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plagued-melodies · 2 years ago

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jeje, tsubaki, Lawless and The Mother as they call and nickname their S/O, I don't know how many characters you make, feel free to delete any character and this message if you have any problems :)

AKDJKAKA YESSS I love servamp so so much, I'm still reading it and trying to catch up and it's been a long while since then so it may not be entirely accurate but I hope you like it anon! Also sorry for this being so late :')

An- for the sake of simplicity and not complicating things too much, you, the reader, are their eve be it in the future of the manga or the past <3 except maybe tsubaki (maybe even present seeing their actual names and such but you know^^

Content warnings: slightly OOC, I have no clue how to write tsubaki but im trying :] Tsubaki's is also longer in trying to compensate for both being inhuman and human/his eve

Servamps and how they call and refer to their significant other! <3

Jeje / Doubt Doubt - servamp of envy

He doesn't talk much, and when he does it's quiet, almost like he never spoke to begin with.

This wasn't much of a problem when you were both first bonded, if he didn't or couldn't speak much, what makes you the authority to make him do so?

You were the exact opposite, you were VERY talkative and could fill the void of what his answers could be.

It used to mostly be one sided conversations that you partook in. He would either read or do some building some ship in a bottle while you talked about anything and everything that came to mind.

I like to headcanon that he knows sign language and converses with you that way, or if you're a bit too preoccupied or he needs a bit of space he'll leave you notes.

He doesn't mind verbally speaking to you when you're alone though, you never push to do one thing or the other.

He loves that about you and I would love to say he fell quickly but it's more likely that he fell for you slowly but what he lacked in speed he sure made up for in how he sure did fall the hardest.

He's not huge on pet names, I'm sure he does throw in the occasional "dear" or if he's feeling particularly smitten, "sweetheart"

He knows he doesn't do this much, and he knows the effect it has on you and you can practically hear the teasing in his voice and writing when he does.

Of course he does eventually start using petnames more and more often without realizing it but not in the cute loving kind of way.

He lovingly calls you a leech, not in a mean way and you know that so he doesn't stop but would if you asked him to.

He also loves to compliment you using metaphors instead of actual names like "you are of a fungus, your poison, although deadly, keeps me reeled in." And despite how odd it sounds you keep any notes of these he's left safely tucked away.

Lawless / Hyde - Servamp of Greed

He.doesn't.shut.up

It took forever for him to trust you and for you to trust him, because although he seemed nice and kind, you knew better than to trust the blood that stained his hands.

The blood of his eve's before you.

But that didn't deter you, you just wanted to keep both of you at an okay distance that would keep both of you happy.

That distance is purely metaphorical thought because he is GRABBY.

I feel as though he would call you nicknames before you even got into a relationship but over time you could hear how they went from more of a teasing nature to something more genuine.

These petnames were also few and far between, he finds saying your name (and you saying his given name) to be such an intimate verbal act, but he doesn't mind indulging in petnames, of course there's always that one particular nickname he often switches out for your actual name but it really isn't a nickname) but

When he does call you pet names, he probably calls you the most WEIRDEST things in the form of pet names that make no sense in context and are probably more so jokes than actual pet names

"Gumwad went to the laundry mat and left me here AAAAALLLLL alone" -Hyde talking to the other servamps probably

Gumwad referring to you

Obviously

He's not too fond of being referred to by a nickname unless he trusts you entirely but even then, simply calling him by the name you gave him is enough, doesn't mind the occasional pet name though (:

The Mother / Freya - Servamp of wrath

As you probably know, she is probably the sweetest servamp you can find. Although the others have their own quirks that make them admirable, you find that her unconditional kindness is what drew you two closer.

It almost unnerved you how calm she could be, even during times when you royally screwed up. You expected her to be upset, give you the silent wrath, disappointment even! But when she simply knelt down to you asking if you were okay, you realized you may have misunderstood her, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for assuming.

When you two get closer and closer and eventually become a couple she isn't quick to change how she is

Because she probably already dotes on you let's be real

Like her name suggests, she is motherly and caring so I don't doubt she would call you "dear" or "hun" before, mostly in times of stress where either one of you needed forms of comfort.

She probably calls you her dove or the "apple of her eye" later on though, maybe even "My flame" when cuddling.

She loves the warmth you give, it's a warmth she herself rarely feels but is always ready to give.

Your face always flushes into an unbearable shade of red and you feel the room around you raising in temperature.

She is very casual about it though, only ever reserving them for when you two are private (i.e: not near her nosy siblings, she loves them but they can be quite... Troublesome)

She isn't too outlandish with affection but she isn't too prudent with it either, it's instead a warm healthy middle ground.

She absolutely malfunctions if you call her an endearing pet name though, like I mean she just absolutely dies

She can't take the medicine she dishes out smh 😔

Nicknames are nothing too special In her eyes, it's just another way to refer to the one you love, right?

Tsubaki - Servamp of Melancholy

This guy is a fifty-fifty

It really just depends because from what I can grasp on his character, you're probably not his eve, but his subclass.

If you are his eve, somehow, it would take a LONG LONG time for him to not try and kill you.

As far as I'm aware, he hates humans. So for simplicity, you're a subclass or maybe like.. an inhuman friend turned significant other

The how and why isn't important what is important is that when he cares about you, he - c a r e s (cares)

He uses petnames like sweetheart, darling, etc. The gushy kind that, with his personality, is hard to tell between teasing and seriousness.

He isnt one to show public displays of affection but, similar to his elder sister, is one to show it in a private setting.

A vulnerability that only you and his subclasses get to see

He doesn't have an opinion on petnames for himself, he doesn't mind them, but he certainly prefers to hear you speak his name far more.

If you were human/his eve he'd probably call you a pin cushion or a flesh bag, you know... The usual.

It also takes a long time for him to warm up to you and when he does you are officially given the honorary title of "one of the good ones"

Ones referring to mortal flesh bags such as yourself of course

If you were his eve he'd definitely go "Oh yeah they're my eve-" with an attitude but sooner or later it becomes more sweet and genuine

He'd probably treat you similar to his subclasses if not with a little bit more respect (from what I've read, he holds them dearly)

As the youngest and forgotten sibling of 8 servamps, he'd probably try his best to keep you in mind when coming up with his schemes

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I will probably rewrite this or make a part two of it being a modern AU but this has been in my ask box for forever and I need practice with writing the servamp characters. Sorry anon this took so long with very little in return <3

#melodic musings post <3 #servamp headcanons #y/n x servamp #reader x lawless #reader x wrath #reader x envy #reader x hyde #reader x Freya #reader x Jeje #x reader fanfic #OOC #tsubaki x reader #tsubaki servamp #reader x melancholy

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get-shiggy-with-it · 4 years ago

Text

collab masterlist

✧ pairing: villain!hawks x afab!reader

✧ word count: 5k

✧ warnings: this is like all smut, angst, ambiguous but happy ending, unhealthy relationships, mentions of transactional sex, reader has a healing quirk but it's really just for poetic purposes, reader has a vagina, no other gendered parts, oral sex (reader receiving), vague metaphorical drug reference, mentions of blood, mentions of wounds, mating press, soft sex (?), sorta, slight potential could be read as dubcon but they're both into it

✧ summary: for years you've stitched hawks back together when the world has torn him to shreds—and he always pays you back, though you can't help but start want more than he can give you.

✧ a/n: hey y'all this months theme was villain/hero swap with a shared opener! please go check out all the other wonderful works in this collab, there are so many talented writers/artists involved!! credit to @/lady-bakuhoe for the amazing intro. also bonus points if you catch the old aesthetic tumblr post references.

Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.

Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?

Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.

One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.

***

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

That fact is made even more horrifically apparent as he stumbles through your open window—and how long has it been since you’ve slept with it closed?—dripping with blood and panting from his flight.

The T.V. blares in the background, filling your tiny apartment with incessant ramblings that only grow louder by the day, and you already know what they’re going to say before they say it. Because you see him, before the reporters stumble upon heroes in the wreckage—you see what they do to him before they’re warning the public of dangerous villains loose in the streets.

They spout off about failing heroes but you think they’ve done a pretty damn good butchers job. Red feathers matted together, sticky and brown, fall in tufts from his back. You burn with shameful jealousy at the thought of those who would call themselves heroes having laid hands on what is yours.

He isn’t really yours and you know that, though you often wish you could be a bit more delusional. It might not hurt so much then.

They call him a villain. They call him a threat to society.

But even faced with the truth spilling from him and onto your creaking floors, it is easy to forget what a ruthless predator the man before you becomes when he leaves these four walls.

Especially as he falls forward on heavy feet straight into your arms, outstretched and waiting. There are stains on your shirt but you’ve known the secret for getting blood out of clothing for years now. Cold water for the fabric, warm to wash away the grime on his lovely skin.

“Gonna need you to fix me up again, sweetheart,” Hawks mumbles into your shoulder where his forehead rests.

His breathing is even more ragged now, not just from the flight.

“I know,” you reply and your hands shake when they find the gaping wound at his side—wide and deeper than the ones before. “I know. Can you walk?”

He doesn’t respond but that mop of golden hair shifts a bit as he slings an arm over your shoulder and rests his weight. You don’t need to direct him to your bedroom. This is an old game you’re playing and he knows the steps.

So do you.

Though, you’re never sure if it's dread that fills you and makes your stomach knot and your knees weak. Or if it’s that awful, momentary rush of excitement at the prospect of being able to run your fingers over him, bare and giving you free reign.

As long as he’s bleeding out on your floor.

Then you can feel him.

When he’s dying and needs you.

Needs you to fix him.

But won’t ever let you close enough to finish the job the way you want to.

You comfort yourself in with the knowledge that at least he lets you this close. At least those thin, silver-skin scars are the unmistakable mark of your healing hands. At least you’ll always haunt him like the red feather down that sticks to your pillows or between your floorboards.

So you strip him carefully and try not to let his sculpted chest distract you from the work. Hawks is silent, such a model patient as always. Only grunting when your fingers move to knit together the ragged edges of his flesh.

This will leave a nasty mark, you know it already. But you can’t find it in yourself to mourn the loss of that lovely skin.

It will only make it harder for him to forget you.

You’re knelt beside him, laid out on a towel you keep at the edge of the bed. Blood will soak through to the sheets regardless, but you try your best. He takes a sharp breath, white teeth catching the back of his hand between them to stifle groans.

You wish there was more pleasure to it. That he was biting back moans for you instead of trying not to scream as his flesh pulsed and grew hot while it was rebuilt under your fingertips. So you indulge, pretend your hands are elsewhere, roaming his perfect waistline and pulling whimpers from him.

Your dangerous, villainous, predator Hawks sprawled on his back, wings spread and cumming onto his chest under you.

The sounds above you change, and you know it hurts—must be excruciating as bone is set back into place—but you chose to believe it’s because he’s trying to keep himself from screaming your name as he reaches his release.

Hawks, you’d croon to him—Hawks because you don’t know his real name. Don’t know who he was before he started this underground life of crime on the fringes of a society that called him a monster and then turned him into one.

He isn’t a monster in your bed, though he may cry like one.

Cry as you mold his flesh and try not to look him in the face. Try to pretend they are an overflow of some better emotion. And when those summer wheat field eyes roll back in his head and those horrible pretty noises stop, you push past the growing ache in your limbs until the skin under your palms is smooth and no longer leaking thick, red blood.

And you do your best to resist the itch to feel more of him while he can’t stop you. Even with your fingers numb from overexertion, you can’t help but fall back on your heels and long for the feeling of his cheek in your hand, or his chest on your face.

But your part of the transaction is done.

And your permission doesn’t extend past these limits.

And it pains you to wish harm on him.

But it hurts even more when he does not need you.

So you sit and hate yourself and hope that those heroes with their disgusting philosophies get their shit together just a bit more. So you won’t lose your purpose. So he’ll keep coming through your window, permanently open through rainstorms and snow and spring heat.

Hawks’ breath evens slowly, and you stay still as a watched painting—no shifting eyes or moving limbs.

You crave these times like water or warm food—constant and instinctively.

And this is the only time you’ll ever have them, hands so filled with pinpricks of fried nerves that you can barely feel the soft, relaxed muscle beneath them.

What a tragedy.

What an injustice—

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

***

“Hmm,” he groans, sitting up and wincing as the new flesh protests under his movements.

“You should rest for a bit longer.”

Hawks looks at you, stretched next to him on the mattress—a purposeful few inches of space left between your bodies. It’s both selfish and practical advice.

But he isn’t here for that kind of help.

“You know I can’t just be sittin’ on my ass,” he quips, flashing you that eyes closed, wide smirk that sets your heart hammering in your chest. “Can’t have anyone tracing me back here.”

“Normally I’d agree,” you don’t find it in yourself to give the words any bite, “but you were just actively bleeding out a few minutes ago.”

“Sure, but that was a few minutes ago,” he winks and you can already feel the bed shifting as he moves to settle himself over your hips, one toned thigh on either side to bracket you against the bed. “Now, let me pay you back for all that hard work, yeah sweetheart?”

You wish the way he peered up through those long lashes, gold eyes honed in on you like a piece of meat on a hook, didn’t make your face burn this much.

It doesn’t mean anything to him.

Because this arrangement really is transactional—so you have to get something out of it too. At least, that’s what he tells himself, you think. He doesn’t know that those scant few moments you hold his life between your fingers is more than enough payment.

It’s been this way since the very first time you stumbled across him, half dead in an alley. But then you think it might have just been a ‘heat of the moment’ sort of thing that had just stuck.

You heal him and he makes you writhe on the sheets with his tongue and his hands, until you're fucked into unconscious bliss and he can slip away without your prying eyes watching him go.

But you still aren’t allowed to touch Hawks, even when he reaches into those deep parts of you and molds them to fit only him.

“You don’t—” you start to protest, partly because you want to believe you don’t want it and partly because you want to hear him insist that he does.

“Shh,” Hawks presses a calloused finger to your mouth and it takes every ounce of strength not to suck it past your lips. “I don’t like leaving my debts unpaid.”

That’s the end of your determination for the night. So you try to relax into his touch as slides your bottoms off and tosses them to the floor. Try not to clench up under those fingers that spread your legs. He doesn’t like it when you squirm away, when you flinch from his hands.

You want to think it’s because he hopes you aren’t afraid of him—of what he is—like the rest are, and not because he wants to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You want to.

But he’s so hard to read, and your mind is not often a kind place.

“Mm, god I’m always so hungry after you patch me up baby,” Hawks licks his lips as he stares down at you. “You won’t mind if I eat you right?”

You cringe at how fast your head shakes.

“Mm, course you wouldn’t.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and he’s right though you resent it a bit that he’s got you pegged so easily.

But you’re weak, you’re no villain, you’re no hero.

And so you’ll never be able to resist him. But, damn, did you wish you had a name to cry out. Then at the very least, you could keep a part of him with you too. Then you’d have some to moan on the nights he goes uninjured and you have to bring yourself to lonely release, only thinking of him.

Of those wings spread above you like a burning, red sunset, obscuring the rest of the world from view with his blinding light.

“Hawks…” you hiss instead as he shifts your legs over his shoulders and lays his tender chest on the sheets. “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s it gonna be tonight then?” he asks, breath ghosting over the damp folds between your thighs.

“Thought you said you were gonna use your tongue,” you whine, impatient now for any scrap of attention he’s willing to give.

“If that’s what you want,” he presses a kiss into the crease of your leg and hip, nipping the delicate skin so you whine again. “It’s whatever you want, you know that.”

It isn’t though.

It’s not whatever you want.

You can pick the position, you can ask for his mouth or his fingers, but even then, they won’t go past your neck. Your hands must stay firmly knotted in the comforter and away from him while he works. Cause he is working. This is part of the job to him, it's only in your fantasies that he’s doing it simply for the hell of it.

Hawks nudges your embarrassingly soaked slit with his nose and hums at you, “So is that what you want? Want me to eat your pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Yes—ngh,” you don’t get much in past the confirmation.

He’s a busy man.

He doesn’t have time for your stupid, romantic day dreams.

So he dives right in, and it’s enthusiastic enough that you can convince yourself he simply wants you that badly.

Hawks tongue licks a long strip from your hole to your clit and sucks the little bud past his plush lips. They’re a lovely, soft pink against your skin and they make a mess of you in seconds. He starts up an even rhythm, drawing circles into the nerves that sing and have heat building up in you only seconds after he’s started.

You hate that you love how well he knows your body.

You hate that you only know his when it’s shutting down.

“You taste so good, you know that?” he mumbles, lapping at you and kneading your thighs. “Could live down here just drinking you every fucking day.”

He doesn’t always talk like that but you’re happy he is now. It distracts you from the deep, ingrained urge to yank him by the hair and taste yourself on his lips.

“Makes me wish I’d let those damn heroes get hits in more often,” he’s back to panting and you keen at the sound. “Want my fingers too?”

“Fuck yes,” you don’t even bother hiding the desperation anymore.

He deserves the boost to his ego. You’d shower him with praise if he’d let you, bathe him in warm words and press them into his skin with your tongue.

But he doesn’t let you.

Hawks’ hand on your thigh trails slowly against the sensitive skin until he’s pulling back to run his fingers through your folds to ease the stretch a bit as he pushes two inside. He knows you can take what he gives to you, knows you love the way he fills you up.

Your tingling hands ache to grab his head and force his lips back as he sits for a moment, eyes glued on the space where his fingers disappear into your body. He groans low at the wet sounds your bodies make at their joining. Your legs shake where they rest on him, the one other point of contact he’s allowed. Those deadly soft feathers brush your calves as he curls his fingers up and waits expectantly for the strangled cry he pulls from you.

“There it is,” his voice is so much lower when he speaks now. “Can’t exactly show you the real ones, but how ‘bout you let me make you see some stars, huh?”

He asks so much of you. So much. So often.

In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever actively asked him for a thing he hadn’t already offered in the few years you’d known him. Hawks does it all—the taking and the giving and the demanding.

And you’re simply along for the ride, holding on for dear life lest he drop you, let you plummet like rock to the barren ground.

Still, you are mortal and you crave and you will take what you can get.

“Mhm,” you whimper when his deft fingers increase their pace, not thrusting but grinding mercilessly into that delicious spot inside.

“You wanna cum now, sweet thing?”

Then, true to his villainous nature, Hawks latches his lips back onto your clit, wracking your body with waves of truly sinful pleasure. His tongue draws quick, perfect circles across the bud just how you like. You’ll never know why it feels so much better when it’s him touching you.

How he knows exactly what you want.

Most of it.

Then his other hand is reaching around your hip, thumb taking over to press down where his tongue had been. Panting for the third time, his gorgeous head rests on your thigh and he stares dead on into your eyes. That predator yellow gaze pins you to the pillows better than any hand could and he licks across his lips while you watch, moaning as he tastes you there.

You groan deep and unabashedly at the sight.

“What is it?” he’s teasing you, unable to keep that part of his cruelty hidden even now. “What do you want?”

You shake your head and wish you could turn away, flop against the mattress and writhe but you can’t. You just can’t give up this moment that’s etching itself into your retinas—like you’re staring head on at an eclipse, celestial and short-lived.

“Tell me,” Hawks whispers, nipping at your thigh and working his fingers harder on you. “Whatever you want, you’ll get it.”

And maybe it’s the sudden heat of the room, or the little breeze from his wings spreading defensively to block you from view of his nonexistent audience—the outside world maybe? To keep you, this secret indulgence, hidden from their prying hands. Or quite possibly it’s just your own weakness at the feet of years and years of loving—because you do, you love him, it’s clear by now that’s what this is—this man whose name you don’t know and whose eyes never seem to leave you even when he’s gone.

Maybe you simply crack under the pressure of keeping this awful, looming silence for too long.

You feel your lips split at the seams and it all comes rushing out in a polluted flood—a stagnant river of secrets.

“Let me touch you,” you gasp and close your eyes then just so you won’t have to see that grin slip from his beautiful face. “Please Hawks, let me touch you. I can’t do it anymore, just—I need to kiss you, I need more.”

All this time he hadn’t let up on pulling pleasure from your skin, but he stops now, bringing your release to a screaming halt.

The quiet that follows—devoid of fast breaths and wet slapping—is suffocating.

You wish you regretted the outburst, the waste of years worth of work to keep him coming back.

But you don’t.

Of course you will in a minute, when he slips away and doesn’t return.

But now it just feels as though that boulder of secrecy has been lifted off your chest and you can finally take in lungfuls of sweet, unhindered night air.

It’s only after that dreadful minute has passed and there are still hands on you—buried in you—that you dare to open your eyes again.

Hawks is staring blankly, an expression you’ve never seen before, so stark from the usual quirk of his lips and tilt of his chin. Blank, but calculating. You can see the gears clanking as his thoughts rush a mile a minute, faster than he’d ever dream of soaring over the city skyline.

He blinks once, twice, then again and you can see the redness blooming at the corners as his eyes grow glassy between each flutter of lashes. And then, as though moving through honey, he draws back from you, only to crawl up your body until your noses touch.

You hold your breath, lip caught between your teeth, but his slicked thumb comes up to pull it out of your gnawing reach. He strokes across the puffy skin, never meeting your gaze, until he slowly, slowly leans down.

It’s not really a kiss, more of an accidental brush, so little of your lips touch you could easily have imagined it. When he speaks again, you can feel him forming the words against you.

“I—” he starts and licks his lips and yours and you don’t think it’s an accident, “I can’t.”

It isn’t what you want him to say, but it’s better than a silent loss .

You know truth when you hear it.

“I know.”

And you do, you do know, you’ve always known. He’s darker when he’s not with you. You’ve seen the carnage he leaves behind broadcasted on screens, but it’s never stopped the ache before.

He can’t keep you the way you want, can’t have things that get in the way.

You can only touch him when he’s dying. You can heal him, reform his flesh and bone—pull him back from the brink—but you’ll never feel his chest against yours or his hair slipping through your fingers or have all of him buried inside you. He’ll never love you like you want him to.

It doesn’t stop you from wishing.

And apparently, it doesn’t stop Hawks from kissing you anyway.

“I can’t,” he repeats and it sounds so broken you almost think that wound has reopened and he’s going to start slipping away again.

But the only thing that slips is his tongue past your lips and tangling with your own.

And then the levee breaks.

It’s a sudden torrent of hands and legs knotting together like the torn edges of too many injuries. Hawks covers every available part of you like an addict seeking his fix. It’s breathless and uncoordinated but you’ve never felt more alive, alight, aflame.

He presses his lips to yours again, pulling away and then diving back in. Frantic hands pull you off the mattress until your back is against the headboard and he’s straddling your lap. You take the opportunity to sink your fingers into that goldenrod hair and it’s just as silky as you’d imagined it to be.

Hawks moans into your mouth, kissing you wildly, like the beast he is with teeth clacking and your tongue sucked between his lips.

“I can’t,” he keeps mumbling, between groans and hips grinding and hands grabbing, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t— “

You wonder then which one of you he’s trying to convince.

But you don’t ask, just let your hands wander to the delicious curve of his ass on your thighs and squeeze, rolling his bulge against you. His fingers push and proud, ghosting across your chest and stopping to pinch your nipple. He drinks down the whimpers you let out, letting his lips wander your jaw and throat, sucking bruises—leaving his own scars on you—as he goes. He pushes you back down to the pillows so his lips can continue their work, latching onto the quickly hardening bud and suckling lightly. His groan sends little shockwaves through you and he looks up with brows furrowed like he’s in pain with how good it all feels.

“I’m sorry,” he says and it’s so soft you barely hear it between licks at your chest.

