked upstairs.

As quietly as possible, Lydia snuck up the stairs and to her bedroom. Inside, she could hear shuffling and a muttering voice.

Someone was in there.

Wanting to scare Beetlejuice for trying to prank her again, she grasped the doorknob, slowly pushed open the door, and peeked in at the demon in her bedroom.

The light from the lamp that she had left on fed into his white and red suit, soaking into the filthy fabric. He kept looking this way and that, the helmet he was wearing shifting against his head, and-- that was not Beetlejuice.

But Lydia did know this person.

White-and-red checkered shirt, white pants, gloves, black riding boots, a helmet with a crack straight down the middle, a crop holstered to narrow hips, old blood and hoofprints all over…

 “Presley?!” Lydia yelped out loud, then quickly shut her mouth. She stepped fully into her room and closed the door behind her. A moment later, the undead jockey was in her arms, clinging to her in a way that felt more like how a drowning woman to cling to the side of a boat than a normal hug between reuniting friends.

Except she didn’t feel undead. She felt warm, solid, real…living.

She was living.

But…that shouldn’t have been possible.

 “Presley…” Lydia said slowly. “How are you here?”

Presley looked up at her, the rim of her helmet sliding into her eyes slightly, then glanced all around. When she turned her head back up to Lydia, she seemed equally as confused. There was a stream of dried blood trickling down between her eyes and on one side of her nose. There was another scoring her right temple.

 “I don’t-- I don’t know,” Presley whispered, and her voice was hoarse and weak. She then sucked in a sharp breath and coughed. Lydia realized this must have been the first time she had breathed in a long while.

 “Well, that’s…confusing…” Lydia said. She batted Presley backwards so she would be away from the door. Presley clung onto her arm with one hand like it was her lifeline. “I thought you were dead? Like, really dead?”

 “Yeah…” Presley shifted. “I would know.”

Lydia laughed slightly. “What happened? How did this happen?”

Presley shrugged helplessly. “Your guess is as good as mine. I was just sitting in my room, crying, as I usually am, and then I fell asleep and now I’m here!” She looked around. “Nice room, by the way.”

 “Thanks,” Lydia said. She glanced at her door. “Okay, well…” She ran a hand through her hair. “This…will cause some issues.”

 “Oh.”

Presley took a shuffling step backwards and unholstered her crop, which she began to fidget with nervously. Lydia thought it was strange- wasn’t that the thing that basically caused her untimely demise? How could she be comfortable with even having it on her person after that?

 “Sorry…”

 “Hey, it’s not your fault,” Lydia assured her. “How were you supposed to know that you were going to…come back to life?”

 “Heh. Yeah.” Presley smiled slightly at her, which then turned into a grimace of pain. “May I sit down?”

 “Yeah, of course,” Lydia said, and Presley instantly dropped down to her knees. Her breathing came out strained and ragged. “Are you alright?”

Presley gave her a weak smile, and there was blood in her teeth and blood on her lips and blood on her tongue. “Yeah, yeah… I’ll be fine.”

 “Are you sure?” Lydia prodded, crouching down in front of her. “You don’t look so good.”

 “Well, you know how I died,” Presley said, sitting up from her hunched position. She pressed a hand against the left side of her ribs, wincing. “Wasn’t exactly very, ahh, pretty…” She swallowed.

 “Your wounds didn’t heal after you came back to life?” Lydia said. “I guess that’s what we’re calling this. But you didn’t get a fresh new start?”

Presley shook her head. She unbuttoned her jockey uniform and opened up one flap, the cloth making a disgusting peeling sound as it detached from her skin, to reveal the dark black abyss that was her trampled chest. Looking at it, even in the lamp’s golden glow, Lydia couldn’t tell where one wound ended and another wound began. They were all- the bruises and the lacerations and the welts and the hoofprints- melted into one big blemish of agony upon the young jockey’s torso. For a moment, Lydia didn’t even see that she had a sports bra on because the fabric (it had been grey, once upon a time) was completely soaked in blood and blending in with the rest of the mess.  

 “Unfortunately, no,” Presley closed her shirt. “I suppose it’s a fair trade. Being brought back for a second chance at life, but I have to live with the effects of how I died in the first one. Actually, that isn’t as fair as I thought. My internal organs had definitely been ruptured when--” She stopped talking and looked down at her stomach grimly.

 “Well, that…sucks,” Lydia said. She glanced at her door again. How was she going to explain this to her family?

 “Lydia!”

And speaking of the devils…

Lydia turned back to Presley. “Ready to meet my family?”

Presley perked up. “Really?”

 “You don’t exactly have anywhere else to go,” Lydia said. “And you’re here, aren’t you? One more supernatural being living in our house won’t hurt!”

Presley tilted her head, and her helmet slumped over on her skull with the movement. “There are others?”

Lydia grinned. “Yep,” She said. “I got pretty much the coolest family.”

 “Lydia!”

 “Coming!” Lydia called back to the voice yelling for her. She looked back at Presley. “I’m going to go talk to them first. I’ll call down for you once they’re ready. Just be cool, okay? They’ll like you.”

At least, she hoped they would. Presley didn’t have anywhere else to go if they didn’t.

Delia, Barbara, Adam, and Charles, who had emerged from his office, were all assembled downstairs, preparing for dinner. Barbara smiled at Lydia when she came down.

 “Did you find BJ?” Barbara asked.

 “How long did it take to dismantle the prank?” Adam asked, sounding amused.

 “What prank?” Beetlejuice materialized beside Charles, nearly making him drop the bowl of spaghetti he had been carrying to the table. He looked at him. “Sorry, Chuck.” He looked back at Lydia. “Now, what about a prank?”

All eyes turned to Lydia, and Lydia couldn’t help but feel like she was being interrogated, which was weird because she hadn’t done anything wrong. The ghost of a jockey who got killed during a race appearing in her bedroom as a living person wasn’t her fault! That was nobody’s fault!

 “It turns out there was no prank,” Lydia said.

 “Then what fell?” Delia asked.

 “Yeah, about that…” Lydia glanced up the staircase. She faintly saw Presley hovering in the hallway. “Remember that one time we went to the Netherworld?”

 “Yes,” Charles said. “It was the worst place ever.”

 “Oh god,” Beetlejuice said. “Is this another lecture? I already said I’m sorry!”

 “No, no, this isn’t about that,” Lydia said quickly. “While I was there, I met this girl. We kinda became friends, but, you know, I had to come back here so I haven’t seen her since.”

 “Where is this going?” Adam asked, looking curious and slightly concerned.

 “What if I told you guys that my friend came back to life somehow and appeared in my bedroom for no real rhyme or reason but now she’s here and has nowhere else to go?”

The house went quiet. Thunder rumbled outside, as if the very universe itself were laughing about the situation.

And then--

 “WHAT?” Adam yelped.

 “That can happen?” Delia said at the same time, looking at Beetlejuice.

 “I guess!” Beetlejuice yelled.

 “Wait, so there’s someone in our house right now?” Charles asked.

 “Surprise!” Lydia said weakly. She looked up the staircase. “You can come down now.”

There was shuffling from upstairs; Presley emerged into the light of the open stairwell and staggered her way down the stairs, each step she took being punctuated by a wince. There were several gasps, mainly from Barbara, Delia, and Adam, as she stopped next to Lydia- not that Lydia blamed her family for their reactions.

Presley looked much, much worse in full lightning. Her skin was no longer pale pink like it had been in the Netherworld, rather just pale, as if all the blood was drained from her body and leaving her as an empty shell. Even her lips were completely leached of color. It was impossible to tell if the dark rings around her eyes were from sleep deprivation or were just shiners caused by her death. Her jockey uniform was slathered in a thick caking of mud--and then Lydia realized most of that was just dried blood. Black hoofprints were stamped up and down her chest, stomach, and legs, and some areas of the fabric were ripped, revealing grimy, bruised, and bloodied flesh underneath. The streams of blood down her face and side of her head were completely dried now, crusted over and flaking off. She was squeezing her crop nervously, bright hazel eyes darting everywhere around the house, but she quickly latched onto Lydia’s arm with one of her hands, holding on tightly, similarly to how she did down in the Netherworld when they first met. 

 “Everyone…” Lydia said to her gaping family. “Meet Presley!”

[giuliafc]

Caught in the Loop - chapter 2

Read the whole story:

Ao3 || FFN || Wattpad

Chat Noir bets to Ladybug that he loves the girl behind the spots, no matter who she is. Ladybug bets to Chat Noir that he's only her partner and best friend, she doesn't love him 'that' way. What happens when they accept to get caught into a spiritual 'loop' , living through many alternate realities to prove that they're right and win their bet? They end up losing it, of course. They lose ROYALLY. Lovesquare identity reveal with a twist!

Cover art credit: Rosehealer02

Chapter 2 — Jealousy

Marinette woke with a start. She sat up in a mad haste and then blinked and looked around. And then blinked again. What was she doing in her room? Last thing she remembered, she was in a closet with Chat Noir and Chaoss had triggered the loop. Why was she in her—she looked at her legs and winced—bed? She had been in school. What was going on?

"Oh, good morning, Marinette," came a voice from her back and Marinette turned around to see Tikki rub her little eyes sleepily. "It's unusual for you to wake up so early."

Marinette looked at her watch and saw that it was 5.30 AM. She collapsed back on her bed, landing on her back, and put a hand on her forehead, moving her hair from it with the gesture.

"Are you okay, Marinette?" The little red kwami moved from her place on the side of Marinette's pillow and started floating over her face.

"I… I must have had a dream, Tikki. Nothing—"

She wanted to say 'nothing to worry about', but as she was starting to say that, she turned around on her left to look at the pictures of Adrien and Luka on the side of her bed. The second her gaze landed on the little showcase on display on her wall, she felt herself sucking her breath in and her heart stopped. She found herself unable to continue her sentence as all blood drained from her face.

In full display on her showcase weren't the pictures of Adrien and Luka, nor the other pictures of her friends she remembered having there. No. At the centre of the showcase was a blown up version of… what looked like… a kiss between Ladybug and Chat Noir? There were cuts from magazines and newspapers showing the two heroes together, in poses that Marinette didn't remember having ever struck and doing things that she didn't remember having done. Couple things? She bolted in a sitting position so fast that her head banged on the ceiling of her bed's mezzanine.

"Ouch," she muttered as her hands ran to the tender spot on the top of her head where her skull had met the wall. "That hurts!" She opened her eyes again, hoping that the pain she had just felt would wake her up from whatever daydream she had fallen in, but the pictures of her alter ego in a romantic engagement with her partner didn't go away. They kept glaring at her, almost loudly.

"Marinette, you're more clumsy than usual this morning," mused Tikki. The frown on her face was one of concern. "Maybe you should tell your mother that you're not feeling well? Stay at home?"

Marinette's heart was playing overdrive. Her hand moved to the picture of Ladybug kissing Chat Noir and stroked her partner's face. She moved her hand to every picture and newspaper article.

Hang on, a newspaper article?

Marinette removed the pin on one of the articles attached to her showcase and picked it up, starting to read it, but it was only an account of the fight against Dark Owl, exactly like she remembered it. She was nearly putting it back to its place, but when she reached the end, her eyes widened as she read, 'after Ladybug captured the akuma, our beloved couple of superheroes celebrated the victory again with their trademark kiss on the lips.'

"Their WHAT?" she whispered. Her heart was in her throat. She stood up in a haste from her bed and nearly somersaulted down the stairs of her mezzanine. When she reached the floor of her bedroom and looked around, the pictures that greeted her were none that she could remember. Her whole room was plastered with pictures of Ladybug and Chat Noir's achievements. She moved the mouse of her computer and even her lockscreen was different! Instead of the collage she had made with modelling pictures of Adrien, her eyes were met with a similar collage—of Chat Noir? What. The. Proverbial. Heck—? The more her eyes darted from one side of her room to the next, the more her face felt drained of blood and her heart felt like freezing in her chest.

"Marinette? Can you tell me what's going on? Why are you looking at the pictures of your boyfriend as if you've seen a three headed monster?" When Tikki said that, Marinette's panic doubled. No, who was she kidding. It tripled. Quadrupled. CENTUPLED.

"My what?" She turned towards the kwami and stared into her concerned blue eyes with her terrified ones.

"Your—boyfriend. That nightmare must have been really bad, Marinette." Tikki moved a paw to her forehead. "Or maybe you've come down with something. Maybe you should transform and tell Chat Noir you're not feeling well and ask if he can be Mr. Bug for the day. I can bring him the earrings."

Marinette brought her hands to her temples. "This… doesn't make sense, Tikki. I was in a closet with Chat Noir. He was saying, as always, that he would love me no matter who I was, and I told him, as always, that for me he was only my best friend, and then you and Plagg started talking about this loop, and then Chaoss app—" She was interrupted by Tikki's paws on her lips.

"Chaoss you said? The loop?" Her eyes were now wide. "Okay, so now everything makes sense."

Marinette groaned. "What do you mean it all makes sense? What's going on and what happened to my pictures of Adrien?" Her voice rose a whole octave as she said the last couple of words.

Tikki sighed. "Adrien, you say? Oh yes, that makes perfect sense." She must have noticed the look of pure confusion Marinette had shot at her, because the little kwami gave her a pat on the cheek and smiled softly. "I can't be more precise with you, Marinette. You're not my Marinette, I can't give you too much information. From what I heard, in your reality you and Chat Noir are only friends."

Marinette didn't know why, but the way Tikki had said those words and the gleam in her eyes as she said them took her aback. The words of the kwami resounded in her head a few times and she widened her eyes in shock.

"So this is part of the loop?" she asked.

Tikki nodded. "Yes. This is not your reality, it's one of the realities you will be put through as part of the loop." Marinette breathed better.

"So I haven't gone completely mad or something, this isn't real. It's only part of the loop process," she mused under her breath.

Tikki's eyes hardened. "No, Marinette. This reality is as real as the reality you live in. It's an alternate reality that hasn't happened in your timeline, but it doesn't mean that it's less real or that doing something here won't have consequences for the world as it is in this reality, and for my Marinette when she will be back."

"I-I don't understand," said Marinette.

"You have been sent here for a reason, Marinette. Did you say that your part of the loop was betting that he was only a friend for you?"

Marinette nodded. "Yes, he's my partner and my best friend. I mean—" She lowered her gaze. "—he did tell me that he loved me, when we faced Glaciator. He had prepared a beautiful rooftop lit with candles and gave me a gorgeous red rose. But I rejected him because I love Adrien." Tikki seemed to be trying to say something but Marinette continued quickly, "I know it's only a dream to be with Adrien, but I can't help it."

"So you're not Adrien's girlfriend either?" asked Tikki.

