royalydamned-archive

[royalydamned-archive]

Make Believe - act 1

(Merritt McKinney x Reader)

Summary: The Horsemen's plans are coming together, all according to schedule. One more step remains: taking you out as the possibility of leading the investigation. In order to get to you, one of them has to become your partner for the time being. That being said, Merritt didn't even expect to be part of the equation, let alone your ultimate choice.

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OR: Merritt pretends to date you. Before knowing how, he starts to believe it's real too.

|AN|: I can't believe people are still reading the first Merritt fic (and so many!!!). I love this guy so much, I just love that lil' something Woody Harrelson adds to his characters, I don't care what anyone else says, it's attractive. Here's to me being THE Merritt writer.

Anyway, this was supposed to be a one-shot, but since I am dumb like this, it will be spread out into a few chapters, but it will allow me to write more parts (and again, make this longer than it needs to be but such is life).

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These were some of the strangest few weeks in Merritt's life. Undoubtedly not the weirdest but some of the weirdest. Maybe he will end up in prison, maybe he will finally prove something in his life, chances were 50-50. God, who was he kidding? They were likely 97-3, and he was massively fucked.

Well, at least it's going to be fun, right? Gotta go out with a bang.

"The most important part should be in motion." Pretending to be busy, Merritt quickly sat up as he heard Atlas burst through the door, laptop balanced only on his arm, furiously typing with the other. With every step and dab into its keyboard, the laptop swayed on its laughable support, it must have been that real magic they had promised him keeping that thing from crashing down. "Tressler's assistant contacted me about a meeting."

"Is he paying?" the man ignored his remark, unappreciative of the effort to lighten the mood, and rushed past him, already dialing the others. Not that they knew each other well enough, but that guy was a massive dick, that much was clear.

"What are you even doing here? It's a dump."

"It's filled with the warmth of comradeship and our effort, much homier than my apartment," Merritt smirked, watching Atlas run around in a mix of slight panic and thrill of success. "Jesus, Danny, you look so cute wagging your tail like that."

The only answer was to him was a disgusted look. Good enough, he thought to himself.

Daniel's phone rang for a few times, before the distinct sound of a voicemail came through, followed by a groan of frustration. God, if Merritt had known not being here would stress him out like that, he’d go for a nice long walk with a phone turned off – at least a little payback for the bossing around he had to endure from the guy. He wasn’t even aware they had a leader among them, let alone a self-appointed one. Maybe it was time for a mutiny. 

"Henley, come over to the apartment right now, we all need to talk." Canceling the call, Danny carelessly threw the phone on the small table, a bit too far to toss it like that, and ran his hand through his hair. "And where's Jack?"

"You should take a breath Danny-boy," Merritt said, teasingly.

"How about you help out? That would also be great."

"Whoa, I'm sensing hostility. Someone needs to let out some steam. You know I know a great girl you could– "

"I am not listening to that!" Daniel cut him off, already walking the opposite direction, hands thrown in the air.

"Hey, I'm just trying to help," he put his hands up in defense, fighting back a giggle. "It's not like Henley– "

"Henley what?" she asked, coming into the room, two paper cups in hand. She gave Merritt a pointed look, rising an eyebrow as she silently demanded an answer to whatever she had walked on in. If he knew the answer, he would have told her, but he hadn’t been given much to work with.

"Hey–"

"You're late," Daniel snapped, returning to the room, arms resting on his hips, the image reminding Merritt he truly is in their hideout more often than he would have like because somehow, it seemed normal.

“I’m not late, we don’t have a schedule. Here,” Henley handed Merritt one of the cups, on it with a black sharpie and a terrible handwriting was scribbled Baldy.

“Rude,” he complained with a frown to no one but himself as the two had already started arguing, and sat back onto the run-down couch him and Jack brought in last week since they were tired of sitting on the floor. It wasn’t bad, oh who was he lying to, they found it on the street, but at least it wasn’t the floor, despite both Henley and Atlas insisting they’d rather stand the whole time.

“Great, you’re late too!” Danny called out, breaking up the argument briefly when he noticed the youngest member in the doorway, who now stood frozen when all the attention turned to him.

“Sorry, I didn’t know I was supposed to come a specific hour,” Jack said, slowly moving to sit next to Merritt, who was delightfully watching the whole ordeal.

“Nobody did, kid,” he reassured him, receiving a nasty glare from the other.

“Alright, it doesn’t matter. Can we please start.” All four of them looked at each other in silence, and when nobody protested, Danny continued in much calmer manner. “So far, the most difficult part should be over. We have caught Tressler’s eye and if there are no unexpected surprises the Eye have not thought of – which I doubt – the rest of the Horsemen project will go smoothly.”

“That means that’s it, right?” Jack asked. “All we have to do is play along until we can go big enough with our shows.”

“No, absolutely not,” Atlas laughed dryly and grabbed his laptop, typing something furiously while explaining. “We still have to deal with the feds. Fortunately, the plan involves a clear way out with this. Most agents in there are described to be easily tricked with the right strategy and, of course, we have plenty. There’s a file on every single one of the people that might be involved and all of them have a pretty balanced record, some wins, significantly more loses, lucky for us, except one.”

“Perfect score. Might be fun to beat them,” Merritt said, looking around the room for support from the others. None came.

“Not really, we have to take them out of the game.”

“Whoa, hey, when we agreed to do this there was no mention of killing anyone,” Jack blurted out nervously.

“What? No, we’re killing anyone. Jesus. We’re going to make them not want to do the case, voluntarily take themselves out.”

“How would we do that? I suppose blackmail is off the table as well.” Danny shot Merritt an unamused glare and continued as if he hadn’t said anything.

“We need make them personally involved, so, I hope all of you are single, because one of us will date them as long as we need to.”

“How would we even get in contact with them?” Henley asked.

“Stalking, social media, dating sites– “ Merritt started counting on his fingers.

“And we have a general location of the area they live and spend time in. All we need is a few days of closer observation before we can narrow down some kind of a habit. Everybody has one. There, we will meet.”

“So, stalking it is, great choice.”

“What makes you think they even would be interested in any of us, even if we do find them?”

Danny turned the laptop over, showing your file, completed with a picture and general information. “Everybody will have to try, we have four shots at this, which are pretty favorable odds.”

“You guys can rest assured, very few can resist the good old McKinney charm.”

“Yeah, right. I was thinking more like Jack. Realistically speaking.”

As overdramatically as possible, Merritt placed a hand over his heart, faking shock. “You wound me, Daniel. I thought we had something.” The other man simply rolled his eyes, refusing the entertain him in such a situation – any situation, for that matter.  

“We are on the right track, let’s not screw it up with this.”

____________________________

“At least they’re hot,” Merritt stated, sitting tucked away in a booth, close enough to see you, yet far enough to remain hidden. The bar was pretty empty, and they seemed almost over-dressed – some more than others, he thought, watching Danny’s cry for help outfit – but the opportunity had presented itself for them. What was a better time to pick up a stranger sitting alone at the bar than Thursday evening, looking like they had just finished a magic show? Literally.

“Focus,” Atlas snapped, taking out a small stash of notes from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Not creepy at all. “This has to work, everybody read the cards?”

“The completely legally obtained extremely private information about a person we have been following for the last six days?” Merritt replied, sarcastically, receiving a glare. “Yes, memorized it in a very non-creepy way, in tune with this mission.”

“It’s not a mission.”

“Definitely feels like a mission, no pressure,” he mumbled to himself, stealing a secret glance at you. You were looking at your phone, trying to hide a smile with your hand, half drank glass by your side. Something came across his mind. “Hey guys, what do we do if they’re taken?”

“What?” Danny froze and started flipping through the papers. “No, that would be incorrect, every source says they are single and have not found any close personal connections, of course excluding family.”

“Again, not creepy,” he commented off-handedly. “Have seriously nobody thought of this possibility?”

“Nobody had to think of it because it’s not a factor,” Danny shot back through clenched teeth, his foot under the table tapping in an anxious rhythm. Not so sure, huh? Merritt lifted his arm in defense.

“I guess we will have to trust the Eye. And the wizard behind the curtain. They know what they’re doing,” said Henley in a calm voice, gaze fixated to the spot you were sitting in. “So, who goes first?”

“Jack will,” Daniel replied, leaving to room for others to protest. “It’s our best bet.”

“Put that pretty face to a good use for us Jacky, if this doesn’t go well Danny here might have an aneurism.”

“I won’t– “ he glared at Merritt before taking a deep breath to calm the obvious nerves buzzing under his skin. “Alright, fine. Make fun of me if caring about doing well is so funny.”

“A bit,” Henley interjected, still watching you in case you moved and disappeared from their sight. For a moment, Merritt wondered whether you could feel her intense glare stabbing your back.

“Alright, I’m going.” Slowly, Jack rose from his seat, cringing at the loud sound his chair made when scraping against the floor, and before disappearing, flashed them a reassuring smile.

“God, I remember when I looked like that,” Merritt muttered, watching the kid make his way to you with a confident smile, leaning over the bar by your side and flashed you a charming smile. He said something, a greeting, a pick-up line – not that it mattered when one looked like him – and you smiled back, answering immediately and forgetting whatever it was so engaging on your phone.

“In 1938?”

“Hilarious Danny, has your mother never taught you respect towards your elders?”

“Guys, shut up.” They exchanged a silent look, a challenge neither of them really meant, before dropping it per Henley’s request – well, command really – and turned their focus back towards the bar.

They couldn’t hear you two, it was nothing but a mute movie, leaving them guessing what you’re talking about, whether it’s doing well or…well, how else would it go? Jack had his way with people. Merritt could be the one reading them, controlling them even, but he didn’t have the social talent that just couldn’t be learned. It was natural, came as breathing. Merritt could try and make them laugh, make them uncomfortable and intimidated by his skills to gain the upper hand in the conversation, but sometimes he thought about how it must have been, to enter a room and be instantly liked.

Jack leaned over, getting closer to you, to which you smiled again, telling him something and he acted like he was listening intently, nodding his head with serious expression on his face. Merritt watched you lick your lips, studying his face. How easy was that? A mere few minutes and he had you wrapped around his finger, saving their whole plan – until he wasn’t. Until he understandingly nodded, polite smile still gracing his features, and pushed himself off of the bar, returning back to the remaining three Horsemen waiting for him.

“Wh– Jack what happened?” Daniel asked, confused as Jack finally came close enough to hear them. The younger man only shrugged and took his beer, taking a short sip.

“Wasn’t interested,” he answered simply and slipped back into his seat.

“What do you mean ‘wasn’t interested’ that wasn’t the plan.”

“Hey I did all I could, I can’t force myself on them.”

Danny groaned into the palms of his hands, trying to calm down. It was fine, surely it was fine. Strange, but fine, there were three more people at the table that could try – three more shots at success, but this is not what they had expected. It should have been done instantly, sending their best man for this type of work. If he hadn’t succeeded, there wasn’t too much hope for the others.

“Alright, it’s OK. A slight hitch, nothing we have not encountered or will not encounter along the way yet.” Danny started talking quietly, more to himself than the others, trying to calm all the thoughts and possibilities racing through his head so fast Merritt saw steam coming out of his ears. “Henley, you should try it.”

“What about a please?” she shot back calmly, seemingly enjoying his little breakdown.

“Please, don’t do this right now,” he sighed, his leg under the table speeding up. Merritt took a sip of his drink, trying to hide the grin behind his glass, and watched Henley make her way towards you, un-effortlessly striking up a conversation.

“What was it that got you rejected anyway? Did you say something creepy? Did you slip and tell them their personal detail we so legally obtained?”

“No, they just said I wasn’t their type.”

“Oh, great, so Henley should be ok,” Danny said, suddenly looking relieved, and leaned over the table where you and Henley were already chatting, as if trying to hear your conversation. “Wait, what is she doing?”

“What?” Merritt mumbled, his head snapping towards the pair at the bar. “Oh, she’s leaving too.”

“Fuck,” he said, flipping through his notes once more, eyes scanning the words, trying to find what he had missed. “God, I can’t believe we’re going to fail before we can even execute the plan.”

“Hey, look at it from the bright side, maybe this is the fastest someone had failed trying to get into the Eye,” Merritt grinned and raised his glass, offering Danny a toast, but shrugged and finished the drink on his own when he just sent him an annoyed look. “I mean, we still have two more shots.”