“No,” you finally find it in you to respond, shaking your head and pulling him back to your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says again while you nip at his earlobe and down his jaw, tight pants yielding under your hands as they’re tugged away so he’s just as bare as you.

“No,” you shake your head and any response dies on his tongue as you dig your fingers into the feathers at the base of his wings and pull him forward.

Hawks lets out a choked gasp as his length, bare, hard, and leaking glides across your cunt. Any other time, you’d have liked to savor this moment. Get on your knees and worship his pretty cock—and you know it's pretty, just from your short glimpse. He’s long and perfectly thick, just how you dreamed he would be. The cute tuft of blond curls at his base is course in the best way as you trail your fingers through it to take him in your palm.

“Ahh,” he keens, arching above you with his head thrown back as you stroke him for the first time.

It’s been so long, you're not sure how you ever resisted this before. Not with how heavy and warm he is in your fist.

“Hawks,” you moan, sucking at the dip in his collarbone and moving to bite at his nipple. “Hawks, please.”

“I—” you think he might protest but you flick your thumb over the tip and it pours precum to help the slide of your fingers.

He’s already got those powerful arms hooked under your knees, all he has to do is lean forward and sink into that tight, awaiting heat, and he knows it. You can see the resolve cracking.

“Hawks,” you beg again. Because you are begging, that’s what this is.

And he looks at you, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and brows all bunched up with his head shaking.

“Hawks.”

His hands grip the underside of your thighs and knock your hand from his dick.

“Hawks.”

His forehead comes down to rest against yours, eyes squeezed shut and red at the edges. You feel the sting at the corners as if they were your own.

“Hawks.”

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

Is he dying now?

Are you killing him?

“Hawks.”

His breath hitches, whatever he might have said is long gone when the head of his cock catches against your entrance.

“Hawks—”

He sinks in to the hilt all at once and the last utterance of his name is a yelp. Your walls clamp down hard around the intrusion, so much bigger than his fingers, so hot and long and thick as he pulses inside you.

There are no words after that.

No names, no refusals, just his face pressed up on yours as he pushes your thighs to your chest and rolls his hips, fucking you evenly into the mattress.

Not soft or slow or overly rough.

Though it is all of those things at once as well.

Hawks has always been full of contradictions. It makes sense that this is too.

Both your eyes stay open, lips brushing and sharing breath as he slips a hand back down to your clit and starts those perfect circles up again.

He doesn’t ask you questions now. Just stares in your eyes and sinks his cock into your over and over until you feel fuller, more complete than you ever have in the whole of your life.

There’s no warning leading up to the end. You feel the crest approaching, the coil waiting to snap low in your belly and you don’t dare take your eyes off his face. You need to commit the entirety of this moment to memory. Just in case.

Just in case it never happens again.

Or worse, it happens over and over until it doesn’t.

Until you run out of chances to touch him.

Until he comes to you too far gone.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters and that’s all the warning you get.

All the warning you have the strength to listen to as you tumble over the edge, waves of rolling pleasure burning under your skin. You clench hard around his cock as his hips stutter in their pace, thrusting unevenly as you gush and he spills rope after rope of hot release deep into you.

And you’d been wrong before, because this was full. This was whole, your stilling bodies pressed together at every point with his cock still hard and twitching as your walls milked him of cum that warmed you from the inside out.

This is what you would die for.

***

Later when you stumble into unwilling wakefulness, there are hands tucking a thin sheet over your bare skin.

Hawks has pulled himself from you after resting like you’d told him he should. He’s dressing, though not hurriedly, and you can’t find it in your jelly bones to move or stop him.

You’re both silent, even when he looks down to find your eyes alert and raking over him—costume donned and wings prepared for flight.

His face is drawn in a way that might have been resentment. Maybe towards you for breaking his resolve, maybe at himself for indulging in what he cannot have.

I can’t.

You hear the words as clear as though he’d just said them.

I can’t.

Can’t have you. Can’t forget his purpose. Can’t have gentle things.

Hawks is a villain, first and foremost, above all else and that includes you.

So you don’t move to stop him as he walks softly through your door. You just watch as he makes his way to the open window and perches on the ledge. He does look back, only briefly, to see you draped across the sheets, head resting on your arm and staring at him as he leaves you.

The ghost of that cheeky grin crawls its way onto his face before he tips backwards off the landing and into the night sky. He winks once before the indigo of the night swallows him like the maw of a leviathan. The city has teeth and it will chew him up and spit him back out into your arms soon enough.

So you’re content to wait.

You know this isn’t the last time. That he’ll come back to you as he’s always done. And offer you more and more of himself each time.

Because you can only touch him when he’s dying.

And this world is nothing if not determined to kill him.

So you can keep your purpose.

And by extension, you can keep him.

#hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #keigo takami x reader #villain!au #bnha fanfiction #tw blood #tw dubcon #hawks angst #hawks smut #bnha smut #mha smut #bee.writes

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the-l-spacer · 3 years ago

Note

Ooo fic requests,,, how abouttt madeleine convincing espresso to take a day off to relax?

ao3

He really should have seen them sooner. The signs, pointing to the fact that something is amiss with Espresso. But as Madeleine sweeps up the stairs to the mage’s laboratory, situated two floors above Sparkling’s juice bar, he remains blissfully unaware of the uncharacteristic quiet of the stairwell, devoid of the usual distant crackling of electricity. He doesn’t notice that the hum of equipment, the bubbling and hissing of wildly coloured chemicals in little vials, the telltale scratch-scratch-scratch of Espresso’s quill on parchment, are absent as well.

Instead, he hums the chorus line of an old Republic cantata that had snuck into his head that morning. He balances the freshly-made scones, jam and cream in the crook of his right arm, the flasks of tea (for him) and coffee (for his boyfriend) in his left. And as he clears the last flight of steps, he certainly doesn’t register the musty smell of the room he stands outside, the scent of dust and stale coffee souring the air, as he bursts through the door, announcing heartily,

“Espresso! The hero of the hour has come to relieve you of your workaholism… with breakfast!” He brandishes the gifts — procured from the market that very morning — like they’re his sword and shield, flashes his trademark grin, and…

….and then he goes quiet.

Espresso sits (or rather, slumps) at his messy desk, head resting in both his hands. His carefully gelled up hair now falling in disheveled locks across his face. Slowly, thin fingers shift slightly to reveal a single, bloodshot eye, that regards the knight with disdain.

“Of course,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “As if things couldn’t get any worse, you show up.”

Madeleine blinks at the unexpected hurt the comment brings him. Yes, their early relationship was full of such... quips from Espresso, but more than half the time, Madeleine had deserved them. Now, after time spent trying to improve himself, stepping back to let others take the spotlight once in a while, not tying his worth to the adoration of the public (that was still a work in progress), he thought he’d gotten better. To hear his boyfriend say those same, biting words that characterised their interactions months prior, when all he’d done was say hello?

Something isn’t right.

“Well, that is to say, your work ethic is something I admire, of course, but you do tend to neglect yourself because of it.” Madeleine pads towards the desk, tries to find an uncluttered spot to set their breakfast down. “Hence, scones! Tear yourself away for a bit and eat them with me?”

Espresso’s finger twitches, and quite suddenly, Madeleine is sent stumbling back, a crackling magical barrier shooting up around the mage. “Leave, Knight-Commander,” Espresso says, “I’m in no mood to entertain your bumbling.”

Carefully, Madeleine sets down the packages on the floor. “Espresso. Are you well? Something about you seems… off, today.”

The Coffee mage, still unmoving at his desk, scoffs lightly. “Off? I’m fine. I was perfectly fine before you came along to distract me.”

Madeleine chances a glance around the room, at the crumpled up papers scattered across the floor, the dustbins filled with strange, foul-smelling goop, cups of half-drunk coffee set across every available surface.

“I do not think so,” he responds, gently as he can. “Something is troubling you, that much is clear. Let me help, Espresso.”

Espresso’s fists slam on the table, and the mage’s head snaps up, anger flashing in his eyes. “You’re not some white knight in shining armour, and you’re not a savior,” he snarls, “so stop trying to be one and leave. Me. Alone!” The barrier around him turns into a wave of Coffee Magic that sweeps across the lab, engulfing Madeleine in momentary pain.

Then, the room is silent once again.

Madeleine regards Espresso, head back in his hands. “Are you done?”

“Leave.”

He takes a breath, composes his next words, and speaks. “It’s true that I am none of those things, you’ve made that abundantly clear in the time we’ve known each other.” No response from Espresso, but for a slight exhalation of breath he chooses to interpret as amusement. He continues. “But I am your boyfriend. And while I may not be a saviour, I’m not foolish enough to let that stop me from caring about you. If caring means leaving you alone, then so be it. But I’ve left you alone for weeks now, and seeing you this way…”

He trails off, looking Espresso up and down. His robe had been long discarded, in favour of rumpled shirtsleeves, stained and singed, and the mage looks more exhausted than usual, if that is even possible.

“… So let me care about you. Please.”

As if a switch had been flipped, Espresso deflates, curling in, head falling from his hands to rest on the desk’s edge with a dull thud. His next words come slightly muffled from beneath the table.

“I’m sorry, it-”, They both wince at the rough, sarcastic tone. Espresso takes a shuddering breath, and Madeleine’s chest aches when he sees Espresso’s slight frame shake with the effort. He tries again, softer this time. “I’m sorry. It’s just. It's been-” his voice hitches. “It’s been a long day.”

And Madeleine is crouched at his side in an instant, rubbing soothing circles into his back. Espresso sighs, and leans against him.

“It’s the research grant for the Parfaedia Institute,” the words tumble out of him, “I have to develop a new spell, submit successful results as proof. Next year’s funding hinges on it but. But I-”

Madeleine leans on his shoulder. “It’s alright. You don’t need to say it if you don’t want to.

“No, it’s… it’s nothing. Just that none of my experiments have worked so far. I thought that if I simply buckled down and focused, everything would fall into place, like it had in the past. But the deadline is a week away and I’m no closer to a completed paper than I was a month ago. I.” Espresso shuts his eyes, fighting against the rising tears. ‘I don’t know what to do.”

Wordlessly, Madeleine straightens up, opens his arms.

Espresso gets out of his seat, wincing as blood rushes to his legs, and stumbles into his boyfriend’s embrace, the tension in his shoulders finally melting away.

“Madeleine, I need a day off, don’t I?” Espresso mutters, defeated, into his chest.”

The paladin chuckles. “I think you just might.”

“Had coffee an hour ago though. Probably wouldn’t be able to sleep, even if I tried.”

Madeleine breaks away gently. “How about some breakfast, to start? These scones aren’t going to eat themselves.”

For the first time in weeks, Espresso cracks a small smile. “Let me get cleaned up first?”

“Of course.”

“And Madeleine?” Espresso looks up at the knight.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry about earlier, truly. And… thank you.”

Madeleine smiles, too, and presses a soft kiss to Espresso’s forehead.

“Already forgiven, and thank you. For letting me take care of you.”

Later, they take breakfast together (slightly cold, but neither of them mind). Then, Madeleine takes Espresso’s hand, and pulls him out of his dark laboratory, to the sunlit Kingdom beyond.

If he was someone different, perhaps Madeleine would have pointed out the metaphor. But he’s far too busy trying to win a stuffed jelly horse for his boyfriend (currently riding a carousel bemusedly) to notice. Probably for the best, anyways.

#cookie run #espresseleine #IM SORRY THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY INBOX FOR MONTHS DJDBDLBDLD #wrote this in a haze might go back tomorrow and edit #but yea hope u like it anon!#the actual break-taking happens towards the end most of this is just grumpy espresso oops #oh yeah also this entire fic was based around usnavis one line in champagne jsyk

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elphiej · 4 years ago

Text

Be My Light - Chapter 3: Try to Stay Calm and Move on.

*Genre: Mafia, angst, eventual smut, slow burn

*Warnings: references to drug usage/ withdrawal, reference to sexual situations/ sex work/ trafficking.

Author’s note: Hi everyone! I hope you enjoy the next chapter. True to my style, it’s a little long but I think it flows well enough. Thank you for those who have commented on my previous chapters. I very much appreciate it. Thank you for your patients as well; work has been busy and I found out I had covid. I’m ok now but it did set me back a bit in finishing this. As always, please let me know what you think or let me know if you have any comments. I love them and all of you. Please enjoy!

Tag list: @lolalalooo @bangtan-sonyeonddaeng, @barbikatherine, @mrsfortune1306, @lovesick-heart0, @iamnamjoonsbxtch, @deathkat657, @deeepvibes, @sugamonster22 , @weiinihao, @hemmofluke , @rainbow-zebra-unicorns

Chapter 3: Try to Stay Calm and Move On

Central Mercy was one of the largest and most active hospitals in all the city. And as you followed the EMTs through the trauma bay doors, the floor was full of medical staff moving about assessing patients. True to its name, Mercy didn’t discriminate and took in those that smaller practices were too scared to take: gang related cases. They feared retaliation. But Mercy was only interested in saving people. A team from the surgical floor came up beside the fast-moving gurney, listening as the EMT got them up to speed. You added some details, though your eyes never left the man on the gurney; he hadn’t regained consciousness since the police arrived and he seemed even paler than before. One of the nurses whispered that Doctor Na was waiting in the operating theatre. Henry Na was one of the top surgeons in all of Central and you felt a wave of relief knowing that the patient couldn’t be in better hands. But deep down, you knew you wouldn’t be at complete ease until you saw the young man awake and alright. And the fear of the unknown made you not want to lose sight of him.

Before you could question why you felt so drawn to stay by the stranger, one of the nurses put her hands out in front of her and forced you to come to a stop right outside the OR doors. The doors slid shut and you were left alone in the hallway. And that is where the connection should have ended. Doctor Na and his staff would take good care of him, then he’d be transferred to another floor, and you would move on to your own patients. But you couldn’t stop the feeling of wanting to be near the stranger you found in the middle of a gun battle. But why? Could it be because you were a kind-hearted nurse or that you had just gone through a horrific experience together? You had asked him to explain what you had gotten yourself into after all. Perhaps on one of your breaks you could go visit? Was that weird? What would you say? ‘Hi, remember me? I’m the idiot who saved you after you got shot. Want to be friends?’

Honestly, you didn’t think you were so desperate for companionship that you’d try to forge a friendship with some random guy who’s background you didn’t know. What were you expecting- a friendly relationship that could develop into something else? This wasn’t one of those romantic comedies you watched with Amber and, based on your track record, you weren’t that lucky. For all you knew, this guy was just as dangerous as the man with the cane. With the increase in U4-1A cases, was this a drug deal gone bad? It would be a shame if someone that handsome turned out to be a druggie. There were supposedly others that had gotten away; it could be a turf war. There were so many dangerous possibilities that ran through your mind. No, you sighed, it was best just to let it go. If you were meant to see him again, fate would make it so. Then, you would get some answers. But for now, it was time to get to work and move on.

“I’m sure Jax is pulling his hair out by now,” you wondered, out loud. “Wonder what Amber’s going to say.”

You didn’t have to wonder long, for as you turned on your heels, Amber was standing right behind you. Nerves still on edge, you couldn’t help but jump backwards. Amber was the definition of sweet but intimidating as her eyes bore into you. She was thin and lanky, completely swallowed by her baggy scrubs. She had a sharp face with short blonde hair that had been styled with an undercut. That, paired with her piercings and elaborate tattoos that decorated her arms, gave her a strong androgynous look that caught a lot of attention. She stared at you with a look of mixed anxious worry and anger.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Y/N,” she said, leaning in, “what the Pineapple?! Are you crazy or stupid?”

“Is both an option,” you countered, trying to lighten the mood.

Amber reached over and flicked her middle finger against your forehead. “I’m serious, dumbass, you really gave me a heart attack. You didn’t answer my text and I hear from the dispatch that you’re at the scene of a gang shooting?! I can’t begin to tell you the images my brain was coming up with! I thought I’d find you on a stretcher, covered in blood. I mean,” she gave you a meaningful look up and down, “more so than this.”

You followed her gaze and, finally, got a good look at yourself. Your simple grey hoodie was covered in dark, splotchy patterns. The cuffs of your sleeves were dried dark from when you had tried to apply pressure to his wounds, there was a large stain on your side that had soaked through to your scrubs from carrying the young man behind the counter, and splattering decorated all over the rest of you. You were glad that the EMTs let you ride along in the ambulance; it would have made your bus ride more interesting looking like a slasher movie victim.

You held up your hands, defensively. “It’s not mine. I promise, I didn’t get hurt. It’s from the real victim.”

Amber sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “Come on,” she said, ushering you away from the Operating rooms, “let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll tell Jax what’s going on after I get rid of these clothes. There’s no saving them.”

~*****************~

Having skipped your shower this morning due to time, you were quite thankful for the warm water that eased the anxiety still rampant. Once Amber was satisfied that you weren’t injured, she brought you some new scrubs and bagged up your soiled ones to dispose of them. You were annoyed that you were losing your hoodie, since it was the only one you had since coming to Central and you hadn’t had time to go buy new clothes yet. At least you had packed the extra long sleeve shirt to help against the seasonal chill. Amber had left you a pair of grey scrubs that would help you blend in to your work shift. Once you changed, you made your way to your supervisor’s office. Jax was an older gentleman who always seemed to be on the edge of some emotion. The second he saw you, he flung himself at you and made you swear you were to never scare him to the point of turning his hair grey ever again. It took you promising five times before he let you head to your station.

You weren’t surprised to see Amber sitting at the desk. However, you were surprised to see that she had surrounded herself with a wall of binders and notebooks while she typed away at the computer.

“Are you preparing for an invasion?”

“No, you have to stay away,” Amber cried in the most melodramatic tone she could muster. “You can’t come near me. Flee while you can!”

You tried to contain your laughter with truly little success. “Okay? What happened since I showered? Were you exposed to something or are you just being weird?”

“No, you just have to avoid me! I’m dangerous! I’m a girl with tattoos,” she exclaimed, holding her heavily tattooed arms out for display. “You have to avoid me!”

You almost fell over from how strong you rolled your eyes. “You must have seen Mr. Young this morning.”

“Well, someone had to since you decided to be an action star. And he was extremely disappointed to not see you.”

You sat down in the chair next to her and wrapped your arms around her and rested your chin on her shoulder. “I’ll pop in on him later. For the record, I like your tattoos. I think they’re super cool.”

“Don’t think you being cute with all those compliments are gonna distract me from your stupidity. What the heck were you thinking?”

“I know,” you sighed, “I’m sorry that I worried you.”

“Worried? That doesn’t even begin to describe that. You didn’t answer my call this morning. Then, I get a text from a random number, apparently you. Only to find out about the shooting. I had a feeling something bad was gonna happen this morning. Spill it, Y/N. What happened?” You gave your friend a quick recap from when you left your building to when the police found you behind the counter trying to keep the young man conscious. You decided to leave out the creepy encounter with the man with the cane and the encounter with the other gang member you had hit with the crowbar; you didn’t want her to worry any more than she already was. The entire time, Amber’s face was stern and she had crossed her arms over her chest. “See, this is why you should have just stayed with me at my loft. You’re all alone down there. Clearly I was right about it not being safe.”

“Don’t be like that. I know you keep saying that you didn’t mind me staying with you, but it was time for me to start trying to live my life again. It may not be as nice as your place but it’s mine. And, this incident excluded, nothing bad has ever happened. It’s just that I couldn’t stop thinking about what I went through and being stronger than the bullies. You taught me that.”

“Yeah but I didn’t mean going against a gun wielding psycho. It was a metaphor for the nightmares and that piece of shit you call an ex.”

“I’ll remember that for next time.” You flashed Amber some pleading eyes and pouting lip. “I’m really sorry.”

Amber groaned, but smiled back at you. “You’re lucky I like you. But I get one more bad feeling, I’m dragging you back and never letting you out of my sight.” She slid you a cup of coffee that you greedily took. You were sure that you had lost your tumbler somewhere at the bus stop, never to be seen again. “By the way, what was the random number you texted from? Did you get a new phone without telling me?”

You almost choked on your coffee. You had hoped she wouldn’t have asked about that, knowing full well she was not going to be happy about the answer. You cursed at yourself for texting her from it. But with her staring at you, you knew you couldn’t get around it. You reached into your pocket and handed it to her. She, instantly, knew what it was and snatched it from you.

“Why do you have this still? I thought you got rid of it?”

“I didn’t mean to grab it. I was in a hurry this morning and it fell into my bag. I left the one you gave me at home and didn’t have time to go back up and get it.”

“But you had time to run after gun shots?” She tapped around on the screen. “All the settings are back to normal. The locations and notifications are back on, too. Did he call you? Look at all the voice mails.”

“I didn’t call him. The last message was days ago. I just texted you and read a couple messages. Don’t give me that look, Amber. I was just curious. I have no desire to call him or see him. I’m starting to get somewhat normal. Last thing I want is to fall back into a bad mind set. I just read a few texts to see what he was saying while I was walking. I swear, that’s all. Don’t worry about the settings. He’s not as smart or as tech savvy as you. He couldn’t grasp the concept of emojis, I doubt he’s gonna try anything you’re thinking of. I honestly just needed a phone for today. When I get home, it’s getting shut off and it’s going away for good.”

“He’s such a scuzzball, trying to still contact you after all that. This would be less stressful if you gave me his address. I’ll kick his ass up and down the coastline for what he did.”

“I don’t doubt that. But I have to listen to the group’s advice and just let it go. And I think it’s time I try to focus on other things. That’s the way I’m gonna start to really get better, right?” You had been saying that for a while now, not really knowing how to move on or if you could. But something had changed. You couldn’t help but think back to the gang member, and how he reminded you of Daniel in those last moments you were together. There was a sense of relief and freedom that you just couldn’t help but relish in. It had almost been a cathartic experience that your body needed, the strength to take back yourself. To give back what you felt, to let all that rage and hate that you held deep inside out. It may not have healed you completely, but it was a start.

The two of you started going over the case load for the day. Even as short staffed as you were, Amber had taken care of most of the early duties: checking on patients, dropping off medicine, and dealing with Mr. Young. You started going through the new files that were stacked on the station while Amber read the report from some of the other floors. It was interesting to see what was happening elsewhere in the ever-busy hospital. There was nothing about your gunshot victim yet, and you crossed your fingers that he was going to be alright. No news was good news, you figured. Amber had started talking about the new U4-1A cases that had been admitted since you were last there. There were four more cases since your last shift. And one of the new cases didn’t make it past 2 days. U4-1A was a highly addictive drug that played off of peoples’ want to feel good and exploited it to deadly consequences.

“I can’t believe how many cases there are now.”

“Tell me about it. It’s the new hot thing on the streets. Everyone wants to find ‘Euphoria’.”

You gave Amber a confused look. “Find ‘Euphoria’? Is that what they call it?”

Amber grabbed a paper and wrote it out. “Yeah, it makes sense when you look at it and read it out. Change the 1 to an I, and it says euphoria. It sounds better when you’re trying to score without drawing attention, I guess. Remember that one guy who was going through withdrawals at the underground club? He kept asking me if I could ‘help him find Euphoria’.”

“Seems way too intense for a club drug. If it’s supposed to be like ecstasy and make you feel really good, why does it make you go through the worst kind of side effects and an even worse withdrawal?”

“The theory the cops believe now is that it was made, primarily, for the sex trade industry. Very little doses make you feel nice and all that. But pure U4-1A does all that and more. It needs to work its way out of the system fast else it causes heart failure and other bad things. Whoever made it added chemicals that affect the brain and senses, so the user loses all inhibitions and is in a constant state of intense arousal. So much so that the user is willing to do anything to find a release with anyone. I heard Mary, the lady who’s been on the most U4-1A cases has had to do a lot of things just shy of actually fucking them. That considered, it makes sense that it would have started in the sex industry; a willing participant is better than one that fights in their eyes.”