Marinette shook her head. "I wish. No, I'm not. And he has a girlfriend now, but I still can't forget him. I have even tried to go out with another boy, Luka. And he's great and all but… I can't be truthful with him and we recently broke up. I can't have a relationship with someone and have to run away from him every five minutes because of an akuma. Luka was great, I really liked him, but I hurt him because I couldn't tell him the truth and that's when I realised that while I'm Ladybug there's no space for romance in my life." She couldn't help it, she felt her eyes filling with tears and covered her face hastily with her hands, as deep sobs shook her frame. She felt Tikki's paw patting her head softly.

"What about your Chat Noir? You said he went in the loop because he wanted to prove to you that he would love you whoever you are, so he still loves you, and deeply."

"He does," said Marinette in between sobs. "That's what he kept telling me from the start. I told you I had to reject him after André was turned into Glaciator because I couldn't reciprocate his feelings."

"But if you're trying to move on from your feelings about Adrien, if Adrien has become unattainable because he has a girlfriend, why turn to someone like Luka and not give Chat Noir a chance? He's not doing that badly as your boyfriend here."

Marinette took her face off her hands and gave a very watery look to her red spotted friend. Her heart hurt at Tikki's words and she wasn't entirely certain why. Was it because Tikki had just pointed out that Marinette had treated Chat Noir not even as a second choice, but a third? Was it because she had said that he was a good boyfriend? She had never doubted he would be; in fact, there was a time when she had thought that, had Adrien not been in the picture, she may have fallen in love with Chat Noir. So… why did she turn to Luka when she needed someone to be with? Why not Chat Noir who had been patiently waiting for her for such a long time? The pang of guilt attacked her heart so suddenly that it caught her by surprise.

"I…" she started to say, but Tikki smiled and put her paws on her mouth.

"You don't need to tell me anything, Marinette. You don't need to justify yourself. But you know what?" she said as her paws left her lips and she met Marinette's gaze with hers. "You're here now to learn a lesson, and I have an idea what that lesson may be." She gave Marinette a smug look and that shocked her a bit. She wasn't used to seeing such a look on her kwami's face—it was more common to see it on Alya's.

"I have no doubts that Chat Noir would be a great boyfriend, Tikki, but I can't be with him because of Chat Blanc," she eventually said.

Tikki looked surprised. "Chat Blanc?"

"It hasn't happened here?" Marinette asked. At Tikki's surprised 'no', her heart beat a bit faster. "One day in my timeline, Bunnyx appeared and brought me to the future. Everything had been destroyed, the moon had been Cataclysmed, and Chat Noir was all white and sitting atop Montparnasse Tower, heart broken. He said that our love had done that to the world. I thought it was a sign that I couldn't be with Chat Noir! Does he know my identity here?" she asked hastily, suddenly fearing that she had been thrown into the reality where Chat Noir had turned into Chat Blanc.

Tikki shook her head. "No, he doesn't. You're only together as superheroes."

"Am I the Guardian even here?" she asked after breathing a sigh of relief.

"Yes, you are. Something happened a few weeks ago when Hawkmoth akumatised your classmate Chloé."

So that hadn't changed. She nodded absent-mindedly and took another look at one of the pictures in her room. That one wasn't cut from a newspaper but had probably been taken either with her yoyo or with Chat's baton and printed with her printer; it showed them snuggled together on a rooftop, both smiling.

He had a nice smile there and looked really happy, but it wasn't what surprised her. SHE looked happy too. She ran a finger over the picture, contouring Chat's face and smile, and then sighed.

"That picture was taken a couple of nights ago, after an akuma," revealed Tikki.

So… she wasn't heartbroken here? She wasn't drowning under the heaviness of the responsibility of being a Guardian? She looked genuinely happy. Her gaze darted around and she examined all the pictures she could get close to, looking at her face. Looking at her eyes.

She was happy. Her heart sank. Was she the cause of her own heartache? Had she been rejecting the only boy she could possibly date and be happy with? A boy whose sex-appeal she had never been totally unaware of, nor unaffected by. By the time she thought all of that, her heart was pounding madly in her chest. Had she been a fool in rejecting Chat Noir?

"I… look so… happy," she muttered under her breath.

Tikki flew next to her. "Are you not happy in your reality?" She didn't need to say anything for Tikki to understand. She only needed to look at the kwami. "Oh. You're not."

She shook her head and grabbed the picture that Tikki had said had been taken only a couple of nights before. She gave a very long look full of longing at both their faces, their smiles, their closeness, how his arm wrapped around her shoulder, how she leaned into his chest, how softly they were both looking at each other, the warmth in their eyes and in their smiles. She wanted that. She craved that. She wanted someone to hug her like that. To look at her like that. Someone to lean on like that.

Was she feeling jealous of… herself? Envious of what her self had in this reality? When the realisation hit, she could hardly breathe.

"I need to see him, Tikki," she said as she put her clothes on and then put the picture in the pocket of her jeans.

"If you do—" started Tikki, but Marinette cut her off.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt his feelings."

Tikki put her paws on Marinette's mouth. "I'm not worried about that at all, Marinette. You look as if you need a hug and I can't do that for you." Marinette nodded, her eyes filling with tears again as Tikki continued, "Just transform, call him and meet him at the Eiffel Tower. He's used to you waking up in a mood where you need a hug; especially recently, with all the responsibilities of being a Guardian. But can you do me a favour?" Marinette nodded. "Don't pretend to be her. Just… go with the flow and try to enjoy it. Give him a good shot. Tell him you're not the Ladybug he knows, because he may feel the difference and ask you about it. He can take it, don't underestimate him."

Marinette smiled. "I will, Tikki, thank you."

"You know the words," chirped the red kwami.

"Tikki, spots on!" said Marinette and as the pink energy wrapped on her body, she landed on the mezzanine with one jump, and then flew out of the skylight door.

oOoOoOoOoOo

When she landed on the usual spot at the top of the Eiffel Tower, she hastily picked up the Bugphone and dialled Chat's number. As expected, the phone went into voicemail.

"Has the cat got your tongue? Leave a message! (1)" She smiled softly at hearing the exact same voicemail message that she was used to. Her Chaton was always the same, no matter which reality she was in. But when she heard the beep and knew that it was her moment to speak, her heart started going overdrive. She had told Tikki that she wouldn't pretend and that she was going to be honest with this Chat Noir. But he was used to a different Ladybug, a Ladybug whom she did not know enough about to mimic. What if he didn't like her? What if she ruined the happy life of her self in this reality by hurting involuntarily his feelings? Why had she decided to call him? What did she want to prove? Her eyes filled with tears and she just hung up the phone. She didn't have the heart to ask him to come; and in some way, she felt as if she was stealing someone else's boyfriend for a cuddle. No, it was much better if she didn't call him. She would live this reality and see him today if an akuma appeared—yes, that was the best idea.

She wiped away the tears that had already streamed from her eyes and looked for a while at the dimness of the early morning hours turning into daylight, as the sun lazily started its journey across the sky and darkness faded into shades of red and gold. A cool breeze was gently blowing in her face and hair and the sound of the sparrows and swallows chirping was slowly filling the silence of the night. She was so lost in her thoughts and so busy contemplating the view that she completely missed the light thump behind her, until she felt two arms wrapping around her waist; she gasped loudly.

"Did I scare you, Buginette?" said Chat Noir after placing a kiss on the top of her head. Marinette's heart went into overdrive. Oh no. She was so not ready to face him! Why was he there, she hadn't left a message or anything.

"A little," she confessed, looking down to the ground. She barely noticed that he had moved and had sat down next to her. "Why are you here, Chat?"

He tilted his head on the left slightly and gave her a doubtful look. "Are you okay, mon amour? I got a missed call from you on my communicator and you had hung up without saying good morning. If you allow me to say so, M'lady, that was purr-etty out of character for you. Even now you seem… strange. Have you been up again all night trying to figure out how to increase your powers? Do you need a boyfriend hug?" He opened his arms wide and Marinette, who had already felt all blood rush to her face the moment he had called her 'mon amour', felt somehow her face getting even warmer. Her heart was beating so hard in her throat that she felt it even in her ears. Her throat felt dry all of a sudden and her hands felt like ice as her eyes filled with tears.

She looked with longing at the arms open in invitation. She needed this. All her being needed this. Would it be really such a bad thing to take advantage of someone else's boyfriend like this? Was he really someone else's boyfriend in the first place? A part of her was screaming that yes, he was, because she wasn't the Ladybug he was in love with. But another part of herself was debating the point and arguing that she was still Ladybug. What harm could there be in getting a little comfort?

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to disturb you, minou. Really, it's nothing. I feel silly I even called y—" As Marinette was saying that, Chat Noir started rubbing a hand down her back, and eventually began giving her a light massage on the neck. This made Marinette go quiet, as she didn't know how to react. Her chaton didn't give her back rubs!

"What’s wrong, Buginette? You usually don't tense like this when I give you a little rub on the back." Marinette's heart skipped a beat. He seemed to be looking at her with a frown as his hands carried on what felt like expert work on her neck. Slowly, Marinette felt her tension fading and when he moved a finger down her spine, she couldn't avoid moaning and shivering. She tensed slightly, as she felt somehow ashamed at how that moan had sounded a little… lecherous? But she couldn't help it; he was too good at it. As his hand reached a spot she didn't know was causing her tension and eased it, making her feel, for the first time in a very long while, calm and relaxed, she instinctively leaned into him, a satisfied little smile curling her lips.

"God you're good at this," she muttered under her breath. Then she felt his arms wrapping tightly around her and she decided that she didn't care if this felt like taking someone else's boyfriend. Technically, she was still her self. Tikki's words also came back to her mind and she finally let herself go.

"Try to enjoy it," Tikki had said. She shouldn't feel guilty about it, should she? For a fraction of a second, as she felt his arms wrap around her she thought of Adrien. But a fraction of a second later, she mentally slapped her own head in shame. Why was she thinking of another boy when she was in Chat Noir's arms trying to enjoy the fact he was her boyfriend? What kind of person was she? She felt ashamed of herself. Then she realised why. Chat Noir smelled like Adrien. That mixture of 'Adrien — the fragrance' and… the smell of… dirty socks? No. She hugged him more tightly and inhaled deeply on the side of his neck, taking in his scent for the very first time. It was smelly cheese. Oh yes, Plagg ate Camembert right? That's what the smell was, Camembert cheese. So it was understandable that Chat Noir would smell of that. And maybe try to camouflage it by wearing a little too much cologne. Somehow the mix felt almost irresistible, especially coming from him.

She had to admit that Chat Noir had some taste in his choice of cologne… She sniffed him again. Mhhhh 'Adrien — the fragrance'... heavenly smell. As she did that for the second time, she felt him chuckling.

"You're tickling me, Buginette. What was that for?" He broke the hug and looked her in the eye. His gaze was soft, a little cheeky as she always remembered it to be, but possibly, even more full of love than the looks her Chat Noir would give her. A pang of electricity struck her in the most intimate depths of her soul as she reciprocated the look. "That's the wonderful girl I love," he said, a soft smile tugging the corners of his mouth. Then he put a hand on her chin and, with no hesitation, kissed her right on the lips.

Marinette forgot how to breathe. Her eyes slammed open at what she considered a daring move, coming from her chaton. She had to remind herself, using the last brain cell that she had left, that this wasn't her chaton, or rather, that she wasn't his Ladybug. And his Ladybug was his girlfriend, he had every right to kiss her, she thought, just before deciding to let herself go completely. Her arms reached his nape and her hands sank into his golden mane. His little moan at the gesture and the purr that started rumbling in his chest when her fingers scratched behind his ears gave her confidence.

She suddenly felt a huge injection of strength within herself and leaned into him, attempting to deepen the kiss; her shock when he opened his lips and let her in made her heart triple the pace of its beats. It was happening, her brain realised all of sudden. This was her very first kiss of such an intensity. Yes, she'd kissed him before when they faced Dark Cupid (and against Oblivio, but that didn't count because none of them could remember it), but this was different. This was mutual. He was very much aware of the kiss and was responding with such ardor that she felt her knees like jelly and a pang of electricity shake her insides. He sucked on her bottom lip and then started peppering her jaw with kisses until he reached the neck of her suit, and used his hand to pull it down a little bit and start sucking on the base of her neck, right on her pulse. The moan of pleasure that escaped her lips made her blush to the roots of her hair.

Oh God, please. She needed more. She wanted more. Let this moment never end! She attacked his lips with hers and deepened the kiss again almost immediately. She felt a physical need to taste him, to be close to him, to become one thing with him. It was almost a primal instinct and deciding to go with the flow, she let her hair completely loose. This was where she really wanted to be, where she really should have been from the very start.

As she thought that, she was making her timid imitation of what he had done that had lit a burning fire in her soul, by leaving his kiss-swollen lips and starting to lick his jaw and his neck down until she reached his suit. She copied what he had done and moved his suit on the neck and tried to suck on the skin like he did, but the second she did that, images of Adrien filled her mind, and she froze on the spot, panting hard.

Why on Earth was she thinking of Adrien while she was making out with Chat Noir? Yes, he smelled exactly like Adrien and this was driving her insane. But it wasn't fair to him. Bad, bad Marinette. He may smell like Adrien but was that enough for triggering her body's response? Was she going to want to make out with any boy who wore the 'Adrien — the fragrance' perfume? No, she was sure of that. The smell wasn't what was triggering it. It was something else. Was it… guilt? Her feeling guilty because she was making out with Chat Noir? Or was it maybe that he really reminded her of him?

He was also panting hard as she kept sucking, but when she stopped, she noticed that he went a little rigid and now seemed uncomfortable. He purposely put his hands on her shoulders and moved her a little bit, to look into her eyes. Marinette's heart was pounding so madly in her chest that she thought it would soon come out as she panted deep and hard.

He put a hand under her chin and forced her to look at him, a gleam of confusion in his electric green eyes. "Who are you?" he asked and Marinette's eyes widened in shock.

Shoot. Of course she wasn't at all comparable to his girlfriend who had been used to doing those things with him for a very long time. Now she was in trouble. She lowered her gaze, unable to look at him in the eye and felt all blood rush to her face.

"I…" she started to say, but Chat Noir stopped her and started looking around her as if he was trying to find something.

"Are you a… sentimonster?" he asked himself, but then corrected himself immediately, "No, that's impossible. A sentimonster would have tried to grab my ring after distracting me." He must have seen that she had reached a shade of red deeper than her Ladybug suit because a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he again grabbed her chin and forced her to make eye contact.

"I… I'm Ladybug. Really, Chaton. I swear, I'm not a sentimonster, you don't need to be worried about me. Just… Oh, I don't know how to explain it to you!"