“We are fucked,” Danny murmured under his breath, eyes unfocused, looking at particularly nothing, just the few weeks of their work flashing before them like war flash-backs. “I’ll go now.”

Before Henley could have arrived back to the table, Daniel was already leaving, making his way towards you. With a charming smile, he leaned over the bar, but before he could open his mouth, with a friendly expression, you shook your head, presumably sending him away.

“Oh, ouch,” Merritt winced watching the interaction. “That one had to sting.”

“Eh, he got over worse,” Henley said, sitting down next to him, the glass in her hand refilled. “I take it you’re our last chance?”

“It all comes down to the McKinney charm. Like I said.”

“I don’t doubt its efficiency.” He winked at her as they shared a brief look of amusement before Daniel managed to get to the table.

“I’m going for a smoke first.”

“Are you kidding, everything now depends on you.” Merritt grimaced as he heard Danny’s voice, shouting in a shushed tone, way before he could feel his presence behind him, he was like a walking ball of stress that one could hear vibrating even from a distance. And moved surprisingly very quickly, like a little hamster. 

“I bet that one must have hurt to admit,” he grinned teasingly, and took out a box of cigarettes out of his pocket, waving way too close to the other’s face before his hand got slapped away. “Give me five minutes, I’m sure they need a break too.”

Without waiting for an answer, he pushed past him, away from the overwhelming chatter and into a silent back alley. Nothing but a distant traffic and cold night surrounding him and suddenly, he felt like he could breathe again, every exhale visible in the cool air even before he managed to light one of his cigarettes.

Not even a year ago, he was just one bad evening away from quitting magic all together, losing the passion to the struggle of his everyday life, and to the fact he indeed, didn’t have any money. At all. Who besides middle-aged bored women believed in hypnotism anyway these days? No one. His stream had dried out, days of his glory way in the past and he just seemed like he had no hope, no future.

Barely he managed to blink, he was a part of a straight up insane scheme, one that could only had been set up by a complete madman – or a slightly insane genius – either way, whether the Eye exists or it’s one of the best manipulation tactics he had ever seen, he was well on his way on becoming a criminal for a possibility. Maybe even just an idea.

Maybe, at the end of this all, it would be revealed the Eye is just a concept, the work they have done and the justice – or well, so it appeared – they have brought. With Merritt’s luck, he will end up in jail, the warm feeling of using his “power” for the “greater good” the only thing warming him while he would be sleeping on a metal bench with a shared toilet right next to his head.

The door of the bar opened, and his head turned towards the sudden sound, a lone cigarette he had taken out of the box loosely hanging between his fingers. Before he could register what had happened, before he could he could have caught up on the reality he found himself standing in, one where you walked out the bar door, mumbling something about the weather under your breath as the unfavorable temperature hit you, your eyes landed on him, stopping for a few curious seconds before you slowly approached him.

“Hey, you were with the three others that took turns on me tonight.”

Slightly thrown off, he straightened his posture and fixed his hat. “So you noticed, huh?” he said with a smirk, surprised when you came even closer.

“Was very hard to miss. You had a bet or something?”

“God no, but there was an almost fight about who gets to try their luck first. You know how hard it is to come across good-looking people lately. We are a rare breed.”

You laughed, leaning against the wall next to him, arms crossed over your chest and one leg propped up. “Oh? A humble one, aren’t you?”

He just shrugged, putting the almost forgotten cigarette to his lips and lighting it. After a big drag, he rested his head on the cold brick wall. Watching you from the corner of his eye. In anyone else’s mind, the stars had aligned, the last struck of luck – a destiny maybe, but despite being a magician, Merritt didn’t believe in magic.

“I have to ask though,” you said into the silence, turning your head towards him, studying his profile for a few seconds. He hummed in response, his own head slightly rolling to the side, straining his neck so he could watch you directly. Notice every detail he needed, every slight twitch of a muscle, every time you avoided direct eye contact. He couldn’t forget this wasn’t his everyday life, this wasn’t a fun banter with a hope for a night with a happy ending. This mattered, and even though he would rather lick the inside of Atlas’ mouth than to admit it, it scared him. “Why were you the only one that didn’t come to try?”

“I am trying right now, aren’t I?”

“Are you really?”

“That depends.” Now, he turned his whole body towards you, the shoulder he was leaning his whole weight on suddenly painfully crushed by the wall, but that way, he could see your fully – your form, your face, the subtle gestures of your fingers and the way you stood (leaned) in front of him. “Is it working?”

“And if it is?” you asked, voice low, and Merritt had to look away for a second to fight a smirk.

“Then I’ll have to run back to my colleagues there and gloat a little, I’m afraid.” You laughed again, Merritt found himself enjoying the sound, not many even had such a positive reaction, if any, truly. “But maybe I could invite you somewhere, ideally less cold. With food as a bonus?”

“I’d like that.”

Tags: @wicked1will0sparkles

#nysm fanfiction #merritt mckinney x reader #now you see me fanfiction

[royalydamned-archive]

Merritt McKinney Masterlist

(🖤 - angst |🔥- smut | 💌 - getting together | 💙 - platonic pairing | ❤️ - established relationship | 💫 - multichapter | ✔️ - finished | ⚠️ - triggering topics | ☄️ - AU | ✉️ - requested | 🚫 - ongoing | ✅ - one shot | 🌺 - fluff | 🌑 - OC instert | 🌕 - reader insert)

You Should Have Seen Your Face - 💌🌺🌕✅

Make Believe - coming soon

[royalydamned-archive]

Hey there! for anyone who started following be after my unofficial hiatus, hi I'm not dead. I was focusing on one long-fic on ao3 along with uni and left this acc be to avoid distractions, but now I'm back and I'll be finishing the long overdue requests and hopefully expanding fandoms I'll write for.

#me: I'll go and take a break for a few months to write a short thing for this ship I hyperfixated on #me almost a year later: I am a terrible writer xd

[royalydamned-archive]

ABNER KRILL MASTERLIST

(🖤 - angst |🔥- smut | 💌 - getting together | 💙 - platonic pairing | ❤️ - established relationship | 💫 - multichapter | ✔️ - finished | ⚠️ - triggering topics | ☄️ - AU | ✉️ - requested | 🚫 - ongoing | ✅ - one shot | 🌺 - fluff | 🌑 - OC instert | 🌕 - reader insert)

First Aid - coming soon

Safe and sound - ✉️🌺🌕❤️✅

Silent man and still water - ✉️ coming soon

[royalydamned-archive]

Second Chances

(Michael Demiurgos x Reader) - Part IV

<- Part III Part V ->

Summary: Angel in a human world, just like fish out of the water.

|AN|: "The next part is not gonna take months" lmao Barry shut the fuck up. At least we are moving a bit forward in plot, but I am not promising anything anymore with so many WIPs.

I wanted to include a bit more on here, but I don't know how I'm suddenly on 3.5k words and I don't want the parts to be too long. I do get a bit carried away, it seems like it's short and nothing really happened yet and suddenly we're past the 3k mark. Annoying.

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There was something confusingly comforting in watching you eat. Other times, he would have found it gross, the whole concept of hunger seemed too demeaning for an angel – how your body controlled you, dictated you, with your mind defenceless to its demands.

You, however, held no annoyance in such act. Quite the opposite, it seemed like many humans took great pleasure in eating and sharing it was a gesture of affection. They truly weren't that different to animals.

Slowly you slid you plate towards him across the table, encouraging look in you eyes. "Want some?"

Michael scrunched his nose and shook his head in response. "That's gross."

"You're gross," you scoffed and pulled the plate back to you. "Do you even like anything?"

"Like food?"

"Like in general." He rolled his eyes, but as he thought about it, maybe you were right. Spending so long trying to be better than Lucifer, to prove he could do what he did, and do it even better, he neglected his own life. He built it around his brother, around nothing but recognition. For millenia he tried to be better than others until he lost himself.

"I don't know," Michael admitted, and you could see the shift in his eyes – once again solemn, remembering what once was and how to possibly get it back. "I liked home."

"What was it like?"

"Clean, bright, peaceful...complete opposite of whatever this is," he gestured vaguely outside, rather no looking out of the window  into the dirty crowded streets and questionable individuals roaming them.

"I think you get fond of it after some time." A small smile played on your lips as you watched a couple pass by with a small dog in their arms, clearly tired from the heat, carrying it to spare it's paws from the hot concrete. Michael followed your gaze, his eyes going right through the scene that caught your attention, instead focusing on a man loudly screaming into his phone.

"Will never understand your stupid optimism."

"The same way I will never understand your unnecessary negativity." He narrowed his eyes at you, but you only smiled, getting another bite from your food without breaking eye-contact. 

"You're eating very slowly," he said after a beat of silence, dodging the topic. It was clearly you got him.

"Trying to enjoy it."

"Why? Food is served to do satisfy a human need and sooth hunger. There is nothing enjoyable about weakness." He was serious, yet from the amused expression your face beared, it seemed like you took it as a joke.

"Hunger is a weakness?" You laughed and popped a fry into your mouth. Sometimes you made him wonder how you kept your high spirits and straight up irritating attitude.

"Clearly." You raised your eyebrows, urging him to explain the reasoning behind his words. Of course he confused your simple human mind. "Anything that can kill you is a weakness, and it's pretty easy to starve to death."

"You look at everything from the wrong angle."

"I look at everything objectively. And that is a fact." Michael watched you as you stayed silent, for a moment thinking he had won the little exchange as you seemed loss of words, but for the short time he had the displeasure of knowing you, he remembered not to underestimate you. Well, not much at least.

After a few second, you leaned closer to him across the small table that was dividing you, disregarding his personal space, and yet, he found it not utterly uncomfortable. Michael didn't trust, not his family, not anyone, let alone a person he met just a few days ago, who could stab him in the back for a few bucks for coffee – in his mind, he kind of expected you to – but as much any closeness and human contact made his skin crawl, he found himself leaning in as well. You were an exception. Against his better judgment, he met you halfway, curiously awaiting whatever thought in that mind of yours.

Michael watched you intently, following your hand as it grabbed a fry off your plate, bringing it to his face. You poked his lips with it, silently urging him to open his mouth and he could do nothing but frown, holding your mischievous gaze with his unreadable one.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly, neither of you pulled back into your half of the table.

"Feeding you," you stated the obvious and shrugged your shoulders.

"Why?"

"I want to poison you with human food." A smirk creeped up into your face. You decided to play his game, willing to pretend you were befriending something supernatural, something that just didn't understand or know better.

"Very funny."

"Jesus Michael, just eat the goddamn fry." He just rolled his eyes and took a hesitant bite, knowing you wouldn't let him be unless he complied.

"So? How is it?"

Oily, oversalted and fake, he thought to himself bitterly, but the words didn't make it out and he cursed himself for what he said instead. "Alright, I guess."

"You hate it," you concluded, seeing right past his lie and he only had to comfort himself in the fact he didn't try to be believable. Otherwise he would have fooled you.

"I do," he admitted and a short laugh accompanied it, surprising both you an himself.

"Well, you're so far the only person I know who dislikes fries, but then again, you are not like anyone I've ever known."

"Is that an insult?" With a chuckle, you sat back, leaving Michael still leaning in, almost chasing the closeness from before, yet not realizing he sort of...missed it.

"No, I like how weird you are." He wanted to say something in return, as defense or put of the habit that had grown between the two of you, but decided against it. For a moment he let himself believe that you did like him. Nobody else ever had, and when you admitted he convinced himself you meant it, because he knew how to spot a lie. It filled him with warmth he didn't mind.

After that, he quietly waited for you to finish your meal, strangely enjoying the way you spent your time together, but he was not ready to admit to himself he didn't mind you as much as any other human.

"If you don't like fries, what do you say we go for ice cream?" You asked him after you paid, nudging him with your shoulder as you were leaving.

"No."

"Why not?"

"You've just eaten." Michael saw you open your mouth, sure that another brilliant argument had appereaned in your head, and spoke first, not giving you the chance to react. "And I don't really have any cash."

"How do you pay for the apartment?"

"With my brother's card, he won't miss it."

"Michael!" you exclaimed and grabbed his elbow to stop him from walking away. He turned to you, frowning, like he didn't understand what upset you about it. "You can't steal from your brother!"

"Why not? He stole a lot of things from me." Michael couldn't return home, he had lost his wings, his dignity, his family. He had nothing – no one – and yet, somehow, he was the bad guy again. Like he had always been.