It was true that U4-1A, or Euphoria, made people feel euphoric and intensified the pleasure of touch. But from what you had heard from Amber and some of the other nurses, when the patients are under the influence of the powder, they beg anyone to do any kind of sexual act to help them chase the feeling. Whatever sick bastard who created it made it so the user couldn’t find relief on their own, either. Another hospital had thought that if the patients were aroused that it should be enough to let them handle it on their own, since it seemed release was the way to increase the heart rate and move the substance through the system. But the first few patients were in distress for hours until their hearts gave out from the effects of the chemicals in their blood. Doctor Na had been trying to see if any kind of physical activity, outside of sexual, could be the key to rehabilitating the Euphoria addicts. But it hadn’t seemed to be working. With more cases rising, there didn’t seem to be a treatment unless you had only the smallest amount. And survivors from the withdrawal seemed to be just as slim. The patients went through intense fevers, tremors, breathing problems, and pain without the substance. One of Central’s patients didn’t last two days of withdrawals.

“I’m telling you,” Amber went on, drawing you out of your thoughts, “I don’t care who or how many are rocking my world or how long since my last date. No orgasm is worth dying for.”

You let out a small chuckle at her attempt to push away from a not-so-fun topic. You nodded your head in agreement, though you couldn’t really remember the last time you had experienced anything other than a kiss from your ex. You could feel Amber’s eyes on you as you shuffled through the rest of the files.

“So, speaking of orgasms,” she segwayed, leaning over with an eyebrow arched, “since you seem to be ready to start making some changes in your life, when are we gonna get you out for a date night?”

“I didn’t say I was ready for a relationship.”

“Whoa, who said anything about a relationship? I’m just saying have some fun, get a dinner, meet someone and start getting more confident with yourself. I have some friends I could set you up with. All of them are sweet and know I would kill them if they tried anything.”

You hadn’t really thought about dating or anything like that. You had been so focused on healing your mind and getting settled into a new routine that it hadn’t even crossed your mind. You want to tell her ‘No’ but you found yourself considering it. Maybe it would be a good idea to just try to hang out with someone other than Amber. “I don’t know…,” you mused.

That was all Amber needed. “Let’s just imagine. What’s your type? I mean, besides the complete opposite of your ex.”

“I don’t really think I have a type. I know that Daniel was my friend and we were always together, so I think that’s why we started dating. But I don’t think I have one other than being a nice guy.”

“Okay, let’s think about this. How about my friend Bryce?” You made a face, remembering the one time you met Eric when Amber and you went shopping and he spilled his drink all over you. “Okay, maybe not. How about Lee or Michael?”

“They’re nice, I think.”

“Oh, what about Dean from the kitchen staff? He’s so hot!”

“The guy with the guitar and the smooth voice? The one who flirts with everyone and shows off his tattoos? Yeah, he’s definitely hot. Maybe too hot for someone like me. I feel like you two would fit together better.”

“Stop that, you are so cute. I’d date you. I’d even give you a kiss goodnight.” Amber moved in to kiss you on the cheek, only to find her rolling chair being pushed by your foot. “Fine, see if I kiss you ever again. How about Eric from the pediatric ward? I’ve seen you two talk and he’s really easy to be around. Ooh, or Chris? You know, the one with the cute accent and hot body to match? I think you two would be able to reach your own version of euphoria.”

“Ok, I’m done with you. You are ridiculous. I have patients to get to. And, even if I didn’t, I would rather get hit on by Mr. Young than have you start talking about me and some random guy.”

Amber busted out laughing as you grabbed some charts and all but ran from the desk. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep workshopping it. This is just the next project in the ‘make my precious friend feel normal’ plan.”

Despite the way your day had begun, your shift was free of any real excitement. And to be honest, you were happy to have a normal shift. You handed out medicine when it was time, changed the dressing of a girl who had been in a car accident, and took the time to pop in on Mr. Young since he was so upset that you hadn’t been there that morning. You figured listening to the old man’s reveries from his youth was a good punishment for your tardiness. Though, as you sat there, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander to the blond man. You wondered if he was still in the O.R. or if he had been moved. Were his injuries as bad as you thought or worse? You wanted to go see if Doctor Na was out of surgery and if there was any news. Stop it, you scolded yourself, stop focusing so much on that. Just do your job. Stay calm. You pushed yourself to go through the motions of your job, putting your body on autopilot as you tried not to think about him anymore. For the most part, it seemed to work; every time you blinked, you were off to the next task. Even as Amber dragged you away for a quick lunch, you focused extra hard as your friend excitedly recounted her night of online gaming, and her ever continuing feud with Seagull-eye97. Based on the color in Amber’s cheeks as she complained about them snipping her during their last dual, it was a struggle.

By the afternoon, you had enough distractions to not think too much about the blond stranger. Amber had found out that Dr. Na was no longer in the OR, and it seemed like everything was alright. You felt some relief from such small information. While the thought to check up on the stranger popped back into your mind, you decided to stick to your plan to let the universe decide if you were going to meet again.

And the universe had it’s funny way of making that happen.

You were back at the station helping one of the patients get discharged. She was a nice girl who had been in a car accident and was finally being released. You were printing out the doctor’s orders and getting her prescriptions in order when one of the girl’s friends, one you had seen during visiting hours often, came to take her home. As you handed the friend the paperwork, you noticed they had matching tattoos, a Roman numeral II, on different parts of their arms. They called them friendship tattoos and you thought that was cute. Though, you weren’t sure if you would get one with Amber anytime soon. Once the girls were gone, you sat back at the station to finish up your paperwork.

A voice caught your attention and made you look up towards the hallway that led to the elevator. Doctor Henry Na stepped off with a few other nurses, talking quietly and laughing about something you couldn’t hear. You couldn’t help but find yourself smiling at the sight of him. And not just because it further proved that he had finished up the surgery. Henry was someone you had come to be friendly with, like with Amber. He was one of the nicest people you had been introduced to and he made a point to see you on your shift. He was tall and broad, with a smile that was just as kind as his demeanor. He had shared many coffee breaks talking about things, getting your mind from whatever was making it panic, never making you feel like he was just going through the motions. You couldn’t help but feel a certain way whenever he was around, something you couldn’t remember feeling before. A feeling of safety and happiness. Amber’s conversation from earlier seemed to pop into your mind about your type of man. Based on the excited feeling that crept up into you, you couldn’t deny that you liked him. But so did everyone else in the hospital and he probably didn’t see you that way. He had glanced over towards the station and gave you a little wave as he finished his conversation. And that butterfly feeling intensified.

“Why do you look like that?”

Amber had the strangest ability of just appearing out of nowhere at the worst moment. You felt yourself jump and heat rise in your cheeks. You tried to hide yourself in your hands but Amber followed where you had been staring at. And a teasing smirk appeared as she put the pieces together.

“I guess I figured out your type. Look at you going for the most eligible bachelor in this hospital. I like it; skip the boy and go right for the man.”

“You are so embarrassing! We’re friends. He’s just nice to me. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to be with someone with such baggage.”

“I don’t know. You should have seen the way he looked at you when you started blushing.”

You went to shove her away as she started making kissy faces at you, when you noticed Na shaking hands with one of the nurses and starting towards the station. Your body acted on its own in an excited and nervous frenzy, as you reached into your pants pocket and pulled out a small bottle of body spray you had brought with you after changing and ducked down. You sprayed the lily scented water over yourself, trying to rid yourself of the sterile smell of your clothes. You froze when you felt Amber’s smug and judging glance. “What? I like to smell nice and I forgot to spray some this morning after I changed.”

“Sure, honey. Hi, Henry,” she greeted and you sat straight up.

“Hi Amber, Y/N,” he greeted back, his gaze fixed on you. “How are things going up here?”

“Oh you know, same old stuff. Though, I think I left my pen somewhere. I should go find it. You two talk.” And she abandoned you, throwing you a thumbs up and some faces that you had to remember to beat her for.

“Hi, Doctor Na,” you said, “did everything go ok this morning?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that. I heard you ran into the building with an active shooter. That’s something I never thought I’d hear you doing.”

“You and everyone else it would seem. I just wanted to help and let my body run on autopilot.”

“Well, it was tough in there for a bit but, because of you, our John Doe is going to see another day. He’s responding well and I had him moved from post op. He lost a lot of blood and he’s gonna be in some pain for a bit. We have him on some pain medicine that’s going to have him out for a while. But he was responding to the outer stimulus. I think they’re moving him to the room at the end of the hall. Can you just promise me that you won’t worry me like that ever again? I don’t like the thought of someone as sweet as you doing something so dangerous. How are you feeling, honestly? Anxious at all? Anything you want to talk about? I haven’t had any luck identifying that prescription yet, and my friend in the pharmacy hasn’t gotten back to me yet. So, I just want to make sure you’re good.”

He knew your anxiety had been active since you had come to him to try to find exactly what your medicine was. His calming eyes looked down at you with concern. “I’m alright,” you said, trying to control the color in your cheeks as you tried to maintain eye contact, “when I got here, I just jumped into work so I didn’t have time to think about anything else. I’m okay, thank you, Doctor Na.”

“I thought we talked about you calling me Henry, remember? See that’s what I like about you, Y/N. You care so much about everyone else. You really are a good nurse. I just wish you’d do the same for yourself. I suppose I’ll have to make sure you’re really ok. How about we talk about it over dinner this week?”

You’re sure you must have looked like a deer in the headlights. “What?”

“Well, someone who risks their own safety to help others should get some kind of reward, shouldn’t they? Figured why not let me treat you for once. How about it? Maybe we can talk about other things, too. Not work related? Maybe get to know each other better?”

You felt like the whole world had just turned upside down. Was the most handsome doctor who you had been friendly with over the last few months just asking you out? You, out of every other good-looking person in this hospital? Did he actually ask you out? The way he was looking at you, like he was nervous you’d say ‘no’, made it seem that way. He had been extra attentive recently. And Amber was always saying you were kind of oblivious when it came to flirting having not really experienced it. You, suddenly, found yourself too nervous to say anything, and nodded. His smile returned, all wide and excited, which made you shyly smile back.

True to her fashion, Amber came slipping back into the conversation, which you were happy with, fearing you’d burn a hole in the ground with how hot your cheeks were. “Okay, you guys look far too cute over here. Time to get back to work. Did you have a reason for coming to our side of the floor, Henry, or are you just gonna make goo-goo eyes at everyone?”

Henry cleared his throat, trying to hide his slight awkwardness. “I was telling Y/N that we moved that patient to this floor for recovery. He should be in the last room down that hall. And I was hoping she wouldn’t mind taking this to his room?” He placed a clear bag on the station. It had the patient’s personal effects in it. “I figured that since she was with him, he might be more comfortable with someone he recognizes.”

You nodded and took the bag from him. “I’ll keep an eye on him for you.”

“I’d appreciate that. Umm… I’ll get back to my rounds now, before I’m banished by Amber here. I’ll talk to my friend about that prescription and see you later, Y/N.” He turned to leave with a little wave at you and Amber. Before he got too far, he turned over his shoulder. “Nice perfume, by the way, Y/N. It really suits you.”

He made a quick exit as Amber made a funny noise and you were alone with her gaze on you and a smile on your face.

“You two should really get a room. Like the one at your apartment or his. I can just imagine it.”

“You are so awful. He just asked me to get dinner. It may not even be a date. He’s just being nice, I’m sure.”

“Please, he wants to talk about non work related stuff. Plus, I saw the way he was looking at you. He thinks you’re cute. And you are still blushing. Trust me, I know.”

‘We’ll see about that.” You looked at the bag in front of you. It had ‘John Doe’ written on it. There was a wallet, cellphone, a watch, and a few pieces of jewelry. The EMT’s had cut his shirt open to get to his injuries, and you were sure the rest of his clothes were being held for the police, whenever they came to get evidence and statements. You thought it was odd you hadn’t seen any since you left the construction site. You opened the bag and pulled out the wallet, hoping to find some kind of name. The wallet was empty, save for a few dollars and a key card. You reached for his phone. It was dead. You reached into your desk and pulled out a spare cord and power bank. There had to be something on there to figure out who he was or get ahold of someone who did. You plugged it in and put it back in the bag. You pushed off from the desk and made for the room at the end of the hall.

The room was dark when you entered, save for the dim light above the bed and the glow from the heart monitor. You pushed the privacy curtain aside, and were welcomed by the sight of the blond stranger that had occupied the edges of your mind. The bed made him seem so small and his pale skin made him appear so fragile. His eyes were closed, but the steady rise and fall of his chest gave you some relief. His hair was still damp from where the staff had rinsed the blood from his hair. There was a bandage near his hairline. The cuts on his face had been treated and the bruising was much more visible now. There was an oxygen cannula tube strapped across his face and nose. And you could just see the edge of bandages peeking out from under the patient’s uniform they had dressed him in. He looked awful but he was alive, and you were so relieved you thought you might cry.

“So, this is the man you ran into gun fire for?” Amber followed you in with his chart in her hand. “I can understand why.”

“I’m so happy he’s ok. He looked so bad when the ambulance came. I promised him he’d be ok, that I’d get him out.”

Amber patted you on the shoulder, giving you a sympathetic smile. “He’s gonna be fine. Hopefully, he wakes up soon, then you can stop worrying so much. And we can get a real name for him. He doesn’t look like a John. We should give him a nickname. With hair like that, I’d rather call him ‘popstar’.”

“I think his name is Agust. Someone kept saying they were looking for Agust. I assume that’s him.”

“He looks more like an Agust than a John.” Amber took out her pen and started making some changes. “Agust Doe. No, that sounds weird. How about just Agust D? Sounds more like a pop star name doesn’t it?”

You nodded your head; Agust D sounded better than a blank identity. Amber placed his file at the end of the bed, and patted your shoulder. You gave a reassuring smile before she decided to leave the room. And you were alone with the blond stranger, or Agust. You took a couple steps closer to the bed, worried that he might wake up. But he didn’t; he continued to sleep in the drug induced state. In this forced, relaxed form, you couldn’t deny he was more handsome than your initial thought at your first meeting. Leaning forward over his form, your fingers reached out to check the bandage near his hairline, moving some of the stray blond hairs aside. You had no doubt that the others had done an exceptional job, but an odd sense of protectiveness made you look at everything extra close. Must be because of what happened earlier, you had concluded. There was an IV bag hanging above the bed, along with a transfusion bag replacing what he had lost. Absentmindedly, your fingers had slowly moved across his hair and down to his cheek. You were glad that it wasn’t as cold and clammy as it had been.

“See, I told you I was gonna get you out. Now, you need to make sure you get better soon so you tell me everything,” you said with a small smile. The boy in the bed inhaled deeply, before pressing his cheek further into your light touch. The sudden movement startled you. “Agust? Can you hear me?”

But he was still again. And your question was overtaken by the soft beep of the instruments around him.

Suddenly, a shrill ring exploded in the room, making you jump back away from the bed as if you had been shocked. You whirled round trying to find what was causing it. Your eyes caught the flash of light on the end table beside you. It was the cell phone. Had it turned on by itself once it had enough power? Odd as it was, someone was trying to get a hold of him and you knew you should make sure they came to be with him. Maybe they knew what he was doing at the construction site and who had attacked him. You reached into the bag and pulled the phone out. The screen was flashing with a contact name, ‘God of Destruction’, and with a notification that this number had called multiple times, as well as other numbers over the last few hours. You slid your fingers across the screen and brought the phone up to your ear.

Before you could say anything, your ears were bombarded with multiple voices all speaking in a chaotic chorus. One voice, whomever had the phone, spoke loudly over the din. “Hyung! Finally, I was so scared. Where are you? Are you okay? Tell me what the bastard did and I’ll fuck him up so bad.”

Someone else had pulled the phone closer to them. “Hyung, I’m so sorry. We should have never split up..”

Another struggle for the phone and another voice that sounded older than the last rang in over the continuing strings of conversations they were all trying to have. “Yah! Where have you been?! What were you doing, getting a coffee instead of giving us some kind of sign that you were alive?! You prick!”

The first voice must have got the phone back, as his was the most dominant voice again. “Guys, shut up, I can’t hear anything. Hyung, say something. Where are you?”

“Hello,” you responded in a small voice.

The chaotic voices all stopped, and for a moment you were scared the call had dropped. The voice seemed to drop into a serious octave. “Who is this?”

“Umm… my name is Y/N. I’m a nurse at Central Mercy Hospital. We brought the owner of this phone here after he was involved in a shooting.”

“Is he okay?” It was a different voice, sounding genuinely concerned.

“He needed emergency surgery. But we have him stable now. But he’s gonna need someone here. Are you his family or someone who can get here?”

“You said Central Mercy? What level is he on now? Who’s the doctor who saw him?” You gave him what he had asked for. “Alright, listen to me very closely. I’ll be there as fast as I can. Stay calm but do exactly as I say and it’ll be okay. Do not let anyone enter that room but you or this Doctor Na until I get there, do you understand me?”

You felt a little annoyed that he was ordering you around, but there was something in his tone that gave you the sense that this was not a joke and something to take seriously. “And who are you.”

“Call me RM.” Then the line went dead.

#bts fanfic #bts fic #bts imagines #bts mafia au #bts mafia fic #yoongi x reader #bangtan boys #ot7 x reader #min yoongi #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungguk #amber liu #bangtan fanfic #bemylight #elphiej

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atsunflower · 5 years ago

Text

Hospital for souls — Intro

Rated: SFW

Author note: hey yall! This is the first chapter for my "Throne: the series". Remember, it's a yakuza!au, so there will be lots of mentions of dark themes. This chapter, thought, is safe and kind of plain, but totally important to the start. Please, enjoy your reading!

Warnings: cursing and slight mentions of anxiety and OCD.

I — Intro

Previous || Next

You walked down the aisle sandwiched between two bodies clad in Armani suits. Even though they knew you woudn’t dare to, they held you like you were about to run away from this whole circus.

There was no bridal march, neither a suntuous decoration. The Elie Saab gown you wore was heavy on your body, making you feel like you didn't belong; the harsh glares thrown at you didn't help either.

You felt helpless.

In the end of the red carpet, a man stood tall and stoic. His hair wasn't combed so the wavy locks were free to frame his face; the harsh glare he gave you three did nothing to diminish his beauty — at least, you tought, he's not a creepy old man. But this fact don't made you feel any relief.

Your head then hung low, as if you were trying to vanish away from this ceremony. The blond man by your left tightened the hold in your arm —not for support, but as warning— while the gray haired one only clicked his tongue; their implicit threat made your skin craw.

Two months ago, you'd never imagine your life would change completely, considering you weren't given any options.

Two months ago, a tall brown haired man would escort you out of the hospital you worked and then, take you to your doom: from a fatherless daughter to a bastard of Inarizaki and then, a bride for a man you never saw before. A whole arrangement that lasted 60 days and took you away from everything you had, from everything you knew.

Lost in thoughts, you didn't feel when your steps halted nor when the two figures who held you let go of your arms to take their seats. The man waiting for you don't bothered to acknowledge your presence by his side, but you saw his features hardening once you reached for him.

In shades of orange and black, the venue pretty much looked like a courtroom, its aesthetic doing nothing to ease your nerves. In the pulpit, an old man stood proud, sporting a wise aura only the time could give him.

The elder cleared his throat and everyone in the room stood on their feet.

"Good evening ladies, gentlemen and the distinguished people from the families" his voice sounded loud and mighty, even if he wasn't using a mic. "Tonight, we are reunited to celebrate an unprecendented moment in the history of our kind: the union of Inarizaki and Itachiyama households"

A minute of silence was made; everyone in the place held a solemn face, waiting for the man to proceed.

"I, Ukai Ikkei, the elder of Karasuno, feel honoured to lead such important event" He said placing his right hand on his chest "Assuring you all that, Karasuno, the household responsible for all the bureaucracy and diplomacy related to our activities, is still commited to keep a neutral eye over families matters only to officialize, document and inspect the agreements between the families. That being said, the ceremony shall begin."

His raspy voice dragged the boring speech until a men with bleached hair walked to where you and the groom stood, with a huge book in his hands. He carefully placed it on the desk in front of you, grabing the leathern material of its cover and opening it.

"Tonight, a new chapter is added to the Book of Deals. With clauses that concern only the involved parts, we witness the signing of this agreement by the main heads of Inarizaki and Itachiyama, as well the bride's signature. But first, shall we hear the marriage votes and the exchange of rings"

A man from Itachiyama's side stood and came to you both, holding a black velvety box. He opened it, offering its contents at you first; you took the larger golden band and started:

"I, [L/N; Name], daughter of Inarizaki, give you, Sakusa Kiyoomi, this ring as a symbol of my commitment to you and Itachiyama, manifesting my will to this alliance between our families" surprisingly, your voice sounded steady while reciting the speech you knew by heart, paying no mind to the snickering behind you.

Sakusa looked at you with distaste, his body going stiff the moment you held his hand and slipped the golden band to his ring finger. He then took the remaining jewel and turned to you:

"I thee wed" and you felt even more humiliated, the jiggles only adding more weight to the diamond ring in your finger.

To your relief, Ukai cleared his throat again, proceeding with the formalities

"Now may the newly weds to sign the Book. I also summon Inarizaki oyabuns to officialize the deal." Atsumu and Osamu were by your side, eager to finish this. Sakusa went first, smoothly running the pen over the page. Then, Ukai handed him a glistening object.

God, you hated it here.

Using the lancet, the tall ravenette punctured his thumb, smearing the blood between his fingers and then pressing the red fingerprint onto the blank paper.

Before handing you the fountain pen, he fished a tube of hand sanitizer from his pocket, rubing the alchool as if his life depended on it.

Did the man suffer of OCD? You almost pitied him. Almost.

Then, it was your turn. Scribbling down your name next to his, you sealed your fate.

Sakusa [Name].

You flinched when you felt your thumb getting punctured, Atsumu doing you the favor and smirking at your reaction; why the man hated you so much?

The blood stained the beautiful dress you wore, before printing your mark on the paper.

Almost a metaphor, as if you were now tainted too.

When the twins were done, the old Ukai was more than ready to wrap the event.

"With both consents and the power vested in me by the families, I now pronouce you married. May peace prevail among Inarizaki and Itachiyama"

"Aren't the newly-weds supposed to kiss now?" You heard Atsumu whispering to Osamu. The latter merely scoffed at his brother's stupid antics.

Everyone got out of the room, since Karasuno would host a reception in honor of the wedding.

During your time in Inarizaki, you learned that the place worked as a hotel for the Yakuza.

The Crow, as it is called, was supposed to be a neutral space where the most important matters to the families were held. With a glamourous western architecture, it looked like one of those luxury mansions from the movies.

In the ballroom, soft piano melodies were being played and waiters offered booze to the guests.

The champagne tasted stale in your mouth.

You were now sitting alone in a table on the corner, observing the other people mind their own business, too absorbed in their bubble of power and crime.

You would never get the way they acted so nonchalant, when everything they had was made of blood. This coldness was scaring.

"Why are you so sad in your big day?" The snarky question almost had you spitting the champagne. The brunette sat by your side, his mouth doing a soft curve as an apologetic smile.

"You tell me, you little shit" your reply came in a joking tone, trying to ease the bad sensation on your guts, but he got what you meant.