Chat Noir picked his baton up and had a look at the time. "It's only 6.30 in the morning. There's plenty of time," he mused. Then he leaned with his back against the metal structure of the tower and crossed his legs, and his arms on his chest. "Maybe you could start from the beginning. I won't leave until I know what happened to my Buginette."

Marinette wished the ground would swallow her whole, but she knew that Chat Noir was right. Not only had she technically taken advantage of another girl's boyfriend, but she had deceived him, not telling him the truth. Telling more lies would have just made her hole wider. And deeper.

She sighed, looked down and started to talk.

———————————————-

Notes:

(1) thank you to the Miraculous Wiki for the transcript of "The Collector" where I've taken Chat Noir's Canon voicemail.

———————————————-

Author's note

———————————————-

Hi there! That's chapter 2… hope you liked it! Sorry it took me so long to update. I went through a little block and couldn't write anything for a while, so I started translating one of my long stories in Italian to get some inspiration back.

Now the inspiration is back though, so keep following! I decided to update the Loop because it was the story that got the most reviews while I was having a block. So if you're curious to know how Marinette's first loop will end and about Chat Noir's first loop too… you know the drill. Reblog with tags and comments, let me know what you think! I love reading your comments, and your reviews have been what has brought me out of the block I was having. So carry on commenting!

Also, if you read this and you’re not part of our wonderful Discord server already, but you enjoy reading, writing and talking about Miraculous, please join our Discord server, Miraculous Fanworks (for people on FFN, discord dot gg slash mlfanworks). See you there soon.

[roscoe-dream]

End of the Line [ 2 ] || Stiles Stilinski

A/N: part two is here! there isn’t much stiles present in this until the end because.. he’s erased.. rip.. but I hope you read it still! STYDIA turned STILESxREADER. Some other scenes are changed around too. italicized text are memories.

word count: 8,239

WARNINGS: lots of angst and tears! but your heart will be mended at the end.

Inspired by this song and this song. Highly recommended you listen on repeat while reading!

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ [ Part One ]

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀* * *

You couldn’t tell if the reason the aching was due to your heart cracking in two or not, but you didn’t give it much thought as tears rolled down your cheeks. As you stood in front of the pack, your eyes darted over each one of their solemn faces that stared back at you. Your mouth was agape, opening and closing like a fish out of water as you tried to form a sentence. But you couldn’t, your body was frozen in place as you tried to process the utter betrayal of your friends.

‘Stiles can’t be her son.’

Lydia’s voice echoed through your ears, the words tumbling from her lips in defeat. You refused to believe them, though. From the night you woke up gasping for breath, the name ‘Stiles’ being the only thing you said, you refused to believe that he wasn’t real.

“We-” You stammered, bottom lip quivering as you locked gazes with the leader of the pack. “We have to keep looking for him. We have to keep looking for Stiles.”

Scott’s face fell, his heart aching as he watched his best friend break over someone none of you could remember. Although he was silent, it spoke volume to you. “What about a relic?” You tried, eyes darting to both Malia and Lydia desperately. The strawberry blonde sighed, her hand grabbing onto the wrist that was roughly handled not too long ago. “There’s no relic of Stiles-”

“We don’t know that!” You shouted at her, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and looking down at your shuffling feet to avoid their bewildered gazes.

Malia’s blunt voice was next to speak, “It doesn’t even sound like a real name.” She scoffed, her arms crossing over her chest while glancing over to the other two wary teens. “We’re fighting the wrong battle, Y/N.”

Your vision grew blurry with tears, and while you tried your best to make sure they didn’t fall, a few escaped in the process. “We’re trying to bring Stiles back.” Your voice was weak. The thought of your best friends abandoning someone so easily made your heart ache. “He’s out there, and we need to help him. We need to-”

“Enough!” The alpha’s voice suddenly boomed, making your heart stutter. You stared at him with bulging eyes, jaw dropped in shock at the volume of his voice. “The ghost riders are back, and we have no way of stopping them.” Scott spoke sternly, his eyes narrowed at you. “And whatever they are, they’re real. We can’t keep chasing after someone who isn’t.”

Malia instantly agreed with him, her head bobbing up and down. “We have to move on. He didn’t leave anything behind.” She said, the pair of them turning away from you and making their way towards the exit of the hospital. When you looked to Lydia with your bloodshot eyes and wet, flushed cheeks, your bottom lip began to quiver again.

“The only thing he left behind, was me.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀* * *

Your fingers massaged your temples in attempt to soothe another one of the piercing headaches you’ve been getting since a couple weeks ago. You knew it had to deal with Stiles, it was the only explanation. For the past three months, up until a couple weeks ago, you never thought of a Stiles or felt as empty as you did now without him.

“Why don’t they believe me?” You croaked, letting your tear stained face fall into your hands as your shoulders raked with sobs. They didn’t stop, even when Lydia placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He’s real, Lyd. I know it.”

“I believe you.”

Your hair stuck to your stained cheeks as your head to snap up to her direction. “After everything we’ve been through, I believe you.” Her words were soft, but sincere, and it was all you needed to pull her into an embrace you so desperately needed. You two held each other in silence, and you thought back of the event that took place a few days ago with the pack at the hospital — of them giving up on Stiles. Lydia pulled away when the shrill sound of the bell rang throughout the hallway, her hands coming up to your face to wipe at your cheeks and fix your makeup. “Let’s get to class.”

“Stiles, seriously, I need to get to class!”

Your laughter was loud as it bounced off the walls of the hallway. It was empty, just you and Stiles in it as he grabbed a hold of your wrist tans tugged you close to his body. Whipping around to face him, your laughter died down as you stared into his whiskey eyes, your lips curled into a soft smile.

“You have a bathroom pass, you’re okay to stay here for a few more minutes.” He assured, his bottom lip jutting out into a little pout to persuade you. With a playful roll of your eyes, and a cheesy smile, you sat back down on the stairwell.

“Okay, Stilinski, but you’re the one failing history. Not me.”

And once again, your giggles could be heard throughout the empty hallway as you watched your hazel eyed best friend do a victory cheer.

You inhaled sharply at the sudden ache to your head, a whimper leaving your lips as you squeezed your eyes shut. You haven’t felt a pain like that for a few days, why is it starting again now?

Ignoring Lydia’s lingering concern, you adjusted the strap of your bag and quickly scurried off to AP Biology. Fortunately, you shared that class with Lydia, but you also shared it with Scott. Your bag made a small clattering sound when you plopped down in your assigned stool, your head falling into your folded arms. Your position stayed this way for pretty much majority of class, up until you felt a nudge to your side. Pulling your head from your arms, you turned to look at Lydia with furrowed brows, lips parting to ask what was wrong before she silently pointed outside the window.

Slowly following her gaze, you stared straight at what appeared to be an abandoned powder blue jeep.

“What if we gave it a paint job?”

You asked aloud as you leaned down to soak the large sponge in your hand with water from a bucket by your feet. Plopping it onto the hood of Stiles’ jeep, you bit back a smile after glancing at the spastic boy’s bewildered expression.

“No!” He gasped, sounded deeply offended. “I love this jeep. Rust, dents, and all. Plus, it was my mom’s and she never changed the color.”

Your lips pulled into a frown at his words, loosening your grip on the sponge and let it sit on the hood of the jeep, rounding the front of the vehicle to meet Stiles on the other side. “I’m not saying we change it, Sti, just.. make it look nicer. It’s like the homeless person of cars!”

You fell into a fit of laughter at his horrified expression, not missing the ghost of a smile he held on his freckled face.

“That’s it, you’re walking home!”

Your eyes grew wildly as you continued to study the jeep, ignoring the stinging to your skull as you turned to face Lydia, shaking her out of the daze you found yourself in seconds before. She quickly blinked back to reality, her eyes eagerly searching your own. “We need to get to that jeep.” You whispered, watching as her strawberry blonde hair swayed with the bobs of her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but was very soon interrupted by another voice.

“Ladies, is there something outside that’s more fascinating than the structure of the human mind?”

“No.”

“I don’t think so.”

You grimaced at the woman’s pointed gaze at your answer, quickly giving her an apologetic smile before she turned back to the rest of the class. As soon as her attention was off the pair of you, your eyes traveled back to the rusty jeep in the parking lot. “Now, many people credit the corpus callosum for giving us sense of intuition, gut instinct, even we ourselves aren’t aware-”

Her lecture was cut short by the screeching of stools. The sound made the class of teens divert their attention from the biology teacher to you and Lydia, who were looking around with a similar absent look in your eyes. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out, only tears forming in your waterline. Thankfully, the teacher noticed, and with a labored sigh, she nodded towards the door. You quickly exited the classroom, faintly hearing an ‘I’ll be right back’ from Lydia and an ‘I’m going to go check on her’ from Scott. Your swift pace didn’t slow at the sound of another pair of clacking heels and thudding footsteps. Pushing past the school doors, you ran towards the man attaching his tow hook to the front of the jeep.

“Hey, wait!”

The man turned in your direction, an eyebrow raised with curiosity at your frantic behavior. “You can’t tow this jeep.” You spoke between pants, looking behind you to see Scott and Lydia walking up to your sides.

“Paperwork says I can. It’s been reported as abandoned.”

Your eyes rolled, and you pushed past the man to slap a hand on the hood of the vehicle, eyes narrowed up on his taller figure. “There. Now it’s not.”

The man opened his mouth to protest, but with the menacing glare Scott was giving him, he unclasped the hook from the hood of the car, and pulled out of the parking lot. The three of you looked between each other, clearly stumped as to why you went out of your way to stop the tow man. “Well, now we have a jeep- Scott, you okay?”

The teenager had his head cocked to the side, eyes squinting in concentration as he slowly walked towards the door of the jeep. You took a step back, too curious to interrupt what Scott was doing.

“There you guys are!”

All three heads snapped towards Malia, who’s dark brown eyes were eyeing the jeep intensely. “You heard it too?” Scott asked, pulling his face away from the window of the jeep. “It’s coming from inside.”

“Break it.” Lydia ordered, stepping closer to the group, “The jeep’s abandoned anyway, nobody’s going to say anything. Break it.”

Scott hesitantly nodded at her insisting, guiding the three of you away before smashing the driver’s side window. The ringing sound that the two werewolves could only hear grew, making it loud enough for you and Lydia to hear as well. “Is that a radio?” You asked, stepping forward to peek inside the jeep to find a police scanner installed into the vehicle. The four of you swiftly shuffled into the jeep, eyes locked on the device that kept its consistent ringing noise.

Then suddenly, it stopped.

And honestly, it felt like your heart might’ve too.

“Why’d it stop?” asked Lydia.

“It doesn’t matter,” you sighed, reaching out for the glowing on/off switch to shut it down. From the passenger seat, you turned to look back at Scott, who held that same perplexed expression from outside the jeep. “What? Did you catch a scent?”

Both teen wolves nodded at this, their noses twitching while they inhaled deeply. You were soon met with Scott’s dark eyes, confusion swirling in them. “Yeah, uh..” He shook his head in disbelief, eyeing each person inside. “Mine. Lydia’s, Malia’s. Yours.”

“Especially yours.” Malia added, slouching in her seat with scrunched brows before asking, “But how? I’ve never been in this jeep before.”

“Neither have I.” Scott said, propping his elbows on the back of the two fronts seats. You turned to face Lydia, who’s lips were twitching into a small smile. “Yes, we have.” She said quietly, and you were quick to catch on. “We just don’t remember it.” You finished quickly, your eyes searching both Scott and Malia’s desperately.

“I thought we were done with that.” Malia deadpanned, glaring at Lydia for getting you riled up again. The three of them continued their quarrel while you let yourself grow distant, a faint ringing in your ear that grew louder instantaneously.

The grip he had on your face readjusted as he licked his lips nervously. "Remember... Remember that I've been in love with you since the beginning of our friendship, and that I didn't even realize until middle school." He chuckled humorlessly, swiping at the few stray tears that sprung from your eyes.

You shook your head in his hold, the faint memories of your blossoming friendship since diapers flashing before your eyes. "Stiles." You wailed, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth to silence your cries.

The boy's eyes flickered past you, his heart stopping at the sight of a Ghost Rider just outside your window. He released a steady breath, leaning into your face.

"And remember this."

“Y/N!” You heard Lydia shout, pulling you out of your trance-like state. You sniffled, glazed eyes looking to hers before letting them wander to the rest of the group’s concerned stares. “I’m sorry I, uh, was just thinking of something. I’m sorry.” Your words were rushed before you bowed your head down to avoid anymore prying eyes.

“We found an address..” Lydia said gently, almost as if she were to speak any louder, you would break. “It’s 129 Woodbine Lane.”

Exhaling slowly, you lifted your head up, a small sound of disbelief tumbling from your lips. “That’s the Sheriff’s house.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀* * *

“Girls, is this about Stiles again?” The Sheriff’s voice was stern as he looked between you and Lydia from across.

When you announced that the address was home to the Sheriff and Claudia, you and Lydia booked it to her car, rendering both Malia and Scott speechless. After being there for about fifteen minutes interrogating them about their apparently ‘stolen’ jeep, the two adults eventually caught on to your persistence. “Y/N,” Claudia called out to you, a soft, yet worried smile on her face. “Don’t you think it’s time to let this go? Talk to somebody about this?” She asked, shifting her attention onto Lydia as well. “Maybe it’s a good time to talk to your mothers about this..”

You stared at her blankly, worried that if you thought about nobody understanding what you and Lydia did in the slightest, that you’ll break. That you wouldn’t be able to put yourself back together this time.

“I’m sorry, you’re right.” Lydia said, collecting her things from the floor before she stood up from the lounge chair. The three of them conversed a bit longer, but it was all just background noise to you. You were too lost in your head to notice them make subtle glances towards you. Suddenly, you stood up, alarming both Claudia and the Sheriff. You could feel your hands shaking, so you held them, twiddling your thumbs rapidly. “Do you mind if I-” You choked out, resulting to just nodding your head in the direction of their restroom. Once granted permission, you rushed to the hallway, not caring that the three awaiting bodies could hear your pained cries. Your grip on your bag faltered, and you let it drop onto the floor. You stared at the wallpaper that Lydia had told you about peeling, and you found yourself gently rubbing the paper. Pressing your back to the very same wall, you slid down the wall with your head in your hands.

But what you didn’t know, was that the teenage boy with the unforgettable whiskey eyes was doing the very same thing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀* * *

As you sat in the driver’s seat of the rusted blue jeep, you let out a wince while your stomach churned, unable to fathom the familiarity the vehicle brought you. You just couldn’t remember where it came from. You sat there in silence with Lydia, waiting for Scott and Malia to return from wherever they ran off to after hearing a faint roaring in the distance.