No one, except for you, he thought and quickly shut down the irritating little voice in his head, the one that liked the way you held his hand, the one that believed you when you said you liked him. The voice that wanted to believe he had a friend.

What was this dadforsaken place doing to him after just a couple of days?

"No," you said and shook your head. "I know he must have hurt you, and you probably don't have the best relationship–"

"I hate him," Michael interjected bitterly.

"Well, alright," you looked at the man in front of you, uncertainty in the way the narrowed your eyes, as if studying him. "But  isn't that one more reason not to be like him? Be a better man?"

"No." You closed your eyes and sighed at his response. Maybe trying to calm down? Think of a better argument? He couldn't tell, human mannerisms always meant something else and who was he to try and understand?

"So you still want to depend on him?"

"I've never–!" The angel stopped himself. Maybe he had depended on him, in some sense. He needed him to ruin something once again to prove he was better, but that was long gone. Michael no longer had a greater purpose; he was no soldier, no angel, no son. Just another man – human man – pondering over his life, trying to find the reason he was there. Alive. "Just take it."

You watched him fish out the card from his pocket and he angrily trusted it into your hands. The frown on his face deepened when he saw you flash him a bright smile, maybe he hated you for being right. That fit him quite well.

"Don't worry Michael, we'll get you a job." His face turned sour as he heard you say it, but knew that it was inevitable. He couldn't return home and as much as he didn't want to, he had to blend in, get used to the miserable life earth offered.

"Can't wait," Michael answered sarcastically and slowed down his pace a bit, seeing you struggle to keep up. You seemed to notice, flashing him a grateful smile, but stayed quiet, almost knowing he wanted it to go unnoticed.

"Well, I guess we can skip the dessert then. I'll go talk to Liam, he said something about needing someone to replace Steph after she quit." You started rambling about work and Michael didn't hear a thing. All he could think of, was how much he had truly fallen. The humiliation of working, like he had never been a soldier of heaven, like he had never been an archangel at all. Just another cockroach crawling around, in mercy of the wealthier, the more powerful. Submit or die.

"Not sure I follow," he said, absently looking ahead.

"In short, we'll work together. Different shifts, of course, but still. We'll be colleagues." Michael didn't understand the excitement, maybe it was solely human thing. He might even learn to be the same, over time.

The thought almost made him shrug.

"I'd...like," he struggled out and stole a quick glance your way. "to work with you. More than the other girl, that's for sure."

"Oh please, Zoe grows on you."

"Hopefully not."

Michael saw you smirk and something similiar passed through his own features as well. Just for a second. No matter how he tried to hide it, you saw. Without a word, you grabbed his hand, and to his own surprise, he grasped it as soon as he felt the skin touching his, letting you drag him wherever you pleased.

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The pub was much emptier in the middle of the day, even more than late at night during business days. Most tables were empty, one of them was occupied with a single man, his face hidden in his elbow, clearly sleeping while a half drunk beer and a few empty shots laid by him on the table, it's wood drowned in spilled alcohol. He didn't seem to care about how wet his sleeve was from the liquor, just peacefully snored into his hand, which was the only sign that he was alive.

A bit closer to the entrance door, a pair of older men sat, ones Michael remembered from the night before. One of them, Harry if he remembered correctly, was pointing at something in the newspaper, ranting away with an irritated face, while his partner sat quietly, listening to him with a small smile playing on his lips. It made Michael wonder, how can one seem so happy with the other, while the only thing they shared in common seemed to be the bowl of chips in the middle of their table. It must be exhausting, being around someone so different all the time.

"You can sit behind the bar and I'd go find Liam, I'm sure he is somewhere in here." Before he could answer, you had gone somewhere into the back, leaving him standing by the entrance door. Thankfully, neither of the customers seemed to pay him any attention, so he sat down on one of the barstool, waiting for whatever comes next.

Back at home, he used to be convinced he was wasting his talents, that Dad was wasting his talents when he had made him to follow and submit, and not to rule. He was an archangel, a great warrior and smarter than any of his siblings could wish to be, they were the soldiers, they were meant to follow. He had been made to rule. Michael realized now, he might have been a bit less greedy, maybe that way he would still have been home, with his wings still a secure weight on his shoulders.

He was expendable. Not a son, just a figure on his father's chess board, one he could have replaced any time he wanted. And maybe he did want.

A strange pain bloomed in Michael's chest and he clenched his fists, nails digging into the skin of his palms, a poor attempt to distract himself from his thoughts. From the realization, that nobody had probably ever wanted him.

"I really dislike that sour expression on your pretty face." A voice came from next to him and he sighed.

"Hi Zoe."

"Hello handsome." Zoe hopped on the bar, sitting right beside Michael, a glass in one hand and a rag in the other as she quietly polished it while waiting for any reaction from the man next to her. For a while the only sound between them was the squeaking of the wet fabric against the smooth glass.

"I can hear you thinking," the angel said without a single glance at the woman's direction and she just laughed and jumped off the bar to put the glass to its place, almost dropping it at least three times.

"Just don't say it out loud, it'd be inappropriate." Zoe leaned over where he was sitting, inviting herself into his personal space and he straightened his back, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. "Am I scaring you?"

"I'm not scared," Michael snapped back, annoyed. "I just don't like people that close to me."

"You're the first person ever who doesn't want me close to them," she winked and stood back, some of her long, dark red braids falling into her face and she brushed them away. "I like that about you."

"Very strange thing to like."

"I like strange things." Zoe shrugged her shoulders. "My cat has no fur, I have a pink fridge and my first tattoo was a dolphin with a cowboy hat and two revolvers."

"Is there a point to this conversation?" Michael interrupted, fearing he would have to sit through a very long and unnecessary story of her tattoo's meaning, and he could only stand so much social interaction in one day.

The woman sighed, her face suddenly serious, and weirdly, he liked it better laughing and obnoxiously loud. Her silence seemed more dangerous. "You have to understand, I wanted to seem friendly, a lot of people open up to me, especially men, and as much as I do like the whole thing you have going on there" she wiggled her index finger in front of his face. "don't blame me for being alert. You have a face of a millionare, but act like an awkward schoolboy."

"The face is, I'm afraid, a personal touch of my parents," he gave her a forced tight smile, obviously lingered with irony, and she rolled her eyes.

"So your parents happened to make the almost perfect Lucifer Morningstar?" Zoe's black eyes narrowed, her long pink nails tapping rhythmically against the wood surface of the bar, and not even knowing how or why, Michael found himself being interrogated by a woman who had gems stuck to her eyelids.

"Yes," he answered quietly. "That happens when people have twins."

"Lucifer is your brother?"

"That's literally the only plausible and logical explanation. What did you expect?" She just shrugged again, like it was no big deal. As careless as his brother and equally devious, she was that kind of person he wanted to avoid. That kind with whom he had lived with for too long.

"Something more exciting. Like identity theft, face reconstruction. Things worthy of a movie." Michael looked past her behind the bar where you had disappeared, hoping you'd come back any second. As much as he wanted to believe you, that he would eventually warm up to the particular friend of yours, none of it was happening and the angel doubted it would be anytime soon.

"Sorry to disappoint then."

Zoe stopped for a moment, just quietly looking at him, and Michael fought the urge to squirm in discomfort. Amanediel used to glare at him the same; for one reason or the other, she was better at it.

"Zoe, dear." The woman's head snapped towards the couple sitting not too far away, where the man whose name Michael didn't know yet waved with a bright smile. "Can we get one more beer, and a soda?"

Zoe showed him thumbs up and pushed herself off her place behind the bar, walking towards the tap handles and passing them without a single glance. Instead, she reached into a fridge and pulled out two cans, delivering them to the already waiting couple, who started engaging her in a conversation as soon as she approached them. She, however, didn't seem to mind and even sat down on one of the free chairs, fighting for a word with Harry as they debated something he had just found in the newspaper.

Not too long after, you finally emerged, behind you a short chubby man trailed, a cigarette in hand and pair of square glasses resting on the top of his head, strands of greying hair tangled into their frame. He scanned Michael up and down, frowning deep in thought, the crease between his eyebrows as deep as a gash, and the angel dodged his intense stare, looking at you in question instead.

"Michael, this is Liam, the owner. Liam, this is Michael he–"

"Wants a job," Liam interrupted, waving you off with his right hand without a single look. Like you were nothing but an annoying bug. As if he was not the same, as mortal, as insignificant. Michael held back a scowl. "Do you have any working experience?"

"No," he answered simply, slightly enjoying the annoyed expression on the short man's face.

"Then why should I hire you?" he snapped and took a long drag out of his cigarette, blowing the smoke into Michael's face and he did everything he could not to flinch and cough.

"Your last one quit, didn't she?" Liam's face twisted and beside him, Michael caught a glimpse of your smirk. Almost proud.

"Nobody likes a smart-ass," the short man grumbled and stroked his stubbled chin. "You mean you never worked anywhere?"

"He helped with family business," you piped in quietly. "Travel agency."

"Travel agency," Liam repeated and snorted out an amused laugh, making Michael flinch as he almost sprayed him. He, however, ignored his disgusted face, like he seemed to ignore everyone at any time. "Fuck me."

"I served a long time in the army, didn't have time for career experience," the angel said suddenly, twisted delight spreading in his chest as he watched Liam's face slowly fall.

"It would be good to have some muscle around," he murmed to himself, eyes fallen onto the wooden floor and Michael knew he could no longer bear to hold his gaze. At least some of what he used to be wasn't truly lost. He still had the greatest weapon to use against humanity – their fear. "Where did you serve?"

"How is that relevant?"

"Fair. You're hired. You can start tomorrow at 4pm, but come to my office first, I want to discuss pay. And you," he abruptly turned towards you, his index finger almost poking your eyes out as Liam was closer than he had thought. "Show him the ropes. If you have any issues, figure it out. I don't want to know from you unless something is on fire, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

With that, he threw the butt of his cigarette into a nearby ashtray, and with a heavy step and loud breath, wobbled away. You and Michael watched in silence, until you couldn't even see his silhouette, and then turned to stare at each other for a few silent second.

"Do you remember when you called me a massive dick?"

"Vaguely," you responded with a ghost of a smile and Michael's right corner twitched slightly. "He rightfully took that place from you."

Taglist:

@chipster-21 @tea-effect @littlepeanut03 @spideysimpossiblegirl   @flippittygibbitts @repostingmyfavs

#michael demiurgos x reader #michael demiurgos x you #michael demiurgos

[royalydamned-archive]

Reversed - Chapter I

(Axel the Swede x OFC)

<<< Prologue Chapter II >>>

Summary: Unlikely alliances are made in desperate situations and those who hate each other now fight side by side.

|AN|: I'm not very quick when it comes to uploading anything, but I am enjoying this so much! I'm excited every time I can go and write for these two. Hopefully I'll be able to portray their dynamic just like I have it in my head.

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Something shifted in the air. To anyone else it would have gone unnoticed, nothing but an unnerving feeling deep inside one’s bones after a long and tiring day, but the hair on the back of Daryn’s neck stood in alarm, bristled like the fur on a cat’s back, and she couldn’t ignore it. Not when the doormat’s corner was crumpled, unlike it always used to be, not when everything inside screamed at her to turn and run away from any danger that awaited her behind the closed doors and its obviously picked lock.

Two years. That was how long she had not let her true self shine, keeping herself restrained and peaceful, living a life of stereotype and calm evenings. She didn’t miss the endless chase, one murderer after another, playing the game of the doe and the wolf, only that none of them knew which one they would be, trying to catch her and clip her claws or bring her head to the highest bidder. It’s only expected for the powerful to chase down something they cannot understand – cannot control. It’s terrifying, dangerous, especially when it came to her. The wildlife did not bow to the power money held.

Nobody had caught her yet, nobody except for the three Swedes that had vanished like a fog, no trace behind them, almost making her believe it had been a dream. But she knew it wasn’t, the proof of it tugged the skin of her back every day as an indestructible reminder of their encounter. She had almost forgotten the look in the man’s eyes and the chill it brought to her.

As quietly as possible, she placed the grocery bag in her hand on the floor, wincing slightly as the thin plastic material made a sound, and slowly pushed the door open with just the tip of her foot. A unnerving creak pierced the silence and Daryn slipped into the darkness of her apartment, footsteps as quiet as a wind grazing the hardwood floor.