"You know, it could've been worse." he let out a breath, looking around the saloon "You know how Atsumu is. Also, Osamu shares that weird twin bond of theirs, so it's hard to tell what he's thinking. But it definetely could have been worse"

"I figured it out by myself, Suna-kun. It's just hard to accept the fact I was dragged to this against my own will." a tear rolled in your left cheek and the man by your side wiped it with his thumb.

"Yeah, but the former lady wanted you dead back then" always blunt, he never held back when stating the facts "Things work this way between the families. You were lucky you haven't to face a bigger mess" he held your hand over the table, while propping his chin on the other palm.

It was Suna who brought you into this life. Though, you never resented him because you knew he was just following strict orders. Besides, he was the only one who was nice towards you; never knowing when it happened, you both agreed on this weird friendship a couple of weeks ago. Now he was the only person you cared about.

"But it's not that bad. You are going to live in that huge ass mansion of your husband" the playful tone and the way he wiggled his eyebrows was comical. "You also can see the weird faces he makes first hand. Man, the way he looked constipated during the ceremony was fucking priceless." You accompanied him on a snort, almost forgetting the circumstances.

"I'm going to miss your antics so bad" and you would have said more, if it wasn't for the shadow looming over you.

Sakusa was standing behind your chair, with a face mask covering his features.

If stares could kill, you'd be dead on spot.

"Time to go" was all he said, waiting for you. You bid goodbye to Suna and followed your husband out of the hotel, a sleek sports car waiting for you two while you made your way towards it.

He stopped dead on his tracks, taking a hold of you arm.

"Listen. Itachiyama is famous for respecting our women." You frowned "But know your place and don't even try to make a fool of me or of my household, got it?" His voice was slighty muffled by the mask, but you still understood every single word he said.

"What do you mean?" You asked, ignoring the way he tightened the grip on your arm, resuming his steps.

"Simple. Stay out of my way or you'll deeply regret it, you fox runt."

❥ tagging: @kenmamazing, @keekee-732, @chiibichann, @shinguchi, @captain-shittykawa, @fortheloveofbakugo, @daisyjaebae, @jihoonspout, @floodinginstars, @fl4mepillar, @trash4sportsanime, @translucentthoughts, @kemochie;

#throne: the series #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa scenarios #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu yakuza au #throne haikyuu yakuza au

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sir-subpar · 4 years ago

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My Monster (Stickvin Oneshot)

(Brovert Ops Ending, but Charles is a vampire)

Charles was a vampire, and Henry was fascinated by him. He loved just observing little things about Charles. He loved how Charles's fangs were slightly retractable, how his skin was cool to the touch, he loved his claw-like nails, and his natural inhuman strength, he just adored Charles. All that considered however, it didn't mean that Henry never worried about Charles. No, he wasn't worried that Charles was going to just attack people for their blood. It was the opposite problem, actually. Charles wasn't drinking enough blood, and it was clearly starting to hit hard. He complained about having headaches, he had dark bags under his eyes, he was constantly tired, he was getting weaker, and it worried Henry.

Henry and Charles were laying on their couch, Charles's head was resting on Henry's chest. Henry was running his fingers through Charles's hair, the vampire was having another headache. "Charles?" Henry asked, "Hm?" Charles replied tiredly. "When was the last time you had blood? You seem unwell." Henry commented, concerned. "I'm fine…" Charles said tiredly. "Charles. When was the last time you drank blood?" Henry repeated, his voice growing stern. Charles stayed silent. "Charles…" Henry's sternness grew. "Two weeks ago.." Charles admitted, guilt etched on his face. "What!?" Henry exclaimed, causing Charles to flinch "... Please don't yell… my head still hurts." Charles asked quietly, holding his head as he buried his face into Henry's chest. Henry lowered his tone, speaking gently again. "Right, I'm sorry love." Henry kissed the top of Charles's head before continuing. "I just want you to take care of yourself. I don't want you to keep starving yourself like this." Henry said as he rubbed circles on Charles's back. "I don't want to attack people just for a meal." Charles uttered, his voice muffled by Henry's chest. "I know you don't like scaring people, but your health is at risk, hun." Henry said as he continued to rub circles on the vampire's back. The two stayed quiet for a bit. Then an idea crossed Henry's mind. Charles wasn't going to like it, but Henry had enough of Charles's self-starvation.

"Drink mine." Henry instructed. Charles's head shot up, shock evident on his face. "Wha- but- Henry! I can't do that to you!" Charles almost yelled in distress. His crimson eyes widened with surprise. "I don't want you to wither away like this. I love you. Seeing you deprive yourself from the nutrients you need like this hurts me way more than your bite would. I trust you won't take too much. Please Charles. Let me help you, love." Henry explained, keeping his tone gentle as he placed his hand on the vampire's cheek. "Please love, don't starve yourself. I don't want you to be in pain anymore." Henry pleaded, waiting for Charles to respond. Charles looked down, as if considering his options. Until he eventually replied with a quiet "okay". Charles lifted himself up so Henry could remove his turtleneck sweater and put it aside, allowing Charles to reach his neck. When Charles got to the crook of Henry's neck he hesitated, still scared of hurting Henry. "It's okay, Charles. I'll be okay." Henry assured quietly. Charles nodded before sinking his fangs into Henry's exposed skin, drinking the red liquid that oozed from the new wound.

Henry sucked air through his teeth, he tried his best not to react too much. He knew that if he sounded like he was in pain, Charles would stop, and the self-starvation would continue. It wasn't the most painful thing he had ever endured, but it was still odd. He could feel the sharp fangs digging into his flesh, he could feel Charles drinking his blood, and he was willing to go through it all for Charles's sake. Henry stared at the television, trying to distract himself. Eventually Charles removed his fangs from Henry's tissue, he licked the extra blood that remained around the open wound. He glanced up at Henry's face, said man now looked uncomfortable, making Charles's heart sink, (metaphorically, that is, Charles didn't actually have a heartbeat, with the whole "vampire" thing). Had he taken too much? "I'm sorry…" Charles mumbled, he felt ashamed. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. That caught Henry's attention. "Hun, it's okay. I'm alright. A little tired and sore, but I'm alright." Henry said as he cupped Charles's cheek. Charles still had a bit of blood on his face, it stained his teeth, and dripped from his mouth to his chin. Henry grabbed some tissues from a box nearby and wiped the blood from his lover's chin as he continued to talk. "I don't want you to feel guilty about this, okay? You need to eat just like every other creature out there, there's no shame in that." Henry stated before giving Charles a peck on the nose. "I'm literally a monster, Henry, a parasite. How can you be so… trusting of me?" Charles asked. Henry gave him a small smile

"You may be a monster, but you're my monster, and I intend to keep you around. And don't call yourself a parasite, that's not what you are."

"But Henry-"

"No! You are not a parasite! You are a beautiful creature, and I will have nobody say otherwise."

Silence fell over the two, Henry's face was stern while Charles laid there surprised. Charles rested his head on Henry's chest, listening to his heartbeat. He loved listening to it. Whenever he was worried about Henry he would listen for that heartbeat, that telltale sign of life. He loved how rhythmic it was. He loved how sometimes it was faster than other times, even if he wasn't always sure why that happened (Henry said sometimes it was because of emotions, or something? Charles couldn't remember). Henry was okay. That heartbeat was still there. If the heart's still beating, he's alive. Charles reminded himself. "I love you, Henry… thanks for looking out for me." Charles spoke quietly, but clear enough so Henry could hear him. "I love you too. I'm sorry for yelling at you. I just want you to take care of yourself. It worries me that you starve yourself out of guilt. Is your head feeling better, by the way?" Henry spoke softly, his voice laced with care. Charles thought for a moment. Come to think of it, his head had stopped hurting. He was so focused on Henry he had forgotten that he had a headache in the first place. "Yeah, actually. My head doesn't hurt at all. Are you feeling okay? I should probably get you some bandaids or something." Charles inquired. "I'm okay, kinda tired and sore, but overall fine." Henry commented, leaning back a bit to rest his head. Charles stood up. As much as he wanted to stay, he felt that at the very least he should get those bandages.

"I'll be right back." Charles said before leaving the room. He figured that since he was already up he might as well rinse out the blood staining his teeth, too. He returned a few minutes later with Batman-themed band aids. Henry snorted, remembering how much of a dork this 'undead creature of the night' really was. After Charles covered the two holes left by his fangs with the band aids, he returned to his previous position. Once again listening to Henry's heart. Henry wrapped his arms around Charles, rubbing circles on his back again, as the two of them watched tv together. They eventually fell asleep, just enjoying each other's presence.

#stickvin #henrles #henry x charles #henry stickmin #charles calvin #vampire #vampire charles

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bonmotx · 3 years ago

Text

THE EXPLANATION OF IDENTITY - KAMA

Kama’s usage of pronouns differs on which manifestation she is under, and likewise, she uses different names as a different ‘application’ of her divinity. Gods have many names, and each is a different aspect, thus, Kama similarly will behave and associate different pronouns and with different names. They aren’t different identities; they’re more like roles.

To a being like Kama, pronouns are more a feeling than a manifestation of gender. For reference and simplicity, within each short description, ‘Kama’ is the accepted nickname for the ‘current’ Kama as she presents in Chaldea.

As a general rule of thumb, Kama defaults to she/her with names associated with her pre-burning, and defaults to he/him with names associated with her post-burning. They/them is the generally used default if Kama’s mood or manifestation is uncertain.

Kama themself typically has little preference or thought about pronouns used or at what times they are used. He would expect the Indian servants to use he/him but it’s more because he presented primarily using he/him in the past. Kama when holding a preference will generally only speak it to people who’s opinions matter, or, as is typical, as a way of snarking at people. Her pronouns and gender are far more unimportant to her, personally, than which name is used for her.

Swapping pronouns mid-thread is going to be avoided unless talked about or obviously relevant. When it occurs it will be marked by Kama’s pronouns being capitalized as She/They/Him for simplicity, as I know it can cause confusion. In posts or drabble scenes with him alone, however, these differences will will not be marked such.

Kamadeva

any pronoun

means “god of love”, but the root kama- can be read to make it mean more “god of desire”

One of the primary names Kama goes by and the most recognizable and used. Kamadeva is a distancing mechanism, one that separates the god from the mortals and separates the reluctant god from the ‘other’ ones. It’s a simple name, despite the weight it carries. It reminds him of his duties.

Enforcing it is a conscious distancing mechanism. Kamadeva means distance. Thus, it is generally used by her to try to cut off attachments. Kamadeva has many stars, yet few glow bright.

Mara

any pronoun

derived from the root mṛ meaning ‘causing death’ or ‘killing’.

While there are four Mara’s, Kama as Mara is specifically Devaputra-māra, the Mara of the sexual realm of desire. As “the personification of the forces antagonistic to enlightenment”, Mara is a force that is more Beast than God, one who seeks not the destruction of humanity, but the soiling of them. She wishes to root them in eternal pleasure and thus eternal lamentation that they will never find enlightenment.

Calling Kama by this name… should be restricted towards the Beast III/L portion of them, lest results become undesirable. Their stars turn much closer to typical ‘fire’ and their body warms to a fever.

Madana

generally he/him

means “intoxicating”

The name used in the Madana-bhasma, where Kama is incinerated by Shiva for shooting him with an arrow of desire. This is his most loathed name as a result, and Madana will react with rage and terror to anyone insisting upon it. In addition, before those associated with Shiva, Madana is the first name he thinks to refer to himself with. It is a loathed name.

A more pink-hued galaxy, with almost rosy fingertips, like his arrows stained him, pink petals perpetually presented forth. Even his flames are almost innocent, almost beautiful.

Ananga

generally she/her

means “incorporeal”

Despite having a heavy amount of emphasis in Kama’s current manifestation, this one is her least favorite. Everything feels more sensitive as Ananga, her nerves on fire. Ananga is a result, an effect, more than a person. Kama becomes Ananga, becomes nothing, and thus as Ananga, is not anything but the remnant pain.

When referred to with this name, she feels far more hollow. The stars in her limbs glow brightest under this name.

Manmatha

generally he/him

means “one who agitates” or “churner of heart”

A name that Kama ties to his obligations as a love god, and thus, he spurns this name quite often. Manmatha is the one with the most ready arrows of all his names. If it must be used, it is to ‘agitate’ in the worst way, to cause trouble and misery, but…

…Manmatha was originally a fond watcher of the results of love and desire. The stars in his limbs now resemble petals and stir about in the breeze.

Atanu

generally she/her

means “one without a body”

Another name which refers to Kama’s state after Shiva’s incineration of her. Atanu is more specific than Ananga, and as such, Atanu tends to be rather see-through. Having a body is antithetical to her existence as specifically one without a body.

Atanu generally has the most transparent limbs of Kama’s manifestations, brighter around the end of the limbs, and is warmer on these parts of her body like a coal.

Ragavrinta

generally they/them

means “stalk of passion”

A neutral name that does not affect them much. They say that, but it brings a sort of confidence to hear themself called Ragavrinta. Images of dancing, the metaphorical stalk of passion. Of a time without pain, a time enveloped of love. A title that carries happiness and bitter nostalgia.

Stars collect within Ragavrinta’s feet more than any other place, dancing up their legs in odd patterns, leaving large gaps of empty space.

Ratikānta

any pronoun

means “lord of Rati”

The name of a husband, of one who was married and loving. (They miss her. They are the universe, they cannot be separated from the air, yet even though they are still living, she must pay respects, because they could not wipe away her tears.)

One whose limbs pool in the joints with stars, more abundant, like the desert, free of light, revealing the entirety of the Milky Way that human eyes can see. Beautiful in love, in lack of light allowing it to truly be perceived.

Manasija

generally he/him

means “born of mind”

A simple recognition of the circumstances of Kama’s birth. Not born from a womb, or even modelled from clay. Simply the personification of being created from the concept of thought. There is no real attachment, just an assertion of the simple fact that there is no family for Manasija.

(There is, however, family for Kama, family for the pieces of ash that were put in a human, and that is what makes Manasija have stars at all. That family that is not quite his, yet not not his, is the only presence that makes the space in his limbs have any life at all.)

Pushpavān

generally he/him or she/her

means “possessing Flowers” or “perfume”

Another of Kama’s past names, but he holds more fondness for this one. He would never ask to be called it, but as he is now, Pushpavān barely resembles himself. There were always flowers around him, a sweet and floral scent that was never too overwhelming, a kindness like honey, as warm as his offered hand.

These things are gone. She cannot be Pushpavān like she was in the past. But sometimes, she pretends the blue stars in her body are constellations of various flowers, and traces lines only she will ever know over them.

Pushpadhanva

any pronoun

means “cupid” or “love”

Despised. Move along. Never call them by this name. There is no more cupid, no more love bringer. There is no light soul with hopes for the best. All other names are ill-fitting, but Pushpadhanva is truly dead. The one who calls in desperation for Pushpadhanva, Pushpadhanva, save me, is the one who never receives an answer from god. The stars of this god leak from their limbs, leaving trails in the air.

(Yet even this is still something they wish, more than anything, to resemble once again. To go back to a ‘normal’ which has not been normal for eons. Is it going back to ‘normal’ when you have spent a longer portion of life ‘abnormal’ than ‘normal’?)

Sakura

any pronoun

means ‘cherry blossom’

That is not their name, but the name of their vessel. Still, out of respect for her, they will be kinder and more lenient to those who knew her in life. After all, she deserved better. (’Unlike them’ is the chaser.)

There is no tendency for this name to affect their appearance, as this name doesn’t belong to them… but some may notice her face looks softer, thinking about the girl whose spirit could meet their own on an equal level.

Kandarpa

generally she/her

means “inflamer of even god”

…a name tied to vengeful thoughts. A yelp of fear, that morphs to a scream, to “I was just doing my job! Why did you do this?!” He grows to love her but never is there regret in his eyes, she gets to always be loved and held so closely. Envy, rage, the isolation of being so spread out, Rati, her Rati, speaks to the stars and their burnt throat must whisper replies.

‘It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, it isn’t fair it isn’t fair it isn’t fair!’ Those who repress Mara are devoured and they are the last of the pantheon, because how can you devour ashes so thoroughly spread out, how can you consume infinity?

The stars snake like flames up their limbs. Their arrow grows even more flowers and stems curl around it, and the point grows even sharper, divots stained with old blood, as she is one of few gods who remain.

Some day soon…

The one who inflames and evokes love in even the coldest gods will ready a single, ancient arrow.

#kama headcanon.#meta.

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years ago

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May I request a hc or fic of Xenia finding out that mc’s foster parents psychologically/emotionally abused her while she was moved from house to house?

WARNINGS FOR; Emotional Abuse Child Labor/Extortion Physical Violence. Racially targeted violence (Can Elves suffer that?) Written by: @evoedbd ******

Xenia often worked hard, keeping all four hands occupied as she carved a path through her daily burdens. Keeping her hands busy let her get more done, let her ignore the simmering energy and tension beneath her ashen skin. Today, however, she did not occupy her hands with various documents. She held one solitary piece of paper between her uppermost hands, whilst her lower set gripped the arms of her chair with such ferocity one might mistake her for a sovereign preparing to declare war. And war she would indeed declare, if only it was within her power. That solitary sheet of paper trembled in her weakening grasp, crinkled whenever she forced her fingers to tighten.

Perhaps it was not the weight of the paper, after all, the page was the same as all the ones Xenia often handled. It was as immaculate as expected of a spy mistress, save for the sodden patches where her spy had evidently failed to keep the snow from touching it, and a rather telling incomplete circular stain which Xenia had no doubt would align perfectly to a flagon of Ale. No, as far as paper went, this paper was completely average. Average weight. Average colour. Horrible condition… even worse words.

Finally, Xenia had a living example for the weight of words. Words bore weight in the court, more so than amongst the common people, yet many would merely believe that a metaphor for the dangers of speaking out of turn. Many forgot the written word was far more damning, but even so, Xenia knew most could not understand how metaphor could become reality. She doubted many would read words as she did, words which made the parchment they were written upon feel like the kingdom a Monarch might hold upon their shoulders. The weight she schemed to put upon the shoulders of the true heir to the throne.

Aspia Cross. An honest woman, named for the trees around her and the crossroads she was abandoned at. A beauty, with eyes the colour of the evergreen trees beneath the snows, filled with the fire of the Sun Goddess. A woman who was raised in winter, with a heart as warm as summer, named for spring yet filled with the cunning of autumn. Truly, a woman embodying every house, every season. A wildling with rich skin and flaming hair and dustings of freckles across a youthful face. A wildling she may have been, but Aspia had won hearts across the court. Her genuine smile had enraptured the Bard, Lyris. The soft gleam of her eyes and her gentle words had Princess Piama of Spring sinking deeper into a trusting friendship. Aspia’s raw, uncultured wit had charmed Prince Sevastian of Winter, whereas her loyalty and hidden skills with a blade had earned the genuine respect of Princess Ruelle of Autumn. Pirate and Spy mistresses alike stood ready to swear their allegiance to the Queen she would become, however that was a future vision. At the moment, Aspia was an elevated woman from the wilds. A mystery. A woman with scars few in the courts had seen, Xenia among them. She had seen those scars when she laced a wildling into fine dresses, a tapestry of lash marks down a freckled back, each a strike delivered without any sense of finesse. A senseless beating.

This was the report which Xenia held in her hand. The tale of Aspia’s life amongst the wildling villages, things she had not rightfully exposed to anybody amongst the courts. Aspia had spoken about some of her trials, of certain bullies Xenia could not name for the sake of safety. Yet when it came to certain parts of her life, Aspia showed her cunning. Her ability to avoid giving direct answers rivalled Xenia’s ability to manipulate them free, to the point Xenia’s desperation had reached a level of betrayal that ate at her. A network of spies, the sacrifice of coin. In her search for answers for the crown, she needed answers for Aspia’s wounds. She needed to know if those who had hurt the heir were worthy adversaries.

They weren’t, Xenia found, but their cruelty surely was.

The words she saw were blurred, yet each stroke of ink was painfully clear. She could see where the spy’s hand had frozen, perhaps shocked by what he heard. Or where the quill had lingered a little too long, tip trembling, perhaps due to her spy swallowing back outrage. Each harsh stroke of ink depicted further and further depravity, the lack of information painting just as much of a picture as that which was documented. A list of foster homes, matching a list of injuries and jobs the child had held. Physical and demeaning labor which would not have been foisted on even the poorest child. Beasts had been given more respect, Xenia noted, than what was described for Aspia. It churned in Xenia’s gut, bubbling like the mucus and tar Aspia had been forced to deal with. The residue left in the cauldrons Aspia had been forced to clean. Already, Xenia knew that when she looked at the taxes of each business that she would not find listings of a wage for Aspia. No, Aspia had exchanged a childhood for her life, her labor for the meals in her belly. The pattern continued, jobs and trades, wage less days for a struggling child. A pattern of abuse and extortion, right up until the end of the page. A place where the quill had pierced the paper. Where ink splattered. Where the ale stain lingered.

Each letter was a grain of sand in Xenia’s stomach, chaffing and irritating her gut on its way to join the quicksand and boulders causing such a sinking feeling of dread. The events documented were clinical, graphic accounts of Aspia snapping at her caretakers who had chosen their other ward over her, only for the punishment to be such senseless violence a gasp broke free from the Spy Mistress. A senseless beating, one Aspia had fought back against enough to scar her attackers. Xenia had seen some of those scars, each time she brushed the flames disguised as hair aside, or buttoned up garments where Aspia could not reach. Now, Aspia’s insistence on known aid made perfect sense, it was not merely a simple wildling woman’s discomfort at the fawning, it was also a survivor’s armor against unknown attacks.

The final words across the page made Xenia gasp, let the paper fall from her hands as they rose to cover her mouth less further sounds escape.

Once beaten, Aspia had merely used words between her wounded sounds. Delivered insults enough that her attacker had grabbed tools of his trade, then he had nailed Aspia’s ear to the floorboards. She had been left there to bleed out, to rot, until a neighbouring family found her. The family which had ultimately given her shelter. Amongst the list of injuries, one stood out to Xenia, stark and crude, much like a stroke of blood across the snows. Someone had attempted to sever the ear pinned to the floor.

Xenia gagged, unable to hold back the sob at the realisation. Someone had tried to cut Aspia’s ear off. Possibly Aspia herself in her dazed desperation to escape. The reports stated Aspia did not remember the events, only waking after a beating, dazed and confused. Xenia had doubts. Whether Aspia remembered or not, her body did. In the way she moved, in that endearing erratic curl of hair which never seemed to stay in place. Something so innocent, which now held a darker meaning. It was hair regrown, concealing the tail end of a scar. It was hair as defiant as Aspia herself. Even displaced, it refused to die, refused to do anything save grow. Even as it grew against the crowd, it somehow fit. It was somehow a radiant completion to a glorious whole.

The Spymistress was unsure how the parchment had returned to her hand, only that she found herself sliding it neatly amongst her most personal stack of papers. The reports she would either destroy or encrypt further. Files she would never allow to see the light of day. Her betrayal of Aspia’s trust would be buried, kept in the dark, a place where she would whisper her confession and beg forgiveness. A place she would allow Aspia to decide the fate of said report. If the heir wished to read it, it would be Xenia’s cursed gift to her Queen. Should Aspia wish it destroyed, then Xenia’s fireplace would burn brighter than the Sun Goddess herself. Would burn with the righteous fire Xenia wished to cast upon those named for such a heinous crime. For now, Xenia had a court to dance amongst, and a prayer for forgiveness to compose.

#Anonymous #lovestruck #angst #heavy angst #xenia of the autumn #xenia x mc #reigning passions #reigning passions xenia #emotional abuse #psychological abuse #tw: blood #tw: physical violence #tw: racial violence #tw: child extortion #woeful wednesday

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doomstypewriter · 4 years ago

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ooh for the short requests how about moceit very obviously being together but some or all of the others being oblivious about it which leads to like exceedingly ridiculous situations and/or misunderstandings until the eventual reveal/realisation?