“We’re gonna bring him back, you know.” Lydia’s voice broke the silence, attempting to ease your visibly distraught state. Although it didn’t work, you appreciated the effort. “How are we going to do that when we’re the only two people who believe he’s even real?” You asked, your eyes begging for an answer from your best friend even though she was unable to give you one. Just when Lydia’s jaw dropped to speak, footsteps approached you both quickly. You looked over to find a huffing Scott, his right hand clutched around something as he stopped by your window. “Where’s Malia?” You asked, looking past Scott briefly to see if she would turn up, but didn’t. “The roar,” Scott panted, eyes squinting as he recalled the previous event. “It was Peter’s. Peter Hale’s. H-He got out from where the Ghost Riders are keeping people, and he gave me this.”

Before you could ask more questions, a set of keys were in front of your face, hanging off of Scott’s index finger. You eagerly snatched the set from him, looking over them while Lydia climbed into the back seat for Scott to sit in the passenger. Giving the two of them another glance, you slid the key into it’s ignition, a laugh falling from your lips when it was a perfect fit. Turning the key, you heard the engine begin to roar to life, making a smile appear on your lips. Not soon after, there was a loud clunking noise, before the engine died down. “God! Stupid thing..” You grumbled, turning the key again while pressing down on the gas.

“Don’t flood it.” Scott warned, making Lydia cock her head at him with raised brows. “Do you even know what that means?” She asked, chuckling as Scott looked at her with a pained face. While the two engulfed themselves into a small bickering match, you managed to start the car, a squeak of excitement coming from you as you watched the lights inside the car come to life.

“Hello?”

The voice was faint behind the static being from the police scanner, but that was all it took for your heart to skip a beat or two. “Guys..” You mumbled, voice going unheard by Scott and Lydia as they continued their argument. “You guys!” You shouted, eyes looking between the two of them when they silenced, huffing out a breath before gesturing to the active police scanner. “Listen.”

“Hello? Is anyone there? Can anyone hear me?”

And just like your own, both the boy and girl’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. Scott barely hesitated, snatching up the mic and putting it to his lips. “Stiles?” He asked tentatively, like he was waiting to be wrong. When the name fell from Scott’s lips, your body went rigid. The possibility of Scott actually believing you now made your eyes well up with tears, a hand reaching up over your mouth. You watched as Lydia grabbed the mic and put it to her own lips, “Stiles, is that you?”

The silence between the three of you was agonizing, the only thing you could do was wait for the familiar voice to ring through again.

And then it did.

“Scott, Lydia, is that you?”

The gasp you let out was muffled behind your hand, the tears in your eyes trickling down your face while you stared at your two best friends in awe. This was real. Stiles was real, and he’s alive.

“Oh my god, Stiles.” Lydia wailed, a tearful smile jerking at her lips along with Scott. “We can hear you.” He confirmed, making a glance at you before looking back at the small wired mic.

“Oh my god, you know me? You-you remember me?” Stiles asked, his tone showing evident disbelief. “Okay, okay, um.. Where’s Y/N? Is she there?”

Your eyes fell from Scott’s to the handheld device, only to look back to him. He gave you an encouraging nod, giving you the mic and staring with Lydia as you held it to your lips, asking quietly, “Stiles, is this.. is this really you?”

From the other line, you heard a slow breath of relief come from the radio. “Yeah, listen to me.. Do you remember the last thing I said to you?”

Your mouth fell agape, looking to the mic as if it had all the answers, while Scott and Lydia stared, expecting one from you.

“Remember… Remember that I’ve been in love with you since the beginning of our friendship, and that I didn’t even realize until middle school.”

Your eyes closed briefly, the blurry memory growing clear as your face scrunched up in concentration. Then it hit you. Moments before Stiles was taken. His love for you. And the kiss. Putting your lips back up to the mic, you spoke breathlessly. “You said.. You said ‘remember I’ve been in love with you, since the beginning.’ and then-” your bottom lip was worried between your teeth, a small sob escaping you. “And then you kissed me.” The words came out weakly, tears rolling down your face just as much as the night he was taken, but that was the only thing you knew from the distant memory. Scott took the microphone from you, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to talk in the state that you were in. “Where are you? We’re coming to find you.” Scott asked hurriedly, knowing that his best friend was out there was putting him on edge.

“No, no. You can’t. You won’t be able to find me.”

He sounded so defeated through the radio, and god, did it break you. You thought that him talking to the three of you might be doing more harm than good to you right now. What if you wouldn’t be able to get him out?

“Stiles, what’re you talking about? Just.. Just tell us where you are and we’ll come, we’ll come.” Scott pleaded into the mic, eyes filling to the brim with salty tears, same as yours. In the distance, you could hear loud rustling from Stiles’ end, making you involuntarily lean towards the mic. “Just, just remember this. Canaan, okay? Remember Canaan.” His voice sounded panicked, and the rustling only grew louder. Stiles was in danger. Ripping the device from the tan boy’s hands, you cried into the mic, “No wait, Stiles, don’t go! Stiles!”

You were too late.

He was gone.

But, you were determined to bring him back.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀* * *

You looked between your pack in the dinning room of the McCall house, you felt as though you were stuck right at the beginning. Scott face was blotted with tears, his cheeks glistening underneath the light as he stared blankly ahead, repeatedly calling a disconnected phone number.

Your attempt to get Sheriff Stilinski on your side after hearing Stiles through the radio fell straight through, as he shot you, Scott, and Lydia down almost instantly. After looking through the underground tunnels, you managed to find a riff, but it was destroyed by the hellhound — who was being controlled by a supernatural Nazi from 1943. You could almost relate to how Stiles felt right now — uou were stuck, and you didn’t know what the next step was or if it was even worth it.

Lydia was the first one to break the fifteen minutes of silence. “Scott,” She sighed, placing her hand over the cellphone in the tan boy’s hand, slowly easing it down onto the table. “Your mom’s gone, but she’s still alive.”

“What do we do now?” asked Malia, her dark eyes looking to the three of you expectantly. She was never really one to follow rules or plans, but this was different — it was all you had left.

“We can’t hide from them.” You murmured, looking to your fingernails as you picked at them to avoid eye contact. “What about Lydia? The Ghost Rider was scared of her.” Malia pointed out, making you sigh and simply shake your head at her.

“No, it wasn’t fear. It was more like.. reverence.” Lydia said.

“It doesn’t matter!” You snapped, the weight in your heart only seeming to grow heavier with each breath you took. “The rift is gone. We’re the only ones left.”

Then it was silent.

Until it wasn’t.

The backdoor of the McCall house opened abruptly, creaking as Sheriff Stilinski stepped through. His light eyes looked to each of you while you stared back at him, confusion clear in the four of you.

“I have a son.”

And that was all it took for your hope to be restored.

Looking up at the older man with glossy eyes, your expression mimicked the three of your friends — hope and confusion.

“His name is Mieczyslaw Stilinski. But we called him Stiles.” Noah’s eyes drifted to yours, an apologetic smile gracing his features before he cleared his throat. “I remember.. when Stiles was a little kid, he couldn’t say his first name. Not sure why, it pretty much rolls of the tongue. But, uh, the closest he could get, was ‘mischief.’” This time, the Sheriff’s eye’s drifted to Lydia, who was giving him a tight lipped smile to match with her green eyes.

The man pursed his lips, a dry chuckle rumbling from his chest as he looked to the four teenagers. “I remember when, uh.. Stiles first got his jeep. It belonged to his mother, she wanted him to have it. The first time he took it for a spin behind the wheel, he went straight into a ditch. I gave him his first roll of duck tape that day.” His lips curled into a smile as he thought back on the memory, and you couldn’t help but do the same because finally you could see it — you could see the end of the line. “We’re here tonight because my goofball son decided Scott and Y/N, two of his greatest friends in the world, into the woods to see a dead body.”

You blinked up at him, your jaw slacked while you tried to form a simple sentence in your head. “How.. How did you remember?” You asked, blown away at his ability to remember someone he so blatantly told you didn’t exist. Noah nodded towards Lydia, and you quickly whipped your head around with a watery grin on your face. “It started with Stiles’ jersey. Then I found the red string for his crime board. Finally, his whole room came back and all the memories.”

“Then the strangest thing happened.” The Sheriff scoffed, looking to Scott when his eyes furrowed curiously. “I thought I saw him.. Something opened, right in the middle of the room, just for a moment. Then it was gone.”

“A rift.” You mumbled, eyes growing in realization as you looked to the group. “I thought there was only one left? We saw it disappear.” Malia asked, referring to the portal that was now destroyed by Parrish — in his hellhound form. “You remembered Stiles, and that opened a new rift.” Lydia pieced together, pointing to Sheriff Stilinski who looked among you all with a lost look on his face.

Scott bowed his head, the ends of his lips twitching into a smile. “If the Sheriff can do it.. maybe we can too.” He proposed, looking to you with hopeful eyes. You grabbed ahold of his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and nodding to him. “The rift closed, but we can open it again.”

“How?” asked Malia.

“By remembering Stiles.” You said firmly, “we have to remember everything.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀* * *

“How will we know when it’s working?”

Your question was muffled behind your fingers, your teeth gnawing on the nails and turning your skin soft. Lydia looked over her shoulder at you, eyes narrowed with pursed lips, and you immediately shut your mouth. You were in the Argent bunker, watching a locked Scott McCall travel through his own mind in some sort of cooling machine.

With Malia and Lydia on your side, you watched a Scott stood still with seeled eyes, waiting for further instructions from Lydia. “This isn’t working..” Lydia whined, her voice wobbling with panic as her eyes grew at the way Scott thrashed around in the machine. “You said he needs an emotional connection, right? Like what the Sheriff did?” Malia asked, stepping closer to Lydia who was pacing on the other end of the room. The strawberry blonde nodded, looking to the taller girl with glazed eyes. “He wasn’t just remembering someone, he was remembering his son. His family.”

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, Stilinski?” You asked, crawling your way between him and the McCall boy as you all laid on the floor of his cluttered bedroom. Both of the boys shifted about on Stiles’ floor, making room for you before cozying up again.

“I don’t know, I just.. I don’t know.” The whiskey eye boy sighed, his tongue darting over his lips as he stared at the ceiling. You looked over to him, brows raised in concern as he struggled to find the words. With your bottom lip worried between your teeth, you let your closest hand reach out for his, giving it a small squeeze of reassurance which he returned almost immediately.

“It’s just.. ever since my mom died, and my dad being in the station majority of the time,” He mumbled, exhaling shakily before sitting up from his position. You and Scott both mocked him, sitting up with crossed legs in a small circle to see each other. “You two are my best friends, you know? You’re all I have left. Besides my dad, but he doesn’t risk his life nearly as much as we do and-” He paused, his eyes filling with tears that caused your own to prick with them. Looking to Scott, you watched as a small teardrop rolled down his tan cheek.

“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if something happened to either one of you. You’re family.”

“Scott!” You called out to the boy, gently tapping on the glass window of the machine in attempt to catch his attention. “Listen, I remember something. During our junior year we were with Stiles, okay? And-and he was talking about how.. how after his mom died, we were all he had left.” Your eyes welled up with tears, blocking your vision. You sniffled, not caring if the tears shed or not.

“He said that he wouldn’t know what he would do with himself if he lost one of us, that we’re family. But he’s lost right now, Scott. He’s lost and we need to remember him, we need to remember our family and find him.”

Your words seemed to strike a cord with the alpha, his thrashing stopped and he was mumbling things underneath his breath. But it stopped, and as soon as it did there was a deep rumbling sound, causing you and the girls to jump and stare at the flashing light coming from the window. As soon as it appeared, it vanished, and was replaced with a loud beeping sound coming from the machine. You were quick to act, pulling Scott out of it. Malia rushed over with a blanket she found lounging around and guided him to sit as you glanced at him.

“It was working, why’d you pull me out?” Scott asked incredulously, eyes bulging as he looked between the you and Malia. “You were going to die in there.” You said simply, catching a glimpse of Lydia who was already staring at you.

“How do you get Scott to do that?” She asked, tone almost accusing, as if she were piecing together some sort of puzzle.

You blinked at her, eyebrows scrunched together as you thought of the now distant memory. “When, uh, when you and Malia were talking about family, it triggered a memory of Stiles.” You mumbled, but it was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “For the past few weeks, I would get these headaches.. and whenever the headaches came, so did the memories of Stiles. As soon as I remember though, it gets blurry — I forget. But I know they’re from him.”

You never looked up from your locked gaze on the floor, but when you did, you were met with three stunned stares.

“It’s you..” Lydia said quietly, her heels clacking faintly on the concrete floor as she made her way towards you. She grabbed ahold of your wrists, her sea foam green eyes boring into your own. “It’s all about connection, and you’ve had one with Stiles since the Ghost Riders took him.”

“It’s true.” Scott agreed, his teeth chattering slightly while he cuddled into the blanket around his shoulders. “When I was remembering him, I was also remembering the two of you together. I would also tease him for making it so obvious,” he chuckled, staring off distantly before he locked eyes with you. “Nobody had a connection like you two.”

You were speechless, staring between the three of your best friends with soaked cheeks. “Okay.. okay, so, what do we do?”

Just as you spoke the words of agreement, smiles appeared on their faces, which only made you mirror them. “We have to do it the old fashioned way.” Lydia stated, grabbing ahold of your shoulders and guiding you to an empty stool propped up next to the metal table. “We’re going to have to actually hypnotize you.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀* * *

You were in a classroom. A single desk occupied by you whilst you sat in front of a television, a remote settled on the wooden desk by your right hand. As you looked around cautiously, a ghost of a smile appeared, genuinely excited about the fact that you were actually hypnotized.

“Weird..” You whispered, your eyes darting around the empty classroom and to the television that displayed a static channel.

“Y/N? Are you in the classroom? Do you see the TV and remote?” Lydia’s voice echoed throughout the room, causing you to jump slightly in your seat. Your focus drifted to the remote, picking it up and inspecting it. “Yeah.. Yeah, I’m here.”

“Good. Now, the remote gives you access to all of your memories. Find the memories of Stiles.” Lydia’s voice directed, and your thumb hovered over the power button, thinking of the missing boy before clicking play.

You heard the faint patter of footsteps approach you, it was a boy about your age, six years old. He had freckles scattered across his face, a shaved head and a sheepish smile.

“Hi. I-I’m Mi..Mie-Mieczy...” You watched as the boy sighed, his face heating up with embarrassment. When he looked back up to meet your eyes, you offered him a friendly smile, holding your hand out for him to shake. “Hi, I’m Y/N.. your name is Stiles? Your dad said so!” You asked, beaming happily when the boy, Stiles’, face visibly perked up at the fact that you knew his name. A small giggle escaped your lips as he shook your hand enthusiastically.