There was no one. Her eyes scanned the joined living room and kitchen, searching for any sign of movement, any foreign silhouette, but nothing struck her gaze. Nothing unusual stood out, the only thing moving was dust flying in the air, almost like glitter as it reflected the light from outside on the street. Maybe it was only her imagination, nothing but paranoia slowly pushing the sane thoughts from her mind.

With a sigh, she turned back around, for a split second noticing the door being almost shut even though she had left them open, and quiet rustling behind her, before a large hand covered her mouth, silencing any surprised sound before it could even escape past her lips, and something small and cold pressed against her temple.

“Shhh.” Whoever held her pushed her against the wall, their body pressing tightly against her, to keep her from escaping, to feel every subtle twitch and shiver that went through her ad have a complete control over her movement. Daryn tried to peek behind her, catch even the slightest glimpse of her attacker, but they kept her heat firmly against the wall, refusing to let her see their face. “Be good and I won’t hurt you.”

Daryn tensed, a scared whimper muffled by a man she suddenly recognized all too well. His voice, the thick accent lingering in his words and presence that promised nothing but death and fear.

“I am going to let you go now,” he said carefully, the quieter he spoke the deeper his voice seemed to get, almost dangerous growl right by her ear and she had no fight left in her to bite back. “When I do, you will be quiet and calm, okay?”

She nodded frantically, the desperation to get out of his grasp winning over all the other thoughts. She was no longer as strong and powerful. That piece of her was asleep, in a slumber she had forced upon it, afraid of the further damage it might have – to her and all those she cared about. Maybe the Swede wasn’t so wrong about her after all.

First, the gun by her head disappeared, and she felt him tucking it away, probably behind his belt, where he could reach it anytime if she decided to trick him. Ready not to hesitate in case the wild beasts inside takes control. He didn’t know, that monster was no more. He didn’t know she was helpless and weak, just as any other person, shielding herself from the harm’s way and surviving only thanks to her smarts.

After the gun, his hand released the grip on her mouth, and he stepped away from her completely, freeing her body from the unbearable closeness he had forced upon her. Just for a moment, she allowed herself to stand there, stunned, pondering whether to run or turn around, staying calm as true to her word, unsure of which was safer.

Slowly, she took a peek from behind her shoulder, trying to get good enough glimpse of the man now silently standing not too far behind her, watching even the slightest movements with curious but calculated eyes, like he was waiting for her to jump, to attack and tear him to shreds. No, that wasn’t who she was. Not ever. Not anymore. The fire of fight within her burned out with nothing to keep it alive.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, sensing the outspoken question hanging in the silence between them. Daryn didn’t believe him.

“Why are you here then?” she whispered, eyes baring into the wall in front of her, almost like she was hiding from him in the plain sight, foolishly hoping that if she didn’t see him, he didn’t either. “And where is the rest of you?”

“That’s why I came.” There was a long pause, like the man had to swallow his pride to utter whatever words he wanted to. Like he was debating whether to do it at all. “I need help.”

At that, she abruptly turned around and the blonde man took a step back, right hand coming to grasp his gun. Like an instinct. Natural and thoughtless action. “What?” Daryn asked even though she heard him clear as day, yet she couldn’t believe it.

“I need help. Your help.” A small chuckle slipped past Daryn’s lips, then another, slowly growing through a giggle into a laugh dripping of irony and despair. If it unnerved the man, he let nobody know.

“One of us has lost their mind,” she whispered quietly to herself, breath strained, somewhere behind the stiff laugh a terrified cry was hiding. “I’m going insane.”

“Calm down,” he growled and stepped closer and with that, she mirrored him, taking a step back, her body almost touching the wall again.

“Cam down? You tried to kill me!”

“Wasn’t personal,” the man muttered quietly and cocked his head to the side, curiously studying her reactions.

“Felt pretty personal to me.” He let out a scoff that almost seemed to resemble a laugh, but Daryn stayed cautious, watching evert subtle movement, searching for a threat his body language beared. They were two tigers caged together, yet both tamed and scared, unaware of the other’s bluff.

“I only ever served.” His voice cut through the tense silence like a blade. There had always been a higher power; someone with thirst for blood but contempt for the dirty work. He thought back to the words she had spoken to him, back when they were nothing but a simple hunter and a victim, a cat and a mouse – I had never taken a life. Can you say the same?

Maybe the girl was more innocent than he had let himself believe, but as much he feared her as the unknown, she resented him for the same reason. In her eyes, he was the one who killed for greed, for pleasure; in his, he just wanted to survive. Him and his brothers. And he had failed.

Daryn was strong and dangerous, but seeing what they had been against, witches who watched and killed with smile on their faces, who appeared out of thin air and bent him to their will with a few simple words, he realized the power he once sought to destroy was the very thing he needed to stand a chance.

“And who do you serve now?”  She lifted her chin, trying to appear as bold as he would have remembered her, a shell with the force of wilderness begging to break free, and hide how quiet it was. How the mighty roars inside had died down into nothingness. Into peace.

“Myself and my family.” With that, he reached into his inner pocket, one hand lifted in the air, trying to show there were no tricks up his sleeves, no guns ready to take her life. From inside his jacket, he took out a thick envelope and carefully placed it on the floor, kicking it towards the woman. The paper slid to her feet, its corner slightly bumping against the tip of her shoe before it completely stilled, and Daryn looked at it for a second before looking back at the man in front of her for explanation. “All I could get.”

She crouched and picked up the envelope from the ground, feeling how surprisingly heavy it felt in her hands, and took a quick peak inside at the green paper bills neatly stashed inside, almost like a small book. “What is this?”

“Money,” the man answered simply and she shook her head.

“No, why are you giving me this?”

“As a payment. If you help me.”

“Alright,” she breathed out a short ironic laugh and rubbed her face with her hands. “I’ll play along. Help with what?”

“My brothers are dead. I need to save them.” Daryn noticed how he clenched his fists by his side, how stiff his jaw seemed when he spoke, and even the shadows he seemed to be hiding in as his back faced the widow, the only source of light, there was pain hiding in his eyes, as black as they seemed in the darkness they couldn’t lie.

“Why me then?” She saw how he licked his lips and looked away, persuading himself to speak, to tell the truth. He might have been a mystery, a book drowned long enough to not have any ink left, a blacked-out file, but there was something Daryn knew. Something he couldn’t hide in his stone-cold face, his gaze always betrayed him. He was afraid of all he didn’t understand. And whatever he was afraid of, he hated.

“Only with you I–“ the tall man swallowed hard, forcing the confession out of his mouth twisted his features almost in real pain. “Together we might be strong enough.”

“Might?” Daryn said her eyebrows and almost fought back an urge to smirk.

Not the time.

“It’s hard to explain, I still don’t really understand.”

“But why should I help you?” She took a step forward, finally leaving her secure place by the wall. Part of her wanted to intimidate him, be in control, but he didn’t even move a muscle.

“Because I spared you.” One side of her lips twitched as she couldn’t believe his reasoning.

“You spared me because I saved your brothers!” The skin on her back pulled as she clenched her fists, and Daryn would have bristled if there was fur covering her instead of bare skin.

“True,” the man admitted. “But they didn’t know that.”

At that, she raised her gaze to meet his, and just when they were just a few feet apart she could clearly see the blue of his eyes; a dark ocean of sorrow, but no sign of deceit. No lie. No hidden trick. Or so she thought. Maybe her powers were too long gone, dead so she no longer felt with nothing more than her human mind. Nothing inside screamed at her to run any longer. “What?”

“As far as anyone was or is concerned, Daryn Noor died two years ago and her body was burned to nothing but ash.” Daryn’s lips parted in shock, yet no noise came out.

“You lied,” she whispered and the man only nodded. “Why?”

"Doesn't matter,” he replied and waved his hand dismissively, like he tried to avoid answering. Like he was embarrassed by that single action of mercy he had shown, probably in his entire life. For her. It made her long for more; more questions and more answers, unravel the mystery that stood so close, while he only wanted to keep away. What made her so different to all those other who weren’t unfortunate enough to hide, to escape?

“I got hunted down after, that’s true, but they didn’t know, did they? They didn’t know about the power, they only chased me for–“

The whole time she had wondered where all the special weapons had gone. Thought about how easy it would be to take them down if she allowed herself a single slip back into the territory she knew so well and feared more than all the others. They used to be so good at confusing her, different smells and noises, throwing her off, replaced with simple guns and threatening song of clinking bullets. All needed to get the best of her then.

“For stealing the very thing, I need.” The pair’s eyes landed on a small black briefcase tucked safely behind a nearby sofa. “How did you even manage that?”

“You have your secrets and I have mine,” Daryn shrugged her shoulders, but turned back to serious the moment after, realizing the man’s implication. “Wait, you want to fuck with the timeline?”

“You make it sound more serious than it is,” he winced and turned his face towards hers once again. “I know how it works, but as long as the results of our stay in that timeline are the same, which they will because as much as I hate to admit, we failed, nothing will be fucked up, and Oscar and Otto will live.”

“I make it serious enough. The smallest things like tying your shoelaces in different direction can have a huge impact on the future, preventing two deaths will do a lot. It’s dangerous.”

The man took one step towards her, then another, coming so close he was towering over her much shorter frame. A sudden alarm went off in Daryn’s head and she wanted to step back, increase the distance between their bodies, because she saw, she felt, the shift in his face and movements and knew she should run. There and then, she remembered he was a desperate man, and desperate men are dangerous and do not care about the world, nor the amount of people they hurt. How much blood they spill.

He grabbed her forearm and pulled her even closer against her will, enough for their chests to bump into each other, and inched his face close to hers. “I don’t care,” he whispered, his hot breath tickling her skin, and abruptly released her, feeling the useless struggles against his grip. “I want them back.”

“I’m not going to play God with you.”

“You promised!” the assassin said through gritted teeth.

“I didn’t promise anything,” the girl protested. “You are a madman if you think you will just jump back in time, change the fate of two people and then bounce back, with no consequences and no issues.”

At that, a cold smirk spread across his face. The expression of a man who feared nothing, who had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Not mad, no. Just someone who made mistakes and carried the guilt with him, willing to drown with it, until he saw a way to make it right. How could he ever let such a chance escape?

“Call me what you please, if you agree, I don’t care.”

“Do I?” For the first time, she saw his face fall. Instead of an assassin, he was just a brother, and instead of an enemy, he almost seemed like a reluctant ally.

“Wouldn’t you do the same for your own family?”

Daryn groaned and ran her hand across her face. Did she have anything to lose? Nothing besides a life, one she couldn’t even live properly. Maybe when they are done, she could start anew, in a different timeline, or at least not live with conscience of letting a man who had saved her life twice die. It wasn’t fair, life wasn’t fair, and she wished her heart was a bit colder, a little harsher. At least half as cruel as he deemed it to be, then she might have declined him.

“Alright, fine,” she said, irritated at herself, at him for making her pity him enough to agree, and offered him her hand. “Deal.”

Slowly, he took it, his eyes curiously scanning her and she wondered, what he was thinking about? Did shivers run down his body in disgust as he touched her? What was stronger, the desire to get rid of her or how much he needed her? Did he hate himself for cooperating with the monster he saw in her, just as mush as she hated herself for agreeing to help the monster, she saw in him?

“Axel,” he said quietly, so softly she almost overheard.

“What?”

“Axel. My name is Axel.”

“Axel,” Daryn responded, trying out the word on her tongue. She could get used to it, remember it, in case she was dying somewhere he had left her, so she could curse him and hate him even beyond the grave. Somehow, she felt like he’d bring her death. “This better be fucking quick.”

#the swedes #axel tua #oscar tua #otto tua

[royalydamned-archive]

Safe and sound

(Abner Krill x Reader)

|AN|: I theoretically wasn't lying when I said it's gonna take two weeks. It did. I just hated it so much I rewrote it like dozen times. So, since I found out I can't write fluff (this was a struggle oops) I have two versions of this hopefully that'd make up for the long time waiting. I just have to edit the second one.

Request: hey are you still taking requests for abner krill/ polka-dot man? if so could you write something fluffy with the reader having healing powers?

for: @deuxmi-lune

Summary: No matter what happens, Abner knows he can always come home to his spouse. They can always take his pain away.