Hi, Anon! Thanks for the request.

I hope you like what I came up with.

CW: Mentions of blood, (mentions of sex and swearing coming from Remus, and other things to be expected from him), mentions of harassment (but not really, it’s just Roman and Virgil misunderstanding everything). That’s all I believe, please tell me if you find anything else.

If you see a typo, by all means, do roast me.

Genre: Mostly comedy. Contains a lot of dialogue.

A bam sound burst through the room.

“Oh my-!” Virgil jumped in his place “Princey, for once in your life can you not make sudden noises?!”

Roman twirled the gavel in his hand as if it was a sword while looking at his left apologetically.

“Yeah...sorry. Ehem”, he cleared his voice, “I-We have brought you here today because we are in crisis!”

On the sofa sat Logan and Remus, one with his back straight, prim and propper, the other half lying down, resting his crossed feet on the backrest while filing his nails. Logan leant towards Virgil, who stood in the middle of the living room by Roman’s side.

“What has happened now?” he asked.

“Why are you asking him?” answered Roman.

“Well, I am expecting you to be ridiculous on a regular basis and waste my time, but seeing that Virgil is concerned I wish to clarify whatever may be causing him to worry”.

Roman let out a sound of indignation.

“Not now”, Virgil raised a hand towards the prince. “There’s something dark going on between Janus and Patton”.

“I don’t see how Janus is getting accepted quite smoothly by Thomas and Patton is the metaphorical embodiment of sunshine half of the time. They also seem to be working together very well, in fact, despite some initial disagreements, Janus has only made my job easier”.

“The bananaconda keeps on abducting Patton for hours! Last week he disappeared the entire day and when I saw him he was covered in blood!” shouted Roman.

“Well, that is certainly most distressing”.

“Oh, yeah? That’s not even the beginning! This Friday Janus shoved him against a wall and whispered something so horrible he almost fell, thank goodness I was there to save him!”

“Hi, why am I here?” Remus pointed at his face while staring at them.

“We need intel on him, you are the one who annoys him the most” answered Virgil between his teeth.

“Ha! You must be desperate. But, really, this is stupid--”

“Roman, go on” Virgil interrupted.

“He has put skin in Patton’s room, and he has somehow made him follow him everywhere. Patton made him pasta!”

Logan frowned at that last statement and then opened his eyes very wide.

“Like, we know Patton is very nice, but it just doesn’t make sense for him to be so close to Janus if he’s plotting something” added Virgil.

“Well, of course that doesn’t make sense, but I don’t think this is caused by whatever you suspect is happening. I believe your bias towards Janus has blinded you to the obvious logical conclusion that…”

In the blink of an eye, Roman rushed to Logan and held him by the shoulders.

“Even if on Wednesday night I saw he stole his cat hoodie? You gave that to Patton! How can you be so calm? Don’t you see what this means?!”

From the other side of the sofa came a hysterical laugh. Remus stuck his metal file on the cushion and tore up a hole in it.

“You are such a virgin you that you wouldn’t be able to distinguish sexual tension even if you fell right into the hot butt sauce! HAHAHAHA”.

“Oh, shut up with your--” Virgil snapped in distaste, but, suddenly froze in place with the realisation. “Roman…”

“That gavel is mine, also, are you seriously holding a meeting without us?”

The smooth voice of Janus made everyone in the room fall silent, except for Remus, who laughed even harder. Patton tagged along just a step behind, contently holding the gloved hand.

“Actually, Virgil and Roman were completely misconstruing the nature of your interactions with Patton. Thus, asked us to come here to discuss what they thought was you, perhaps, ‘harassing’ him”.

“What?”

Patton and Janus looked at each other in confusion.

“These two are so stupid the got us together, ha! They even brought me! And started to tell us in all detail how they’d been cockblocking you because they can’t read the cues!” Remus managed to say in between laughs.

“What? No! He was bullying him! He shoved him against a wall…” that last comment earned a gasp from Patton, who then went ahead and blushed lightly, Roman got quiet real quick and turned to look at Virgil. “Oh my god!”

“Yup, I was going to say it, but, yeah”.

Roman turned around again and pointed back and forth to Janus and Patton.

“No! You two? But what about the blood?! I saw Patton covered in it!”

“Blood? Roman, you know I get dizzy when I think about that stuff”.

Almost instantly, Janus squeezed Patton’s hand and rubbed the skin with his thumb. Both Virgil and Roman did not know how to respond to the soft display of intimacy they were being confronted with. Specially right when they had just begun to realise the real variety of their fellow sides’ relationship.

“Relax, dear, I think he’s talking about when we had the accident bathing Rachel”.

“Oh… oh! No, sorry kiddo! That must have scared you!”

At this point in the conversation, Roman was even more confused than before.

“Rachel, who’s Rachel?”

“That would be his pet snake”, said Virgil.

“Yes. She’s really sweet! But she got burnt by accident when her heater broke. Jan needed help bathing her, and I didn’t screw the betadine bottle all the way, then I hit it with my elbow and it made a mess all over our clothes” Patton laughed somewhat embarrassed.

Before Roman could object to what had just been said, Logan stood up from the sofa and adjusted his glasses the way he always did when he was about to give information.

“It is common practice for snake owners to bathe their reptiles in a water-betadine solution to disinfect wounds. When snakes are healing they also shed at some point, which would explain the ‘skin’ you mentioned when talking earlier. That, alongside the other incidents and Patton’s usual clumsiness, made me realise you had misunderstood what you saw. Besides, betadine stains and dry blood can look somewhat alike on contrasting colours such as the ones Patton wears, so the mistake was made clear”.

“So…”

“They’re fucking!” Remus exclaimed happily as he sank back.

“It’s more like we’re dating, but, essentially, yes, we’re together. Also, Roman, I would like my gavel back”.

Check out this post if you want to send a request!

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jamiedc-they-them · 4 years ago

Text

The Void (Platonic)

REQUESTED IMAGINE: “heyy, can i request r x daisy (platonic), where r's sister was killed (and maybe tortured) by hydra and r is ready to go in a vengeance rampage (and does) but after going after everyone kinda realises that they still aren’t better and daisy comforts them”

I really hope I’ve done it justice! :)

Death, you should’ve been used to it now; you should’ve been almost numb to it. Sure, enemies of yourself and SHIELD would die, and you wouldn’t bat an eye. It as friends that hurt, that caused you to feel.

Ward was technically the first one, the man who died metaphorically. The friend you thought you knew died when he killed Hand and Koenig and tried to take Skye from you all. From her actual family.

Then it was Tripp, then the list just grew and grew them there, really.

You and Skye had just instantly clicked. Sure, you both had a familial bond with the others. But they knew too, that you were both closest with the other. She had her time at the orphanage to thank (and she did thank it, for this) for the big sister instinct she had when it came to you.

She’d always listen if you wanted to talk, always be a shoulder for you to cry on; she could read you like a book.

That’s why, when it came to this news; to this video, she knew what you’d try to do.

You were aware that you had a sister ever since you had gone to after life with Skye, now known as Daisy, to learn more about your powers. You had definitely gotten more than you bargained for, learning that you had a blood sibling out there was something. However, they didn’t know where she was.

Daisy, knowing that she would have done the same, helped you in trying to track the girl down, only to no avail. That had led to a long night of you breaking down in tears, as she did all she could to help you with your pain.

“You don’t have to go through this alone.” Those were the words that stuck out for you. Those eight words that she said with so much compassion that you almost, almost, believed them as the truth.

She stayed with you that night, running her hand through your hair as you tried to fall asleep. Eventually, you had managed to. You had gotten lucky that time; she stayed with you the whole night, arm wrapped around you to try and provide some sense of comfort.

May had gone to your room, knowing that it would likely be where she would be if not her own room or already training; when she knocked and didn’t receive and answer, she slightly pushed the door open.

What she found, was Daisy with that arm around you securely, but her eyes were open now and she was looking at May. The woman nodded, allowing training to be pushed back that one time.

This video, and the subsequent events, were another case of letting training slide. Although, this time it was for something much more serious.

It was Ward, a last “present” for you all. You had all gathered in the room, you weren’t sure as to why. You were just told to do so and did as such.

“Ward sent me this a while ago,” You scrunched up your eyebrows at the reasoning of him not showing the rest of you whatever it was until now; but, you let him continue, “Now….I know he’s been gone for a while, and that we should all just move on,” His eyes came to meet your own for a moment, “I can’t on this occasion.”

With that, he hit play on the video. It was hand-held, most likely by Ward himself; in front there was a door that had seen better days, with the grime on it and what not. He pushed the door open slowly, as if building to some unknown climax.

He walked into the room and flicked a light switch. Instead of the whole room being illuminated, it had a single light, almost like a spotlight, on a woman around your own age in the middle, tied to a chair. She stirred at the light, looking up to Ward, then her eyes hit the camera.

One thing you noticed, other than being similarly aged, was the fact that you both had the same eye colour.

Now the unsettling feeling began to pool in your stomach.

To you, it was just you in the room, everyone else was gone; all you heard was the video, all you saw was the video, nothing else.

Ward slowly approached the girl; whose look grew more and more fearful the closer he got to her. Finally, he was stood so close you could see the bruises on her face, the cuts on her eyebrows and around herself.

“What – What do you want?” She asked, trying to mask her own fear.

Ward crouched down, the camera was now eyelevel with as he responded, “Y/N got out, but not you. You remember that? The way SHIELD grabbed them, but left you to rot?” He taunted.

Hearing your own name made your blood run cold, you knew you had probably gone pale by this point; you were frozen, your eyes only on the screen.

Ward seemed to know that you’d somehow see this, that Coulson would want to show it to you, “Or…actually, I forgot their “codename” that we gave them. Subject – Wow, I actually don’t know.” He seemed almost surprised at himself for not remembering.

“Doesn’t matter, because they’ll be joining you real soon.” It was quick, very quick. A simple BANG! And her head fell back, she was motionless the next moment.

The sound made you stumble a little, he didn’t even have to state the connection between you two for you to figure it out on your own.

Now it made sense, why Coulson met your gaze, why he seemed to hold guilt mixed with a little worry; you just thought the worry was the normal amount he held for you, being the youngest of the team and all.

No, it wasn’t because of that. It was because Ward made this for you. For your eyes to see it. To see the only person who you could call family die by his own hands.

As soon as Daisy heard your name, she looked to you; her heart was racing as she felt fear for you, for what was about to come. She hadn’t seen the video, but she could tell what Ward’s next move was most likely to be.

When she heard the BANG! She flinched, just as you stumbled backwards a small amount. Your mouth parting slightly as your eyes filled with tears.

She wanted, had, to do something. She had to act. But, before she could, you were out the room like a bullet. She cringed at her use of that term.

Her gaze turned to Coulson, who merely stared at the door you had ran through. He met her gaze, his guilt almost multiplying by the looks of things.

“What – How – When….I mean –” She could barely get words out, her mind firing thoughts out one after the other, none stop, seemingly in an instant.

Coulson approached her, placing a fatherly hand on her shoulder; Jemma and Fitz weren’t stood too far behind, ready to help their other best friend calm down however they could.

“I had it for a few months. I watched it once, before I called everyone else in to talk about Ward. I’m sorry I didn’t tell either of you sooner.” She managed her nod. But she nodded more times than necessary.

“Was that really her?” She asked, voice cracking as the question left her lips. She desperately hoped for you that the answer was false.

Her hopes of that crashed and burned when he nodded, almost numbly.

“It is.” He said, softly, as if not to set her off.

She spun around at his affirmation, only to be stopped by two of her other siblings.

“Daisy –” Her own sister figure tried to say.

“I need to see them.” She said, more firmly this time.

“You don’t –” Her brother figure tried to dissuade her.

“They need someone, especially now, Fitz.” She looked into the Scotsman’s eyes as she spoke, “You two did the same thing when I came back from Afterlife, right?” They nodded, knowing they had lost this argument.

Once she cleaned her tears, she finally turned to your door. She had been to it so many times, but this was different. This was something that hadn’t shook you both as much as when you’d found out you even had a sister out there in the world.

Part of her, she hated it, was worried that you would just turn away from herself and Jemma and fully focus on this new sister. However, even as she helped you as best, she could, you assured the two of them that your blood sister would meet your found ones.

Now that would never come to fruition.

She raised a hand up to your door shakily, her breath quickening as she knew that this talk would not be pretty. That she herself was barely keeping it together, she could only imagine the pain you would be in.

Three simple, but firm, knocks were placed on your door. Tap! Tap! Tap! Then, silence.

Tap! Tap! Tap! Three more….Still, nothing came of it.

“Y/N?” She asked softly, almost hesitantly, through the door. She placed her hand against it, as if hoping you would do the same action.

“It’s me. It’s only me, I promise. No one else is here.” She thought maybe that would help goad you into opening the door and letting her in.

Nothing came of it.

“…Please, Y/N? I wanna help you.” She meant her words, she always meant those words of sincerity to everyone on the team, or just in general.

She especially meant them here, too.

You sat on your bed, tried tear stains on your face. It wasn’t that you didn’t have any more tears to shed, not at all; you were just tired. More importantly, you had gone into a kind of numb state.

To you, again, the world was gone. Just you sat in a room, your thoughts a constant storm of, “What if?” at least, at the start they were. Then they turned to darker ones. Thoughts of all the pain you should’ve made Ward feel when you and Coulson finally took him down on Maveth.

At least, now, you understood the extra oomph in his punches against Ward. He was trying to avenge your dead sister, just without your knowledge.

You kind of felt envious that Coulson was the one who took him down. The one who got to end the traitors life. You knew you couldn’t kill Ward, not even Hive; Lincoln had taken that away.

But what you could do, was finish off what was started. The seemingly never-ending war on HYDRA could finally have some sort of resolution, you just had to find them and burn them to the ground.

Yeah, that could work. No, it would work…But, that just left the last puzzle piece off –

Tap! Tap! Tap! Three knocks occurred from your door, then three more after.

The last puzzle piece being: How do you get past your best friends without being caught and without them noticing?

“Y/N?” Daisy’s soft and concerned voice sounded form outside your door. You just stared at said door.

“It’s me. It’s only me. I promise. No one else is here.” She assured you. You stood up at it, and the next moment stood right at the door. Now you just had to reach down and open the door.

“…Please, Y/N? I wanna help you.” She said, voice trembling a little.

Your hand shook as you slowly lifted it to the handle; you unlocked it….and finally turned the handle.

As soon as you did, Daisy brought you into a tight hug; she had her own tears, one even fell as she squeezed you tight. All you did was let out a sob as you clung to her. She was silent the whole time, only rubbing your back and saying nothing; knowing that it wouldn’t help things.

She sat with you on your bed, rubbing her thumb over your knuckles to try and show her support for you during this time. You however, only stared at the floor as more tears pooled only to then fall from your eyes.

She clocked an empty bag near your drawer of clothes. She then looked at you, and for the first time since being outside your room, spoke.

“Do you want me to ask Coulson for some time off?” She asked, thinking that the bag would be used for that function; after all, you hadn’t really found a use for it outside of missions. She figured that a break would be good for you.

You thought about it for a moment, you could have done with one; but that wouldn’t make up for the pain you felt. You needed to go after HYDRA; alone, as you couldn’t bare the guilt if anyone else in your family got hurt in your quest.

You nodded, knowing that this would get them off your back for a little while; plus, it would help sell why you had left.

It was later, it was currently 2:40 am according to your clock. Most, if not all your friends would be asleep right now; maybe not May, but you could easily get past her with your own ability.

Your own one wasn’t much; you could dash around a short distance pretty quickly. It had it’s uses, when it came to May it would be one of them.

You went to the bag that laid on the floor, placing a few magazines in it you had stolen from the armoury, then a pistol, then some drinks to help you on your way; you knew the others wouldn’t like the fact that like 90% of those drinks were alcohol, but they weren’t here to stop you.

They couldn’t anyway.

The next moment, you had dashed past May, then the door, then out the building.

You were on your way.

Daisy had been woken up by May, she thought it was for training; but, when she saw the genuine look of slight worry on her face, she knew something bad had happened.

“What’s wrong?” She asked as she slowly sat up, still trying to get the sleep out of herself. May grabbed her arm and brought her to the training room, then pointed to the ground. Daisy looked at the woman confused, but still followed her finger.

On the ground, there was a faint trail of your power; like everyone’s, there was always a sign that you had been there; for Daisy it was the destruction, for it was a slight trail of dark wisps.

She knew what she wanted to say, that you simply weren’t good at goodbyes. But she then followed the trail and saw it by the door, that same idea popped into her head; but she knew you better than that. Even if you hadn’t wanted to go, you would’ve waited for her to ask Coulson and then maybe do this.

“Oh no.” That was what she actually said, as she finally let herself see what your actual goal was.

You’d been on your own before, living in a HYDRA cell for a large part of your existence had taught you how to deal with it. Or at least, you thought you had fully mastered it.

Now, sat on the roof of a building, overlooking one of your first targets, it seemed that you hadn’t been as good at dealing with it as you maybe had once thought yourself as. Now, you were lonely, you missed the others and the way they seemed to tell when something was off with you.

Jemma was always the softest when it came to that, her soft and calming aura she had when she was helping her friends didn’t go amiss by any of you. Even after everything she had gone through, she still managed to hold onto that.

Fitz would get a drink and offer his ear to you, most nights you’d end up a little buzzed from the drink. But thankful for having him on your side.

Mack would just hug you; his legendary hugs were something you always liked. The way the size difference between you two made him look like he had engulfed you; instead, you felt protected.

May had a way to tell what was wrong with you, she’d mainly train with you and try to get you to talk. If that didn’t work, she used to have Andrew come in. Obviously, that couldn’t happen now.

Coulson had a fatherly way about him from the day you had met him. He saw you as a scared and scarred child and gave you a chance to live. You had always been thankful to him for giving you that chance to have that. You always made sure to let him know, even if he always told you to not worry about it.

Elena was relatively new to your circle of friends, but you liked her. She had an upbeat side to her that you all saw; she was energetic, and that helped you when you needed someone to talk to.

Daisy, as said before, was the one you went to the most. She was your best friend (they all were, but she was your best-best friend), and you were her’s. Each other’s ride or die.

You missed them, but you had to do this.

So, when a man who looked too suspicious (from the glasses to the way he held himself) leave the café your room was overlooking. You knew you hadn’t chosen this building for nothing. That it was paying off.

Granted, this was just step one of the plan. Now you had to get to the guy and make him talk. That was something else. But you weren’t trained by HYRA (and you most certainly didn’t survive HYDRA) for nothing. Not for it all to got to waste; not now.

You got down from the roof, after checking your file on the guy one more time, before following after him.

The guy seemed to have a six sense, as he kept looking over his shoulder; you, however, were quicker in blending in with the crowd. Whenever he’d move, so would you. It was a like a game of, “Red light, green light” only now with actual stakes.

He looked behind again, this time spotting you. His eyes widened in recognition as he then took off. You quickened your own, but not into a run, you could still spot him.

He kept running, running, and running. You only dashed forward a small bit every so often; you found it kind of amusing how he kept trying to believe he could outrun you. That he could make it. That he could survive this encounter with one of the people he taught how to ensure that it would be them making it out and not the other person.

That was why, when he turned the corner and thought that he could breath for a second, the very next one you were behind him as he turned around to move on or call for back up.

He never got that chance, to either do one of those things or even scream, as you pinned him against the wall in a chokehold the next moment.

He fought viciously against your vice grip, desperately trying to get you to release your hold on him so he could fight back.

You didn’t give him that chance, you only squeezed and squeezed and squeezed until his eyes rolled and you saw he was unconscious. You lowered yourself with him, punching him to make sure he was down.

You stood back up, checking the alley way you were in to see if anyone had seen you. You were lucky in that no one actually had.

You heard a phone beep; crouching down, you checked his pockets and found a phone. You wiped away some blood that would have almost surely slipped into the cracks of the now damaged phone had you not acted.

On the phone, you saw a picture of him and a woman, but it meant nothing to you. You grabbed his limp hand and pressed the thumb onto the fingerprint prompt, the next moment the phone unlocked.

You looked at the message, seeing only some coordinates.

Ok then, that was your next stop.

You thought back to Coulson, how tired the man had seemed after you both had finally put Grant Ward down. Although, in your eyes, a part of him did look relived that it was other. That the man couldn’t hurt you anymore.

In your eyes, now, doing this was getting more HYDRA agents off the streets. Putting off their revival one kill at a time. There weren’t many left after all. Maybe you’d be the one to burn it all down in a fiery blaze of so-called justice and retribution.

“Daisy –” Jemma tried to say.

“I can’t find anything.” Daisy said, the stress starting to get to her.

“You need to take a break.” Jemma said again, trying to get her best friend away from the computer so she could take a moment to see the full picture and then try again later. Despite that want, she knew you two better; and that, if the tables were reversed, you would be doing the same thing.

“I need to find them, Jemma. I – I can’t just let them go out there on a suicide mission! It’s in the name, suicide! They’ll get themselves killed!” She exclaimed; Jemma felt the worry on your odds of survival as well. Neither of them wanted to lose anyone else; but especially not you, the youngest and the one they were most protective of.

Jemma knew everyone on the team would be devastated by any loss; but yours would most likely shatter them. You were the youngest, after all. Jemma didn’t want to see Daisy lose herself again in the grief; to have to watch someone who was a sister in all but blood run away on another destructive and suicidal mission of her own.

“We’ll find them, ok? We will; but you need to look after yourself as well.” Now she was in doctor mode. The that Daisy feared but couldn’t argue with.

With a sigh, she nodded; stepping away from the computer.

You had managed to find Daisy’s old van; SHIELD had pretty much just dumped the fucking thing. Plus, it wasn’t being used for anything, so you took it.

It felt a little invasive at first, but you were sure she wouldn’t mind…as long as you didn’t destroy it.

Still, you had followed the coordinates, and it had taken you to a building, one that looked to be heavily guarded at one point or the other. But now looked to be abandoned.

Then again, everything looked clean on the first go around.

Christ, you hated how right Ward was sometimes.

You sat back in the drivers seat, just taking the place in. It looked ruined, but the coordinates wouldn’t have led you here for no reason.

You know something awaited you in there.

Ok, confession time; when you had killed the first “target” it was mainly a file on a HYDRA member you had found. There wasn’t any real rhyme or reason to it; just find HYDRA agents and kill them.

At least, now, by coming here, there was some sort of structure to it. Some sort of endgame. You’d find whoever was in there and be the only one to make it out of there alive.

“How many files did they steal?” Coulson asked as the tam stood in his office, looking at the screen where a big ass photo of your face was plastered on one screen as Daisy had a search going on the other to try and ping your location.

So far, nothing had come of it.

“Only 3.” Was May’s response; that surprised both Daisy and Coulson. As they both knew you were in vengeance mode, yet you had only stolen 3 files? Something wasn’t adding up.

“Tremors?” Mack asked in slight concern as he saw Daisy’s eyes glued to the screen, the rest of the team soon followed their friend’s gaze.

There, they saw a flashing blue light. It was a ping from your device.

They’d found you.

The fence was nothing, you merely zipped past it with your ability like it was nothing. You then walked up to the front door. A panel sat on the door, it required a code that you, obviously, did not own.

So, you simply zipped past that as well.

You were met with darkness and silence. An unsettling feeling plunged your stomach; maybe you were actually alone in here. Maybe the coordinates had been a ruse –

Footsteps, you heard footsteps, and singing? Not something you expected, for sure. But it was something to tell you that you weren’t alone in here.