As you conversed animatedly with the younger version of Stiles, you could hear Sheriff Stilinski speak to your mother faintly in the background as they watched the two of you together. “Something tells me they’re gonna get along just fine.”

You gasped, no longer reliving the memory of the young version of yourself and Stiles. Now back in the empty classroom in front of the TV, you looked between it and the remote in your hand, a laugh of disbelief erupting from you and echoing throughout the room.

“Stiles..” You whispered, longing evident in your tone. In your trance, the three of your friends watched you intently as you whispered his name, making the flame of the candle flicker lightly. Lydia then cleared her throat, taking the lead once again. “Y/N, look for another memory of Stiles.”

You did as you were told, flickering through the multiple channels the television had to offer.

“You’re too pretty to be crying, Y/N.”

“No! You can’t go, it’s too dangerous!”

“Sometimes the person we’re looking for isn’t in the search at all. Maybe.. maybe they’re just right in front of us.”

Stiles’ voice echoed loudly around the room as you clicked through every memory, each one being passed by because none of them fit — none of them felt like what you were looking for. You landed on a channel, pausing briefly your rushed clicking and letting it play.

“I’m with you, ‘til the end of the line.”

It was Stiles’ voice again. No memory being played, just his voice, but you could somehow remember the exact moment of the conversation took place. “Is that a Marvel reference, you Star Wars nerd?” You heard your voice this time, echoing just like Stiles’ had been. A smile grew on your lips as the memory began to restore itself in your mind. “Yeah! But, you’re so into that stuff so.. it could be our thing! What do you think?”

“I think..” You found yourself whispering the same response you said in the memory, “I think it’s perfect. I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, Sti.” You murmured in your trance, confusing the three teenagers once again. “Y/N.” Lydia’s voice called out to you again, “Find the memory that you and Stiles made a connection.”

You furrowed your brows, looking over your shoulder suddenly. There was a door, but it wasn’t there before. Setting the remote down, you picked yourself up from the wooden desk and made your way to the door, slowly pulling it open. You found yourself in the Sheriff’s house once again, but you weren’t alone. You were in a memory. This memory was different though, and you knew it as you made your way to where the memory was being played out. You always relived them, never watched them — but this one, you were exactly that.

You watched your eleven year old self sit down next to a boy around the same age, who you knew was Stiles, and place a hand over his. He had tears in his eyes, and his face was vacant of emotion. You watched as your younger self looked at him with sorrow eyes, and your heart broke when you realized what memory was being played.

“This was the night his mom died..” You mumbled, tears clouding your vision and you quickly wiped them to watch the memory continue being played out. No words were being said between your younger selves, but none were needed to be. You observed Stiles placing his head in your lap, tears rolling down his face at a quicker pace as his expression finally broke. He released heartbroken sobs as your fingers ran through his hair, your younger self staring ahead. If you didn’t know that this was a memory, you would’ve thought she were staring right at you.

It didn’t take you long to figure out why this memory was being played, and your jaw slacked at the realization. “That’s when it happened.” You whispered in shock, finding yourself slowly being pulled from the trance.

“That’s when what happened?” You heard Scott’s faint voice ask. The vision of three of your best friends were blurry as you were snapping back to reality, and they all were looking at you expectantly as you cried.

“The night his mom died, when I was there.. H-He was crying with his head in my lap. That’s when it all changed.” You spoke while staring off at the candle, who’s flame was now burnt out. “I-I didn’t realize it until now, but that... that was the night we fell in love.”

At this point the tears trailing down your face were relentless, only growing worse when you painfully gasped. “I was there! I was there the night he was taken.” You sobbed, hands covering your mouth while Scott, Lydia, and Malia’s faces contorted with shock. “When the Ghost Riders took him, I was there.”

As you stood up from the stool, the ground shook beneath your feet, a bright, zapping light took over the room before disappearing behind the door. You glanced back to the three teenagers behind you, taking a step forward and carefully opening the door, revealing a blinding white light at the end of the tunnel.

Stiles turned his body to face yours, using both hands to grab onto yours with need. “Y/N, I’m going to be erased, okay? Just like Alex. You’re gonna forget me.”

“No. No, I won’t! I won’t. I won’t.” You promised, your sobs escaping at every chance they could.

“You will.” He whispered calmly, tears rolling down his own freckled cheeks as he gave you a small smile. “Remember… Remember that I’ve been in love with you since the beginning of our friendship, and that I didn’t even realize until middle school.”

“I never told him,” Your voice croaked at you spoke aloud, walking closer to the white light. “I never told him how I felt before they took him. That I love him. I never said it back!” You shouted, the feeling of Scott grabbing ahold of your arm to keep you from walking towards the light making itself present.

Then suddenly.. there was no need to walk towards the light.

Because there was a figure standing in front of it.

You let out a cheerful laugh, tears bunching at the creases by your eyes as you stared at the familiar shadowy figure, gasping out it’s name.

“Stiles.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀* * *

“Where is he?” You whimpered, feeling your knees buckle at the thought of failing Stiles yet again. Gripping onto the stool, you looked to Lydia and Malia, who were staring at you sympathetically. “We didn’t see anyone.” Lydia spoke gently in attempt to keep your emotions from spilling.

Scott had left you with both Malia and Lydia to keep trying to bring Stiles back and to be here just in case he comes here looking for any of you.

“I saw him. It was working, I know it.” You mumbled, mostly to yourself, but with Malia’s supernatural hearing ability, she heard you loud and clear. You stared at her blankly as she hopped up to her feet, pulling open the door and beginning to step out. “Um, where are you going?” Lydia asked from where she was next to you.

“To go find Stiles,” Malia stated as if it were obvious. “Listen, Stiles isn’t coming here. If he were, he would’ve, but he hasn’t, so he’s not.”

You blinked at her, deciding to disregard her last sentence before standing up yourself. “You believe me?” You asked her, and when she silently nodded her head, you were quickly on her side. “Okay well,” You trailed off, turning to Lydia who was still sitting on the stool. “Stiles is out there, I can feel it. So please, Lyd, help us bring him home.”

You watched as the strawberry blonde pursed her lips, lifting herself off of her own stool before strutting over to you. “Let’s go find him.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀* * *

“Y/N! What are you doing here?” You heard Scott yell from the end of the hallway of Beacon Hills High. Stumbling over the train tracks that were magically built into the floor, you grunted as you fell into his chest. “I’m looking for Stiles.” You answered with a shrug of your shoulders, watching Scott’s eyes grow with an emotion you really didn’t have time to decipher. “I’m going to places he’s most likely to show up while Lydia and Malia look at where the other train track lead, but his jeep’s gone.. So I won’t be able to look anywhere else but here on foot.”

Scott eyes darted around as his mouth opened and closed, trying to find something to say. “I, uh, took it? Yeah, Liam needed me so I hotwired the jeep and drove to the hospital.” He explained, a sheepish smile on his lips. You nodded slowly at his explanation, not really seeing all the pieces fitting together. “Okay.. so where is it now?”

“What? Oh! It’s still at the hospital. I, uh.. ran.. here.”

You rolled your eyes at his painfully awkward replies, pulling away from him and beginning your journey down the hallway. “Well, I’m going to the lockerooms.” You announced, peering back at Scott who was now conversing with Lydia, who appeared out of absolutely nowhere. “Take Lydia with you! There are Ghost Riders everywhere.” Scott shouted, giving Lydia a shove before dashing off into the other direction.

“He seems a little.. off.” You said to Lydia, chuckling softly. The two of you walked side by side through the eerily silent school, occasionally checking over your shoulders in case you needed to defend yourself. “Yeah, but that’s Scott McCall for you.” She laughed nervously which you furrowed your brows at.

“You know, you’re acting just like hi— Lydia, look out!”

Your words quickly caught her, and the Ghost Rider’s attention. “Cover your ears.” Lydia warned, her voice low but stern and you quickly did as you were told, squeezing your hands to your ears as Lydia released one of her banshee shrieks, sending the Ghost Rider flying into the set of lockers. It was silent, and you slowly pulled your hands away from your ears, stepping closer to Lydia to see the damage done.

But when you did, you felt your heart stop. All because were staring straight into a pair of whiskey eyes, and while you did, you felt all the memories with those eyes come rushing back.

“Lydia..” You heard Stiles’ voice say with relief, a smile appearing on his lips at the sight of his best friend. Deciding to come into better view, you shuffled to the side of Lydia, and the scuffling of your feet surely brought attention from the two other people in the room. “Y/N..” He mumbled, his voice holding a whole new different emotion as his hazel eyes filled with tears. In the background you could hear the clacking of Lydia’s heels fade away, giving you two your moment.

You didn’t know what to think as you slowly stepped towards the boy, almost as if you were to rush towards him any quicker, he’d disappear. A face you haven’t seen in months was finally in view, and the gaps in your memory were finally being filled by the boy you loved — it all made sense again. It was that moment where all the tears, all the fighting, all the heartache- it felt worth it. It felt like the world finally made sense again.

“Is this real?” You croaked, a weak sob eliciting from you when your hands reached out to cup his cheeks, all while staring into frantically into his eyes. The brunette quickly leaned into your touch, his tears rolling down his cheeks and onto your hands as he greedily soaked up the feeling of you touching him — deprived of it for what felt like an eternity. “It’s real, I’m here. I’m here, I’m real.” He repeated to you, eyes fluttering shut before he held the back of your head to his chest, nuzzling the tip of nose into your hair.

The moment, however, didn’t last long before you were thrashing in his hold. “I never said anything back,” You wailed, bottom lip quivering as you recalled the last memory you had of him. “You told me you loved me, and I never said it back. I never told you how I felt.” You panicked. You felt the heat rush to your neck and cheeks as Stiles gripped onto your face as a way to snap you back. Fortunately, it worked, and you were staring at him wide eyed while he simply looked at you with his same beautiful, lopsided smile.

“You didn’t have to.”

Was all he said before his lips were slanted on yours, involving you in a kiss that was completely different the first one the two of you shared. The first kiss, it was frantic, rushed. Stiles kissed you because at the time, it was the last time he would ever see you again. This kiss, however, was slow and it said everything that words couldn’t. You felt your breath hitch, your body melting into his as you kissed him back with love and longing — two emotions that overwhelmed your body more than any other. You felt the grip he had on your face tighten, pulling you even closer to his body as he pushed as much passion as he could into the kiss. Finding yourself holding onto his flannel overshirt, you couldn’t help but shuffle your feet closer to close any existing space.

He was the first to pull away, his forehead pressed to yours once more while he inhaled deeply to catch his breath with you doing the same. Your eyes were open, scanning over his face and looking over each freckle and beauty mark that littered his face gracefully, bringing a small smile to your lips.

And as the boy in front of you slowly peeled his eyelids open, revealing the beautiful whiskey color you found yourself in love with, you knew this was it.

He was back in your arms again, more real than ever. Not a pounding headache of a memory. Not a faint dream that had you gasping for breath in the middle of the night. Not a figment of your imagination. He was real and this was it.

This was the end of the line.

[katerinawinters]

Predator: Huntress Alpha Chapter 6

(in my mind this is how Justice looks)

Jarak's claws clicked quietly against the control console as he set the ship's coordinates back to Ojibwe. Pulling up the radar, he set the constant sweep to a much wider circumference. If anyone or anything came near the ship, he would be alerted. It was a setting he had never activated before, but with the woman and child on board his ship, Jarak would make the exception.

 Turning away from the controls, he stood up and paused. Looking across the short bridge into the ship's deck, he watched the two females sleep soundly. Laying on her back, the fat human baby slept with both arms up and her fists balled on either side of her head. Watching her stomach move up and down as she breathed, Jarak could tell that the child was sleeping deeply--just like her mother. Silently, Jarak took another step forward, clicking the datapad on his gauntlet and lowering the ship's lights until it was nearly pitch black. Jarak watched as the woman's brow relaxed from its frown and her breathing deepen. Using her extended arm as a cushion, the woman held onto the rifle's strap at the far end of the bed while her other hand lay protectively on the child's chest.

 Out of curiosity, Jarak reached for his mask attached to his belt and lifted it to his face. Peering through the mask's eyeholes, he confirmed what he witnessed earlier on the planet. Unlike a normal human, this woman shined bright like a white star under his thermal readouts. Glancing at the child, he scanned her and found her readouts pulse normally with reds and yellows. She was unlike her mother.

 Having received an alert of a new outbreak of xenomorphs, Jarak had gone to that planet to hunt down a juvenile xenomorph queen, he was not expecting to find a known open file. He had been climbing the domed outside of the air filtration building when he looked down to see the bright star pass him. Changing the display in his mask, Jarak watched the woman move with tactical grace and precision across the colony. Changing course, he followed her taking in every detail of her until he could finally remember why the heavily modified human intrigued him so, there was an incomplete file sitting in Ojibwe's records about this type of woman. Twenty women, to be exact, all modified down to their bones and ligaments, all highly skilled in combat. Pulling up the record as he followed her to the rectangular dormitory building Jarak had read the mostly empty file and stopped at the instructions at the bottom: apprehend at all cost.

 Reading the file's limited data as he pursued her, Jarak could see her shoulders stiffen and realized with satisfaction the reports were true about her. Looking over her shoulder, bright purple inhuman eyes shined as she scanned her surroundings. She knew she was being watched. Forgetting completely about his initial mission, Jarak followed the woman with growing interest. Getting closer to her, Jarak had blinked in surprise as he realized there was something beneath the alien carapace she kept strapped to her chest. Moments later, the child's cries not only confirmed his assumption, but the child eventually gave him the opportunity he needed to redirect the woman back to him. For nearly forty-eight hours, he had followed her and watched. He watched her hide and scan the terrain as she slowly made her way towards a particular building. Biding his time, he waited until she made her move.

 Coming up behind her just as she accessed the building's ladder, he paused at the chittering sounds echoing in the darkness. Long black cylindrical heads appeared over the roof's edge, and the woman paused. With slow turns of their heads, the xenomorphs communicated in silent hisses with one another as the woman accessed her worsening odds from above and below. Letting the xenomorph pass him in the darkness, Jarak looked up at the woman's expression. For a brief second, he could see the maternal fear in her eyes shine past the purple and white circuitry in her eyes before cold resolve engulfed it. She would make it out of this situation, he thought, but he saw no reason to risk her nor the screaming child's safety. Taking one step forward, Jarak grabbed the barbed black tail of the alien and yanked it back until it was pulled off its feet and forced to follow its attacker's motion as he swung it around. Hitting the other side of the wall with a shrieking screech, the xenomorph flailed and scrambled its limbs to find purchase on the ground so it could attack, but Jarak activated his cannon blaster. As he shot the remaining xenomorphs, he watched as the woman abandoned her mission of getting in the infested building and run off into the desert.