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You shouldn't have been sleeping so soundly, not when he hadn't returned yet, but it was so late, such a peaceful night and he was going to be alright. He always was. It was something that he did – miraculously tunring out alright, alive, as if your prayers to nowhere had been protecting him from any damage. 

It wasn't too long ago, since he had decided to be a hero, but ever since then he got hurt more often than before. More often than not. The band on your finger bound you to his unconditional support and love, yet everytime he limped towards you it felt more like a promise to help him destroy himself. What was a happy man, if he was dead?

It was hard to tell when you fell asleep, but you knew exactly when you woke up – a loud crashing sound came from the front door, jerking you awake. At first, your vision was blurry, the numbers on the alarm clock by your bed blending together into one smudge of red light, and when you rubbed your eyes, gaining some focus back into them, the time had just turned into 3:28am. 

Only the worst came into your mind, you knew he was out unil the sun rose, until he knew nothing he could take care of lurked in the shadows and under the veil of night. Something must had gone wrong, having him back so soon. 

Swiftly, you bolted out of the bed, barefoot running down the creaking wooden stairs towards the entrance, steadying yourself against the walls as you didn't bother to turn on the lights. He was home, and he wasn't alright. You felt it in your bones, whether it was some kind of sixth sense or just something that came with the gift you beared. You had to get to him, what if only seconds mattered?

"Abner," you breathed out, running to his aid when you saw him clutching his side in pain, blood seeping though his clothes and fingers. He was supporting himself against a wall, his skin pale glistening with sweat from all the effort and pain he seemed to be in. "What happened?"

As a response, he laughed nervously, wincing right after as the action sent a sharp pang through his body, and leaned his entire weight on you once you caught him. "Sorry for the rug," he mumbled quietly, gesturing towards the crimson stains of blood slowly drying off beneath his feet. That wouldn't be coming off. "We just bought it."

His legs were weak, one of his ankles presumably sprained or broken as he refused to put almost any weight on it when you lead him into your living room with one of his arms draped over your shoulders, gently helping him lie down on the couch. A sound of protest left his mouth, the blood already spilling all over the fluffy decorative blanket he excitedly bought a few months back when he saw it on sale. "Where have you been? Who did this?"

"I don't really know, it was dark." What would you even do if he gave you an answer? Hunted them down? Threatened them? Hurt them just as they hurt him? What an irony of life would that be, born a healer, made a killer.  

"Just say here," you commanded your husband, and quickly ran to the kitchen, fumbling in one of the drawers as you were searching for some scissors, the stress making your hands shake and fingers almost numb, unable to grasp anything properly. When you came back to him, kneeling by his side on the floor, you quickly cut his shirt revealing a deep bleeding gash on his side.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips.

"They said it's just a scratch," Abner smiled nervously at your horrified face.

"God, you're so stupid sometimes," you muttered, eyes fixated on the wound – deep and wide, nothing like a bullet or any knife you knew could have done. 

"Thats's why you're the smart one."

You placed your hand just a bit above the cut flesh, feeling the heat radiating from his hot blood, reaching out towards his body with your shaken mind. There was only one way of making it better, of saving him. You had to focus, but the more you reminded yourself to stay calm, the harder it was. The more intense the panick rising in your heart got.

Before your eyes was familiar sight. The one of cells slowly coming back together, merging into what they had once been. Sometimes it didn't work out, and the results of that were all over your husband's body. The crooked scars or pulling skin, yet he never seemed to complain or point it out. Other times it was perfect. The traces of anything that could have once been there, just smooth pale skin you knew so well. Nobody could tell. You prayed this was the case as well as it would be a nasty mark to bear. 

"Have I ever told you, how beautiful you are like this?" Abner whispered, breaking your focus. At that, as your palm jerked above the wound, the skin knotted together clumsily as it tried to cover the gash, creating a dark prominent scar, agressive and yet another reminder of your failure.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," you cursed and ran your fingers down the freshly healed spot. That was exactly what you didn't want. 

"Hey, it's alright," he smiled at you, taking your hand it his. His palms were harsh and callous, yet comforting and warm as they held you. They always were. Hold as gentle as his soul, as genuine as his smile. "I don't mind the scars."

"You scared me tonight, much more than usual," you admitted quietly, gaze still fixated on the spot where not a few seconds ago a terrifying cut mocked you and the power you had carried.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to be a hero." Abner squeezed your hand in reassurance, but it felt more like a plea. To not try and convince him to give up, to hold on just a little longer. "What if once I won't be able to heal you fast enough?"

"I'm not scared of that." His hand came up to your face, trailing just the tip of his index finger down your cheek, so gently it almost felt like nothing at all. "Here I'll always be safe."

"Safe and sound," you tried to return him smile, but it felt forced. There wasn't a mood for smiling just yet.

He shifted a bit on the couch, leaving enough space for you to squeeze right next to him. Abner laid his head on your chest, tightly hugging your middle like it was a safety line. "I promise to stay alive, until you come and get me."

"How about you stay out of the harm's way and not rely on me?" He just hummed in response and lifted his face from your chest, catching the worried look in your eyes.

"We wouldn't be a team then." From up-close, you could finally catch a proper glimpse of his face, the cuts and bruises you couldn't see at first in the weak light of your living room.

With a slow motion, you traced the injuries on his face with your thumb, the cuts disappearing and bruises fading in the wake of your touch. Magical, as Abner would so often describe it. Once you were done, he completely hid his face in your chest, pulling you closer even when it wasn't possible anymore, seeking the comfort you were and had always been the promise of.

"It's alright," you whisper into his hair, planting a quick kiss on the top of his head, one of your hands stroking calming circles into his back. "I've got you."

"And I've got you," he mumbled into the smooth fabric of your pyjamas. The warmth of his body on yours calmed you down, at least a bit, as you knew he was there, far from harm's way – in your arms.

"You still probably have a broken ankle."

"Later, I don't want you to let go." So, you didn't. Just held him tighter as he gradually fell asleep in your arms and you got a one last glance at a clock not too far away.

It was exactly 3.50 in the morning, when you two fell asleep, together at last, holding each other so tightly as if one or the other was to disappear.

#abner krill x reader #abner krill x you #polkadot man x reader #polkadot man x you #abner krill fanfiction

[royalydamned-archive]

THE SWEDES MASTERLIST

(🖤 - angst |🔥- smut | 💌 - getting together | 💙 - platonic pairing | ❤️ - established relationship | 💫 - multichapter | ✔️ - finished | ⚠️ - triggering topics | ☄️ - AU | ✉️ - requested | 🚫 - ongoing | ✅ - one shot | 🌺 - fluff | 🌑 - OC instert | 🌕 - reader insert)

Linden (Otto) - 🖤❤️🌕✅

Reversed (Axel) - 🖤💌💫⚠️🌑🚫

[royalydamned-archive]

Reversed - prologue

(Axel the Swede x OFC)

>> Chapter 1

Summary: Axel couldn't let his brothers die. He would do anything. Even if it meant seeking help in a woman he should have killed a long time ago. Suddenly, the single act of mercy became useful.

|AN|: Swedes fandom revival! Let's go!

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It’s almost ironic, how fast the chaser becomes the chased, and a predator becomes a prey. One can be born to be extraordinary, to be stronger and more powerful than all the others; but at the end of the day, everyone kneels before the barrel of a gun aimed at their head – after all, the cold steel is a cruel reminder of how easy it is to end a life. Because powerful people get so caught up in in their idea of invincibility, they forget their own burden of mortality.

“I guess it’s appropriate for me to face death, just like a cattle for slaughter,” Daryn struggled out, shaking in pain and anger as she was forced on her knees before the tall Swede. The smell of smoke was heavy in the air, and she could see the sweat glistening on his skin sticking dark ash to his cheeks. It was his fault, yet she had to die.

The man didn’t answer, only adjusted his grip on the handle of his shotgun and reloaded it without breaking the contact their gazes held. She would be beautiful, he thought. Beautiful in the warm light if it was balefire instead of a burning house – if she truly was the harmless girl that was awaiting her end, and not a destruction threatening to snap. There was no place, for people like her. They were not supposed to be, no man should conquer the power of gods, but she lived like she could easily be one.  

Daryn’s eyes fell on the two men standing not too far away, inner battle reflecting in their faces. The debt of their lives belonged to her, but her thanks would be nothing but a meal of gunpowder and steel. Guilt – that was all they managed to show. No remorse, no mercy. Their gratitude was shallow and she knew it would never be repaid. She wished she could turn back time, maybe if she let them die, she would be able to escape, she would be able to fight a grief-stricken man and win, but that wouldn’t be right. They might have not seen her as a person, but it seemed like she was more human that the three of them combined.

“Quick death is mercy,” the tall main rasped out, his words marked by strong accent. He needed to tell himself those lies because he knew he was in the wrong. Once he had convinced himself, he could convince others as well. “It’s without pain.”

“Painless death is death nevertheless.” The cold metal of his gun gently pressed into the skin of her forehead and the cold it radiated was almost pleasurable, even in the unbearably hot air, there was something chilling about the black void of the gunpoint.

His mouth twitched and he looked back at his brothers standing nearby. If she wanted – if she could – she would’ve fled in that second, when his focus wavered. She couldn’t. Every movement hurt and she wished she was the evil they saw her as, the one that killed and let die, whose regret was the lives she watched to fade, and not the ones she protected, ruining her own chance of living on.

A small movement in the background caught her attention, the tallest of them all shaking his head at his brother, light eyes pleading and surprisingly gentle behind the curtains of pale hair, some of it sticking to the bloody gash across his right eye. Any other time, she would feel bad. Not for them.

They murmured something at each other in Swedish, deciding her fate in front of her, the sentence of her death already in the air, yet she was none the wiser.

“I wish you the same sentence you pass on me,” she told them coldly.

The man in front of her turned to face her again, face stoic and determined, a hunter killing a deer, a farmer slaughtering a pig. It’s all she was to them. He was the one aiming a gun at her head, but she was the monster, just like a bear is bloodthirsty for protecting its cubs and dogs rabid for attacking in defense. They say predators are on top of the food chain, deciding of life and death of those they hunt and eat, ruling the wildlife like kings, untouchable and dangerous, but everyone forgets those who turn the hunters into the hunted, those who sit on the pile of crocuses while they rot in vain, those who killed for greed – men.

“Our crimes don’t match yours,” he answered her calmly, his voice almost soothing, as if he was about to put her to sleep. In its own way, that might have been true.

“True,” Daryn admitted, the orange light all around them coloring her eyes like the clearest honey on a summer day, unnaturally bright and clear exactly reflecting the rest of her – impossible, confusing, dangerously intriguing. “Your kill count will forever be at least one up from mine, for that you deserve worse.”

To that he said nothing and not a single emotion could be read in his cool blue eyes. He was a man made of ice – cruel and merciless, and she wondered whether anything could move his heart. Would he shed a tear over someone’s death? Would he ever weep over loved one’s loss?

“So, you killed,” the tall Swede concluded, never breaking the contact their gazes held and Daryn wondered why has life blessed someone so foul with a look so clear.

“I have never taken a life,” the woman defended herself, teeth almost baring like a dog, a warning and an empty threat. “Can you say the same?”

The gun aimed at her head pressed more firmly into her, and she closed her eyes shut, instincts taking over her need to be brave. How would it feel? Would there be pain? How much, how long? How does it feel to die? The fear of the unknown, of just suddenly ceasing to exist was greater than the fear of death itself. Only the idea of forever filled her with unreasonable dread, but maybe she would come back. Live another life anew – harmless and regular, where there was nothing wild to guard and keep in. Just peace. She liked that.

“No.” The pressure of steel against her forehead suddenly disappeared, and her eyes shot open in confusion. Her executioner dropped his armed hand to his side, something unreadable written in his expression, and with a tone, strangely gentle in contrast to all the rough words that left his lips, he added: “But I will give you mercy.”

Why? She was ready to ask, the simple question already falling off the tip of her tongue, when he answered without hearing it. He could see it craved in the gold of her eyes.

“Leave, hide, and the debt of my brothers’ lives will be paid.” Instead of quick death, he now offered her his hand, carefully helping her stand up, even steadying her as the pain in her back protested her movements.

Daryn looked at the two men behind him, but their faces bore similar expressions to his. If it was a trick she wouldn’t have known. Hesitantly, she looked back at the one still gripping her hand, noticing how different their features were, as if their relation was distant or none at all, yet on the surface they acted almost like one.