As you walked, you remembered what it was like to live in places like this. Places that, in your mind when you were held in one of these places, were in the middle of nowhere. Turns out, you couldn’t have been more wrong.

You kept going, walking into a hallway lit in an ominous red. The light consumed you as you entered the hallway, you saw it was a silent alarm going off. For what? You did not know.

The singing them turned into whistling of the tune, whether that be due to the words being forgotten or whatever, it didn’t matter. Not to you, anyway.

Using your elbow, you slowly opened the door, your other hand holding the pistol in your grasp. The person, now looking more like a scientist, was still unaware of your position behind them.

Slowly, you rose your weapon up. When even that didn’t get the scientists attention, you did something that did.

You pulled the trigger, the bullet hit them in the leg.

A feminine cry of pain left her mouth as she fell to the floor, one hand grabbing her new wound and the other grabbing the table for support.

You slowly walked over to her; pistol aimed at her with one hand as if she was a threat. At one point in your life, she had been. Or, people like her had been, scientists that would experiment on you and your sister.

“Who – who are you?” She asked through clenched teeth; you crouched down, being eye level with her. She looked up at you, her eyes widened as she recognised you, “You….you’re –”

“The one who got away.” You finished for her; glad she knew who you were. Seemed you were a HYDRA legend now, even if for the wrong reasons.

“Please – I had nothing to do with your sister.” Seemed they knew about that as well. Seemed everyone knew but you.

“I know, because the person who killed her is already dead.” Your words sent a chill down her spine, her breathing picked up a little in pure fear.

You leaned in, “Anyone else here?” She shook her head quickly; you nodded, “Ok.” You sighed as you stood up.

“But –” You cut her off when you pulled the trigger again, this time a headshot.

Hearing another beep, you looked down to see a blue light going off then on again. You crouched down, only to see that it was a beacon.

Oh, fuck. You knew what that meant, more agents would be coming. You then heard doors open in sync, then yelling. That told you one thing, there were more people here.

“HYDRA distress call just went out.” Fitz told the others over the radio; Fitzsimmons had stayed behind at base while the others had gone to get you and bring you home.

“Dammit! Y/N what the hell have you gotten yourself into?” Daisy said in worry as the car pulled up just outside the building.

“I’ll get them, you guys secure the perimeter!” She ordered Coulson and May, the two nodded as Daisy quaked the door open.

She then ran in, determined to bring you out in one piece.

You walked from a red hallway into a hallway that turned from red to darkness, a blaring alarm going off to seemingly no end now.

You entered that hallway, determined to find who was there, only to be surprised and pinned against a wall; your attacker was someone that was just like you, a scared young adult who knew nothing else other than how to fight.

They bit into your arm, as you cried out in pain, you punched them twice in the face. You managed to get the upper hand, quickly snapping their neck.

You were then thrown to the floor again by another subject, this one trying to strangle you; you managed to kick them away. You drew your pistol, only to have no bullet come out; you threw it at your new opponent. It stunned them for a moment, but that was all you needed to tackle them to the ground and start punching them over and over again.

You then stood up, looking at the mark on your arm; Christ, you had no idea if it was infected or not. But you couldn’t go back now, you made a promise to have HYDRA burn. So, that’s what you were going to do.

A gunshot went off, hitting you right in the back of your shoulder, the momentum of your body allowed you to turn (not very gracefully) as you hit the floor and load a magazine into your gun, firing it at the HYDRA agent that had snuck up on you.

Now you were bleeding and most likely had a wound that would be infected. But you still kept going, you had to keep going.

Maybe this would be it, when HYDRA would die looking for you. You could make it work; you were a survivor. You always had been, this wouldn’t be any different.

You just had to steal their guns and use their own weapons against them. Although, you were already sort of doing that by being there in the first place.

Coming home to burn it all down, to you it felt cathartic.

Daisy was running, hearing blaring alarms and being illuminated by a devilish red as she ran through hallway after hallway; a never ending set of them leading to more blaring lights and sounds; along with gunshots being mixed in just to add to her worry and vanishing hope to find you alive and to be able to bring you back home and to them.

“Daisy, there are more of them coming! How much longer do you need?” May asked into the radio, the gunshots that were being fired at the two outside came through as well.

“I – I don’t know, I’m almost there.” She didn’t catch the contradiction in her words.

“Daisy, their phone is near you! Turn left and go down that hallway, the phone is in the middle of it.” Jemma said over the comms; Daisy did as her friend asked. She followed the hallway, only to be met with a few bodies and a small blood trail that was broken up but led to the end of the hallway and somewhere else.

She ran down the hallway, finding your phone with some blood on it and a cracked screen. She picked it up, wiping the bloodstain away that would have surely gotten inside the device and ruined it had she not acted.

She saw your lock screen was the picture of you all at the rocket launch, she had her’s framed; yours was here. She had a wobbly smile as she looked at it. Then the fear returned.

“Y/N!” She yelled out, she didn’t get a reply, “Y/N!” She yelled, this time louder and filled with more desperation for a reply.

Her reply was gunshots.

You loaded your last magazine into the clip, you took a deep breath for yourself. The gunshots from HYDRA grew more louder as more joined in, but also closer as they slowly advanced on your position.

You peaked over the desk, only for bullets to pelt against it, so you lowered your head right after. However, you had spotted an assault rifle near you that you could reach if you were quick enough.

You rose from cover, firing a few times to make them back off. Once they had, you quickly zipped out of cover and grabbed the rifle; three more shots and they were down.

That cathartic feeling that you once felt. That was gone now. There was nothing there; no satisfaction, no feeling of peace, no happiness that you’d made it through. There was nothing.

Nothing but an alarm blaring above you as the red light continued to shower you and then leave you once again.

Nothing but the blood on your body, some of it your own, but other parts from your foes that had stood in your way.

“Y/N!” You heard Daisy’s voice call out, it almost cracked and sounded kind of scratchy. She must’ve been looking for you for a while.

“Here.” You said, your voice tired and close to tears that you gulped back. You let the rifle hang by your side.

Daisy turned the corner, letting her eyes scan you for any injuries. When she was satisfied that you would live, she walked towards you and instantly enveloped you in a hug.

Letting the rifle drop to the floor, you hugged her back, just as tightly as she had.

“I killed them.” You wept. She couldn’t disagree, she only rubbed your back more and ran her hand through your hair to try and provide some comfort. Even if she wasn’t sure if it would do anything. She still tried.

“I can’t, I can’t do it – I…” You just ended up breaking down once again, trying to get some words out but not being successful in doing so.

“Coulson, May, I’ve got them.” Daisy said as she moved the hand that had been going through your hair to activate her comms. She did, however, keep her hand that supported your back in position and continued to try and comfort you in your time of desperate need of that.

“Are there more coming?” You asked, your voice shaking a little. She nodded, keeping her concerned gaze on you as you pulled away from the hug.

“Ok,” You picked up the rifle again, handing it to her and picking up another, “Let’s go.”

You waited in one corner, while Daisy waited in another. When the agents came in, you shot two in the head; while Daisy shot on, then Quaked the other into the wall. You both shared a nod and left the room, clearing yet another hallway.

You both took cover at a wall, you nodded to three the entered the new room. The bright light from outside blazed through the door as the other slammed open via an SUV.

“Coulson?!” Daisy yelled into the comms, worried for your leader.

“We’re fine, we had to push back a little. Don’t worry, we’re not far away.” He told Daisy the new location.

“Alright, sir. We’re on our way.” She assured him as you both shared a look.

More gunfire rained down on you both as you dove for cover. You barely had time to raise your head without more gunfire clanging off of either the wall or your chosen cover.

“I have an idea.” Daisy looked at you to explain it, you merely nudged your head to a piece of cover across the way. You could dash to it, thus giving her time.

“Ok, one 3?” You nodded, “One…two….three!” She yelled, you ran for a second before you used your ability; as the guards all aimed at you, Daisy came up and used her power on the three that were firing, they were sent flying back into their own vehicles.

Once outside, you were about to use your ability again when Daisy stopped you, “There!” She called, pointing to a whole in the fence, you both scrambled through it. Then went on foot up the hill. At the top, Coulson and May stood, firing at the guards below to cover your approach.

“Is that –” You cut her off.

“Found it.” You said, knowing that you would fully explain yourself once you got out of this, together.

“Hey.” Daisy said as she knocked on your open door, leaning against the doorway. You turned to her, giving her a timid smile.

“Hey.” You parroted, nudging your head to tell her to come in.

She did so, “How you doing, kiddo?” She asked.

“I don’t know. Gonna be a while for Coulson to fully trust me again.” You admitted.

“Won’t be that long; he’s just cautious, and worried. Think we all were….are.” Her last word stung you a little. She could easily see it in the way you looked at the floor in guilt.

“Sorry –”

“No, don’t apologise. You scared us. But we managed to take out a HYDRA base. Just….”

“I don’t really know her – uhm, but I think you would’ve liked her.” She smiled, of course you knew what she was going to advise you to do. To talk.

“I’m sure we would’ve.”

She spent the rest of the day with you, talking to you and trying to help you moved on.

You both knew it would take a while, but at least you knew you had her and the others in your corner.

You, as much as neither of you really knew your sister, you all still grieved her like you did. Together.

#daisy johnson x reader #daisy johnson imagine #agents of shield imagine #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d imagine #agents of shield x reader #gif imagine

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passmeabook · 4 years ago

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Servamp: Macbeth & Macduff, Kuro & Mahiru

I was writing, and am still working on, an Ophelia MBTI analysis, and then I got an idea for an Ophelia tragic heroine meta, and from that came this. Ophelia and the Greed Arc have a lot of Shakespeare references and influences, and I found some interesting things while rereading through the arc. While Ophelia and Lawless have strong influences of Hamlet I would argue that Kuro and Mahiru have strong influences of Macbeth.

In this meta I’m going to be pointing out the similarities Kuro and Mahiru have to Macbeth and Macduff from Macbeth and how this might influence the future of the story.

Hypothesis: Tanaka has used parts of Macbeth and Macduff respectively to write Kuro and Mahiru. Can we use these two Shakespeare characters and perhaps infer what Tanaka intends to do with Kuro and Mahiru as the manga continues further along?

Kuro as Macbeth

In Ch. 24 “Tears” Lawless says this line to Kuro “Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from your hand? No, this your hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine. Making the green one red.” Intriguingly this line is said while the both of them are fighting on a stage. Plays have traditionally been played on stages, so I wondered if this was deliberate. Especially since in Hyde’s flashback story to Ophelia the memory is literally played out in his mindscape on a stage, and when the memory is over the curtains close.

When Lawless is fighting Kuro on the stage he says this in reference to Kuro directly as he uses the word “you” instead of “my” when referring to the hand covered in blood. We even get Lawless stabbing Kuro in the hand with his rapier followed by a close up of Kuro’s pierced hand in the panel following the Macbeth line. Hyde by saying this to Kuro and using the word “you” instead of “my” is placing Kuro in the role of Macbeth.

Lawless changes the words in the line a bit, but the sentence comes from Shakespeare’s Macbeth Act 2 Scene 2 after Macbeth has murdered King Duncan in his sleep. The original sentence is Macbeth speaking about himself and he says “Whence is that knocking? How is ‘t with me when every noise appals me? What hands are here? Ha! They pluck mine eyes. Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.” (Sparknotes Editors) In modern English this text reads as: “Where is that knocking coming from? What’s happening to me, that I’m frightened of every noise? Whose hands are these? Ha! They’re plucking out my eyes. Will all the water in the ocean wash this blood from my hands? No, instead my hands will stain the seas scarlet, turning the green waters red.” (Sparknotes Editors)

In Macbeth after Macbeth murders King Duncan he experiences great guilt that plagues him throughout the rest of the play. When Macbeth says that not all of the ocean could wash away the blood he is saying that the regret of committing this crime will stay with him forever; he will never be rid of the sin of the act of murder. The reason Macbeth murdered King Duncan is because he visited three witches and received three prophecies: 1. Macbeth will be Thane of Glamis (which he already is at the start of the play), 2. Macbeth will be Thane of Cawdor, and 3. Macbeth will be king (which is what drives him to murder King Duncan). Ironically Macbeth at the beginning of the play is presented as a hero. He is noble, courageous, and loyal to his cousin King Duncan. He is renowned throughout the Kingdom of Scotland as the greatest warrior in the entire country. Which is why his betrayal of Duncan is so poignant. That a noble and loyal warrior would murder his defenseless slumbering king was unimaginable treachery.

Similarities between Kuro and Macbeth become highlighted once you see the connection. As far as we the readers know Kuro had a close relationship with The Creator, and yet he was the one who murdered him. We know that The Creator and Kuro had a conversation before his death, and The Creator is shown to be sitting down and seems to be relaxed around Kuro. Kuro essentially murders The Creator when he is defenseless just as Macbeth murders King Duncan when he is defenseless. Another similarity is the guilt Kuro and Macbeth hold over the murder they have committed. Macbeth’s guilt follows him to his death, and Kuro’s follows him for several centuries. Macbeth’s line of “Methought I heard a voice cry, “Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep”—the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care, The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course, Chief nourisher in life’s feast.” (Sparknotes Editors) refers to Macbeth’s inability to truly rest and be at ease now that he has committed the murder of King Duncan. Macbeth’s conscience will not allow him to sleep because the guilt will not leave his mind. Which parallels Kuro and his inability to move on from his regret of The Creator’s death.

I also thought that the three witches in Macbeth were interesting because you can parallel them with C3. As of Ch. 99 we’ve found out that C3 was originally CCC which stands for “Conjurer Control Convention”, and the fact that there are three C’s as well as three witches, and that these are the entities that deliver the information that results in a murder is thought provoking. We the readers don’t know the contents of C3’s letter beyond the fact that it held information about The Creator and that it asked the Servamps to kill The Creator. For all we know there could have been more included.

A great callback connection to Kuro’s hand wound by Hyde and the metaphorical blood on his hands from the murder of the Creator is in Ch. 31 “I’m Not Wrong”. Mahiru has entered Kuro’s mind and Kuro is saying how he never wants to make another decision ever again if he’s just going to regret it, and that he’ll only do things another person tells him to do. When Mahiru tells Kuro that accepting a decision a person makes is wrong takes courage, we have the speech bubble in the same panel that shows Kuro’s right hand, the hand Hyde stabbed in Ch. 24 “Tears”, covered in blood. This is deliberate because it is the only time in this sequence of dialogue that it is shown bloody. The rest of the time the hand is clean.

Also in Ch. 24 “Tears” we have Kuro’s shadow while fighting Hyde appear to have only four fingers, and in the above photo Kuro’s thumb is slightly obscured and seems to blend into his palm. Making it seem as though at first glance if you don’t look hard enough that he has only four fingers. With real lions they have five fingers on their front paws, but what we’d consider the thumb is much higher up their paw almost in their wrist area, so it sometimes looks as though they only have four fingers. Kuro’s claws are also made up of four appendages. In Ch. 2 “Tsubaki” after he has slashed Belkia his hands show two long claws and in between them are two shorter claws.

The similarities between Kuro and Macbeth end at their guilt. In the play Macbeth continues to murder, and Kuro has decided he will never make another decision on his own ever again becoming passive. Kuro has also faced his guilt and acknowledged he was wrong, and through the series has tried slowly, but surely, to change and become a different, better person than he was before.

Mahiru as Macduff

What truly stands out to me as Mahiru sharing similarities with Macduff is that in Macbeth Macduff is a foil to Macbeth, and his overall good character and noble qualities are supposed to contrast against Macbeth’s ambition and pride. Mahiru and Kuro are definitely opposites with Mahiru’s All Work vs Kuro’s All Play, but there are more subtle instances where Mahiru parallels Macduff. In the play Macduff is suspicious of King Duncan’s death and suspects Macbeth. Mahiru while not knowing about The Creator still wonders in Ch. 25 “SOS.” ‘What happened with you in the past? Just who did you kill? Or did you not kill anyone? What did you do with the majority vote? Did you approve of the-’, so there is a small parallel of Mahiru being curious of Kuro’s actions that may have resulted in a death in the past just as Macduff is suspicious of Macbeth’s involvement in King Duncan’s death.

Another parallel I found between Mahiru and Macduff is knocking. In Macbeth Macduff knocks on the door of Macbeth’s estate, where King Duncan had been staying. Macduff’s duty is to wake the king, and when he goes to wake King Duncan he finds him dead. Macduff’s knocking has been thought to represent Macbeth’s conscience knocking on his moral door. It’s also been thought to foreshadow that Macbeth’s opponent in the play is Macduff who’s knocking startles Macbeth after he has murdered King Duncan. Macbeth even has the line “Wake Duncan with your knocking. I would thou couldst.” which means “Wake Duncan with your knocking. I wish you could.” (Sparknotes Editors) to emphasize the regret he feels over killing Duncan.

In Ch. 31 “I’m Not Wrong” Mahiru is shown to say that he doesn't need a weapon to be let into Kuro’s black box. Only a knock. Just as Macduff can represent Macbeth’s conscience with his knocking, so can Mahiru represent Kuro’s with his. Only Mahiru and Kuro have much happier results than Macbeth and Macduff do with Mahiru guiding Kuro to confront his regret and telling him he was wrong to make the decision he did.

With Mahiru seeming to parallel Macduff in some ways it makes me wonder if there are more similar points between the two. In Macbeth Macduff was born by a cesarean section, and since Mahiru’s birth is mysterious and the circumstances around it haven’t yet been revealed to us it makes me wonder if Mahiru also was born via c-section. Along with what other secrets Uncle Toru hasn’t told us about Mahiru’s birth.

Conclusion

After analyzing Kuro and Mahiru’s similarities to Macbeth and Macduff I don’t think Tanaka will use references from Macbeth anymore, not so prominently at the very least. The Greed Arc is over, but the story still continues on. The best idea I can gather from this is that Mahiru may have a birth story similar to Macduff, or share the circumstances that their births are outside of the norm. Macbeth’s influence seems to have run its course in the series. Still, the way it was used in the Greed Arc for Kuro and Mahiru was incredibly well done and subtle.

I do find it hilarious that when Hyde uses the Macbeth line on Kuro in Ch. 24 “Tears” he’s just telling Kuro that blood from murder is on his hand. He doesn't realize that Kuro feels immense regret for killing The Creator, just as Macbeth feels immense regret for killing King Duncan.

I apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes. Thank you for reading this far.

Sources:

SparkNotes Editors. “No Fear Shakespeare.” SparkNotes.com, SparkNotes LLC, 2005, www.sparknotes.com/nofear/shakespeare/shakespeare/

Pictures:

Ch. 24 @pastenaga

Ch. 31 @lichtjekyll

#servamp #servamp meta #servamp kuro #shirota mahiru

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alecmagnuslwb · 4 years ago

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My Only Light

Read on AO3

The first time he says it it’s in a whisper of breath in the cold light of a dreary grey morning. The night before had been no less than a shitshow. In hindsight making a deal with a demon named Dolo, which quite literally means deceit hadn’t been his best thought out plan to date.

But John Constantine isn’t exactly known for always thinking before he acts.

He’d thought he was done for, with the demons six scaly hands wrapped around his throat, his arms immobilized to his side he figured it was finally going to happen. Finally, a demon would get its way and drag him down to hell where he belongs.

And just as he felt the flicking flames of the underworld truly touching his feet, not just the pull that usually haunts him, she showed up. Zatanna in all her magical glory stepped through a portal and blasted the demon with a hit of swirling angry red magic so hard it sent John flying back a few feet as well.

Likely an intentional move considering how upset he knew she’d be that he didn’t just call her in the first place.

Just like that the ground wasn’t swallowing him up and Dolo was nothing more than a pile of dust. John’s vision was blurred and darkened as he attempted to stand, falling back to the ground after even the slightest movement. Whether it was from the blood loss at his neck or the literal hellfire he’d felt he’s not sure, but everything is hazy and dark around him until Zatanna is hovering over him a burst of light in fishnets and a top hat.

“Wasn’t sure you’d get my message,” he said looking up at her forcing his eyes to stay open and look at her shine. His voice came out broken and a little wet, he’s pretty sure there was some internal bleeding involved. Zatanna healed him quickly and sighed once she was finished.

“Of course I did,” Zatanna said looking at him a little fond, a little sad and far more tender than he deserves. “Your fail safe could use an update though,” she added voice much angrier referring to his longtime magical fail safe that sends a message to her whenever he finds himself in a no escape, likely moments away from dying situation he should have called her in the first place for help with. “Maybe don’t make it so I get the message when the claws are already about to decapitate you.” Her voice gets softer with each word.

That was last night, she’s lying in bed beside where he’s propped up on the headboard now her face peaceful not a bit of anger or sadness curling at the edge of her lips. A streak of sunlight peeks through the clouds and the tattered curtains of the hotel room they’d settled in for the night cascading over her bare shoulder. She’s so bright, even exhausted in a trashy hotel room, and John can’t believe he gets to have her.

He reaches out a hand ghosting lightly over her hair brushing it back from her face.

“I’ve walked in darkness my entire life. And I’ve been at home there. But you, Zee? You’ve always been my light,” he says quietly hoping not to wake her. It’s so quiet and still in the room that for moment or two he thinks he’s succeeded until she grumbles lightly shifting closer to him tossing an arm over his waist and tugging, a signal for him to lay back down.

“Wax poetic later, sleep now,” she says eyes never opening. John snorts and slides back down letting himself be fully embraced in her arms and in her light.

Pitch black basements in houses that may or may not be haunted are generally a bad thing, so of course John is currently in one tugging at a light string that’s so old it breaks after one failed pull. The light pouring in from the flickering halls his only guide.

Luckily he moves well in darkness, metaphorically and literally.

He and Zatanna have been investigating a house as a courtesy for an old friend of her father’s. The old woman thought the place was haunted, Zatanna was more convinced the woman was just lonely and living in a house with creaky boards.

Usually he would agree, but when the basement door slams shut from a gust of wind and locks him in he’s not so certain.

He rushes up the stairs tripping in the darkness over a few of them before banging on the door.

“Zee!” he shouts tugging on the door handle the thing not even budging. There’s nothing but silence on the other side, Zatanna likely still in the attic where she’d been headed when he bounded down the steps of the dingy basement. He knocks on the door a few more times shouting her name unsuccessfully.

He huffs and pulls a lighter from his pocket flicking it to life and using it to brighten the space around him when a noise catches his attention to the left. He goes down the few short stairs and points his only light source towards the corner when he hears the sound again from the other side of the room. Another gust of cold air seeps across his skin and knocks out his light.

The sound moves faster now coming from both sides as he frantically attempts to relight his lighter, the damn thing not cooperating. When something rushes across his foot and another something taps at the back of his leg he’s not proud of it and he’ll deny it till his dying day, but he yelps loudly and a little higher pitched than he thought he was capable of scrambling towards the stairs.

The door swings open with a particularly forceful tug as soon as he hits the second step, Zatanna standing there a look of concern on her face and a flashlight in hand shining down on him.

“My literal damn light in the darkness,” he breathes out in relief looking down and seeing nothing nearby that could have been touching him anymore. She smirks at the light comment and pushes the door open further, ensuring it doesn’t jam again.

“I heard a scream,” she says moving the light up and down his body seemingly satisfied that he’s unharmed when she comes down a few steps and moves the flashlight around the basement.

“It was a yelp,” he defends jumping up to the same step she’s on and a little shamefully hiding behind her his hands on her waist. “Something’s down here, luv.” He says it low like he’s trying not to anger whatever it might be.