 Now, here she was lying in his bed, a feature he never once used on his ship, sleeping deeply. Looking between the woman and the child, Jarak lowered his mask and reattached it back to his belt. There were few similarities between the two females. The child's soft skin was a lighter shade of brown than her mother's, whose skin was dark, signifying her people, wherever she was from, lived close to their planet's equator. Her hair, unlike the child's short wispy curls, was braided into many long rope-like braids that were secured into a ball at the top of her head. Looking at the sleeping child, Jarak remembered her brown eyes staring up at him as her mother cleaned and changed her. Were the woman's eyes once brown, or were they a trait from the father? Looking back at the woman, he examined the muscles in her arms as she slept and recalled her height. What kind of human man did this woman find suitable enough to mate? Where was this mate? Who were these "demons" she referred to chasing her? From the little information they had on file for her kind, was she not more than capable of dealing with the issue rather than running?  Frustrated at his lack of answers and the surge of new questions at every turn, Jarak turned on his heel with an annoyed growl buried in his chest. He would never understand humans.

 Going back to the cockpit, he sat down in his chair and looked back to the sleeping woman, he was not sure what to do with her. The scientists that worked deep in the bowels of Ojibwe, separated from the rest of their society, would want her and the child for themselves; he knew that for certain. Finally, obtaining a live subject to the mystery file that had remained empty for years would be something they would not pass up on. Their research would be akin to torture. Looking to the child, whose small foot shifted and kicked softly into the air, Jarak could feel the repressed growl in his chest deepen. There was no honor among the scientist, a sentiment all yautja hunters shared. Jarak would not let them have her or the tall woman, he decided. He had given his word that no harm would come to them, and besides, he thought with the tilt of his head, thinking of the woman's proud and determined expression as she had stared back at him without fear, he found himself intrigued by her. He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to see these combat skills rumored in the lacking report. He wanted to fight her.

 ~~

 He was cleaning the alien queen's head when he heard the keening noise. Looking up, Jarak listened as the discontented cries grew louder. Grabbing the decapitated head, he placed it back into the specially lined sack. The traces of xenomorph blood still left inside the skull would not eat through the sack and onto the ship. Cleaning his hands, he stepped away from the small work area of his ship and around the corner to the common area.  

 Awake and squirming, the human infant cried, looking at her mother's face above her in angry desperation. Tiny fat fists pummeled the air as her body jerked in her rage. Calmly, Jarak stared at the child's reddening face and back to the sleeping woman--she did not stir. Lifting his gauntlet, he typed into the datapad and stared at the holographic data that pulled up in response. Reading the list, Jarak dropped his arm and stared back at the child who had turned herself over onto her stomach. By now, her whole body was tense with anger, and her cries had become ceaseless in their anguish. With little choice, Jarak stepped forward. Reaching over the woman, Jarak carefully removed the black gun strap from the woman's hand. Considering for a moment, he reached down and grabbed one of the woman's shoulders and watched as the muscles in her sleeping face moved in awareness, but she did not open her eyes. Pulling her forward until he had her sitting up, Jarak sat behind the woman on the bed and let her rest against his chest. The necklace of skulls around his neck jangled as he settled her limp body into the crook of his arm. Looking down at her, Jarak watched as her subconscious tried to fight through her exhaustion. Her eyelids fluttered but never quite opened while the smooth space of skin between her brows furrowed.

 His claws found the tiny metal tab under her chin. Pulling it, he listened and watched as the teeth of the zipper unhooked from each other as he dragged it down to her stomach. Hot, smooth skin revealed itself under the separated material of her top, and Jarak let himself examine the slow movements of her abdominal muscles flex with each breath. Moving his gaze upward, he focused on his targets and reached for the black material covering them. The woman made a noise in her throat, but it was hardly heard over the child's cries. Pulling the cups of fabric that covered her breasts up, he watched from above as her naked, full breasts bounced free. Turning his head, he looked to the child and carefully slid his hand underneath her. Jarak could feel his pulse quicken as the soft baby body slid past his sharp claws inch by inch. The child was much too small and very fragile. How did humans survive this stage?

 With her soft stomach in the palm of his hand, he carefully lifted the crying child and brought her around to his and the woman's front. As if driven by a surge of maternal instinct, the woman's eyes shot open as he transferred the screaming child onto her back and into his other hand.

 The white rings he noticed in the woman's eyes earlier were now shining bright, nearly drowning out the purple of her eyes. Staring closely as his hands continued to position the child, Jarak could see the fine filaments within glisten around the white rings.

  "What are you…" There was a resonating quality to her tone but was cut off just as Jarak positioned the baby closer to her dark nipple.

 Latching on greedily, the child stared up at them both with angry betrayal as she drank from her mother.

 Jarak could feel the sudden understanding relax the woman against him, her stiff frame laying more pliably against him.

 Inhaling, Jarak mentally cataloged the warm scents coming from the woman. Intertwining together, there were two scents that mingled in the air at every rise and fall of her chest. Floral and manmade, the scent of her soap still lingered on her skin, but there was another that piqued at the back of his mind. There was one other scent that he could almost place. Frowning, Jarak looked down past the smooth skin of her exposed collarbone and let his eyes travel slowly over the slopes of her full breasts until his eyes settled on the pair of brown eyes staring at him. Suckling noisily, the infant pushed her fists into the fatty globes of her mother's breast, kneading more of the life giving sustenance out. White, milky residue gathered at the corners of the child's mouth, unknowingly filling the air with more of the scent. Inhaling again, Jarak suppressed the guttural sound forming in his chest. It was milk. The woman smelled of sweetened milk.

 Looking at where she rest against his shoulder, he watched the woman's profile as she stared tiredly down at her child. The slight purple glow of her inhuman eyes were framed in curling black lashes, a feminine feature shrouding something more deadly beneath, a concept that Jarak noticed was carried throughout this woman. From her reinforced skeletal system to the hum of nanites, his mask had picked up running through her veins; this woman was a contradiction to all of his senses. The relaxed weight leaning against him would no doubt react with precise and enhanced speed at any threatening action. Everything about her could change in a matter of seconds, she could answer his lingering questions all at once with just the right provocation. The thought, Jarak realized, was not as tempting as it should be.  Soft and inviting, the woman stared down at her child with a gentle devotion only a mother could possess instead of the hard lines of calculating skepticism she had stared at him with earlier. He would not provoke the woman into a fight, not yet.

 Shifting uncomfortably, the woman turned tiredly against his chest, trying to look over her shoulder. "What's poking me?"

 Pulling his gaze away from the child's never-ending stare and past the woman's waiting one, he looked down between them. Still holding the child with the arm he had wrapped around the woman, Jarak used his free hand and reached around his neck to pull off the trophy necklace as the woman let out a grateful sigh.

 In silence, they continued to sit like that, one leaning against the other as the child suckled at her breast.

 "How did you know what to do with Larsa?" she eventually asked her voice heavy with exhaustion.

 Looking down at her, Jarak watched her body sink deeper against him, her muscles relaxing until she was pliable and soft against his chest.

 "I do not," his tone was measured and deep as he answered. "I looked up the common reasons for a human child's squalling."

 She gave a soft laugh.

 After a while, the woman finally shifted and lifted the child from her breast and placed the fat child against her shoulder, and began to rub her back. Jarak stared down at the child's face, which was now inches from his chest, and watched as she angled her tiny head until she could resume her silent staring at him.

 "You know what and who I am, don't you?" the woman asked, not looking at him.

 Jarak nodded. "Yes"

 "And you're sure your planet is the best option?"

 It was her only option as far as he was concerned.

 "Yes," he answered.

 He could feel one of her shoulders lift in a shrug against him. "All right, big guy, I'll trust you. But if I find that you cannot keep your word and keep me and Larsa safe, everyone's resulting deaths are on you."

 by Katerina Winters

[lo-55]

Tilt The Hourglass Ch. 13

Siolo Ur Manka had lived in the Jentares system for nearly seventy years by the time their ship, still on loan from a Mandalorian named Silas, touched down on the planets soft soil. It was overrun with thick jungle, and it sang with the Force. With life, and light, in the bird songs and the ambling hum of great beasts that marched through the foliage with thick soled feet and swinging necks. 

And in it’s shadow death and darkness, beneath the undergrowth and in the fanged mouths of predators. 

Maul’s vornskr trotted behind him, their tails raised like tiny black flags. 

“Ahsoka, Ezra, Ben, keep up,” Maul warned over his shoulder. Ben, a biggest and also the most troublesome, turned his face away from a fluttering insect to chirp at Maul. Ahsoka batted his should and knocked him back in line. 

Kenobi, on Maul’s side, had his little lizard hanging from his hair. He’d named her something silly. Boba? Boga. She was tasting the air curiously while Kenobi looked around them in no small degree of wonder. If he’d never left the Temple before Bandomeer then there was no way he’d ever been to a planet with this much foliage on it. 

The air was thick and humid and Jango looked miserable where he tramped through the brush after them. 

Not that it was easy to see with his helmet in place, but Maul was getting better and better at reading his body language.

  Jango still confused him. 

For a lot of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that even though Maul had accidentally shoved nightmare fuel memories into his skull he still wanted to adopt him into his family. He was lucky that Jango thought they were only visions of the future, and not memories of Maul’s past. 

Even if Jango knew that, would it matter? 

The people Maul had killed before still lived, for one thing, so for all intents and purposes for everyone that wasn’t him they might as well have been visions. Everything he knew was true and detailed, but insubstantial and subject to change. He’d changed Kilindi and Daleen after all. 

Maul was probably lucky that he’d been found by a Mandalorian. Anyone else would have had to many questions up front, or would have tried to force him into the life of a child. Maul would have had to kill them, and cover that up too. It would have been annoying. 

Maul kept an ear out for anything dangerous as they neared the clearing where Siolo made his home. 

Maul had been here years ago, five years in the future, and killed the old twi’lek master. He was a powerful Jedi, and deeply entrenched in the Force. Maul had only beaten him through trickery, and he could teach Kenobi that if it became necessary. 

Maul shook his head. Since when was he seriously considering teaching Kenobi anything? He’d offered, once, to help him harness his anger and turn it into a tool. But Kenobi was too Jedi already to accept it. 

A shame. He could have made a powerful Sith. 

Perhaps- 

No. 

Maul shook the thought off. He was already too attached to too many people. He’d even begun gravitating towards Jango against his will. 

He didn’t need a father, and he had years more experience than the Mandalorian did. 

All the same, there was a part of him that still was ten years old, one that Maul ignored most of the time, that wanted what he could offer. It was faint, beaten down by the Maul that inhabited a body he’d long outgrown, but the longing was there. 

They came into a clearing. 

Siolo Ur Manka was just as Maul remembered him. And elderly twi’lek with mossy green skin, his lekku were draped around his shoulders. He wore the brown robes of a jedi, and he was sitting peacefully, entrenched in his deep meditation. 

The three sentients came to a halt half the field away from him. Ezra, entranced by the thick swirls of the Force around the master, left the safety of their group and trotted over to him. Maul hissed at him, but he was ignored. Ezra’s eyes were caught by the minute twitching of one of Siolo’s lekku. 

“We should probably warn him,” Jango mused as Ezra crept closer, his chest to the ground. Maul watched him. His posture was poor, but that would come with time. His butt wiggled as he stretched himself closer and closer to the Jedi Master. 

“No need,” Maul waved his hand flippantly. 

When Ezra made to pounce he was caught in the air, gently, by the Force. Siolo opened his eyes to looked at the vornskr, who bared his tiny teeth at him and tried to growl. His tail lashed uselessly. He was much too young to properly poinson the Jedi Master. 

“I believe,” Siolo said in his Rylothian accent, “That this is yours?” 

Maul used the Force to pluck the small predator out of his grasp and bring him back to his side. 

“That was poor technique,” he chided gently. Ezra chirped at him and crawled into his shirt instead of answering. Maul didn’t fight him. Ahsoka jumped up onto his shoulder with ease and bumped her cheek against his, as if apologizing for her littermates mistake. She was undeniably Maul’s favorite. She was already scarred, and already a fighter, and she’d destroyed three mouse droids on the way to the planet. She was going to be vicious and unstoppable once she was bigger than a bread box. 

Siolo looked over his assembled audience. He gripped his cane and stood, slowly. Maul was not fooled. He may be retired, but he was still a dangerous adversary. He was one of the few beings that Maul had ever run from in his life time, even if it was for only a few days while he built his lightsaber. 

It felt strange to stand before him without it, and in fact without any conflict between them. He was not here to kill Siolo. 

It was a weird feeling, to seek someone out without the intention of taking their head off their shoulders. Maul was still getting used to it. He was no less deadly than he once had been, but he saw more use in letting people live than killing them outright. 

“Do not see every enemy as an enemy. See them instead as an ally, whether they know it or not."

Mauls cheek twitched but he didn’t otherwise acknowledge the woman’s voice. This was getting old. He was certain it had something to do with the shattered holocrons. He needed to get back to Malachor and find them again, if for no other reason than to make the random voices of unwanted advice shut up. Every time he heard someone speak to him his palm itched where the small scars were pressed into his skin. 

Siolo looked over each of them in turn. Maul could feel him mentally brushing against Maul’d shields, and when Obi Wa- Kenobi stiffened Maul was certain he felt the same thing. If Jango wasn’t wearing his helmet it might well have happened to him too. 

“I don’t get many visitors out here. Certainly none as… unique, as you are.” 

“We look for a Master for Obi Wan,” Jango touched Kenobi’s shoulder lightly and urged him forwards. Kenobi took a deep breath and squared his shoulders when he approached. Once he was close enough he bowed deeply to the older Jedi. 

“Venerated Master,” he said politely. “I am Obi Wan Kenobi, of the Coruscant temple, and the AgriCorps. “ 

“Yes, the Force tells me as much,” Siolo inclined his head. “It also tells me you have great potential. Show me your abilities, young one.” 

Kenobi perked up, bouncing up on his toes. “Yes, Master! Um, do you have a lightsaber?” 

“I have not carried one in many years,” Siolo shook his head and brushed his robes out before he rose to his full height and lifted his walking stick. “Shall I repeat myself? Show me, young one.” 

Kenobi looked dubious, but he drew his lightsaber all the same. Maul sat on a fallen tree, and Jango took up residence at his shoulder. He stayed standing, his visor fixed on the two Jedi. Kenobi hesitated before he swung at Siolo. 

The old jedi parried the blow with his walking stick, reinforced with the Force. 

It was a trick that Maul had never quite gotten right. 

“How did you know this Jettii was here?” Jango asked while Kenobi went in for another blow. 