“I hope to never see you again,” she whispered and none of them loosened the grip of their hands.

“Mutual,” he responded and abruptly let go, turning his back to her and slowly walked away, the two other brothers following soon after, leaving Daryn standing there with fire slowly swallowing everything around, growing more by each second, which till now passed without her notice.

When she looked backed at it later in life, she realized just how funny the irony of life is.

#the swedes #Axel tua #Oscar tua #Otto tua

[royalydamned-archive]

Hey I was wondering if you could do an abner krill fic where the reader doesn't speak and the squad has just assumed the they were mute. Abner and the reader have formed this system where Abner talks and the reader just listens and they both enjoy that system. Eventually Abner says something funny and it causes the reader to laugh which causes the whole squad to freak out(especially Abner)

Sure thing! Sounds really fun I can't wait ^^

#ask #request

[royalydamned-archive]

KINGO MASTER LIST

(🖤 - angst |🔥- smut | 💌 - getting together | 💙 - platonic pairing | ❤️ - established relationship | 💫 - multichapter | ✔️ - finished | ⚠️ - triggering topics | ☄️ - AU | ✉️ - requested | 🚫 - ongoing | ✅ - one shot | 🌺 - fluff | 🌑 - OC instert | 🌕 - reader insert)

Last wish - 🖤💌🌕✅

Welcome to the world - ❤️🌺🌕✉️✅

[royalydamned-archive]

Last Wish

(Kingo x Reader)

Summary: Kingo left his family, refusing to fight both with them and against them. The moment he realized he was going to die, he made up his mind to make one last important confession.

|AN|: Found this in my drafts all the way from January. Edited it instead of sleeping, so it's probably not edited too well.

Also shoutout to billcwingcloaks for the movie reference.

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"Wait, where the hell are you going?"  

"I still think Ikaris is right," Kingo said solemnly, darkness dancing in his softened gaze, facing something that pulled his heart and his mind in opposite directions, tearing him apart.

"So that's it, huh? Just gonna follow him?" 

Follow Ikaris, help – allow – the destruction of this planet, of all the people they were supposed to protect. No, he couldn't. Kingo's own thoughts hurt, each and every one agreeing with the inevitable destruction painful, his own mind punching himself because as much as he knew stopping the birth of a Celestial was wrong, the thought of the whole humanity ending in nothing but mere hours burning him up from the inside.

"We can't win," he said in quiet defeat. They were no match, the end was inevitable, coming closer and closer, and each second seemingly approaching faster than the other. "There's no stopping this and we need to accept it."

'What do you want to do?'  He smiled at Makkari, a little too sadly compared to the usual spark his eyes always shone with. 'We need you.'

Kingo nodded, yet the gesture carried the opposite meaning, his lips pressed together as peace spread through his body, knowing his fate is sealed and the future he might fear or look forward to would never come. 

He has seen humans in similiar situations, when they knew how limited their time spent alive was, something in them seemed to snap, the desire to break free and not think of the consequences of their actions. As an Eternal, he had never been forced to hurry his life as it was never-ending, but now mortality has caught up to him. One thing he would never expect. The few little things he craved to try on his mind, whatever happening next insignificant.

Something inside him ached thinking of the loss, of the world crumbling apart, the terrified cries of all living slowly dying down in shortest moments patching a way for new generations – new lives. It was a sacrifice that was necessary, a sacrifice that was good, yet he despised it.

He loved Earth.

He love humans.

He loved...

He loved and he needed say it out loud, almost as if it would make the truth more real. The last thing, his death wish, consequences didn't exist, reality was ending, every sense in his mind keeping him from this now wielding no weight.

"I won't join Ikaris," Kingo said finally. "But I won't join you either. We would be fighting a pointless battle."

"We must try–"

"I love this planet," he cut through Sersi's interruption, holding out a finger towards her, to give his words more meaning or just warn her to let him speak, either way the room fell as silent as a grave, all gazes sharp and stabbing him through. "I love the people in it as much as any of you do, and I wish–I wish this wasn't happening..."

"It is," Phastos reminded him carefully. They all knew the meaning his words held, they understood him even without anything being spoken out loud, at least a bit they did.

"It is," Kingo agreed. "And I don't want to waste my last moment doing something pointless."

"So you think saving the world is pointless?"

"If you can't win then yes." With this, he pushed past the others, not looking back as he exited the Domo, barely waiting for Karun to say his goodbyes.

"Are we going home sir?" Kingo noticed traces of tears in his friend's eyes and all humor and good things to say had left him. He nodded, subconsciously grabbing the phone in his pocket, as if to make sure its still there, waiting for him to take action.

"Ah, there's something important on your mind."

"You have service here Karun?" he dodged the topic, nonchalantly trying to steer away from the serious conversation.

"Yes sir."

"Can I borrow it? Mine's not catching anything."

"Of course, of course." The man started fishing around his pockets, the tip of his tongue trapped in between his teeth, and wobbled slightly from side to side, struggling a bit to find his phone.

"You can go ahead, wait for me on the plane, I just need to make a quick call." Karun smiled at Kingo, a small knowing spark flashed across his gaze before he turned his back to him and walked away. He knew, of course he did, there was nothing that man didn't know when it came to Kingo.

He let out a long sigh, quickly dialing a familiar number by memory, his fingers typing almost on their own, it was a habit, something automatic he didn't need to control anymore. There was no way to go back, there would be no time to do this again. People often said to die regretting the things you did, not the ones you couldn't do, and Kingo had all the time of a mankind itself to thinking about the experiences, the memories, take the amazing things with him to his death: his success, his fame, the thousands of years of his life. He had plenty to regret, far worse than a few simple words, far more embarassing than the feelings he held against his will or a better judgment carried in his apparently robotic heart.

The phone rang, once, twice, seconds passing a sudden change of his mind flashed through him, almost like he jerked awake from a dream, a daze of too many things happening at once clouding his judgment. What was he doing? This wasn't him, he wasn't serious, he wasn't so upfront. He couldn't– he–

"Hello? Karun?" Your voice on the other side of the line answered and Kingo's hand shot up to his ear the second he heard you.

"Oh? Oh! Hi, this is... uhm... not Karun." He pinched the brindge of his nose with his fingers, cursing at himself in his head. Really smooth buddy.

"Kingo?"

"Yeah."

"What do you need? Did something happen?"

"No," Kingo lied and licked his lips nervously, his gaze wandering towards the Domo small in the distance, still floating above the ground. Everything was going to die. "Everything is fine, just felt like chatting, you know me."

Coward. Someone from the depths of his thoughts shouted.

You deserved to know in person. You deserved to be told better than over the phone. Or so he tried to convince himself, excuse the way he suddenly backed away.

"I do, you're very chatty."

"Incredibly, people love it, who else makes conversations as interesting as me?"

"No one, I admit that." He heard your laugh, a proud smile creeping up his lips as he listened to the delightful sound.

"Are you home?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Just wanted to drop by, make sure you're still as much of a delight to look at as always, bless you with my presence." You were a great journey away, sitting at home clueless about the future, just going on about your day like it was no different to countless other before or those that would happen later on. Nobody knew. Nothing he said would linger on this earth, it didn't matter. His immortality wouldn't hurt you, he wouldn't risk grieving your death dacades later still trapped in the same ageless body as you would slowly fade away. It was all about to end at once.

"Alright, I'll be waiting."

"Great." The line beeped and for a few seconds he found himself just staring at the phone fondly, just your number glowing on the screen. No picture, no name. He had taught Karun to save his contacts one too many times by know, still, he stuck to his old ways. He envied him the luxury of not adapting if he didn't want to, missing a certain parts of the past more than the others, sometimes wishing to go back in time where everything was simpler and his family was still together.

When walked into the jet, Karun was seated comfortably, gleefuly watching the recording he acquired throughout their little family adventure.

"How did it go sir?" the man asked, a cheerful smile on his face still even after learning his fate.

"Aren't you a bit too nosy?"

"Just a little curious sir," Karun shook his head. "I like romance very much, it's beautiful, I watch 'Dilwale Dulhania Leh Jayenge' at least twice a month."

Kingo chuckled to himself. This was nothing like 'Dilwale Dulhania Leh Jayenge'. It was a cold reality, the pressure of death the only thing forcing him into action. No space for the fire of passion, or the stories of happily ever after people humans told each other on quiet evenings.

"This is not a romance movie, dear friend," he said, sadness hiding behind the thoughtful expression. How much he wished it was. So many evenings he had spent reading his scripts over and over, playing men with happy endings, who fell in love without fear, spent the rest of their lives knowing for sure that one day it would just...end. Sometimes he envied them, wishing for his existence to be so simple, now even craving to be more than someone's luxury appliance for destruction.

"There are those with sad endings."

"Nobody likes those."

"My wife loved them." Kingo raised an eyebrow at the man, a small amused grin spreading across his face.

"That's a bit worrying."

"What I wanted to say, sir, not every movie ends well. Like Romeo and Juliet–"

"–not a movie–" he piped in, but Karun ignored him.

"–they both died, just like you will," his valet beamed, however, the smile dropped into a serious expression once he saw the way he was looking at him. "Which is very sad, of course."

An awkward silence filled the space between them, heavy with the worries in Kingo's heart. Karun wanted to help, he always wanted to help, only nothing could make this better.

It made him wonder why he wasn't scared, or didn't seem to at all, given the fast approaching demise.

The rest of the journey they spent in silence, Kingo looking out of the window, too many things running across his mind. Words he planned on saying and words he was too scared to; the whole time gathering the courage to truly look you into the eyes and say whatever he held back, hid inside him, for so long. He winced in emberassment whenever he caught himself thinking in such soppy way and if it were any other time, he would make fun of himself on his own.

When they landed, his mind shouted in protest as he moved, trying to talk sense, but his legs like with a brain on their own. His whole existence conflicted, more than once thinking back about the others, how he chose something selfish instead of staying with them. Instead of trying. But he couldn't die without you knowing, no matter the conflicted feelings. 

Before he knew it, he was at your door, knocking nervously, shifting his weight from his heels to the toes and back while he waited for you to answer, box of chocolate in his hands. It was dumb, but it was the best idea he could come up with in the given moment.

"Took you long enough." Were your first word when you spotted him standing at your doorway, eyes fixated on the ceiling making it almost seem like he was praying. "Where did you call me from, Cuba?"

"Something like that." Kingo muttered, just staring at you, unable to find the right word to start. Till now he hadn't really knew the weight of what he planned to do, he didn't think about what he would say, words always coming naturally to him, he regretted it.

Silently, Kingo handed you the box, his gaze bearing into you, uninterrupted even with such a thing as blinking. His mouth opened, lips waiting to form a sound that never came.

"What, is it my birthday?" you smirked, taking the chocolates from him. Normally, he would return the witty remark, he really would, but that was not the time. Not the place.

Not the world.

"Nothing? You're starting to scare me."

"Can I come in?"

"Kingo, what's wrong?" you urged, ignoring his question just like he ignored yours. You were both living two different situations.

He felt like prisoner awaiting his death sentence, feeling the tight knot in his chest, the cold breath just at the nape of his neck. It was almost like time was no longer a concept, but a real force actively pushing against him, fighting and winning.

"Have you ever thought about what would be your last wish?" he said quietly, examining your eyes like they were the only thing he wanted to remember. They carried the galaxy Kingo cared the most about – your soul – and he found them the most beautiful he had ever seen. Even not remembering his past lives, he was certain none other could stand a chance against you.

You frowned, taken back. You weren't really prepared for something like that. Not from him. It was always just a friendly banter, poking fun and even the most serious moment turned into one filled with laughter. Kingo was the sunshine you always turned to, like a flower desperate for its light. That solemn man was not your sun.

"Theoretically," he quickly added when he saw your expression, almost hearing the doubt in your mind. Of course you knew something was wrong.

"Just...come inside." You gave up quite quickly, sensing it was not the time for games. Something was wrong and it was too visible on a cheerful face like his.

Stepping back, you opened the door enough for him to slide by, your bodies and clothes briefly touching as he passed. Neither of you tried to think about it just like all those times before where you both were just a little too close.

Soft click sounded from behind him as you closed the door, but Kingo couldn't bring himself to turn around and face you. It was easier, with his back turned to you, hiding the face his face twisted, how his gaze fell to your lips when he was too weak to resist.

"Kingo?" you asked into the heavy silence and only a quiet humm was your answer. "Talk to me?"