She shifts the flashlight around the floor when the sound that had startled him in the first place comes again. Two mice scuttle into view looking at them wide eyed for a moment before scurrying off to another corner.

Zatanna purses her lips poorly holding in her laughter.

“Shush,” he says in a huff pointedly stomping up the stairs, Zatanna no longer bothering to try and hold in her giggles. It’s a delightful sound, but he’s just grumpy enough to keep stomping away determined to prove the house is haunted just to save his dignity.

It isn’t.

The chilly November air swirls around them as they huddle close walking through Robinson Park after an all expenses paid dinner courtesy of Gotham’s favorite Bachelor in a bat suit. Gotham City is a bit of a hellhole in many respects, but this park is well kept thanks to the donations of Wayne Industries and one of the cities finer and safer points.

It’s been a long two weeks working with the bat and this is the first night they’ve had to themselves since arriving. They’ll be gone by tomorrow back to San Francisco where they settle these days, it’s the most stable John’s felt in years, maybe in his entire life with her. It feels good.

They settle on a bench John instantly tossing one arm over Zatanna’s shoulders and pulling her close. He uses his other hand to look for a smoke.

“Fuck,” John grumbles patting at all his pockets and coming up empty.

Zatanna reaches into the inside pocket of her own jacket, a black jean jacket covered in patches that’s too big on her and actually used to be John’s once upon a time. She pulls out a pack of cigarettes and shakes them in front of his eyes.

“Did you really think,” she says pulling one from the pack and sticking it between her lips. “That I didn’t know you keep a pack in that pot on the balcony that’s empty because we keep killing all the plants we put in there?” she smirks at him around the cigarette pulling the lighter from the pack and flicking it to life.

“I took the pack out in the hopes that we might successfully plant something in there and in the knowledge that you’re always running out and losing full packs when we’re working,” she continues as she puts the flame to the end of the cigarette.

“You know me so damn well,” he says with his own answering smirk. Once the cigarettes lit she puts the pack and lighter back in her pocket and takes a slow drag. John would never wish his nasty habit on her permanently, but he won’t act like it isn’t one of the sexiest visions in the world to see the smoke curl from her dark painted lips a bit of her magic at the edges of it.

She smiles, genuine at him as she pulls the cigarette away and holds it out for him. He ducks his head quickly placing a light kiss on the two fingers that hold the cigarette before putting his lips around it and pulling back ensuring the lit end doesn’t brush her fingers.

“Too damn well,” she says with a roll of her eyes dropping her hand. He takes his own drag loving the burn of it in his lungs and the sweet taste of her lipstick staining the end.

“My light always with a light for me,” he smiles pulling the cigarette away and placing a quick kiss on her hair.

She rolls her eyes again before settling back under his arm and into his side.

“You get cornier and cornier the older we get,” she says curling a hand into his trench coat for warmth. John just laughs around another drag of his cigarette not arguing the point.

John wakes up screaming.

In an instant Zatanna is pouring into the bedroom her hands on his shoulders, a steadying grip grounding him back to reality.

“You’re okay,” she says soothingly as he gets control of his breath. “You’re okay.”

He looks down at himself covered in sweat and then up at her a vision of goddess-hood in a white t-shirt, dark pants, suspenders and sharp dark eyeliner. Just one look at her settles his frayed nerves a bit more than anything else could.

He doesn’t remember the nightmare, but it must have been a doozy to leave him in the state he is. He does however remember the night before, or parts of it, and winces.

It’d been the anniversary of losing little Astrid at Newcastle, a hard day any year, a day that reminds him of his failures and of how he’s never quite good enough in the end. One drink in her memory had turned into two, which turned into shots and a pool game gone wrong which resulted in the ache in his jaw from the punch he vaguely remembers receiving after trying to haul off with some bloke’s entire wallet. He’d been thrown out of two pubs before some bartender had finally taken pity on him and cut him off, stealing his phone and calling the first number they’d found.

Years ago he’d put numbers before Zatanna’s number to make sure she was always be at the top of his contacts just in case, instead of dead last as she would be alphabetically. It’s one of those moments though were he wishes he’d changed that; wishes that she didn’t have to deal with him like this.

“I’m sorry,” he says grimacing a bit as her hands drop from his shoulders. She looks a little stunned at the words, which just makes them even truer. He fucks up pretty frequently and doesn’t apologize enough if she looks surprised to hear it said out loud. It’s something he needs to work on.

“John,” she starts softly, all kindness and understanding he doesn’t deserve in this moment at all so he cuts her off.

“No, I got fucked up last night and I shouldn’t have and the responsibility of making sure I didn’t drink myself to death shouldn’t have landed on you,” he says firmly looking directly into her bright eyes, almost too bright to look into with his head screaming a headache from every angle. “So, I’m sorry.”

Usually she would have been with him on the day keeping him from doing as he had done the night before, but he’d done a number on their relationship a few months prior and they’ve been distant. The fact that she showed up when a random bartender told her to come pick up his drunk ass means more than he’ll ever be able to express and as usual is more than he deserves.

“You’re forgiven,” she says with a small sad smile. She reaches out pushing his sweaty bangs back from his forehead. “Go wash up, I made one of your good old-fashioned hangover cure breakfasts.” She stands up from where she’d settled on the edge of the bed and pats him on the shoulder as she goes.

The shower helps and the breakfast, despite it nearing two in the afternoon, refreshes him even more. He’ll always be grateful that despite being a stout vegetarian she took the time to learn his hangover breakfast recipes back when they first got together. Zatanna just sits beside him the whole time sipping a coffee quietly and scrolling through her phone.

“Thank you,” he says eventually after pushing his empty plate away. She sits her phone down and turns to him.

“You don’t have to thank me,” she shrugs always so damn good and humble. She deserves everything, a simple thanks doesn’t even begin to cover it, but it’s all he has.

“I really do,” he says running a hand across his jaw, the stubble reminding him he should have shaved too while he was washing the sadness and sweat away in the shower. “I’ve been shit these last few months and I know it, but you showed up anyways, so thank you.”

She smiles reaching out and tapping her fingers lightly against his knuckles.

“You’d do the same for me, no matter how shit you are,” she says with a smile and for the first time in days John actually feels good. She moves to pull away, but John stops her flipping his hand and tangling their fingers together.

“I know you hate it when I say it, but you really are my light Zee, more than I ever deserve,” he says squeezing her hand once before letting go. She pulls back and collects his plate pausing next to him as she does. She leans down pressing a kiss into his hair.

“You deserve more than you think,” she says before stepping away and disappearing into the kitchen.

He doesn’t believe it for a second, but he appreciates the sentiment from the best person he’ll ever know anyways.

It’s hell and fire surrounding them again and he’s so goddamn angry.

Things were finally settling into place with the world, with his ever-improving mindset and most importantly and selfishly with them. Now he’s standing in front of a burning pentagram that will take him to hell and he may never come back, Zatanna standing in front of him begging him to not do this alone.

The window of the bar they’ve taken over to do this in bursts, glass shattering all around, a bit cutting at the exposed skin of his hand and neither of them even flinch too focused on one another and the reality of what’s about to happen settling in, hyper aware of the argument they’re about to have and he’s too stubborn to lose. Outside there are shouts of fear and fighting, somewhere every friend they have is fighting every hell beast and monster that’s slithering out of a crack in the universe raining hell down on earth trying to contain it to Metropolis alone before John seals it from the other side.

“It’s the only way, Zee,” he says for at least the fifth time. She knows, but he understands her position he’d be fighting the same fight if it was her making a choice that would likely end with her death.

There’s only three people on their side with magic strong enough to seal an exposed gate to hell, she’s too important to the world and to him to be the one to do it and Doctor Fate is too self-important to do it, which just leaves him.

It’s not the hero moment he asked for, but it’ll have to do to really earn that Justice League membership Bats handed over months ago that had a lot of existing members scratching their heads.

“We can figure out something else,” she says weakly. “I can go with you, we’re stronger together.”

It’s true in a lot of senses and in theory for this particular situation, but this is a one-way ticket most likely and she’s too damn valuable to test a theory.

John steps forward fingers gripping around the suspenders she’s wearing and tugging her close.

“There’s no other way, my love,” he says pressing his forehead to hers. Her hands come up lightly holding onto his bent elbows. “I can close it and you can save the world.” He sighs and moves forward gathering her up in his arms and holding her close. Her arms lock tightly around his waist like she can hold him here with just this.

She could. He can’t let her though.

“I love you,” he says, taking what might be his last chance to tell her everything he feels about her. It’s easier to say it this way with her bright eyes not staring into his and making him change his mind about this. “You are the light in every darkness I’ve ever faced, you’re the whole damn world to me.”

Zatanna’s arms squeeze around him tighter as he pulls back. He leans in kissing her for all he’s worth, pouring every apology he’s never given her, every word he’s said and hasn’t, every touch he’ll miss and every touch that set him alight into it and god does she give right back. She doesn’t need to say a thing back, he feels it all in her kiss. It feels like a goodbye, he hates that it probably is.

“Fuck this,” she says wetly once he pulls away. She doesn’t move to stop him this time though, even if her hands twitch at her sides desperately wanting to.

John chuckles and smirks stepping backwards into the pentagram and flames with his arms spread wide.

“I emphatically agree,” he says before the flames take over and his screams begin. The last thing he sees before the pain takes over is Zatanna wiping away tears a sad laugh escaping her lips at his theatrics.

Miracle of all miracles that can only be explained because of the existence of Zatanna Zatara he makes it back. It takes three days which feels like three hundred years for him, but somehow she finds a loophole, sneaks in and gets him home without so much as a hellhound following them out.

He sleeps for five days straight after she portals them into their shared room in the House of Mystery. When he wakes he’s disappointed to find no get well soon bouquets from Superman and then is hit with a split second of wondering if he dreamed it all when he notices it’s dark outside and Zatanna is nowhere to be found.

But before any fear can overtake him she’s pushing the door open with her hip a tray of food in her hands and she freezes.

“There you are,” she says hopeful and lovely, choking on the words just enough that it would go unnoticed by anyone but him. She sits the tray down on the vanity before throwing herself into his arms on the bed.

“Here I am,” he says disbelieving he’s back here, in this bed with this woman, the only place he ever wants to be. They stay that way for a while just holding onto each other before she eventually leans back.

She looks tired hair pulled up in a swaying ponytail, not a smidge of makeup or jewelry on wearing one of his old torn to shreds Mucous Membrane t-shirts and leggings that look like the galaxy. She’s never looked more beautiful; she’s never been more the personification of the light of his life merely for the fact she’s here and this is real and he’s not dead or stuck in hell running for his very soul for eternity.

He says just that aloud.

“You’re always saying that, John,” she says brushing a hand through his hair briefly before sliding down to settle her fingers lightly on his collarbone just above the tattoo on his chest she’d picked out the design for what feels like a lifetime ago when they were twenty and filled with light. She held onto hers though, even if he lost his along the way. “That I’m your light and I don’t doubt it, but have you ever stopped to consider for a moment that you’re mine too?”

John freezes. He hadn’t. The thought had never once crossed his mind and if it weren’t for the fact that he’s stone cold sober right now and more alert and aware than usual he’d question if he even heard her correctly. As far as he’s concerned John is all shadows and the darkness at the end of a tunnel with only dead ends, he’s no light, no beacon of anything, especially not to the woman who’s always been the glowing candle in his undercurrent of nothingness, the flashlight in every cave he’s been brutally tossed into.

The concept is completely implausible. Yet, here she is saying it.

“I know you’ll never believe it,” she goes on and continues running her fingers delicately along his collarbone. “But it’s the truth, for all the mistakes you make and the mess you tend to bring with you, you’re the most consistent thing in my life. You’re always there when I need you, you’re always the first person I want to be there, you may think you’re all darkness and monsters, but to me that’s never been the case.”

She drops her hand and grabs one of his holding it between both of her own. They’re a little cold, just like always, a stark contrast to the burning scorch his skin always holds.

“You’re my light as much as I’m yours, keep that in mind for me next time you step into a hell portal on a suicide mission will you?” she requests with a light teasing tone. He hears the words beneath it, don’t you dare die on me.

He can’t make any promises on that front and he’s frankly so stunned by the admission he can’t find the words to articulate it, so he settles for moving forward kissing her soft and slow, a complete opposite to the last kiss they’d shared all desperate and filled with farewells. This one is slow and tender saying with his slightly chapped lips and warm tongue that he’ll stay as long as hell allows him.

“I’ll do my best,” he says eventually long after the kiss and a few dozen more his back pressed to her chest her fingers carding through his hair as he trails light paths with his own hands up and down her now bare thighs.

“Good,” she says tugging a little at the ends of his sandy hair understanding what he means. For the first time in a long time he feels like maybe he does have some light left in him too.

#my fic #johnzee #john constantine #zatanna zatara

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dontasktheradiodemon · 4 years ago

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Bullet Wound

Follow-up to this discussion with Angel. They ended up doing the surgery in Angel’s room instead of the bar because SOMEBODY forgot that was where we agreed to meet. (It’s me I’m somebody.)

Alastor

Knock knock knock, guess who. It's Doctor Alastor and Nurse Hentai, here with their trademark "surgery with a smile" service.

Angel

He opened the door with one of his tertiary hands. The couple others were busy pressing a pink-stained... _something_ to his shoulder.

" Oh nonono, I ain't drunk enough fa THIS, YET. " Angel knocked back the remainder of whiskey left in the bottle he had before trudging to his minifridge for another. " Is Hentai, uh, gonna hurt? He slimy or some shit? How drunk I gotta be? " His eyes were beginning to lose focus.

Alastor

Alastor's gaze landed on the pink stain. Aha. There was the wound, no doubt. "It'll hurt about as much as you'd expect for something the width of a coffee stirrer to squeeze into a wound and yank a bullet out. I can dull your ability to feel around the injury."

Alastor tilted his head to peer into the minifridge, checking to see how good Angel's stash was. "I think you're quite drunk enough already! Unless you want to sleep the next two weeks." He held up the one bit of surgical equipment he'd visibly brought with him: a bottle of Everclear. "But I'd planned to use this to clean the wound."

Angel

" Oh, ya can?? " he responded with uncharacteristically dulled excitement, " Thank _fuck!_ I would'a gone fa a hit but, uh, _Bolivian Ma'chin' Powder's_ all OUT. An' I gotta... uh, show. Even if just ta say I can't work so I can get my standa'd issue ass kickin' an' come back. "

Angel then stumbled to his chair, flipping it around so he could lean forward off the back. " Just... go nuts. Fuck th' rug. I could get a Daddy ta get me a new one if it gets fucked up. Uh... youse can use th' bench if ya need to. "

Alastor

"What, sending a self-E of the bullet wound isn't a good enough doctor's note?" Alastor tutted.

He unscrewed the bottle; for the moment, he was still standing so he could remain taller than Angel. "Now, this IS going to sting—but I've got to clean you off before I can numb the area. I'd warn you to bite the bullet but—hah—we'll have to fish it out before you can do that, won't we!" And here comes the sting.

Angel

" Nah... he's gonna think I photoshopped it... " he groaned with a reach for a throw pillow to scream into. He would've laughed a little more whole-heartedly if not for the anticipated _agony_ that tensed him so hard he could've bit off his own tongue.

" _UGH THIS IS WHAT I FUCKIN' GET!_ " he muffled into the plush pink, now growing darker from the entrance wound, " Why's good shit gotta HURT so bad? It's so fuckin' _DUMB._ " Angel smothered a few more whines and hisses before getting a handle on his breathing again. " ... Can ya do the numbin' thin', yet...? "

Alastor

Ignore the studio audience laughing at your pain, it's nothing personal.

Alastor lightly brushed off what few drops of fresh blood the alcohol hadn't washed from Angel's fur. "Now I can!" He decided owing a small favor to a prince was worth it so he didn't have to drag a miniature apothecary out of his trunk, looked around for a pen or marker—ah, of course, makeup everywhere—and grabbed a tube of black lipstick. "You don't happen to have any bad blood with Prince Gaap, do you?"

Angel

Angel groaned, metaphorically biting his tongue to hold back any amount of quips or name-calling he would've fired at the hip for the sake of not pissing off the demon that was about to start poking around in him.

" Prince a who? " he asked with an instantly regrettable twist to see what Alastor was doing, " I ain't ever known any _legitimate_ royalty... I don' think... "

Alastor

"Then I'll take that as a no." He scrawled Gaap's sigil on Angel's shoulder around the wound—not his most artistic work, given how fuzzy his canvas was, but Alastor was on good enough terms with enough nobles that they wouldn't nitpick tiny errors in his work. "Now, this will make the area around your wound feel temporarily hale and hearty—but it's only a feeling. You're still just as damaged. Don't jump up and do cartwheels." He finished the double circle around the sigil and the lines started to glow green. Good. "Working yet?"

Angel

Angel took a deep breath as the nerves began to cease fire until finally, he no longer felt the need to scream or cry. Well enough to turn his head, he gave himself a peek in the mirror.

" Yeah... like I wanna do cartwheels, " Angel giggled, " Tell Prince Gaap I said thanks ~ " _An' ask him if he's single,_ he chuckled to himself as he stretched his limbs more comfortably about his chair. " Ya gonna stir me like a cup a coffee, now? " he joked.

Alastor

"I'll pass on your gratitude! Just don't tell him you owe him one if you happen to cross paths with him, he'll take it literally and then we'll both be paying him for the anesthesia."

Alastor huffed. "Once I clean the wound a little more. I don't know if you've noticed, but you've got quite a lot of fur around it." He looked around for some sort of towel that wasn't completely soaked in blood, poured a little more alcohol in it, and finally sat on the bench as he started carefully cleaning the wound itself while trying to avoid disrupting the sigil.

"You don't strike me as the type to get shot in the back," he mused. "What happened here—somebody take you by surprise?"

Angel

" Oh, he's _that_ type, " he commented, deciding on whether or not he should offer a razor. He was already going to be getting a temporary bald spot. May as well...

" If ya needa clear it some, there's clippers off th' side a the mirro- " Angel's arms and legs tightened around the chair as he sank his chin _deep_ into the pillow. _When_ was the last time...? Without the sting to distract him, all there was to focus on was the touch and it made his head swim. He didn't know how to process it, so he reverted to his go-to distraction. " _Funny how I still ended up on th' twink ma'ket cove'ed in all this peach fuzz, ah?_ "

He chuckled bitterly as his eyes swept to the ceiling. " Yeah... somethin' like that... Was a _surprise,_ alright... "

Alastor

"Most nobles are. Out of the ones that bargain with humans, anyway." He grabbed the clippers and very carefully started clearing a patch around the entry wound. "You know, between you being called one and *me* being called one, I'm beginning to think that 'twink' doesn't actually mean anything."

Alastor leaned around Angel's side to give him a vicious grin. "So, tell me about this surprise! You didn't think I was doing this without hoping to get a little entertainment in return!"

Angel

" _It means ya never get ta eat **shit,** that's what it means-!_ " he grumbled.

Then a sudden **gasp.** How the hell he manged to scare him despite being the forefront of his attention was beyond him. " _Fuckin'-_ " he groaned with a turn of his head in the opposite direction, " Was an ex... an angry one... That dramatic enough fa you? "

His claws clenched his skin as he tried to replicate the buzz of the razor into his brain. Sure would be nice if he could uncap his skull and do some doodling in _there._

Alastor

"... *Does it.*" There was a little bit of info Alastor was going to file away and never let go of.

"An ex! Oh, yes, *quite* dramatic enough! What did you do to *him?* That is to say—" One freshly alcohol-soaked claw brushed dangerously close to prying into the wound, "—was this earned, or an overreaction?"

Angel

" Earned. Def'nitely earned. Uh... " Angel pondered. He'd already vague-blogged about the incident. Any opportunity to avoid any scandal was already blown.

" She. I let her 'and it to me. It was th' _least_ I could do. "

Alastor

"*She!* That brings up some questions, doesn't it?" He dropped his impromptu wash cloth on his lap and said, "Now, as much as I'd relish prying this story out of you one detail at a time, unfortunately I won't be free to talk for a bit." He summoned up his cane. "Ready to have an alien abomination pry a bullet out of your back?"

Angel

Angel braced himself. Salt in the wound felt well deserved to him. Even if subconsciously, he'd allow every opportunity to pay for what he did to her. Being pried through by an alien abomination, sitting through a mortifying interview, and being shot point blank was a good enough start.

" Wouldn't be the _first_ time I 'ad tentacles in me ~ " he replied cheekily with a thumbs up, " Just don' let 'im get _too_ carried away, yeah ~ ? "

Alastor

"Oh, I plan to guarantee he won't!" A dark blot, small as an ink stain, opened in the air between them, and a single thin tendril wiggled out. "But while I'm giving him instructions, I won't be listening to closely to you. So!" He swung his cane around in front of Angel. "Take Mic here and let him know if you need me to stop, would you?"

Angel

" _Plan_ ta guarantee...? " He snorted, then crimson eyes flickered. He'd voluntarily _hand_ him that thing? " Yeah, ok ~ " Angel wiped off his bloody fingers and gently took the rod. " Can't feel a thin'- " _Liar._ " -so prolly won't need to. "

" Heyyy, Mic-y, how ya doin' ~ ? " he asked sweetly, turning the instrument about and inspecting him curiously. " Al give ya routine polishin'? Ya just, chill in th' other dimension 'til he calls ya? " Like a set of keys given to a toddler, he was sufficiently distracted.

Alastor

"Oh, I can't complain! It's not allowed in my contract!" The cane rolled its eye. "Naaah, who needs polishing? When I poof off, the dirt doesn't come with me!" It gave Angel a wry look. "Or d'you got another reason for asking how often Al *polishes his cane?* Eh?" Mic's humor was somewhat lowbrow compared to Alastor's usual standards. Usually Alastor would scold it for getting saucy. But right then, Alastor's brain wasn't entirely present.

He couldn't actually give his tentacled "friend" orders, per se. They were too different, too alien for normal person-to-person communication. What Alastor COULD do was broadcast a signal that let him slip into a fragment of a tentacle's mind and pilot it directly; but when he was doing so, when he was making sense of the world as the alien beast saw it, he wasn't exactly able to, say, process language.

If Angel happened to turn around, he'd see that Alastor's eyes had gone blank and filled with static. But he probably shouldn't turn around, since that was when Alastor managed to seize control of the noodle-thin tentacle that had wriggled through and fed the tip of it into the wound.

Angel

" Hehehe! I getcha, I getcha. Talk back get smacked, ah? " Angel couldn't can more giggles, but he did feel the need to do some scolding in Alastor's place. At least, as much as he _assumed_ he should.

" Buh-BUH! Shouldn't ya know better than ta be talkin' deer dick? At least, _more than me_? Ta at least keep it in th' context a dick seasoned up real nice on a silver platter? " He snickered deviously, remembering certain debaucheries he'd engaged in both before and after death. " I _like_ ya, though! Wonder how much fun ya'd be _outta_ contract ~ "

Gently tapping the deep red surface of the back with a pristinely manicured claw, Angel had a sudden urge to seize an opportunity he might not get later. " Hey... can ya do that radio thin' ta _my_ voice? "

Alastor

"You can't have slapstick without the stick! And what'm I if not a stick? You ain't gettin' me outta contract, though. That's not how it works."

(Alastor, meanwhile, has slithered the tentacle in deep enough to reach the bullet. Pardon the weird feeling as it wraps around the intrusion, and then prods briefly past the bullet to make sure it didn't penetrated Angel's lung. Whole new can of worms if it did.)

"No can do! You wanna get your voice broadcast outta the radio, sure, I'm the Mic for the job, long as Alastor's authorizing the broadcast. But if you wanna GET the radio voice? Uh-uh. Only way to sound like the Radio Demon is to BE the Radio Demon."

Angel

An eye twitched as he took a breath and felt that internal pinch. Sans the pain of one, the sensation reminded him of an air bubble he'd have to spend several minutes patting out until he could finally take a deeper breath again. He shallowed his lungs and stayed still as he could with a held breath until the tendril retreated. A deep, testing sigh of relief, then he shook his head with a glance to the mirror. Alastor sure was getting _busy._ He trusted he was in good hands.

" Nah, I don't wanna do _that._ Just wanna give ya singin' a lil' try. Not _everyday_ ya passed off t' another demon, am I right? Specially not a _talented_ one like yours truly ~ " Angel pouted and pursed his brows. " C'mon ~ Just this once! I promise I'll _do ya right ~_ "

Alastor

"Ya wanna sing, then sing! But I can't give you the voice any more than I can give you deer antlers. It ain't transferrable. It's *his.*"

And there was the bullet being slowly dragged backwards out of the wound it had caused. Carefully. But they probably weren't going to completely avoid doing a little extra damage.

Angel

" 'Tis almost th' season, Sweetie, I can give _m'self_ antle's if I wanted to ~ " He then rolled his eyes and relented, followed by some sensational weirdness in his shoulder cavity. Checking in wasn't his first instinct. It was, of course, to _play._ He'd never nail Alastor's southern belle, so he let his register drop as he casually snapped and tapped his own beat with Mic dramatically in hand. ( At least, theatrically as he could while being an obedient patient. )

https://youtu.be/eAiMOTlUVv4

Alastor

Bullet retrieved. Alastor's eyes snapped back to normal as the tentacle withdrew into its portal, dropping the bullet as it did. He caught it, but waited until the end of the song to speak up. "Not bad." He held the bullet over Angel's shoulder. "Do you want this little troublemaker?"

Angel

" Hehe! _Thanks ~ !_ " Angel took the bullet in a free hand to inspect it for shatter. Thankfully, it was all in one piece. Hentai wouldn't have to do any further digging. " What I owe ya? This thin' gonna last 'til it heals, or should I get ready ta go Vicodin huntin' _now?_ " he asked with an experimental roll of his shoulder and another check in the mirror.

Alastor

"Go Vicodin hunting. And also bandage it up, change the bandage twice daily, check for infection, et cetera et cetera." He stood, stretched, and his cane poofed out of Angel's hand and into his own. "As for what you owe me... Give me the rest of the story about this ex of yours and if I think it's interesting enough, we'll call it square."

Angel

" ... Ya ain't gonna be reco'din' it, are ya? " he asked solemnly, " Ah fuck whatever... " Angel threw himself into mercy and rummaged around his drawers for bandages.

" I 'ad a squeeze t' get the Outfit off m'back, " he began, " Drew it out as long as I could but uh, _women's_ a pretty hot topic wit' th' boys. Older I got... y'know. _Family._ They's wantin' _kids._ Big ol' fuckin'... Italian _famiglia_ ta' keep th' bootleg business goin'. "

Was it the pain of the memory or the pressure of the wrapping? Angel was thankful for it. He even dabbed at himself a bit forcefully to override any involuntary bodily response to the whole ordeal.

Alastor

"You have my solemn vow that I won't start recording." That wasn't a promise that he wasn't already recording.

Alastor could guess where this story was going; his grin widened in anticipatory schadenfreude. "Go on."

Angel

As Alastor's grin widened, Angel's eyes narrowed. He tucked his bandage and leaned back against his vanity.

" She's was _-IS-_ like you. I was about as inta her as she was inta anyone else. At least, when I wasn't mistakin' 'er fa a guy. We's was dumb kids, grew up t'gether in the same mafia network. We knew th' game an' we knew we 'ad ta play it. So we _made a deal._ "

" I broke it in, uh... 1944. "

Alastor

Now there was a twist Alastor hadn't been expecting. He'd anticipated a young bride doe-eyed with love and a young groom miserably trying to pretend it was reciprocated. But a mutual ruse was far more interesting.

And far more relatable. It wasn't very far off from his own parents' arrangement—except that theirs hadn't involved the Mafia.

"Let me guess. Get handcuffed together, play the happy couple in front of the family, ignore each other at home? Something like that?" And the one point that actually concerned him—"Were children involved?"

Angel

" No. We were very close, very convincin'. She was m' best frien'. Like Cherri, I didn' deserve 'er. E'ryone thought we was wildin' in the sack, but it never happened. No sex, no kids, just... two murderin' peas in a pod playin' th' most convincin' game a pretend... 'til I couldn't anymo'e. "

" _Could_ say we 'ad kids involved, though _THEM_ fuckin' wild childs could 'ardly bc counted. They was lil' monste's from the Forty-Two. Loved 'em like m'own. Some's prolly down 'ere. "

Alastor

Good—if they'd gotten offspring involved, that would have just been distasteful. Outside children that Angel actually liked were a different matter entirely.

"So, what did the grand breakdown look like? A big blowout fight and a demand for a divorce? No—Catholic, I presume—attempted murder?" He cocked an eyebrow. "*Successful* murder?"

Angel

Angel actually bursted a laugh. " Nope! Wasn't really... a _single thin-_ ok, it was, but uh, said _breakdown_ was less of a _single act_ an' more of a... "

His eyes searched the air for dates, encounters. It didn't help he didn't remember most of it, but he shrugged thinking that was enough indication in itself.

" _Buncha dragged out climaxes_ fa th' next... three years a so. Then I died an' left 'er ta face th' music all 'er own. Hence... " He then tapped at his shoulder and shrugged as if violence was the logical answer to beginning to level a half century-long grudge.

" She's workin' fa Rosie now. Keepin' th' fucks off 'er turf. I was one a them, " he snickered.

Alastor

Well that was the least subtle euphemism Alastor had ever heard. "You mean the prenuptial agreement for your marriage of convenience didn't include provisions for you to sleep around?" Alastor shook his head in exaggerated disappointment. "I can forgive her for the lapse—it takes multiple lessons to learn that you sexual people aren't exaggerating when you say the allure of sex is irresistible—but *you* ought to have known better!"

But never mind that, there was a personal connection now. "Well, it's a small underworld after all! If she's working for Rosie, then *I* might know her! What's her name—down here, I mean?"

Angel

" That was fa show! " he burst defensively, " We was bound by nothin' but laws an' laws is fake! " Angel pouted with a quadruple arm cross. He hadn't even _intended_ that innuendo as much as he meant to convey the feeling of being constantly at the edge of your seat for years. That'd drive _any_ sane person wild.

" She didn't _care_ who I fucked with! If ya ask _me,_ it's her _own fuckin' fault_ I went off th' 'andle because she had ta fuckin' PLAY WINGMAN AT THE MENAGERIE! "

He ignored Alastor's question of her identity at the moment. He was much too offended and much too defensive to let any shaming go unchecked, untouched by the oblivion of his violent self-assurance.

Alastor

Alastor laughed at the outburst. "Well, if she didn't care who you were crawling under the covers with, then what in the world is it you did in '44 that constituted such a great break from your 'agreement'? You didn't try to kill her, by mutual agreement you weren't cheating—what's left? Beatings? Framing her for infidelity? Eloping with a rival don's son?"

Angel

He clamped his jaw shut, gritting gold grinding into a horrid sound that soundtracked his anger. Angel didn't want to tell him any more than Alastor was surely not going to be letting it go. Should he just lie? Was that better than letting this asshole in on what was arguably _the_ most defining moment of his life?

" I already told you. I died. I left her alone when we were supposed to get through the fucking SHITSHOW together. '44 was just the year I _started..._ dying. "

Alastor

Alastor was silent for a moment as he processed that—and Angel's atypically somber tone at the announcement—and then, at last, said, "Some betrayal. Most people can't help dying—even the people who do it to themselves." Well, it didn't make for an exciting conclusion to the story—he could vaguely imagine the drama and trauma of the story in action, but the retelling left most of it out.

Still—a sham marriage in the middle of mobster family politics; it was a good enough story. "But, very well! Consider your surgery paid for. And I suppose if the two of you think that was reason enough for her to shoot you—HA!"

Alastor suddenly slapped Angel's shoulder. (By sheer luck, at least it was the uninjured shoulder.) "Have you ever heard that joke? 'My ex-wife still misses me—but her aim's getting better!'" Studio audience laughter. "I guess she doesn't miss you!"

Sometimes Alastor kills himself.

Angel

He _almost_ wished he had slapped his injured shoulder, just so he'd have a more solid reason to hit him back. Nonetheless, he managed to dodge _that_ bullet so Angel figured he could call it a day. A day to start dealing opioids.

" Yeah. She didn't miss, alright. " The corner of his mouth could only twitch. He wasn't consciously _stifling_ a smile, but his every deep-seated instinct to self-destruct at the slightest brush with self-awareness took more effort than he had to deal.

" Bel. La Donna. Like th' poison. She's like yay high an' redder than ya fuckin' mop before ya treatment. A spider. Like me. "

Alastor

"Oh, come now, that was funny and you know it."

Alastor's eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh! *Bel!* Yes, we're acquainted! Not *well*, but well enough we'd be obligated to say hello if we passed on the street. My, my, it really *is* a small underworld."

Angel

" Aw _fuck,_ " he groaned, " Best _keep_ it that way. This place is already starting to feel like Double Hell. Last thin' I need's YOU TWO tag-teamin' me... "

Angel then lazily fished for his phone and hit up a dealer. " I'm gonna head out fa meds. Youse- " He hesitated. " ... gonna need anythin'? I'll replace ya everclear. "

Alastor

"Don't you worry! We don't talk much. Anyway, if she's gone this long without spreading the news around Rosie's inner circle that her ex-husband is Hell's biggest porn star, I doubt she has any interest in discussing it now."

He shook his head; he got the story behind the bullet, he had his payment. "It wasn't my bottle, I got it for this."

Angel

" Heh heh... that's the funny thin', " he confessed, " _She ain't known I was goin' by Angel Dust until t'day._ " He picked up a jacket and shrugged through the sleeves. " She always knew how ta cover my tracks. I _don't know_ how generous she's gonna be _now,_ but... here's hopin' she's satisfied with gettin' me penetrated by an alien named Hentai. "

He snickered, returning some to his usual self. " Thanks anyways. Ya didn't have t' be helpin' me out. "

Alastor

"And what's she going to do if she doesn't feel generous? Tell people that the famed porn star Angel Dust married a beard when he was alive? I hardly think that would cause a scandal down here!"

He waved off the thanks. "I'm perpetually bored and bullet wounds are almost always interesting."

Angel

" Oh you'd be surprised ~ Though. I don't think she's the type. Prolly just shoot me again fa hidin' from 'er all these years. "

He snickered and shot Alastor some fingerguns. " If she does, I'll let her hit somethin' interestin' fa ya ~ "

Alastor

Alastor tilted his head thoughtfully. “Yes, that... does sound like her.” He didn’t know a lot about Bel, but he knew THAT. How had Angel described himself and her, murderous peas in a pod or something of the sort? “See if you can’t persuade her to avoid the lungs and the bowels. Those are a pain to deal with. For me. But I imagine they’d also be a pain on the receiving end!”

Angel

" _The heart it is then ~_ " he sang with a wink, landing a heavy hand upon Alastor's shoulder on his way towards the door, " If ya see 'er aroun', be good ta her, ah? I should be back in time fa late dinner. "

Alastor

"A classic! How symbolic."

He gave Angel a farewell nod as he headed out himself. "I'll set aside some leftovers for you." *Never get to eat shit,* his ass. Not on his watch.

#sluttyspiderpolkacock #chat log

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utterlyinevitable · 4 years ago

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Alrighty sooo we all know Becca but what about this woman named...Hannah in you WIPS? (and in my WhatsApp) 1,2,4,8,9,15,16,18,23,26,27,31,33,39,45,52,54,55 this shall keep u occupied lol

*sighs* Hannah Hannah Hannah... when will I finish your saga 😔

i’m going to use both prompt lists for this and choose my favorite questions aha

1. What’s their full name? Why was that chosen? Does it mean anything? & Age, Birthday, Star Sign

Hannah Amelia Weill

I really like writing complicated women with long names and multiple identities.

Growing up her friends all called her Hannie. She was always Hannah to her family and everyone who doesn’t know her intimately. One boy (’Bryce’) called her Han. Later in life her partner calls her Anna because of his thick accent. Her alias and the name she went by during her uni identity crisis was Leah, a derivative of her middle name.

I don’t like her last name so it may change to fit with the metaphor of the whole piece 🤷🏻‍♀️

The story moves between her being 16-18 and 23.

tbh i haven’t given much thought to her birthday 😂 i feel like she’d be an edgy libra

2. Do they have any titles? How did they get them? & Gender Identity

Nothing formal lol

But her mother calls her a ‘hurricane’ and after high school that group of friends she had relegated her to a ‘selfish bitch’ and proceeded to cut her out of their lives without any warning. (side note: later in life she’ll realize she may have been The Toxic Friend)

She’s hetero female. Though she was bi-curious with only one friend when she was 17. She leaned into that for a while but realized women just weren’t doing it for her.

4. What is their relationship with their parents? What’s a good and bad memory with them? Did they know both parents? & Race and Ethnicity

She’s estranged from her father and hasn’t seen him since she was five. She’s an only child and had some distance between her and her mother because of socio-economic factors. At her core Hannah is a private, enigmatic person and her mother always kinda let her do whatever she wanted as long as she kept her grades up. It wasn’t a bad childhood or growing up. There were some rough patches but she lived in a bubble compared to the rest of the world. When she moved away her relationship with her mother got better because her mom would call or text her every week to make sure she’s alive. She still does and Hannah sometimes doesn’t answer so her mom calls.

She’s white bread with European roots.

8. Did they have pets as a child? Do they have pets as an adult? Do they like animals? & Weapon of Choice(?)

They had a dog which she loved and taught her the meaning of unconditional love. The dog even slept in her twin sized bed. As an adult Hannah is much to irresponsible (and self aware about this fact) to bring a pet into her life. She loves animals but keeps a distance and prefers the odd well behaved domestic pup.

She has wit, stoicism and psychological manipulations at her disposal.

9. Hometown and current residence

She grew up on the waterfront in Suffolk, New York. Now she resides in Southwark, UK.

15. Are they good at cooking? Do they enjoy it? What do others think of their cooking? & Can they sing? Can they dance?

She can cook if she has to. She’s not bad at it when she knows what she likes but she cannot handle another person in the kitchen with her and gets so so so angry when they make comments over her shoulder. Some times she gets the urge to bake but it’s TERRIBLE at dough so it’s just a box cake or cookies. Others think it’s edible.

When she’s older ‘Ethan’ teaches her how to cook fancy, complex meals and it’s rather meditative. And maybe she doesn’t mind having him in the kitchen with her.

She cannot sing to save her life. She has absolutely no rhythm. Doesn’t stop her from doing either. Her go-to dance of choice is a drunken grind.

16. Do they collect anything? What do they do with it? Where do they keep it? & Can they drive?

She doesn’t, well not really. She tries to hoard books but she’s moved around so much her moms outlook on life seeped in. Her mom always encouraged her to get rid of unnecessary things and so she has very minimal clutter (excluding her closet girl loves clothes). She does have a book shelf filled with CDs and vinyls and books and that makes her happy.

When she’s settled down and has disposable income she starts to collect tattoos and street art.

She can drive but doesn’t like to, especially in Europe. She’s thankful she lives in places with fantastic public transport.

18. What’s their favourite genre of: books, music, tv shows, films, video games and anything else & Have any special keepsakes?

Books: she likes horror and drama as books she’ll read in public. When she’s alone she likes a romance book or young adult novel.

Music: folk, indie and alternative.

TV: comedy, drama, anything on the old CW was her jam. She likes dark humor.

Films: romantic comedy. she went through a phase of only watching foreign films to seem more cultured. she’ll only watch action if there’s a comedic lead because blood and gore disgust her.

Video games: she doesn’t play. never got into them. but she did try because ‘Bryce’ really loved his xbox and she loved ‘Bryce’.

The one thing she made sure to take with her was a throw pillow that she’s had since she was a kid.

23. Do they have a good memory? Short term or long term? Are they good with names? Or faces?

She remembers everything about the people in her life. For better or worse - it’s no bueno for her mental health because she overanalyzes everything and dissects it until she’s essentially fabricated a whole other reality.

She misplaces things all the time and gets mad about it. ‘Ethan’ finds it an endearingly annoying habit of hers.

She’s okay with names and better with faces. But she really identifies people by their vibe and how they make her feel. If she feels good she’ll remember every single thing about them. If they make her feel bad she’ll only remember the bits about that person that make her feel that way - even if it’s only one sentence out of an entire year of friendship, that person will become that one bad thing to her.

She never truly forgets someone. Sometimes it’s better to pretend like she did in order to save face.

26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions? & Guilty Pleasure

When she’s happy she can do anything! She feels like she can fly. She usually is listening to a song and she’s very creative in this space. She parades around in her underwear singing at the top of her lungs when she’s alone. When she’s happy and with someone, she lets her guard down and shows who she really is. When she’s happy she’s the person she wants to be and not the front of an unbreakable woman she’s been pretending to be since she was old enough to remember it’s importance.

Oh yes, Hannah hides her emotions. it’s her MO.

Her guilty pleasure is popular culture. ‘Ethan’ makes fun of her for it but indulges her any chance he can get. For the longest time he’s also her guilty pleasure. She doesn’t want to like him from the beginning. But conversation just flows. And he’s such a Good Boy. she can’t help but fall for him quick and quietly.

27. What makes them sad? Do they cry regularly? Do they cry openly or hide it? What are they like they are sad? & What’s their family like? Who’s in it? What’s their relationship with them?

People make her sad. Failure makes her sad. She’s trying to cultivate a better life she’s read about in stories and feels like she needs to be successful to show up everyone who’s ever doubted her. She needs to be successful to prove to herself that she’s not a waste of space and worthy of this existence.

But successful comes in all shapes and sizes. Which is something she’ll learn when she least expects it.

Hannah only lets herself cry less than a handful of times a year. Usually in the dead of night or in the shower. And only when she knows she’ll be alone the entire time.

After she falls for ‘Ethan’ she can’t control her emotions as well any more. He’s always there for her even if he’s the source of her tears.

When she’s mad it’s almost manic depressive. She gets really really low and cuts people out. ‘Ethan’ will not have that. He will not let her go through this alone. Even if she doesn’t want him to see her or hold her he’ll still only be a short walk away.

I think I answered this above ? Her family was her and her mom. They weren’t close growing up but once she moved away they both made an effort to keep in contact.

31. Do they drink? What are they like drunk? What are they like hungover? How do they act when other people are drunk or hungover? Kind or teasing? & What’s their current main conflict?

Yes. She chooses whiskey and scotch for the connotation associated with them. She cannot stand scotch but the commitment to the illusion is greater than her taste buds. Her new friend Polly introduces her to wine. She gets really bad stains on her lips from red wine and no one tells her this until she’s half a bottle down with ‘Ethan’ and he comments on it. She’s so embarrassed and rushed to the bathroom to wipe it off. He stands just outside the doorway laughing his ass off.

She’s the kind of drunk that wants a smoke or sex. Sometimes both.

When other people are drunk and she’s not she cannot stand it and avoids them. Unless it’s her roommates whom she cannot avoid. She’s teasing and loving and will be a complete idiot with them.

When ‘Ethan’ is drunk she lovingly teases him and finds him so fucking cute.

uhhhhh her main conflict during the entire series is trying to find herself. She needs to stop being the person she is out of necessity and be the person she doesn’t know who she is at her core.

Then there’s the conflict of falling in love with ‘Ethan’ given the circumstances and how stupidly happy he makes her. And the conflict of still loving the ‘Bryce’ she knew back then that still gives her butterflies and plagues her thoughts and dreams and then comes face to face with her temptation after all these years.

The Enigma, The Boy and the What If 👀

this girl’s just trying to figure life out because she didn’t have a strict parent to map her whole life out for her. it’s a blessing and a curse compared to all those she grew up with and modeled her life after. She’s just off on an unknown adventure making things up and she goes and stripping the past from her future.

33. What underwear do they wear? Boxers or briefs? Lacey? Comfy granny panties? & How have they changed over time?

She likes hipsters but if there’s an ounce of a chance she’s gonna be naked she needs a v-string even if they make her feel constipated. As for bras she loathes them. But apparently she needs them because of her body type. So if she’s gotta have a bra it’s padded and sexy. She’s not wearing it for her it’s for whoever will see her in it.

Eventually she’ll learn to love lingerie. For herself, not for ‘Ethan’.

The Hannah Evolution is messy.

A generally happy kid -> bogged down by having a single parent and the connotations that comes with that -> curating the perfect personality not to put strain on her mom -> creating an air of mystery and becoming an enigma. of never sharing her true feelings with anyone, even herself -> going after her dreams even if it pisses people off -> stupidly letting herself fall in love -> self sabotaging her happiness -> letting the facade crumble and rising from the ashes

39. Do they like letters? Or prefer emails/messaging? & Your character walks into a cafe. What do they order?

Modern love letters are texts to wake up to and fall to sleep to. That’s something she romanticized with ‘Bryce’ and didn’t realize that meant nothing until ‘Ethan’ showed her.

Cappuccino. Probably a lemon poppy seed muffin. Or if they do sandwiches it would be a panini.

45. How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves?

Other people not related to her see her as arrogant and a closed book. She isn’t forthcoming and makes it really hard to get to know her on a personal level. That makes making friends in adulthood hard.

Her ex-friends see her as selfish and fake and can’t deal with the drama that seems to follow her. They are actually really resentful for how well life was panning out for her once they all stopped being friends.

‘Ethan’ is intrigued by her. She finds her brilliant and beautiful and he wants to know more about her. The difference is he’s willing to put in the work. He’s able to see the funny girl hiding behind the rogue exterior.

She varies in how she sees herself. Some days she loves who she is and walks down the street with unwavering confidence. Other days she cakes on a face full of make up and becomes her alter ego. She’s never truly fully happy with herself. Something inside her is constantly looking for the next best thing to happen in her life and it is detrimental.

52. How are you and your character the same? How are you different?

You can find the projection yourself 😅

I’m not as bold as Hannah. I also like to think I’m a little more lovable and have a better grip on reality than this mess.

54. What does your character want, and what do they need?

She wants to be successful and shove her success up the ass of everyone who told her no growing up. She wants to be on the cover of Forbes 30 under 30. She’s creative and a bit chaotic and follows whims. She just wants recognition.

What she needs is ‘Ethan’ and everything he’s opened her eyes to.

55. What’s your character’s core trait? What’s their best trait? What’s their worst trait? When happens when these all interact with each other?

Instability.

Her best trait is her drive. It’s a little shaky in the grand scheme of things but at her core she just wants the best life.

Her worst trait is her tendency to write and cut people off without another glance. She does it swiftly and unapologetically.

Gosh all of these things combined come out when she fights with someone and it’s terrible. There’s screaming and slamming doors and ‘Ethan’ doesn’t know what’s going on and wishes she’ll just talk to him. But she’s not that easy and he understands that but goddamn he loves her and for him this is worth fighting for.

THE END.

#aylaramseycarrera #asked #oc #hannah weill #fun fact: her last name is a typo that i took as a sign #to change from farina to weill lolll #theo zaino #elliott hensley #the enigma the boy and the what if #Ayla i required detailed feedback on this thank u much love

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