Maul hummed. 

“I was once sent to kill him. “ 

“Yet, here he stands. And he doesn’t seem to know you.” 

Maul shot him a grin with far too many teeth. “I don’t take orders well.” 

Jango huffed a laughed just as Obi Wan was knocked to the ground. Siolo was much gentler with him than he had been with Maul, though looking at him now Maul realized that the old master had been gentle with him as well. He could have killed him, if he really wanted to. 

Even if Maul had tried to flee, Siolo could have cut him down with a single parry when he was a boy of but seventeen. It rankled his pride, but in the end that mercy had been his downfall. 

Jedi weakness. 

(Maul ignored the phantom feeling of warm arms and cooling sand and blue eyes that did not hate

He ignored the refusal to kill and two blue blades, and sharp, predator teeth held back. How much harder it was not to kill the clones on the Tribunal (Or why he listened to Tano in the first place) 

Mercy stung at him and it was so much more difficult than cruelty)  

Kenobi got up, bowed to the Master, and started again. Siolo trounced him soundly each time, and while Maul could feel Kenobi’s frustrations building, he never yelled or threw his weapon down or demanded to know why he kept losing. Maul didn’t know if that was a good sign or not. 

“Aren’t you going to go fight?” Jango asked, nodding towards Siolo. Kenobi had at least given him enough challenge that one of his lekku fell out of place. 

Maul shook his head. He knew how he compared to the Jedi Master. “We’re looking for a Master for Kenobi. As you said, I will have no other Master.” 

Jango placed his hand on Maul’s small shoulder and squeezed it. Maul looked at it, but didn’t knock it away like he might normally have. 

“No,” Jango agreed. “Never again.” 

They sat together until Kenobi had worked himself up, sweating and panting, and Siolo called for a halt to their spar. He barely looked rumpled. 

“That’s enough, young one. You fought well. Was that Cin Drallig’s style I saw?” 

Kenobi nodded quickly. “Yes, Master. He teaches all the younglings their lightsaber forms.” 

“It shows. You’ll have to practice being more adaptable than he is, but I can see your potential. Both with a lightsaber, and the Force. Here.” 

Siolo handed him a water skin, one that Kenobi drank eagerly from. Jango leaned forwards on his knees when the two Jedi started making their way over. Maul made himself stay seated, and kept his hand off of his modified blaster. Siolo’s eyes stayed on him, and Maul was reminded that the old twi’lek had once told him that others had come before he had. Siolo eyed him, but if he could sense the depths of his darkness he didn’t give it away. 

“You keep strange company, Initiate Kenobi,” Siolo mused. “A pair of Mandalorians are unusual companions for a young Jedi.” 

“I promised I’d help him find a Jedi Master,” Jango said evenly while Kenobi flushed in embarrassment. “Maul heard you lived here.” 

“You’re right,” Siolo inclined his head. “And he shows great promise as a Jedi. I have felt few so strong in the Light in recent years.” 

Kenobi sucked in a startled breath. “But, Master! I was angry in our fight,” he argued, his shoulders hunched in shame. “I was upset when you kept beating me so easily.” 

Siolo looked faintly amused. He touched Kenobi’s shoulder. “I would expect so. You’re young, and you will grow out of that if you try. I didn’t sense any true attempt to hurt me, even when you were angry.” 

“But anger leads to hate, and hate leads to the darkside!” 

“So it does,” Siolo inclined his head. “But we are Jedi, not droids. We still feel. Even the greatest of Masters is not immune to anger. The important thing is that we do not act on it, or give it control over us. Do you understand?” 

Kenobi’s brows furrowed. “I… I think so.” 

“Your Master will be able to explain it further to you.” 

Kenobi startled, confusion on his face. “But, I have no Master. That is why we came here, to you!” 

“I know,” Siolo said kindly. He squeezed Kenobi’s shoulder. “But I am too old to raise a Padawan properly. I am retired from fieldwork, and your education would be skewed if I were to try. You deserve better than an old twi’lek for your master, child.” 

“But- I’m almost thirteen,” Kenobi’s blue eyes glittered. 

“Yes?” Siolo looked confused. “I was almost fifteen when my Master took me on.” 

Kenobi gaped at him. “But thirteen is too old to be a Padawan? For human’s and species with comparable life times.” 

“Is that what they’ve decided these days?” Siolo shook his head. “I heard talk about making a cap of youngling’s ages a few decades ago, but I hadn’t known they’d made it a solid rule.”

“Why would they do something like that?” Jango asked, frowning at Siolo. 

Siolo shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you. Something about the other branches needing more members, but it seems silly to force younglings into them if they don’t want to be.” 

Jango inclined his head. “You’re sure you won’t take the boy as your student?” 

Kenobi was trying desperately to look brave and self assured, but it wasn’t working well. He looked crushed. Like each time he got his hopes up they were dashed upon the ground. 

“As I said, it wouldn't be fair to Young Kenobi for me to take him on. But there are plenty of other Masters in the order. Come, have supper with me, and I’ll see if I can’t think of a few names.” 

Siolo motioned for them to follow him to a hut that was almost completely hidden by trees. Kenobi followed first, then Maul, with Jango behind them. He was saying something into his comlink, but he was too far behind for Maul to hear exactly what it was. 

Maul stepped into a hut that felt far too warm and smelled like stew, and the galaxy turned on. 

Far off in the stars, dozens of comlink lit up with a new order. 

The Mand’alor required a Jedi, and they were to find him one. Gently. 

‘Gentle’, for Mandalorians, was a rather subjective term. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Mace was intensely grateful that Depa was sitting at his side. 

Her Padawan braid hung long down her shoulder, it’s beads glinting faintly in the dim light. It was almost time for the braid to be cut off. Depa was more than ready to be a Knight, and her trials were slated for the next week. She was busily writing on her datapad, apparently absorbed in the last of her coursework. 

Mace wasn’t fooled. 

He could tell from the faint furrowing of her brows that she was listening carefully to what was happening in the council chambers. 

They all were. 

As Mace’s padawan she had a privilege to sit in on council meetings, unless they were more high security. This meeting was troubling, to be sure, but it wasn’t an emergency meeting. 

Not yet, at least. 

“Certain of this, you are?” Master Yoda asked, his normally light voice deep with concern for their newest loss. Mace carefully let his irritation flow into the Force. It was something he had a lot of practice doing, unfortunately. Depa glanced at him curiously before she bent her head over her data pad again. It was balanced on her lap, while a few others were stacked next to the small chair that she was afforded beside his own. 

“Yes, Master,” Qui Gon Jinn’s face was smooth now, but Mace could see the faint remnants of lines etched in with grief and frustration. Mace could only imagine. He’d lost his former Padawan, fallen or otherwise, and his prospective future Padawan all in the span of a single night. “The boy had training, but not from any Jedi, and he was powerful in the Darkside. He was not half grown and he cut down Xanatos with almost no effort at all. Before the night was over he and the Mandalorian had taken Initiate Kenobi and left the planet.” 

It was sparse at best, and there were so many gaps in the story that Mace could have ridden a Bantha between them, but so too were all of Jinn’s reports. Those that didn’t involve a simple end to the story and the rest was filled with ‘I followed the Will of the Force’. 

Mace was not his biggest fan.  

“I fear that the dark child plans on corrupting Kenobi. The boy is already prone to anger and aggression.” 

That was true, but the same could have been said about Mace when he was Kenobi’s age. 

“And the Mandalorian?” Tiin asked, a deep frown on his face. 

“I could not say why he would aid in taking Initiate Kenobi,” Jinn admitted, bowing his head. 

“Perhaps it was for revenge,” Sifo Dyas offered up, his mouth turned in a grim line. “Many Mandalorians were injured during the battle on Galidraan. Perhaps the battle was not enough.” 

A grim thought. 

Mace’s stomach turned. Depa’s grip on her stylus tightened. Through their training bond Mace could feel her intense concern for the youngling. 

“Either way, I will pursue them and uncover the truth,” Jinn announced. 

The room fell quiet. Mace exchanged a look with Yaddle and Giiett. Tyvokka didn’t look any more happy about it than anyone else felt. 

“That may not be the best idea,” Poof said gently. “You are grieving, Master Jinn. Perhaps it would be best if you stayed at the temple for a time.” 

“I do not need time,” Jinn said swiftly. “Initiate Kenobi needs someone to find him, immediately, and I am the only one who knows the Mandalorian and the Darksider.” 

Eeth Koth looked to Tyvokka, who in turn shook his head. 

“You were not the boys guardian, Qui Gon. And he is not your Padawan. You are too emotionally invested in this matter,” Tyvokka said gravely. “We should send another.” 

None of them mentioned it, but everyone had heard about how devastated Kenobi had been when Jinn had refused to take him as his padawan after the show he put on at the Initiate competition a month or so earlier. Now Kenobi had fought off pirates and draigons at Jinn’s side, and he still referred to the boy as ‘Initiate’. Anyone else would have taken the boy for their padawan in a heartbeat. 

Many would have already, except… 

“Unacceptable. I will find Initiate Kenobi,” Jinn insisted. “And I will bring him back.” 

Finally, Yoda spoke again. 

“Feel that you have failed the boy, you do. Choose to pursue him, for Obi Wan’s best interest or your own redemption. Which do you seek?” 

“I cannot allow a random knight to go after them,” Jinn argued. “The Mandalorian and the dark child are more dangerous than you can imagine!” 

“According to you, the Mandalorian also fought by your side against the draigon’s.” And according to some of the miners they had contacted before Jinn gave his report, he had also helped him disable bombs set to destroy the planet. Curious that Jinn didn’t see pertinent to mention that. 

“That was to save his own life. We have no idea what a Mandalorian would do to a Force Sensative child, let alone a Jedi Initiate. We need to rescue him.” 

“You’re right,” Mace said evenly, catching Jinn’s eye. “We need to. Poof is correct. We all know that Xanatos was important to you, whatever may have happened in recent years. Stay home for the time being. Rest in your chambers, visit your friends, sit in the creche. Trust in the council to retrieve Kenobi.” 

“Have faith in your fellow Jedi, you must,” Yaddle added. Jinn drew himself up to argue before it all seemed to deflate. For just a moment his shields slipped, and the grief and guilt came rippling out to wash over the Council members. Depa gasped quietly at his side. 

“Yes, master’s.” 

Mace could count on one hand the number of times Qui Gon Jinn had actually listened to them. He could only watch the maverick Jedi bow to them and leave, his shields drawing back up around him. 

The door closed soundly behind him. 

“He really should speak to a Mind Healer,” Poof said sadly. Mace had to agree. They’d tried to get him to do as much after Xanatos first left the Order, but Yoda had advised them not to push him on the matter. 

They’d listened. 

Now, Mace wondered if that was the best idea. 

Speaking of Yoda… 

“Why was Initiate Kenobi sent to Bandomeer without an escort?” Mace asked suddenly, drawing all attention to himself. He was the youngest in the room by far, not counting Depa. “When Initiates are assigned to one of the corps they’re typically escorted by a Knight, or a Master who already belongs to them, aren’t they? So where was Initiate Kenobi’s?” 

“Going to Bandomeer as well, Qui Gon was. Look after the boy, he did,” Yoda said helpfully. 

“Yes, and that worked so well,” Koth frowned at the Grand Master. 

“Circumstances we could not have foreseen, there were,” Yoda pointed out. 

“True, this is. Yet still, more caution we should have used,” Yaddle argued. “Did this one purpose, didn’t you? To push the two together, yes?” 

Yoda’s ears drooped minutely. “A good pair, they would make. Show me, the Force did.” 

“This is why you asked that other Master’s interested in the boy not act?” Tyvokka asked with no small degree of unhappiness. The master was well known for his care of Younglings, something that his own apprentice had inherited. Somedays Mace wondered how neither of them were full time creche masters. 

Depa looked to Mace, startled. He frowned at her, but nodded once. It was true. Yoda had staked an unofficial claim on the boy. He wanted him for his own current lineage, and while Dooku was unable to take a Padawan while he had Komari Vosa, and Feemor had been undercover as a shadow until only a week ago, Qui Gon was the only one who could have done it. 

Mace let his irritation flow into the Force. 

The old Jedi’s meddling was getting out of hand. Had the Council of Reassignment even authorized Kenobi’s transfer to Bandomeer, or had Yoda gone over their heads in this scheme of his? 

“A great Jedi, Kenobi will be,” Yoda said again, tapping his walking stick on the council room floor. 

“If he returns,” Sifo Dyas said grimly. 

“We need to send someone after him quickly. In that Qui Gon was no wrong,” Koth admitted. 

“It will have to be someone who is good at laying low, and good at tracking to get close enough to the Mandalorian and the ‘dark child’ he spoke of,” T’un mused. 

“Perhaps Tholme and his new Padawan?” Omo B’ouri suggested. “Vos is one of the Kenobi’s old creche-mates.” 

“Much darkness I sense in Vos,” Yoda argued, shaking his head. 

“...Feemor,” Mace said suddenly. “He has Shadow training, he’s recovered from his last mission, and we don’t have another lined up for him yet.” 

On top of that, suggesting Feemor would get him closer to getting Yoda to agree, since Feemor was Yoda’s Grandpadawan. 

Or should be, if Qui Gon hadn’t publicly disowned him. It was one of the biggest reasons Feemor had asked to train as a Shadow, instead of continuing on his Councilor path. 

Whether Feemor was still Yoda’s Grandpadawan by rights or by sentiment, Mace’s suggestion did the trick. 

Yoda nodded, slowly. 

Good. Trying to go against Yoda as council meetings was light trying to fight the tide. The Grand Master had much sway over the rest of them. 900 years of being with the Jedi would do that. 

“Very well. Send Knight Feemor after Initiate Kenobi, we will. Retrieve our lost Initiate, we must. Learn more about this ‘dark child’ too, we shall.”

No one disagreed. Mace took a data pad from Depa and started writing up new mission orders for Feemor, as well as arranging for his funding for the mission. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a long one, but the Force was tilting around them. New shatterpoints appeared and disappeared everyday. 

Only time would tell where the future would lead. 

Mace commed Feemor to come receive his new mission.  

[hellimagines]

Sunbird -- Jason Todd

Masterlist

Summary: Y/N and Jason are reunited after believing the other was dead.

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, torture, angst

Pairing: Joker’s!Daughter!reader x Jason Todd

Word Count: 3,000+

A/N: I haven’t written in a while, and it’s my first time writing for Jason Todd and DC as a whole, so we’re just gonna see how this goes. Please let me know what you think! This has aspects from Batman: Under the Red Hood as well as the comics, but doesn’t follow any specific canon. Also, I know Marvel just released a new character named Sun Bird, but we’re ignoring that. 

The harsh rub of zip ties against her bloodied wrists, the impossible twist of her arms behind the wooden chair she was sitting in, the harshness of her breathing from screaming and broken ribs, and the split skin from her right cheekbone down to the bottom of her lip did nothing to distract Y/N from the true pain in front of her.  

“Stop! Please, please, leave him alone; he hasn’t done anything!” Y/N cried, straining against the ties even harder, ignoring the pull of her dislocated shoulders and the raw rubbing of her wrists. There was another crunch as a crowbar came hurtling down against the boy at her feet, her pleas ignored. The crowbar hit his shoulder blade, blood spraying across the girl’s shoes from the freshly torn skin. 

The Joker looked up, his eyes full of familiar mania while he gripped his weapon tightly. “Peaches,” he tsked, straightening up to look down at the beaten girl in the chair, “he’s done everything. He’s the reason I haven’t seen you in two years. He’s the reason ya mother’s locked away. He’s the reason my babygirl isn’t my babygirl anymore.” Joker’s words were dripping with venom, spit flying from his mouth and landing on the two lovers as his anger grew. “The bird and the bat have destroyed my family time and time again. I won’t allow it any longer!”

“Robin didn’t ruin anything, you did!” Y/N fired back just as fiercely, spitting back at the clown before her. “You’re the reason I ran away to Batman and Robin. You’re the reason I never looked back. You’re the reason I hate you,” she snarled, (e/c) eyes filled with rage. 

Silence filled the room as the Joker reeled back, hurt and anger wiping his smile clean off. He drew his arm back, bloodied gloves gripping the crowbar tightly, and slammed down. Y/N wasn’t expecting the agony that exploded down her arm and up her face as the crowbar connected with the junction from her shoulder to her neck, nor the scream that hurled from her lungs. Blood splattered across her face, over her chest, down her arm, and onto the boy below, while her chair tipped to the floor due to the force. Robin, known intimately as Jason Todd, yelled out for her, his own blood flying from his mouth. She didn’t yell back for him, her throat too raw from the sudden pain and her body turning cold with shock. The Joker knelt, tilting his head to look Y/N in the eye.

“Now, peaches, that’s no way to talk to your father.”

“Until the day I die, you will never be my father.” 

Silence prevailed once more as father and daughter stared one another in the eye; Y/N panting heavily with blood across her face, and the Joker breathing deeply with blood across his hands. Finally, after it became obvious neither was going to back down, the father stood. 

“Very well,” he spoke simply, turning his gaze away to look down at his handy-work on Batman’s sidekick. “Usually the bat shows up by now, but considering the lack of importance that two of you apparently hold, I’ve given up hope on our date night.” He began walking away from the battered teens, his hands clasping the crowbar behind his back. It thumped his palm eerily, echoing in the warehouse. “Since both of you refuse to ease your suffering, I’ll leave you be,” he paused, opening the warehouse door and allowing a gust of snowy air to rush in. “If you’re worried about the cold, don’t be. Should the bat not show up soon, it’ll warm up eventually.” There was no laughter, no smile, no looking back as the Joker left with the heavy doors slamming behind him. The wind vanished alongside the Clown Prince of Gotham, but the warehouse was still chilled to the core.

Jason didn’t - couldn’t - speak, his lungs filled with blood and struggling to even breathe. Instead, he tilted his head to look at Y/N, her (h/c) hair sticking to the bloody parts of her face. She was already looking down at him, guilt clear in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” she began, ignoring the way Jason shook his head, “I don’t know how he found me. We were so careful, all of us, I made sure of it. I’ll get us out of here, I promise, we’ll figure something out.” Her promise held no guarantee, they both knew that, but she needed to give them hope. 

Jason tried to talk, tried telling her that Batman would be here any second and that it wasn’t her fault; but he couldn’t without choking on his own blood. He grunted instead as he rolled onto his stomach, his body protesting in pain while he scrunched up to walk his legs through his arms, returning them to the front of his body instead of the back. He couldn’t get out of his handcuffs and he couldn’t get Y/N out of her zip ties, but he didn’t have time to wallow on that- he had to keep moving. Grabbing onto the side of Y/N’s chair, he used it as leverage to pull himself to his feet, his legs quivering with the strain. He gave the chair another tug, one he knew was gonna put him on his ass, and uprighted the chair so Y/N wasn’t fallen over. As predicted, he collapsed immediately and whimpered in quiet pain as soon as he hit the floor. 

Y/N seethed, “Goddamnit, Robin, you’re gonna kill yourself! Just stay still, Batman will be here soon.”

Jason ignored her. It wasn’t his job to wait around for Batman or Nightwing or anyone else to save him; his job was to do the saving. He was Robin, Batman’s partner in justice- he could save himself and the girl he loved without dying. Bracing his forearms against the cement, Jason dragged himself forward, unable to stand again. Y/N continued protesting behind him, trying to break free of her bindings to stop him, but he kept going. He dragged his body across the floor, blood trailing in his wake as he reached the door. Jason had no idea how heavy the door was going to be, but as he reached up and grabbed ahold of the handle, he realized it didn’t matter- the handle didn’t budge. Falling against the door in exhaustion, Jason looked around for another means of escape. As his eyes wandered, a soft beeping caught his attention, forcing him to notice the black multi-wired box with a timer attached near the door. 

5

“Robin, what is it?” He looked back at Y/N, his blue eyes conflicted with defeat and terror. 

4

They were going to die.

3

He couldn’t save her.

2

“Jason-”

1

—

“Keep your eyes out, Robin. We don’t know how this guy works.” As she spoke through the com connected to her suit, Y/N could practically see Tim’s eyes roll. 

“You know, Sunbird, I’d rather keep my eyes firmly within my own skull, thank you,” Tim shot back, causing a bark of laughter from Nightwing across the comms.

Y/N smirked, ready with a retort when Batman’s voice cut through the comms. “Focus, all of you. We’re working with someone who has taken out three drug rings within the last week. Snark won’t get us where we need to be,” he graveled, and the birds settled down. 

Batman, Nightwing, Robin, and Sunbird were all gathered at Gotham Harbor to confront the man who had ‘taken care of’ all three of Y/N’s latest missions. He was called the Red Hood, and they had yet to figure out his motive, who he was, or how and why he was intervening in Sunbird’s discreet missions. While she was appreciative of the danger being off the streets, she wasn’t fond of a new, murderous vigilante stepping on her toes. Y/N was perched atop one of the many red shipping containers littering the docks, the breeze pushing in the damp air from the ocean causing her to shiver. Her red and gray suit didn’t do much to keep the cold out, but her unnaturally high body temperature kept her from freezing. Across the dock Y/N could vaguely see Robin on his belly, his fingers tapping in boredom against his cape, while Batman was hidden amongst the shadows further to her right. Nightwing was to her left, balancing on top of a pole to give him a bird’s eye view. But, if you asked her, he was simply showing off. Everyone kept their eyes peeled and ears open for a flash of red metal or anything alerting them of their target.

After a while of nothing, Nightwing began to groan. “How do we know this guy is going to show tonight? He may be killing another bust right now, or, god-forbid, sleeping at the current time of midnight.”

“How do we know he doesn’t have a partner? We may be walking into an ambush, Batman,” Robin pipped up, having moved a few containers over for another perch. 

“Ballistics show one gun type with the same bullets, all shot from the same spot. He’s working alone. Gordon sent Sunbird a tip about the trade-off happening here tonight, using the same system that he used for the other tips. The tips that Red Hood ended up busting himself. He found a way onto their link, and he’s shown up the past three times. He’ll be here.” Batman’s voice held no room for arguing, and the birds huffed in silence. 

Just as everyone began to get comfortable once more, Robin’s voice yelled through the comms. It was inaudible and short, and by the time Y/N snapped her eyes to his perch, he was gone. She wanted to yell out for him, but she kept silent, not wanting to alert anyone to her position. Instead, she gracefully leapt down from her perch and quickly rolled to the side, hiding in the shadows beside Batman to gain a plan. He held up his hand to her, silently telling her to stay put as he moved toward the container where Robin had been. 

“‘Wing,” he spoke gruffly, “follow me.” A blur of black and blue jumped from the sky before disappearing behind the container Batman had just gone to. Y/N listened and watched, waiting for any update on if Robin had been found or signs for what had happened. As the minutes ticked by and silent static graced the comms, she grew worried. 

“Batman, Nightwing, what’s happening?” She whispered, her teeth nervously chewing at her bottom lip. They were fine, they had to be, they’re Batman and Nightwing, the original Wonder Duo. There’s no way anything happened-

“I didn’t kill them if that’s what you’re pittering about.” 

Instantly, Y/N jerked her elbow back to hit the owner of the unexpected voice. However, when her elbow collided with metal, she cursed; both at the pain and the realization of who it was. She turned around, cradling her bruising elbow while looking up at the man before her. He was unfazed by her attacked, hands tucked comfortably in the pockets of his leather jacket and his head tilted to the side. 

“Are they alright?” She questioned, lowering her arm once the pain had subsided. Knowing that Batman and Nightwing had been incapacitated by this man unnerved her.

He scoffed, “They’re fine. The bat and Nightwing are knocked out. They should really look into helmets. I’m sure they sell ones that brood.”

“What, like yours?” He huffed a laugh at her reply, and she could only picture a smirk under the hood. “What about Robin?” she asked, noticing Red Hood stiffen at the mention of the youngest member. A glint from an overhead dock light fell across his helmet, giving him a darker look. Y/N could see his fists clench in his jacket pocket while he paused. 

“The replacement is fine. Knocked out like the others,” he finally spat after a moment. Confusion fell across Y/N’s face as she took a step back, trying to work out what he meant. “I was never worried about the cut he gave you scarring your pretty face, I’ll admit. And now that I get to see it up close, I was right to think it’d make you even more badass. Bet the gash on your shoulder is even better. Took a chunk right out of you.”

“Jason.” His name was more of breath rather than a word as it left her mouth, disbelief keeping her from reaching out. “It can’t be.”

“Missed you too, Sunbird.” The pet name Jason had given Y/N all those years ago being spoken by him nearly brought her to her knees. “I’m honored that you used your nickname to become a sidekick.”

Disregarding the jab at her occupation, Y/N took a shaky step forward. “Let me see you. Let me know it’s really you.” While the fact of her pet name should’ve been enough proof, she still needed to see him. To see Jason Todd again. “Please,” she whispered in desperation. 

He paused for a second before sighing, “Never could say no to you.” Red Hood reached up and clasped at the underside of his helmet, his fingers working until a mechanical hiss filled the air followed by smoke. The helmet was removed and held under his arm while Y/N gasped quietly. “Still handsome, I hope,” he joked, quirking his lips in a toothy smirk.

“Jason,” she breathed once more, finally believing that the man she loved was standing in front of her. His hair was shorter, flat against his forehead from the helmet, and his eyes were hidden behind a domino mask; but it was Jason, there was no denying it now. Unable to restrain herself any longer, Y/N barreled forward, crashing into his chest and causing him to drop his helmet. She wanted to be mad at him for killing people, for not telling her that he was alive, but in that moment she couldn’t feel anger towards him. Jason squeezed her tight, dropping his head to the top of hers, and breathed deeply as Y/N clutched the back of his leather jacket. 

“I saw your body- I saw… After the explosion, before Bruce got to us, I got free and felt your heart stop. I watched them bury you. I’ve been to your grave every month,” she rambled, shaking her head against his padded chest. “I’ve never stopped crying for you.”

Jason held her tighter. “I did die. I was dead for six months.” 

Y/N looked up sharply at his confession, removing herself from his arms. “You’ve been alive for six years, and I haven’t known?”

He reached out for her, grabbing ahold of her shaking hand. “Sunbird, listen-“

“Jason, I needed you!” She interrupted, her voice pitched with hurt. “I was alone, nobody understood what I was going through. I shouldn’t have lived, but I did, and I hated myself for it every day. Bruce hated me for it; I was the reason his son was dead. It should’ve been me,” she croaked as her voice broke at the end, tears slipping down her cheeks while she looked up at Jason. 

“No, don’t say that. I thought you were dead. Talia told me you had died! When I came back, I read your obituary. Everyone said that you had died with me, and I believed it because if I had died so did you. I didn’t find out you were alive until two weeks ago,” he explained, running his thumb over her calloused knuckles. “It killed me, twice over, thinking that I had been brought back to life while you were still dead.” Y/N reeled at all the information, her breath hitching in shock. 

“The world had to think she was dead. If the Joker found out she had lived, he wouldn’t stop looking for her,” a voice spoke from behind Jason, causing the boy (now a man) to quickly turn around. His body instinctively stepped in front of Y/N’s, arms raised for a fight. But instead of one of his targets holding a gun, it was Batman and Nightwing. Jason stared at both of them, noticing the way they had aged in the past six years. While Y/N had grown from a fifteen-year-old to a twenty-one-year-old, the older vigilantes both seemed aged past their years. A part of Jason wanted to reach out for them as he did Y/N, but he held himself back. He came to Gotham for a purpose, and this wasn’t it. 

“So, let me get this straight,” Jason began, ignoring the looks of shock on their faces and refusing them the chance to ask any questions, “the Joker gets to live, but we had to die?”

“It’s not like that,” Nightwing began and took a step in front of Batman before Jason laughed bitterly.

“No, Boy Wonder, that’s exactly what it’s like. Batman’s refusal to kill resulted in the deaths of two innocent lives, while the monster responsible gets to breathe, laugh, and walk freely. He cares more about keeping a good image than your own family,” he spat, continuing to stand in front of Y/N defensively. Batman kept silent as Jason vented, giving Nightwing’s sleeve a slight tug to pull him to the side.

“Jay, come back with us.” Y/N reached her hand out, grabbing onto Jason’s larger one with a soft touch to try and gentle his rage. “We can all sort this out, figure out where to go from here.”

Looking over his shoulder at the girl he presumed lost forever, Jason shook his head. “I can’t, Sunbird. Somebody has to kill Joker, and that somebody is me.”

Y/N gripped his hand tighter, “Don’t, please. I can’t lose you to my father again.”

Batman stepped closer to Jason, holding out his hand. “Listen to her. Come home, Jason. We’ve all missed you,” he pleaded, trying to find any sign of agreement on his son’s face. 

Instead, Jason laughed bitterly, sending chills down the following vigilantes’ spines. “I don’t have a home with you anymore, B. This doesn’t end until I have his brains splattered over a crowbar,” Jason sneered, turning away to give Y/N one last look. “When this is over, I’ll find you.” From a normal stance, his words should’ve sounded creepy, but all they did was give Y/N hope.

“Jason-” But before Y/N could grab ahold of the boy she had watched die, Jason slipped from her grasp. 

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