"Believe it or not, I don't know how."

A sad smile creeped to you lips as you watched his back and you remembered his question. "What would be your last wish?"  You couldn't see his face, but his body twitched like he was about to turn around and stopped himself the very last second.

Maybe for the first time in his life, Kingo was truly scared. This was the only chance he could get, to open his stupidly synthetic heart to you, that beat all the same as a human one, and not fear what would happen if you rejected him. Not fear what would happen if you didn't.

Yet, at the same time, the thought of dying with the knowledge of your rejection, of him destroying all that you had and what he held dear, was still there.

"You know you can tell me anything," you whispered, trying to encourage him as you heard the tension and uneasiness hanging in the air above you.

He chuckled, dryly and ironically, as if all his good humor had left him, and turned to face you. Once again memorizing the shadows over your face, creases of your skin. He could remind himself of your humanity; of that one thing he thought he knew so much about and pitied the Earth for having to carry as a burden. As he watched you however, sculpting your image forever into his memories, hoping that in his next life he wouldn't forget you if he tried just hard enough, he wished to share the vulnerability of a human body.

Life seemed to be worth more if you knew it could end anytime.

"I wanted to keep this a secret, but I think you deserve to know." If you wanted to live the last moments elsewhere, with people you cared about, or had a wish just like his, you deserved to have the freedom to do it. To die the way you wouldn't regret. You are the one who only had this one short-short life.

"Yes?"

"The world is ending." You raised your eyebrows, an amused smile slowly spreading through your face, but disappearing when you saw no hint of humor in his features. Usually he would smirk, laugh at you for falling for something so obvious and maybe reveal the chocolate box was full of baby carrots, or something similiar. Not this time. "Wait, you're serious?"

"A really big alien is going to tear the Earth apart." The way he said it, like it was something ordinary, something he had made peace with, and just accepted the the destruction awaiting everyone. It must have meant he was messing with you. Why else would he be so calm?

"How do you even know this?"

"My family–" he stopped himself, trying to think if the best way to phrase it, "we...might have something to do with it."

"Kingo–!"

"That's unimportant right now!" He cut you off.

"Unimportant?!"

"Unimportant," he agreed. "So why don't you go and do that last wish thing we talked about?" Kingo hugged you around the shoulders, flashing you the usual charming smile, but it was stiff and as forced as his movements seemed to be.

"No." You freed yourself from his grasp. "You can't just say this to a person and not expect questions."

"Okay," he answered quietly and ran a hand through his hair. "Ask."

"What is happening? And start from the beginning."

From the beginning he did start. A bit more literally than you wanted him to. It felt like a knowledge you weren't supposed to have, but he kept going, every information crazier than the last and it all felt either like the craziest dream or the worst possible lie. So you just stayed silent and listened. About his family, about history and about he beginning of mankind. About Kingo's eternal life and a plan of the birth of new worlds; and the destiny of yours. He told you about the possibilities of rebirth and innovation, the sacrifice this world had to make.

"So you think the billions of innocent people aren't worth saving?" You asked him when he finished. His expression turned blue, he didn't shine as bright as you knew him, the weight of this knowledge heavy on his shoulders. He wasn't evil, you knew it, but you refused to believe he would let so many people die.

"It's more complicated than that." Kingo understood your anger, just like he understood the anger of his family. The desperation and naive hope that maybe with enough effort, destiny could change. His faith was strong, or so he assumed his whole life on Earth, but when he looked at the pain twisting your face, the fear hiding behind the tears in your eyes, his faith wavered.

"Why are you really here, Kingo?" you whispered and held his dark warm gaze. His lips parted as he drew in a sharp breath, but stopped himself from answering the very first thing that fell on his tongue. "No," you stopped him from another lie. Another attempt to dodge and escape from what he truly wanted to say. "The truth."

You knew him, you knew him too well. None of his true intentions could be hidden, not in such an open moment, not when he wanted to say everything he had been hiding for God knows how long. "This is my last wish," he admitted, the weight in his chest lighter, allowing him to feel the wild beating of his heart.

"Letting me know I will die?"

Kingo shook his head and stepped closer to you, his hand came resting on your cheek, caressing the skin with his thumb. He didn't look at you first, pondering over the possibilities, discussing with himself whether it was worth it. Hurting you both this way. But like he heard some say: love was pain. It didn't matter, you wouldn't have to bear it too long. "Letting you know, that I love you."

He heard the way your breath hitched in your throat and could feel the regret. Guilt over what he had now forced you to face. You didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve his selfishness, you didn't deserve to die.

Nobody did.

An apology was already forming in his mind, wishing he could take it back and let you live in a world in which death didn't await you, where your death wasn't his fault.

However, as he was about to speak, try to save as much as he could, fix as much damage he had done on you, your hands cupped his face, pulling him close and silencing all his words with your lips. Just briefly, for a few seconds, just like you were unsure, either with yourself or the meaning of his words. Whether they were serious or the most though-out joke.

When you pulled away, worry written in the crease between your brows and he wanted to be selfish just for a few more seconds. Feel the kiss, your warmth and your touch before his very last bad decision. Maybe last decision ever.

His hand sneaked around your middle, crashing your body against his in an embrace, allowing you to be as close as he wanted, and sealed your lips back together. It was needier than before, he couldn't let go, all he needed to breath and feel was you.

Your hands came into his hair, subconsciously backing away as he pushed you against the wall, not once breaking the contact between the two of you, until your back hit the hard surface behind.

Kingo didn't seem satisfied and his lips left your mouth, smirking as he saw you whine in protest, and started kissing the outline of your jaw, pulling you even closer when you moaned and dug your fingertips into his shoulders, urging him on.

He moved down your neck, butterfly kisses turning into more passionate, sucking the skin and kissing it right after, breathing in the scent lingering everywhere in you body.

"Kingo," you cried out, hugging him tighter to yourself, read to plead for him to continue, to never stop, when his lips left your neck.

"You're right," he whispered to you, your faces so close you were breathing as one, and your lids almost fluttered closed every when your noses accidentally bumped into each other. "They are worth saving."

You looked up to meet his eyes, gentle, with the saddest smile that could ever adorn his handsome features, and smiled when he cupped your cheek with his hand once again. "You are worth saving."

With those words, he placed last gentle kiss on your lips, as a goodbye and a promise of seeing each other again. A promise that he will come back. To you.

"Please don't die."

Kingo smirked, some playful mischief back in the way he looked at you. Finally something you recognized, something that was the same as the old times. "I wouldn't dare. That was not even foreplay."

With a wink, he was gone. Off to save the world, back to his family, leaving you wanting and hoping to see him again. To have more than just a few desperate stolen moments to share. A lifetime together.

He could never have you for eternity. People age and die, fade from the memories of living, but stay in the hearts of those who loved them. Your memory will never fade. Kingo will carry it forever in his eternal heart.

#kingo x reader #eternals x reader #kingo x you #eternals x you

[royalydamned-archive]

hey are you still taking requests for abner krill/ polka-dot man? if so could you write something fluffy with the reader having healing powers?

Would love to! It will be done in around 2 weeks due to my finals, hope the wait won't be a problem 💜

#request #ask

[royalydamned-archive]

One last time

(Severus Snape)

Summary: One last goodbye

|AN|: I might not have a lot of skill but I have too much emotion and a lot of audacity, so I guess this is the result.

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Part I

Sky stayed in the same mournful grey the whole day, occasionally shedding tears of the deceased in tiny droplets of rain that fell on Severus' skin. The air was cold as well, reminding him of the loss and bitter Pyrrhic victory that had shaken the hidden part of the world not too long ago.

Nobody noticed him as he walked through the still ruined grounds, the toll of the battle visible, not even magic could clean the blood from the soil and death from the shadows of the stone walls.

It wasn't the same Hogwarts, it felt like a new place, marked by the tragedy, unable to forget. And they didn't want to. They did everything they could to remember. To learn from the history and never repeat it again.

He stood in front of the memorial, not too far from Dumbledore's own tomb, countless names carved in the tall decorative stone, golden letters shining in contrast to the black marble. They mourned. Hundreds of them, and he didn't feel what he was supposed to. He didn't feel dread, grief, nor disgust, even when he recalled the scenes of the fight. It was just numbness.

His eyes scanned every single name, carefully reading through each syllable, some names he recognized, some he had seen for the first time. Among them, there were those he could have saved, those he saw dying and those he didn't know were dead.

Each name was a person, a life, a story, yet they seemed like nothing at all. Not when he couldn't imagine a face to represent them, a voice to introduce themselves. He couldn't imagine them, but deep down he knew, that voice of his own was speaking to him again, many of them wouldn't have to be there.

In the distance, Dumbledore's tomb caught his attention, calling him near as if it had more of his secrets to share. More lies to tell him and break him down. It was beautiful, truly it was, celebrating the great life and achievements everyone saw and burying the filth that came with it. Because most of it stuck on Severus. Because his hands had to remain clean.

He didn't hate him, but at the same time he wished he could grieve more as he stepped closer to the pompous memory, something the headmaster would truly hate yet secretly admire.

All around the tomb, different flowers were scattered, along with candles and notes, some hateful some full of love. Piles and piles of enchanted trinkets laid down in front of his grave, reminding Severus more of a parade than a resting place. The victim's memorial was far emptier, carrying photos of each and every person with a small candle, but the flowers got lost next to the tall dark build. The flickering light of magical flames barely illuminating the bottom of the stone, the flowers faded, scattered all over the ground instead of being neatly arranged.

It was clear, who was the hero and who was the sacrifice.

Severus looked around, searching for a movement, a sound, anyone and anything telling him he wasn't alone. But he was. Nothing moved in the distance, no subtle noise reached his ears. Knowing it was no one but him, he took out his wand and with a simple flick of his wrist, matched the look of the memorial to Dumbledore's tomb.

The flowers almost grew more lively and candles shone brighter, the memory of life they carried prominent once again.

He tried to ignore the last grave left. The least deserving, yet the most remembered. The one that carried his name and reminded everyone of his story – edited, idealized, yet still his. Those who knew the whole truth kept quiet or ignored the darkest part, the most important pieces of his life, all that had to be done and couldn't be avoided. That, however, didn't fit their story. It didn't make the tragic hero he heard them call him, putting a sour expression on his face every time that talk reached his ears by accident.

Rather be forgotten, than to be remembered as a lie.

Behind him, dry leaves rustled in the rhythm of slow steps, and he didn't dare to turn around. He couldn't be recognized.

"A great man," said a quiet voice he knew all too well. One he wouldn't forget even if he really wanted to.

Severus kept staring straight ahead, from the corner of his eyes he noticed the boy doing the same, some of the flames dancing in his glasses. He cursed the way his face felt bare, no hair to protect him from any prying eyes. He had made a mistake coming there.

"Haven't seen you here before, and I come here every day. To remember, regret some words I have said, wish for things to be different." He didn't answer the dark-haired boy, not even a sound leaving his lips. "I guess some things cannot be changed."

A year was all it took. To change a child so much he talked like he had already lived one life. And maybe he had, in his own way. He had already been through a lifetime. Harry glance at him briefly before returning his gaze at the grave in front of them – swarmed with lilies and white roses, a few gifts wasted just lying at his empty tombstone. Undeserving.

"Every day I returned, expecting to see you standing here, back where it had all began." Severus' head now snapped towards the boy next to him, suddenly meeting the painfully familiar green eyes, even when hidden behind a layer of glass. Yet, he looked more like his father than ever before, sent to this Earth to haunt him, mock him, punish him even before he got to die. "Why now?"

"You kept coming here, waiting for a ghost, Potter."

"And I lived to see him." Severus wanted to scowl at him, but his face stayed frozen. He hoped he hadn't really gotten soft.

"Who was behind this?" he gestured towards his grave, big, ridiculous and attention-grabbing, everything he could possibly hate.

"I was," Harry admitted with an amused smirk, noticing the way he dodged his question, but decided not to push him too much. "Thought you deserved it."

Snape scoffed. "Cannot help yourself assuming the worst about me." There was humor in his words, he didn't expect himself, surprising them both. Guess there was some life in him left to enjoy. At the mere thought of it, the conscience he had faced in the mirror so many times protested.

The boy stayed quiet, not agreeing nor disagreeing with his late teacher's words, except this time, after so many years, he could listen to him and not be blinded by hatred, just see him as a person instead of a walking nightmare. For the first time, he noticed he spoke with wit and sarcasm, and not malice as he had assumed his whole life.

"Why did you come here then?"

Severus didn't have a real answer. Because he was riddled with guilt. Because he couldn't let himself be at peace, for deep down, he didn't feel like he truly deserved it.  Killers come back to the place of their crime, maybe it lured him back the same way as them.

Maybe he just needed to bid a real farewell. Bring himself to leave that life, the magic, behind and find the strength to put away his wand – to live magicless and without worry.

Just one last time feel the home he needed.

"Couldn't bring myself to believe you managed not to get yourself killed." The two men stayed to look at each other in silence, each of them noticing the way the other had changed. How such little time took a great toll on their faces, on their hearts, stealing a few years from their future.

"I must have learned something from you at least then." Harry grinned and Snape's mouth twitched for a moment into a brief smirk. It used to be so easy, being hateful. "I'm sorry."

Severus' brows furrowed as the unexpected words reached his ears. "I'm sorry, and thank you. For everything. I was afraid, that I would never get the chance to say it."

"No need, Potter. I tried to fix what I ruined. There's nothing to be thankful or sorry about."

"You made mistakes, we all do."

"Some mistakes are bigger than others."

"I think you paid for them just enough."

Has he? Who was to judge that? He didn't seek forgiveness, he didn't seek gratitude. There was nothing he wanted, everything he did was because he had to, because no one would do so. There was nothing heroic about a soldier with orders.

"I wish there was more to be done," he admitted quietly, watching the boy's stoic body, his mind wandering all around their shared past and at the same time, seemingly trying to get a glance of the future. "I wish I did many things differently."

"I do too," Harry shrugged. "Some things we just have to accept I guess."

Severus looked back at the memorial. How was he supposed to accept it? The guilt he dragged with him, all those lives taken following him in the shadows. There was nothing to accept, nothing to forget. He couldn't forgive himself either, but the knowledge that others could, meant something.

"Can I ask you something?"

He nodded briefly, awaiting the question like it was a blow.

"Why do you want the world to think you are dead?"

"Do you really not know the answer?"

"Maybe I was hoping for a different one." This time, Severus couldn't fight the smirk that crept to his lips.

Harry smiled at him, and it was nothing like James. Nothing like Lily. He looked exactly like Harry Potter, the boy that drove him mad and the boy who had saved the world. His eyes were his own –bright even after seeing death – and his face belonged to only him – scarred yet full of life. Severus looked at the arm outstretched towards him, at the offer of something like a truce the boy had offered him, and took it hesitantly.

"I guess this is goodbye."

"Seems like it is," Snape agreed. His second mind was strangely quiet the whole time, the protests weak and almost non-existent. Potter's words must have held some meaning to him.

"Goodbye professor."

"Goodbye, Harry."

That evening Severus Snape stayed all alone, his thoughts quiet and at peace, but still wandering towards the meeting. Towards his one last farewell with the world he knew as nothing but pain, with the life that stripped him of everything and left him tortured, destroyed beyond repair.

One last time he could look back, content that it was all over and secretly hope the future would be kinder.

He had lived one life and awaited another.

#severus snape fanfiction #severus snape

[royalydamned-archive]

anyone that still likes abner? I finally managed to watch SS2 and I would love some Abner requests.

#polkadot man x reader #abner krill x reader

[royalydamned-archive]

One last time

(Severus Snape)

Summary: Snape fled the wizarding world and his old life, hoping to live the rest of his life alone and finally free of his puppeteers. However, the day's date forces him to face the past for the last time, and say a proper goodbye.

|AN|: This is actually a pairing-free fic. I'm terrified of writing Snape because I know how everyone hates when he acts OOC, but I just really wanted something angsty for the May 2nd occasion, you know.

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Part II

Severus Snape was alone again. Nobody knew him, very little noticed him; he became the shadow he once was, hidden in the darkness while his name enjoyed spotlight and his memory inspired heroic stories.

Death freed him. Tore the connection of his name from his face, letting him live on as a new man. It gave him something he craved for so long, something he desperately needed, but didn't realize how much until he had it – peace.

There was no burden of innocent lives weighting his shoulders, no old voice whispering into his ears, reminding him of his debt, his duty. It almost felt strange, how light he had suddenly become.

The day after his death, he came into an empty house, mind racing and heart beating like never before, the scars on his throat burning with vicious ghost of the pain he had felt then.

Night after night he was used to staying awake, terrors haunting his dreams or conscience screaming at him till he couldn't bare listening to his own thoughts anymore. After his death, however, everything was quiet. He allowed himself to lie into his bed and, wrapping himself in the comfort of his covers, relishing in the feeling he hadn't felt, probably ever.

That day, he slept through every color the sky had turned into. He couldn't feel the sharp rays of sunrise forcing themselves from behind his curtains, nor the warm orange light that slowly faded into sea of red and pink as the sun slowly lowered itself behind the horizon. His body seemed to have shut down, chasing after the relief it lacked for years, afraid it would never happen again.

After that, his name stayed as a legend of the wizarding world, but the man that carried it escaped far away.

Severus Snape died, only Severus Prince lived on. One was a hero, the other was a coward who desired nothing else than to be selfish.

Prince didn't think about his late friend's son, his safety or the truth he deserved to know. Snape told him all he needed. He didn't care about the people he left behind, about the memory of Albus Dumbledore – his lies and his promises.

You should. The voice inside him said, making him raise his eyes to meet their identical pair in the mirror.

The man he saw was someone he tried so hard to escape from, to leave him behind – dead as he was known to be. But he lived in the back of his mind, staring back from the reflection, an identical copy of his own, yet a completely different man.

He kept the curtains of black hair, anxiously hiding behind them every time he bowed his head and every twitch of his thin lips visible on his clear shaven face. He was his conscience, his own greatest enemy – himself.

Months, if not even a year, passed since the day he buried the life he hated so much, since he buried the memories, guilt and regret, deciding to live on as a new person. He deserved it.

Do you? The voice said again, the man in the mirror lifting his gaze, showing himself from behind the thick strands framing his face. The blood on our hands, it belongs to you too. You can run, you can try to hide, but deep inside you know it. You know you can never get it off.

Severus washed his face with cold water, trying not to think about those words, his stubble scratching the calloused skin of his palms.

Sometimes, he persuaded himself that he did deserve happiness, other times he was convinced he only paid off what he had owed. That all the hardship didn't buy him full repentance; just barely enough to live the life of others – with banal issues or everyday life. Not the luxury of peace after the war.

He needed to escape that mirror, turn his back on the burning black eyes of his own, those who reminded him of all his wrongs any time they could.

Severus put on a shirt, averting his gaze from his own reflection completely. He knew how he looked, a little too familiar, a little too alike to the man he loathed. His haired had grown significantly since he had shaved almost all of them off, yet still they were short and prickly, changing his whole face from the one of his mother's to the one that belonged to his father.

The change was a mistake, but he couldn't stay the same. He couldn't be recognized. It was a sacrifice for freedom.

In the living room, a cold breeze snaked its way through opened windows, under Severus' curtains, sending goosebumps down his pale skin.

It was unusually cold outside, the spring that used to be bright and colorful, full of songs, now grey and gloomy, as if sympathetic to the conflicted man.

Maybe today wasn't the day for sun and blooming flowers, for life to buzz outside of his windows. Maybe the world was mourning for something he couldn't place.

A calendar suddenly fell off a table, knocked over by the gentle strength of the invading wind, catching Severus' attention as it opened and scattered everywhere. The date almost glowing, reminding itself to him. So he would remember. So he would never forget...

May 2nd.

"No," he gritted through his teeth and picked up the calendar from his old wooden floor before throwing it into the fireplace without thinking. He couldn't bear the sight of it. Nothing and no one would make him visit that godforsaken place ever again. It was easier to live without a single memory of it. Forget it existed, and with the fading memory, the Severus Snape that lived in the back of his mind would disappear as well.

You owe them to at least pay your respects. His own voice reminded him. The one standing between him and the forgiveness he wished he could grant himself.

No, he didn't owe anyone anything. Not anymore.

Not to your students.

No. They hated him.

Not to those who layed down their life in war.

No...he thought a little less surely. Why should he blame himself for their own choice?

Not to those children who died, while you got to live. They lost their lives while you peacefully continue yours.

A frustrated scream escaped from his mouth. He thought his guilt was gone, he wished it was. Still, there were nights when he woke up, shirt sticking to his sweat covered body, as he dreamed of piles of bodies on the Hogwarts grounds, their spirits whispering his name as a plea. To save them. Only it was too late.

No matter how many lies he hat told himself, his own mind knew the truth.

He didn't do enough.

They were not his responsibility anymore, but their faceless bodies still haunted him when he expected it the least. There was nothing to be done, yet after seeing them his hands itch to take the wand he had hidden from the world. Abandoning it along with his previous identity.

Severus remembered the sudden sparks inside him, those which fueled his need to act. Except there was nothing to be done anymore.

Hesitantly, he glanced at the crumbled stack of papers among the half burned logs of wood, that day's date still capturing his eyes, not allowing him to look away.

One last time, he promised himself.

One last time to face the past, to look directly at the world he was leaving behind.

His very last good bye.

#severus snape #severus snape fanfiction

[royalydamned-archive]

Regrets

(Albus Dumbledore x Gellert Grindelwald)

Summary: Grindelwald looks back at the past. Maybe he should have loved a little less, or, quite the opposite, much more. One thing is sure – he lost Albus, and is not entirely sure, whether it was worth it. Maybe in another life, they'll have more luck.

|AN|: Grindeldore brainrot. This is just a little word-vomit I wanted to do in preparation for dark Dumbledore Grindeldore fic. Very excited! My first ever ship fic.

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Sometimes he remembered the quiet shared nights, bathing in the moonlight and hiding under covers, voices nothing but whisper as they shared light touches and their biggest dreams. He could still feel the butterfly kisses on his skin when he tried hard enough, ticklish and playful, full of love they carried and wanted to share.

Most of all, he remembered him. The way he would smile only for him. How his hair turned into fire in the warm candlelight and eyes shone with the color of clear morning sky. Albus Dumbledore was the most beautiful man Gellert had ever laid his eyes upon – he was like a dream that kept coming to him during the nights, making his heart ache and mind scream.

It was his own fault he could never kiss him again. That he would never speak to him again. His room might have been a prison, but the thought of Albus’ hatred towards him was torture.

If he were to try again, he would never fall in love. He would stay alone, no conscience holding him back, no grief at the thought of killing his greatest enemy keeping him back. It was all Gellert had to do – fall out of love. Forget about how sweet Albus’ lips were, how perfect he looked with his hair falling everywhere over his bare body; about the brilliance of his mind and foolish morality weighting his heart.

Or was it his fault? His and his noble soul. They could have been together and rule the world, the way they planned. The way he wished…

Maybe it was more of Gellert’s doing than he wanted to admit. He cursed himself for loving him so fiercely, so strongly that even after his betrayal he couldn’t bring himself to harm him, to kill him, sabotaging his own success over such weakness. Maybe, after all, he didn’t love him enough, they didn’t love each other enough.

Love is sacrifice, it comes first and triumphs it all. It’s power that makes you stronger, or so it should. For Gellert it didn’t feel like strength, it was his weak spot, his secret.

Every time he thought of killing him, imagining how the life and brightness would suddenly disappear from his gaze, the one he had spent so much time staring into, mumbling promises and words sweet like honey about the future they would share, it killed him from the inside as well. Blood magic or not, there was still a spell, desperately pulling them together and at the same time keeping them apart. Keeping them safe from each other’s reckless acts in the name of better world.

He should have loved him more. If he did, he would have been more important than anything. More important than all his ambitions, more important than the greater good. It would keep him from letting him leave, force him to his knees only to keep his lover by his side.

Grindelwald rested his head on the cold stone walls of his cell and for the first time in years felt the painful pressure of regret on his chest. Hatred had consumed him, blinded him and shielded him from the truth. What was weakness he had seen as strength, and what made him stronger he had perceived as a weakness.

If he had loved him more, he wouldn’t have been alone. If he had loved him more, they might have still been together. It no longer mattered, who should have given up; maybe himself, maybe both of them. All that he had left was to hope that in another life he made the correct choice.

#albus x gellert #albus dumbledore x gellert grindelwald #grindeldore #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction