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de-profundis-ad-astra · 3 years

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Fury, Oh Fury - Part One

Triple Frontier | Hunger Games AU

Me: Hey what if I started working on Fury again? Y’all: Me: Hey if I started working on Fury again would you read it? Y’all: Me: Okay okay you’ve forced my hand I guess I gotta start working on Fury again

Rating || Mature (for graphic descriptions of violence/gore and strong language) Characters || Ben Miller. William Miller. A good chunk of this fic will be heavily focused on the Miller brothers, because I’m most comfortable writing them and I feel like I know them the best. Rest assured, Pope and Catfish will be making appearances ~eventually~ Word Count || 4.2k Taglist || (Starting out tagging some mutuals and people I remember from the previous taglist) @firefeatherx @mylifeliterally @mandoplease @phoenixhalliwell @skylyknightly @havenforafrazzledmind @beatriz-silva-00 @veuliee @veuliee2 @oldstuffnewstuff @dindisneydjarin @lilacyennefer @dignityneeded @agirllovespancakes @xjustmenobodyelse @oscarflysaac @jaime1110 @goldenhour-goldenboy @pascalz @briskywalker @herestherealproblem @givemethatgold

Author’s Note || For anyone who might be new here, @veuliee sent me a concept that I kinda uh, tripped over my own feet and plunged face first into and that’s the story of how I started writing a Hunger Games AU for Triple Frontier. Things got unbelievably crazy once I started work, and I’ve had some pretty unhealthy work/home boundaries with being virtual. I’m trying to establish some healthier limits and make more time for my writing, and this seemed like a good enough starting point. That and the outlines for the rest of this fic are still staring at me and demanding to be written.

So, here goes.

Home hasn’t felt like home since Will left.

It’s been nothing more than a house since the day of the reaping, almost a month ago. A collection of walls with a roof—the same as any other building. The place where he grew up. A place to rest his head and feed himself between training sessions. It won’t be home until Will comes back.

If he comes back.

Will has trained for this, Ben tells himself when doubt creeps in, wraps its icy fingers around his lungs and clenches tight, pushes down on his chest in the dead of the night and it feels like Ben is drowning. Will practiced and fought and earned the chance to volunteer for District Two. He wouldn’t have been selected as the male tribute for this year if his teachers hadn’t felt he had a strong chance of returning victorious.

But there had been Two’s female tribute also. And the tributes from One and Four. All were formidable in a fight, and knew the tips and tricks to survival that would be essential in the arena. Not to mention the Games themselves were an absolute wild card. For all Will’s training, he still could be killed by a natural disaster of the gamemakers design, stabbed in the back by his allies, a tribute from an outlying district could catch him off guard.

There’s far too much that can go wrong; Ben drowns each and every thought behind his own training at the academy.

He can’t let that kind of vulnerability shine through. Not to his father. Not to his peers. Especially not when he’s being followed as much as his brother in the arena. Since the field of tributes narrowed down to eight five days ago, when Capitol cameras and personnel arrived to interview him and his father, there’s been hardly a moment of privacy. So Ben covers his fear with a smile, says he has full confidence that his brother will be home as soon as he can. He laughs when they ask him if he’ll volunteer one day, just like his brother did.

Ben answers with a grin, says he has no place to make that determination—but who knows?

Deep down… he knows. He’s known for a while now. He’s young, but he’s already tall, strong, quick. A prodigy, they’d said of his skills. A promised child, just like his brother was.

In spite of his age, Ben is favored to volunteer and represent District Two in the coming years. For now, though, the focus is on honing those skills, shaping him into the best warrior they can to bring pride to District Two.

The Capitol, they say, are charmed by him already. The idea of two brothers bearing the title of Victor is the kind of narrative they’re keen to fall for. So Ben plasters that smile on and lets himself become a part of the show.

Because if he lost Will…

If he lost Will—

Where would home be?

All of District Two seems to have hit pause, every pair of eyes glued to the nearest screen.

Peacekeepers-in-training pause their exercises. Future tributes stop their sparring matches. The lines at every shop in town are on hold. Even the children have stopped playing their games to witness this.

And in the city square, standing in front of the Justice Building in a roped off section reserved for family, the mayor, and a handful of District Two’s more recent victors, thirteen year old Benjamin Miller tries to keep his fidgeting down to an occasional scuff of his feet on the dusty ground or flex of his weary muscles.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it seems we are entering the final moments of the Fifty-fourth annual Hunger Games!”

The massive screens mounted in the square broadcast live footage from the arena. Presently, two feeds are placed side by side, dedicated to the two remaining tributes of this year’s Hunger Games. One tracks Will’s every move, the other follows his opponent: the boy from District Four.

Will abandoned the Career pack when there were still fourteen tributes left. One night, during his watch shift, he left them behind, taking with him a pack with enough food to last him four days, a bottle of water, a sleeping bag, a hunting knife, and his preferred sword. A long, wicked thing most people might have struggled to wield two-handed. Will handled it with ease. One-handed.

Speculation rippled through the district at that. The decision to leave so early in the Games was shocking enough. Why not kill the rest while they slept and increase his odds of victory by an exponential margin? It was known that the pack would disband eventually, but why so soon?

At the academy, Will was both praised and berated for his choice. It was understandable to leave before bonds formed and killing another tribute turned into killing an ally. But so early? When so much could go wrong? It was a risk not many were brave enough to take.

In the arena, navigating the terrain proved to be its own exercise of survival. This year’s terrain consisted of three mountains of varying height, surrounded by dense forest. It became apparent early on that the woods were not safe, as they were crawling with all manner of predators, both organic and manufactured by the Capitol. Two weeks into the Games, the gamemakers destroyed the entire forest with a raging wildfire, killing an additional two tributes.

The forest now uninhabitable, Will had taken to carving out several hiding places among the mountainsides. Once he’d burned through his rations, he relied on hunting small creatures still inhabiting the cliffs and whatever his mentor was able to provide through sponsors. With the element of surprise working for him, Will had managed to ambush and eliminate four additional tributes, bringing his kill count to a whopping ten—high above the average for a typical career.

Almost half of the playing field, brought down by one seventeen-year old. Will must have struck a deal with his allies before the start of the Games, because during the bloodbath, he’d done most, if not all of the killing while the remainder of his team secured their supplies from the Cornucopia. If he walked away from this, he’d be the pride of District Two for a long time to come on that merit alone.

When the tribute pack thinned down to four, the gamemakers struck again. Devastating rockslides hammered each mountain, cutting off both Will’s access to his hiding spots, and any freshwater sources he’d relied on. The slides killed two tributes, the girl from One and the boy from Five.

Ben remembered watching in abject horror as his brother fled from the avalanche, finally managing to take cover underneath an outcropping of rock that shielded him from the worst of it. He’d escaped, though not without accruing a fair amount of scrapes and bruises along the way. The worst of it was a small, but deep cut slicing through his eyebrow. By a small miracle, it had stopped bleeding within an hour, but half of Will’s face was now crusted with streaks of dried blood, only adding to his already haggard state. He lost his knife in the chaos, but managed to hold onto his sword—his saving grace.

Not only that, but the only reason the boy from Four had survived was because he’d turned on his companion as they fled. When they were clear of the slides, while her guard was down, he’d shoved her back, right into the path of an oncoming boulder. She was crushed before she could even appear shocked by the betrayal. There weren’t even any remains left for the hovercraft to collect.

More whispers rippled through the district, then. Yes, it was sad. But it was what needed to be done.

No fresh water. Most of the wildlife either dead or scared off. Two tributes. It was evident the gamemakers wanted to end this fast. The Games had already lasted nearly three and a half weeks, far longer than average. This year had proven to be a particularly hardy bunch. Even getting a small water bottle into the arena at this rate would likely cost a large fortune.

Which meant they were on their own.

The moment the dust cleared, the cannons fired and faces projected in the sky, everyone knew what came next. Immediately, a space was cleared in the square for Ben and his father, victors called out to join and prepare to offer either congratulations or condolences depending on the outcome of the final encounter.

On the screen, Will inches his way along a narrow path on the face of the tallest mountain. All he has on his person is his sword and his clothes, veritably shredded after three weeks of fighting for his life in such an unforgiving environment. The landscape is similar enough that when Ben looks at the screen with the boy from Four, he can’t tell how near they are to each other. Will grew up in the mountains of Two. In theory, he should have an advantage over the boy from the coast. Nothing is ever set in stone, though—not in the Hunger Games. Four had proven himself to be quiet the adaptable tribute.

They have to be getting close, Ben thinks, there’s no way the gamemakers would push them away from each other at this point.

As if in answer to his thought, a low, feline snarl rumbles through the speakers. It’s faint, far away, but Will hears it. Everyone hears it. Pressing his back against the rock, he dares a swift look down towards the origin of the sound. As if oblivious to the cameras trained on him or simply not caring, Will’s shout cuts through the wind.

“Fuck!”

The camera angle switches, and Ben’s heart plummets.

Prowling about fifty feet beneath Will’s feet is a strange breed of feline, the likes of which Ben has never seen before. Three of them. Large, with a pale golden coat and small round ears. Long, curved, razor-sharp claws extending from all four oversized paws carve thin scratches into the rock as they pace back and forth beneath him.

Ben’s first thought is cougar, but then the cat looks up, and he beholds the elongated canines extending far past its lower jaw. He’s learned about it in school. A kind of cat that went extinct long before the continent was even known as the Americas. Despite his best efforts, Ben cannot recall its name.

It’s undoubtedly a muttation, designed and put out by the gamemakers to do one thing: kill.

The long-toothed cat bares its teeth, its companions following suit. From his perch on the mountainside, Will’s chest moves rapidly. He’s struggling to control his breath, Ben realizes. His throat tightens, his stomach tangling with itself.

Beside him, his father murmurs, “Move, William, move.”

“Look at that!” one of the commentators yells. “It seems the gamemakers have one last trick up their sleeves to push Will and Reed together!”

Ben grips the rope in front of him as if that is the only thing separating him from Will. The big cat crouches, leaps up to a rock jutting out from the mountainside, ten feet closer to him. Ben spares one glance towards Four’s feed. He doesn’t seem to be faring much better. Another trio of cats nip at his heels as he struggles to ascend the mountain.

Will’s breathing slows and deepens, and he masters himself enough to take several tiny steps closer to the end of the path. There, he will easily be able to summit the mountain, another twenty feet above his head.

The cats leap up another ten feet, and Will draws his sword with one hand. Bracing his free hand on the smooth, grey rock, he angles the blade towards the advancing cats and continues inching along. Only a few more feet separate him from the safety of the broad platform of stone. Beneath him, one of the cats leans back onto its haunches. Its entire body trembles before it goes preternaturally still, preparing to make one last leap towards its prey.

Reading the movements, Will does the same. For a moment, they lock eyes. Blue to gold, predator to predator. Silence grips the square. Ben’s lungs strain against his ribs, but he doesn’t let himself breathe. Not yet. Not when it feels as if a single puff of air could alter the course of history in this moment.

The cat leaps.

So does Will.

He goes nearly parallel to the ground, his free hand reaching out for something he can catch himself on and his sword hand sweeping downward the same moment the cat swipes a clawed paw towards him.

The honed edge of the sword slices deep into the neck of the feline. A trail of blood droplets follows the arc of the blade as Will twists in midair, angling his body so his back will take the brunt of the impact and tucking his chin down into his chest. The cat yowls as it tumbles back, the sound turning into an awful gurgle before cutting off. Its body falls down the steep mountain face. Ben only catches a short glimpse before it tumbles off the screen, but he can see that Will cut deep enough that its head is barely hanging on by a few tendons and muscle fibers. A thick streak of red smears the rock where it fell.

With a grunt, Will slams into the ground, sliding over the dirt and loose rocks for a moment before his body stills. He remains there for several seconds before ever so slowly, he turns onto his side. Pressing his left hand into the ground, Will pushes himself up, dragging his feet beneath his shoulders. As soon as he puts his weight onto his legs, he gives out and he topples back down.

Any relief Ben felt at his brother’s life-saving maneuver is swelled out by a pulse of fear when he sees why his brother can’t stand.

A duo of long cuts, so straight and deep it looks almost surgical, extends from the middle of Will’s thigh down to his ankle. Ben had been so busy watching his brother he’d been oblivious to the fact that the cat had gotten him.

Each breath Will takes has blood oozing from the laceration until the leg of his pants are soaked and glistening a deep, sullen red. He tries, and fails, again to rise to his feet. Even using the sword as a support, he loses his footing and crumbles, his weight kicking up a cloud of dust when he hits the rock.

“In a stunning turn of events, it seems that the outcome of these Games have already been determined…”

Get up, Ben thinks with every shred of desperation he has. Get up, Will.

Will sluggishly turns onto his back, and hoists himself upright with his legs stretched in front of him. It seems to take every bit of energy he has to shrug his jacket off, and slide it underneath his bleeding leg. He brazenly ties the sleeves around his thigh until his arms are straining and the blood flow slows. The makeshift tourniquet may save his life, but it’s only a matter of minutes before the damage is so permanent that he risks losing the limb altogether.

Again, using his sword for support, Will heaves himself to his feet. He wobbles again, and Ben feels his heart rise into his throat before he steadies himself. Will straightens, and takes a few limping steps towards the final ascent. He’d been so busy tending to his wound, worrying about the big cats, that he hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps. Ben, too wrapped up in concern for his brother, hadn’t checked the other video feed, hadn’t heard the commentators call out in shock—

When Four crashes into Will and sinks a knife into his shoulder.

Ben, his father, the city square, the entirety of District Two, cry out in collective shock as Will and Four go down, Four pinning him with a roar so inhuman it sends a chill skittering over Ben’s bones.

It’s worse, so much worse than he’d imagined.

Blood sprays, and Will’s fingers splay when he hits the rock. His sword clattering too far for him to reach. Ben barely processes what he sees as he fights to remain upright. He feels the cameras in the square narrow in on him. He can’t give out. Not now.

Will rolls, flipping Four off of him and onto the ground, wrenching the knife in his shoulder free in the process. His blood drips down the blade as Four angles it in front of himself, his own arm shredded, likely from his encounter with those big cats. Will slowly climbs to his knees, beaten and bloody and entirely at a disadvantage. The blood, the dirt—he looks more animal than human when he bares his teeth.

Ben’s never seen anything like it. Anything so unearthly, so primal and raging.

Four leaps again, and Will leans down. As Four descends on him, Will straightens, and there’s a clang of metal on metal.

It takes a moment for Ben to understand what he sees.

But there’s Will, knife in hand, his face red with the effort it takes to keep Four from landing another blow. He’d lost his knife in the avalanche. He’d seen it.

How long had Will kept a knife hidden in his boot, waiting for a moment such as this to use it?

Will manages to deflect what would have been a life-ending blow, but they topple again. Four bellows as Will’s blade plunges into his forearm and twists. The shrieking of Four, coupled with the spray of blood, sends a chill weaving down Ben’s spine.

Move, move, move!

Four’s free hand slams into Will’s face hard enough to crack bone, and Will stumbles back, blood gushing.

Will just grunts, his brow bunching in pain and concentration.

Every part of Ben shakes.

Four punches his face again and the sound fracks from Ben, “Will.”

Four yanks his arm free of Will’s knife, blood spraying like rain as he slashes at Will. He catches Four’s wrist in the follow-through with both hands, pinning his arm across his body. Four swings with his free hand, the punch easily dodged this time by Will.

They stare at each other for long, uncounted moments, nothing between them but howling wind and heavy, pained panting.

Then Will does the last thing Ben expects him to.

He headbutts Four.

Will releases Four’s arm as he staggers towards the edge of the peak, right towards where the long-toothed cats stalk in wait. The blow proves disorienting enough, and though Four swings his arms wildly to regain his balance, he takes one step back too far back and plummets.

He screams as he falls, but it goes hauntingly quiet when he hits.

The impact of Four’s body on the stone is heard across the nation. They wait for the cannon, but there’s nothing.

The mutts attack.

Will sinks to his knees.

Ben clutches the rope so tightly his knuckles whiten. It could be minutes, it could be hours, before the cannon booms at last.

Will looks to the side, his eyes finding the camera as if he’s known precisely where it was the entire time. Something like relief shines there, overpowered by pain and fury and something feral as the announcer declares, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the fifty-fourth Hunger Games, William Miller—the tribute of District Two!”

Two days later, Will’s final interview in the Capitol airs. Before now, he’s been kept keenly away from the cameras, and it becomes clear why the moment Ben sees him for the first time since his final glimpse in the arena. He wears a sharp grey suit, but any evidence of his injuries on his face have been wiped away. Whether by makeup or surgical alteration, Ben can’t tell. His skin is smooth and pristine, unmarred by bruises or cuts or even the faintest scar.

The crowd breaks into applause as Will is presented. He gives a winning smile, but the haunted glow is still there. He still looks a little too much like a cornered animal. His stylist is praised for his masterful capture of Will’s strength, physique, and iron-willed character.

Will sits in the victor’s chair like he was born for it. Maybe he was. He views the highlights with the rest of the nation, and answers his interviewer’s questions with grace.

“While you were there, in the arena,” says the host. “Was there any one thing that kept you going?”

Will seems to think on it for a moment, working his jaw over before he answers, “My brother. The whole time… I just wanted him to know that I love him.”

The audience croons about how strong and brave he is. Ben feels himself swell with pride.

He wants to be like Will one day, he thinks.

The wait for the train is its own agony.

District Two is nearest to the Capitol, but operations there don’t start until late in the morning on a good day. With the conclusion of the Games so fresh, it seems they need a few extra hours to get moving.

At last, the train rolls into the station late in the afternoon. No one comments on how Ben stood there, waiting for almost the whole day as more and more citizens of Two arrive to welcome their newest victor. They chatter amongst themselves, clearing space for Ben’s father as he arrives at last, fresh off his shift as the town’s head Peacekeeper.

As the train crawls to a halt, the voices around Ben die down, awaiting with bated breath for Will to show himself. Ben feels like he’s about to burst from his own skin with the anticipation—

The doors open, and there he is.

Will’s eyes snap to Ben’s almost instantly. The relief that cleaves through him almost knocks him to his knees.

Ben thinks it might have, had Will not leaped down and ran to him.

Will opens his arms, and Ben finds his way home.

Will remembers every face of every tribute in that godforsaken place.

The ones he killed directly haunt him the most.

He kept count of many things in the arena. The minutes that turned into hours that turned into days away from home… away from Ben. The number of breaths he still counted himself lucky to take. But most poignant of all was those faces. Each one, their faces as they died, had been etched into his memory. Every time he blinks, he sees them.

Ten. He killed ten of them.

The train barely makes a creak as it speeds over the railway. The ride from the Capitol to District Two isn’t long—barely an hour.

Though he grew up in one of the “wealthy” districts, there is a certain elegance to Capitol wares Will thinks he’s going to miss. He relishes in every moment he has left, wresting back thoughts of death and killing and betrayal.

He hadn’t been lying when he said it was Ben that got him through the worst of it in the arena. But that hadn’t been the whole truth, either. It was the thought of how he could redeem himself after so much tragedy, inflicting so much pain on others. He couldn’t do that if he let himself die in the arena.

How did Ben—little Benny, who perhaps wasn’t so little anymore but would always be to Will—see him now, at the end of it all? What could he say that would make all the violence, all the killing, right.

He didn’t know how, but he would do it. Will would make sure to see it done, no matter what it took.

Will is barely formulating what he can say to his brother when he feels the breaks engage on the train. All too soon, just like that, he’s back home… whatever home is, now. Sure, he’ll have the house in Victor’s Village and of course his family would be allowed to live with him, but the concept seems too foreign, now. He suspects it’ll take some time to adjust to that.

His mentor—a victor from about ten years ago, beckons him forward. Will’s legs are surprisingly shaky as he rises to his feet. Outside, he can hear the district already clapping, cheering for him. He tries to imagine Ben there, tries to pretend that his brother will be happy to see him, that he’ll be happy to see Ben.

The doors open.

Light floods the train car, and Will almost lifts a hand to block the sun. The initial surge of stimulus is overwhelming. The light, the sound, the unrelenting heat of the mountains. Will blinks hard to adjust his eyes.

As if by gravitational pull, he sees him.

His eyes find Ben’s, almost an exact mirror of his own. His brother’s eyes are wide, his face broken into a grin so wide it’s a wonder his skin hasn’t split.

That’s all it takes.

Will leaps down from the train car and runs. Every thought, every doubt, every word flees his mind as he takes in the sight of his brother. Healthy and whole and alive.

Ben’s there to meet him. They collide, and Will finds his way home.

#triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #william miller #william ironhead miller #ben miller #benny miller #pls god let this post to the tag on the first try #i don't want to redo all the formatting #triple frontier fic

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daisukissed · 4 years

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【 Okay, Gamer 】

❧ pairing: kozume kenma x gn!reader, slight kuroo x reader if you squint hard enough

❧ synopsis: who would've thought you'd meet the love of your life through fortnite?

❧ genres: fluff, e2l (the enemy phase being 5 seconds lMFAO), one-shot

❧ warnings: guns, shootings, violence all the stuff you do in a battle royale if that needs a warning???? oh, and cursing.

❧ word count: 2k-ish

❧ a/n: purely self indulgent hehe the things i'd do to game with this guy 🥴

Your fingers move swiftly across your controller, pressing the combinations of buttons that have been ingrained in your brain from muscle memory. Your eyes shift from left to right, focusing solely on the screen of your TV as you scan the large platform for the person who shot you earlier.

Gaining another shot from the right, you immediately toggle your left stick towards the sound of the gunshot, aiming for the pink haired player not far from you.

"SHIT!" You throw your controller out of frustration, seeing it bounce a few times on your bed before making its way onto the floor with a large thud.

"I'm knocked down by the tree, the enemy's literally at 15 health." You groaned through the microphone, picking up the controller back up as you hear a soft hum in reply.

You could see your partner making his way towards you, building up floors and ramps skillfully as he avoid the shots made by the other player earlier.

It doesn't take much time for your teammate to kill off the female character, various items of different colors dropping from her death to which he gathers immediately.

"Oh my God, you're really out here looting and healing first when your teammate is literally seconds away from dying?!" You yell, feeling more and more frustration pile up as you see your health bar becoming shorter and shorter.

"It's your fault that you got knocked down."

Your grip on the controller got tighter than before as you take a deep breath, holding in all the numerous curses plagued on your mind as of now.

"Username 'applepi', I swear to God if you don't get your ass back here and revive me, I'll come and haunt you in real life."

You hear a exasperated sigh from the other side of the call before seeing a purple and black skeleton running his way to the tree you're currently residing in.

The rest of the game went out just as bad as the start of it. He would fire shots aimlessly and pointlessly to attract enemies nearby, solely because he knows it'll piss you off. Of course, you can't just back down from his childish antics so you pay him back by following him everywhere and anywhere, stealing any weapons and materials he got on his sight.

"Hey, there's someone coming over towards your left."

"You already did that trick, try again next time."

"No, I'm serious-"

Bam!

And he's down.

"What the fuck?"

You couldn't help but obnoxiously snort at the sight of your teammate falling down to his knees, only being able to crawl and nothing else as he watches his health bar dwindling into nothing.

"Pfft- See! I-I fucking t-told you but you wouldn't even l-listen!" You stammer in laughter, clutching your stomach in pain. Tears are starting to form in the uppermost corner of your eye, your cheeks beginning to feel sore and chest heaving up and down uncontrollably.

"Shut up and revive me." The player behind your laughter said in an unamused tone. You could hear the aggravation behind his sighs, the sound of what seemed like a device or some sort being put down forcefully followed behind, leaving you in fits of blissful giggles.

Oh, how sweet that karma is by your side.

Top 3.

That's all it takes for the endless banter between you two to cease.

Your body is tense, not wanting to move a single inch from your spot, afraid that it'll wreck the whole game if you put any attention to anything else besides the ongoing match. Your hands are clammy, layered with sheets of sweat between your palm and the black controller you're gripping at, holding it tight as if it's your only hope in winning the game.

You rapidly toggle the small joystick, trying to aim for the player in front of you as you furiously press buttons to shoot and evade at the same time, taking a few shots in the process.

Pressing the R2 button a few more times, you finally knocked your enemy down, shooting them in the head to truly end them.

The green health bar located on the bottom side of your television has about a quarter of it left, causing you to move away from the enemy's sight, searching for a secluded place to refuge in.

Switching your shotgun into a red and white bandage, you heal yourself up, anxiously waiting for the timer to count down to zero to finish healing, hoping that no one comes to ambush you in the meantime.

Your heart thumps against your chest, caused by the surge of adrenaline through your body.

The timer ticks down to six when you get shot, all your remaining health diminishing in one go along with your energy and enthusiasm.

You see your shooter immediately make his way to your teammate, greedy for kills, leaving you to watch your character slowly die in all fours. You think it's a stupid mistake that they didn't finish you off but you're thankful for the chance given.

"Applepi, revive me!" You order frantically, your hope of winning the game slowly decreases as you see your fellow teammate's health at half, the sight of him frantically moving backwards to create distance between his two opponent tells you that he's having a hard time.

"We'll both die before I have the chance to revive you."

An aggravated sigh left your chapped lips as you watch one of the players close in on him.

"Well, you can't beat two players all on your-"

Before you can finish your sentence, soft party music suddenly booms from your speakers, a large blue banner with the writing 'Victory Royale' displaying on your screen. It is as if the gods above and he himself are playing with you, proving you wrong before you could even try.

"What did you say?" The male asks in fake innocence and you might be dreaming but you think that you can hear the slight smile in his husky voice.

You let out a small groan as the game cuts off to its loading screen, the voice chat between you and the quiet male ending.

Trying to fight off the disappointment growing in your heart, you take off your blue headphones, finally setting your controller down after what seems like hours.

Blinking the tiredness of your strained eyes, you give the in game menu a final scan.

As if all the negative emotions that you felt were never there, you hold back a smile, feeling a budding hope when you make out the words in front of you.

Applepi sent you a friend request!

You learned a lot of new things about your new friend.

You learned that his real name is Kozume Kenma, he's a year older than you and goes to Nekoma High, the school a few stops before yours.

You learned that he has blonde hair and ebony roots, along with gold slit eyes and small pupils that makes him resemble a cat.

You also learned that he uses the username 'applepi' because he loves apple pies, he's a quiet person in general, not just in game but in texts as well. Sometimes he surprises you, getting chatty and affectionate at rare times.

You screech out his name, the boy being mentioned having to wince at the loud sound from his headphones. You run around the grassy platform, avoiding the player coming for you at all cost due to your lack of good weapons.

Kenma watches you for a while, contemplating whether he should just leave you or actually save you.

He opts for the latter, he always does.

Rushing in with a stronger weapon than yours, he jumps through bushes and cars, avoiding anything that seems to block him. Turning left from the rocky road, the blonde male immediately shoots at a purple character near yours, focusing on aiming at the small figure faraway.

"You suck, Y/N." He points out, controlling his skeleton-like character to run towards you after finishing the last blow.

"Yet you always play with me anyways." You argue.

You know you hit the mark when he doesn't give you any sort of response.

Your lips curl up into a soft smile as you hear the boy you grow more and more fond of talk about today's practice.

You don't know how or when it happened but the hectic calls while gaming are slowly replaced by a more ordinary and intimate one instead. Insults about the other party's skills turns to subtle compliments and childish banters turn into curious questions about one's life.

You would be lying if you said you didn't like the change.

"So this Hinata guy just spikes without even looking at the ball?" You ask intriguingly, genuinely interested at the dynamic duo he had been telling you about.

"Uh-huh, he's amazing."

You let out a small giggle at his response.

He doesn't notice but the tone of his voice always seems to change when he's talking about the things he's passionate about. Whether it be the new game he started playing or even volleyball, when he played an intense match. It's a minuscule change but you notice it anyways.

A slight click of the door opening followed by one or two footsteps can be heard from Kenma's room, a sly voice resonating throughout the walls.

"Ah, is that your Fortnite girlfriend you're calling again?"

You can vaguely recall the voice belonging to Kuroo Tetsurou, one of Kenma's teammate whom you shared a few conversations with before, much to the blonde's dismay. Feeling a slight cringe upon hearing the tall athlete's words, along with a hint of envy, you choose to stay quiet as they talk.

"It's not. Get out of my room, Kuroo." The cat-like male spit out, black eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

Kuroo's lips twitches up into a infuriating smirk, knowing full well of the ticking time bomb in front of him. He does as he was ordered to, stepping his foot out of his childhood friend's door.

Not before dealing a blow though.

"If you don't ask her out soon, I might just go and steal her, you know~?" The clever male goads before escaping out of the room.

Upon hearing those words, Kenma's mind goes into a havoc, his heart dropping down into his stomach.

He knows that you and Kuroo have been texting as well lately, the said man mentioning that he is in fact, quiet interested in you.

What are you bothered of anyways? People can get close to her however they'd like, he thinks, yet he feels all these negative emotions swirling around his head when he imagines you going out with the suave boy.

"Fortnite girlfriend?" You inquire, breaking his train of thoughts. You can't help the slight bitterness in your tone when you speak, though you're sure it goes unnoticed by the person you're speaking to.

"It's nothing, just ignore what he said."

Not satisfied with his answer, you push more, "Well, shouldn't you really ask her out? We can't let Kuroo be a step ahead of you, can't we?"

You try your hardest to play it as a joke, masking your jealousy with a cheerful and joking tone.

It is exactly this that gives Kenma the final push, giving him the last ounce of courage and guts that are needed to say his next line.

"Then Y/N, would you like to go to the cat café I mentioned about together this Saturday?"

Your mind short circuits, incompetent to form words and your eyes widen by a tenfold. To say that you are shocked would be an understatement

You can hear Kenma beginning to take back his words, scared that he's putting you in a difficult place or making you feel uncomfortable but before he can finish his words, you cut him off with a stuttered and loud 'yes!'

The Pudding Head smiles slightly at your agreement and before arranging his plans with you, he opens the messaging app on his phone, immediately texting the number one contact.

Kozume Kenma

I did it.

Kuroo Tetsurou

Took you long enough.

#haikyuu imagines #kenma x reader #haikyuu #kuroo x reader #kozume kenma #kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #kenma imagines #kuroo imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fics #i had to edit and proofread twice bcs tumblr didnt save my draft #so if this flops #i'm gonna SOB

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hood-ex · 4 years

Text

Prey to Sentiment

Read on AO3

Batbro Ages:

Dick: 20 Jason: 17 Tim: 13 Damian: 10

The sound of music was the first thing Damian noticed when the passage to the batcave opened. It was an upbeat tune that seemed to pound through the rock and limestone interior of the place. It was so jarringly loud compared to the rest of the manor that he found himself tuning into the lyrics without consciously choosing to. To his confusion, it seemed to be a song about a woman named Rio who enjoyed dancing on the sand.

Damian wanted to plug his ears with cotton to drown out the offending sound, but more than anything, he wanted to know who was blasting music in the cave. Surely his father did not listen to such garbage, nor did he allow it to play while he was working. Within the week Damian had gotten to observe his father, he knew that the man was nearly always silent. Bruce Wayne ate in silence, read in silence, exercised in silence, and patrolled in silence. It only made sense that his workspace would retain his preference for silence as well.

So no, it would be completely out of character for his father to play music in the batcave, which meant that someone else had been down here earlier. Judging by the sudden tenseness in his father’s shoulders, Damian could only guess that the culprit was still lurking around.

The only people Damian could imagine would be down here would be his father’s caped associates. That insufferable alien called Superman or possibly the blabbermouth speedster. Unless… his father was testing him and was planning to have him attacked as some kind of training exercise. Even though it was unlikely, Damian kept his eyes peeled for any sense of danger.

“There are some people I want to introduce you to,” Father said. He began to descend down the staircase, his feet making no sound. Damian followed suit and resisted the temptation to cross his arms over his chest. If there was someone threat worthy down here, he’d rather his hands be free to grab the knife tucked in his pants. He did allow a small scrunch of his nose since there was an unpleasant earthy smell in the cave mixed with a sharp saltiness that Damian couldn’t place.

He scanned beyond his view of his father’s backside and noticed that there was something different about the lowest level of the batcave. Typically, that was the section of the cave where his father kept his jet skis, ski boat, and the submarine. When Damian saw the cave for the first time a week ago, he had briefly looked down and saw that there was just enough seawater inside the cave to keep the vessels afloat. There had also been a large door at the entrance of the lower level that blocked off more ocean water from coming in, though it was obviously more of a device to keep people from entering the cave. The door had been locked tight before, but now it was completely wide open, allowing ocean water to slosh gently against the lower walls of the cave. The saltiness he had detected moments ago made sense now.

“Are you planning on going fishing?” Damian asked. He ended up crossing his arms anyways, hip cocked toward the support of the ridged wall. His father continued heading towards the lower level platform. The platform was only a few feet higher than the top surface of the water, making it easy enough to hop onto the boats. His father made no move to board any of the vessels, rather, he stopped at the edge of the platform and turned to meet Damian’s eyes.

“You’ll have to come down here,” Father said, “They won’t climb up there to meet you.”

Damian pushed off the wall with his shoulder and came down to the lower platform. “Who on earth are you referring to?” His arm nearly brushed his fathers when they finally stood next to each other. “Surely you don’t mean to introduce me to that trident wielding clownfish man.”

For a second it looked like his father was struggling between a glare and a small grin. Damian decided it must be a look of disapproval. People were rarely amused by him.

“No, not Aquaman,” Father said. Oh, of course. That was the clownfish man’s name. “Although somewhat related to him. You’ve met mer people before, haven’t you?”

Damian had, in fact, never met a mer person, let alone multiple of them at the same time. He’d certainly seen them when he was with the League of Assassins. Sometimes he would see them darting through the waves of the ocean, but he mainly saw them when his grandfather brought them in as prisoners.

Regardless, they were beautiful creatures, even though they rarely showed themselves above water. There were laws in place that kept mer people from being hunted like a typical sea animal, but it hadn’t always been that way. Damian supposed that was why the people of the sea were hesitant to make regular appearances outside of their habitat.

“Not officially,” Damian said after a few moments of silence. His eyes narrowed into slits. “I’m about to, aren’t I?” He instantly took a few steps back away from the ledge. His tongue curled, ready to reprimand his father for allowing mer people into the cave. Before he had the chance to do so, his father held up a hand.

“You don’t have to be scared of them. I’ve known each of them for a long time now and they know who I am.”

That only made Damian tense even further to the point where he was practically a replica of a dog with its hackles raised. He couldn’t believe his father had revealed his identity to others. Who were these people that had his father’s trust? Why were they privy to such a private part of his father’s life before Damian himself was? Damian technically knew the reason for the last question, and he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous that his father’s affection for the interlopers was likely stronger than his affection for his own son.

His father’s blue eyes watched him with calculated precision and Damian quickly schooled his features. He’d rather have his father think he was nervous instead of pinpoint his insecurity.

“I know things between us have been rough this past week, but try to be civil with them.” They mean a lot to me went unsaid. Damian rolled his eyes before dragging his feet back to his father’s side. He gave a stiff nod.

His father reached up towards the comm in his ear, which was interesting. That meant the mers had a means of communicating with him in the water and vice versa. While Damian was certainly wary of the situation, he had to admit he was a little curious about his father’s “associates.”

“Tim,” his father said into the comm. There was a small pause where this so-called Tim must have responded. “I have Damian with me. You can come inside now. Tell Jason he can’t have any of Alfred’s shrimp for a week unless he disables the music loop.” Then, muttered through clenched teeth as if pained to admit it, he said, “It’s been driving me crazy all morning.”

“Tt.” Damian had been ignoring the music still pounding through the cave up until that point. There had been another terrible song playing for the past three minutes. It went something like, “I’m having your baby. It’s none of your business.” It hit a little too close to home for Damian’s liking, and by the way his father was openly scowling, he figured he felt the same. However, it didn’t become an issue because the music abruptly came to a stop. The Jason character must have decided the butler’s food was worth far more than an annoyed Batman.

There wasn’t much indication that the mers had entered the cave other than the water itself taking on a more rippled effect. Seconds later, the water started sloshing more harshly against the walls and platform. Damian lifted his foot just in time to miss a wave of water from soaking his shoe. By the time he dodged a few more wayward splashes, hair and skin were beginning to emerge from the murky depths.

Two dark-haired males then rose up until their arms and chests were exposed to the air, water droplets trickling down their skin. The male with the larger and more muscled torso looked to be older than the slimmer, pale male. Both of their eyes were blue and rid of any irritation that a normal human’s eyes would experience when exposed to seawater. Their hands also had webbing between each finger, though the small white tissue scars covering them suggested that the webbing was not entirely durable. While interesting, Damian was more excited to see the mer’s tails, but so far neither of them had moved far enough out of the water to show a glimpse of them.

His attention was drawn towards the teardrop-shaped obsidian stones that were fastened to each of the mer’s throats by short silver chains. He wondered if they were gifts from his father since the necklaces did not look like the kind of colorful jewelry mers were known to wear.

During the time Damian had taken to carefully observe the two strangers in the water, he realized they were doing the same to him. The more intimidating mer drifted closer until he was leaning his arms against the side of the platform, making Damian take a few steps back. His eyes seemed to be drawn to the knife that Damian had concealed in his pants. How the mer had detected it, Damian had no idea, but it instantly made him feel more guarded.

His father placed a hand on his shoulder, and normally Damian would have shrugged it off, but somehow it made it easier to look at the mers without showing his unease over the situation.

His father looked at the larger male. “Damian, this is Jason Todd.” This was said with a pointed glare at the mer, and the mer instantly sported a wolfish grin that displayed his sharp teeth.

Father then motioned to the smaller male. “This is Tim Drake.” Tim gave a hesitant wave, his webbed hand stretching out to full capacity. Father sighed. “Where’s Dick?”

Damian raised a brow, unsure of what that was supposed to mean.

“He got sidetracked,” Drake said, swimming up beside Todd. “A kid from a passing pod snagged his tail between two rocks and broke a few scales. Dick said he was going to show the pod where the mer-medic was. He should be here any second.”

From what Damian remembered, a pod was the mer people’s equivalent to a family unit. They mostly traveled while children in the pod were young before becoming more stationary in one area. From what he could make of their ages, Damian assumed Todd and Drake’s pods must be close by. If that was the case then did their pods also know the identity of Batman? Did they also come into the cave and chat with his father? Once again, Damian couldn’t help but feel like a complete outsider in the situation.

His father started talking to the comm in his ear, apparently demanding to know where the absent mer was located. Damian ignored him in favor of focusing on the mers present. Arms crossed, he stepped forward to the point of nearly stepping on Todd’s fingers.

“My name is Damian Wayne,” he said, chin tipping upwards. “I demand to know your relationship with my father.”

Todd and Drake shared a look with each other.

“You demand to know?” Todd asked, Gotham accent taking Damian by surprise. He gripped the side of the platform harder and pulled his torso further out of the water, intentionally leaning into Damian’s space. “How about I demand you rephrase your question?” Todd didn’t even blink as a water droplet from his hair trickled into his eye.

“There was nothing wrong with the phrasing of my question, bottom dweller,” Damian said, using a term he had heard his grandfather use when referring to mer people.

Jason’s tail, a mixture of black and red, appeared for a split second before coming back down to the water with a loud smack. Water sprayed in multiple directions and a large portion of it drenched Damian’s jeans and shoes. Outraged, Damian stepped on the heel of his right shoe to loosen it. Then, with well practiced aim, he flung the shoe straight into Todd’s smug looking face. Todd’s head snapped back on impact. His arms gave out beneath him, making him sink back into the water. Drake dodged to the side to avoid Todd’s flailing.

Damian heard Drake and his father shout at the same time.

“What the hell!”

“Damian!”

Suddenly, a wet hand shot out of the water and snagged one of Damian’s ankles in a bone crushing grip. He was yanked so hard that he lost his balance and fell on his backside with a startled gasp.

“Unhand me!” he yelled while trying to scramble for purchase on the wet floor. It was no use. He felt another tight squeeze around his ankle, and before he knew it, he was dragged into the disgusting water.

Saltwater immediately stung his eyes. He squeezed them shut and blindly reached towards his ankle to try and dig his nails into Todd’s hands, but the water slowed his momentum. Even kicking became difficult against the water’s resistance. He could feel his body being dragged back and forth through the water, his hair ghosting over his face every other second. Lungs burning, Damian tried to use his hands to propel his torso to the surface of the water, only to have Todd give a harsh tug downwards, keeping him from reclaiming oxygen.

A second passed where Damian genuinely thought his father was going to let this psychotic mer drown him. A heavy feeling of betrayal fell over him and he tried even harder to kick Todd in the face. Clearly, no one was going to save him. He had to save himself. That’s the way it had to be. Just like it always had been with the League of Assassins.

Just as he was about to try reaching for his knife, a high pitched sound vibrated through the water. It sent shivers down Damian’s spine, and for a moment, he thought there was a whale with them in the water. A sound like that was far too similar to the whale songs Damian had seen videos of. But then the biting grip of Jason’s hands disappeared from his ankles. A different set of webbed hands grabbed his wrist, propelling him towards the surface.

Damian reflexively sucked in a large breath as soon as his face was out of the water. He felt dizzy from the lack of oxygen. He tried to open his eyes and immediately shut them again after feeling the sharp sting of salt in them.

Whoever pulled him out of the water had enough sense to keep an arm around his waist. Damian half-heartedly dog paddled back towards the edge of the platform with the arm’s support. Another set of hands, his father’s hands, grabbed him under the armpits and scooped him out onto the platform.

Damian gasped wetly and dragged himself as far from the water as he could with the dead weight of his wet clothes holding him back. He noticed his father’s presence disappear from his side, only to be swapped with another person, supposedly the person who saved him. Vaguely, Damian could hear his father yelling in the distance. It was hard to make out the words with the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

The webbed hand returned to his back and gave it a few hard taps to help dispel any water Damian accidentally swallowed. “Go get him a towel and some tap water. He needs to flush out his eyes.” The voice was unfamiliar. There was no doubt that this had to be the other mer, Dick.

“Are you sure he doesn’t need some milk?” Drake asked from somewhere above them. And what? How was Drake possibly above them? He wouldn’t be able to breathe nor would he be able to walk with his tail. He tried to pry his eyes open to look, only to close them with a hiss after feeling how sensitive they were. Dick used his hand to slick Damian’s hair away from his face so more saltwater wouldn’t drip down into it.

“Oh krill,” Dick said, sounding exasperated and amused at the same time. “How long have you been waiting to use that reference?”

A bark of laughter echoed in the cave. “Way too long.”

“Should’ve waited longer!” Todd shouted during a pause in his and father’s argument.

“Jason,” Dick warned in barely concealed anger. “Shut it.”

Todd’s loud scoff startled the bats. Damian heard them scatter up above, their flapping wings getting farther away.

“Sure, okay. He insults me and hits me in the face with his steel-toed shoe, and I’m somehow in the wrong for showing him that actions have consequences?”

“Don’t even try to make it seem like that was a teachable moment. He’s just a kid—”

“Don’t treat me as if I’m some imbecile that needs to be handled with kid gloves,” Damian spat, rolling away from Dick’s gentle hand and sitting up on his own. “I’m capable of taking care of myself! I was just about to gut Todd with my knife when you stepped in unnecessarily.” Damian motioned in the direction of Todd’s voice. “I’d kill him right now if I was able to see properly.”

Damian felt his father’s hand close around his bicep. His first instinct was to knock the hand away, angry that people kept grabbing and touching him. First, it had been Todd’s biting grip on his ankle. Then, Dick’s supportive arm around his waist. Now, his father’s tense fingers on his arm.

He scowled. Their touch made him feel weak and vulnerable, and he was neither of those two things. No, Damian Wayne was no one’s victim. No one’s damsel in distress. He was too good for that. The blood running through his veins was proof of that.

“That had better be a joke,” Father said lowly. “I told you when you came here that we don’t kill. Ever.” The cold tone of his voice made Damian want to shrink and curl back up on the floor. Instead, stubborn as ever, he crossed his arms and turned his head in the other direction.

“I have the right to defend myself if he attacks me! If defending myself leads to his death then that hotheaded flounder was asking for it!”

Todd made a high pitched shrieking sound similar to the one Damian had heard in the water. Damian jumped slightly when Dick, who was still sitting right beside him, answered back with a mixture of shrieks and clicks of his own. It sent goosebumps down Damian’s arms. The shrieks didn’t sound as soft or musical out of the water as they had in the water. They were quick, biting, and fueled by anger.

“Ooh, you made mom mad,” Drake snickered, his voice sounding much closer than it was before.

Dick and Todd both clicked in the back of their throats simultaneously, which Damian could only assume was some variation of, “Shut up!”

Damian wondered if his father understood the mer’s heated conversation or if his silence was an indication that he was just as lost as Damian was. As far as Damian knew, translating the mer language did not come easy. Replicating it was even harder, if not impossible due to the different frequencies that could not be heard or replicated by the human body.

“That’s enough!” Father said after what felt like an eternity of nonstop vocalizations, causing the two mers to trail off into silence. Damian could have sworn he heard one of them hiss at one point. “You two need to cool off. Jason, get upstairs. Go help Alfred with dinner.” He paused for a second and then, most likely addressing Dick, said, “You’re drying up like a prune. Go soak for a few minutes.”

There was some mumbling and what sounded like feet pounding up the platform that connected to the top level of the cave. Damian internally cursed at the salt that was still keeping him from opening his eyes. He was desperate to make sense of how it was possible for the mers to be walking around the cave. All of them except Dick, apparently.

“You and Tim got the kid?” Dick asked.

Damian immediately scowled and clenched his fists. That was the second time he’d been called “kid.” Kids were not equals, and worse, they were not capable of much. Damian was the opposite. He would show both his father and these mers that no one was more capable than him. Then they would realize their mistake in referring to him in such a demeaning way.

“I got the water and towel right here,” Drake chimed in somewhere to Damian’s immediate left.

Dick squeaked twice, short and low.

“Huh?” Tim said. “Quit speaking in dialect.”

“Ugh. Forget it.”

Dick’s scales were rough and heavy sounding as they dragged across the floor. Damian wondered if it hurt or if the scales were tough enough to take some damage. His curiosity died as soon as he heard a large splash from behind him. He turned his attention to the remaining mer instead.

“What are you waiting for, Drake? Hand over the water immediately!”

Damian could only imagine the look of bewilderment on the mer’s face as Drake muttered, “Drake? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

#Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Bruce Wayne #mermaid au #dick & jason & tim are mers #dami has just left the league of assassins and has to learn how to get along w them #fic #my fic

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pkg4mumtown · 4 years

Text

The Wolf

AN: Something I’ve been sitting on for a while! 18+ please.

Warnings: Cursing, concert/festival, feelings of being watched, smut, consensual, Original Male Character x Female Reader

Summary: You’re alone at a crowded festival and keep feeling like someone is watching you.

I had bought tickets to a nearby electronic festival in hopes of relieving some stress from work. I was hoping that I’d be joined by a couple friends who claimed to buy tickets, also. When I got bailed on at the last minute, I was frustrated, sure, but still decided to go on my own. A couple people from work said they’d also be there but I wasn’t going to hold my breath waiting for them.

Throughout the day, I bounced my way from one stage to another, hanging back and enjoying the energy. As the evening progressed and colorful LEDs filled the space around me, my eyes were continually drawn to one mask in particular. It was an overly simplified outline of a wolf face, outlined in blue-green LEDs with a few red accents. The figure wore a hood, partially hiding the top of their head, letting a few strands of hair poke through the top. I was intrigued the first time I saw the figure's mask but brushed it off soon after, as I made my way to another stage. Any time chills ran over my skin, I looked around, always seeing that mask in the crowd towering over everyone else but writing the chills off as me being underprepared for the cold night air.

I was eventually able to push my way to the rail, at a stage, for some semblance of breathing room. The majority of people around me had bright, flashing masks and insane costumes, while my own colorful half mask had been abandoned early on as it made my face sweaty.

I was able to lose myself in the music with bodies writhing around me, not that I paid any attention to them. When the artist finished their set, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as the pit calmed down. I furrowed my brows, looking around nonchalantly until my gaze landed on the mask from before, staring my way, from a few people down the rail. The dark pits, where their eyes should be, made me dizzy as the LEDs put me in a trance. The intense stillness caused me to look away almost as quickly as I had seen them.

Soon after, I heard dissatisfied grumbles behind me until a new pair of arms rested on the rail next to me. Their fingers wrung together almost nervously, while they stared at the stage. I gathered the courage to glance at their profile, seeing the profile of the wolf mask with a bearded cheek and an ear peeking out from the side of the mask.

I gulped, but pushed against the man’s forearm, getting his attention and causing his head to turn toward me, “You’ve been following me all evening. What’s your deal?”

He tilted his head at me silently, while I imagined him squinting at me through the mask. The mask covered almost the entirety of the front of his face, narrowing and ending near the middle of his mouth. His tongue poked out from between his lips, swiping along his bottom lip as he came up with his excuse.

“Wanted to make sure you were alright,” he shrugged, his murmur barely audible over the sounds around us.

“You don’t even know me,” I answered warily.

“No, but I noticed you were alone, which means other people have as well,” he spoke up with a rugged, mildly gravelly voice cutting through the chattering crowd.

“How noble, yet creepy of you,” I raised an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged silently, unbothered by the accusation. A popular song came on over the speakers to keep the pit warmed up for the next act, causing people around us to start dancing again. He glanced at the stage and then back at me, his chin moving in a chewing motion as he presumably chewed on his lip.

“Need a dance partner?” he asked so softly over the crowd that I almost missed it.

“Are you offering?” I wondered aloud, raking my eyes down his form, which was dressed in all black but illuminated by the bright neon lights. He was tall, there was no mistaking that, with the right amount of heft in his upper body.

He tilted his head slightly and nodded, “Yea.”

His low, gruff voice almost killed me then and there. It was my turn to worry my lip between my teeth, taking a deep breath, and finally nodding, “Sure.”

I understood what agreeing to him meant. These kinds of festivals aren’t exactly known for their modesty. He slid smoothly between me and the person behind me, letting his large hand slide along my hip and still as he settled behind me. Both hands dropped to my hips as I swayed against him to the beat of the music.

The last artist came onstage, halting the dancing for a moment as people cheered and the artist introduced themselves. The thumping beats soon filled the space again, with a variety of dancing happening around us. The beauty of these festivals was there was no one way to dance, giving freedom to everyone. His hands met my waist, dragging down lightly until they rested on my hips again. I dropped my hands to his, feeling soft skin and thick fingers tighten their hold on me. I bit back a smile as I felt his hips press firmly against mine, while his hands slowed my hips down. He took control of the rhythm and I was more than happy to let him, the way things were going.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he rumbled in my ear, allowing his lips to brush the edge of my ear.

The vibrations in his voice sent yet another series of chills down my neck. I brushed my hair to the opposite side of my neck, letting the cool air hit my skin. One of his hands released my hip, assisting in brushing the hair out of the way before dropping his lips to barely skim the skin behind my ear. I didn’t stop him, nor did I want to. Instead, I lolled my head away from him so he'd have more room. He used his free hand to push his mask up to the top of his head for unrestricted access. His lips met my neck, teasing the skin with a series of closed-mouth kisses.

I tried to sneak a peek at his face, only for him to catch on to the movement of my eyes before I tried to turn my head. He slid his hand up the front of my neck, free of overbearing pressure, serving only to guide my face forward again. His fingers grasped my jaw lightly, stilling my movements, and getting the point across clearly. I abandoned my previous mission and allowed myself to enjoy the mystery instead.

The touch of his nose and burning of his facial hair overloaded the nerves under my skin, as his mouth continued its journey. I lost myself for a moment, letting soft moan escape through my lips at the feeling. His lips formed into a wolfish grin as he picked up the sound, letting his teeth barely graze my neck.

“That was a lovely sound I wouldn’t mind hearing again,” he murmured, bringing his lips back to my ear.

I reached a hand behind me, letting it rest on the back of his neck, “Then give me a reason to make it again.” He let out a low groan, sighing against my neck. His hands fingered the edge of my waistband, dipping below just enough to make my skin jump as we were consumed by the music once more.

By the end of the set, I was an aching mess. Before I could turn around, he had put his mask back in place, preferring to keep the charade up a little longer. He held me in his arms as I stood face to face with him, keeping me plastered against him.

His mouth dropped to my ear, “I know some place we can go if you’re up for it.” He punctuated his proposition with a gentle grind of his hips.

“Let’s go, then,” I licked at my lips in anticipation.

He took my hand and led me away from the crowds, towards a gathering of extravagant tents. In an effort to save money, I had passed on the VIP package that included one of these fully furnished tents. I stopped in my tracks as he pulled us toward the entrance to the tent area, framed by staff to check wristbands.

“Wait! I don’t have VIP,” I showed him my wristband.

He tugged his sleeve up, revealing a tightly muscled forearm and a VIP wristband. Well, shit.

“Alright, then,” I shrugged and followed him in.

He led me to one and ushered me inside, immediately seeing a half made bed and bag of clothes tucked in a corner. His body heat radiated behind me as his hands slid up my sides, taking my shirt with them.

He halted his hands halfway up, “This alright? Tell me to stop.”

“Keep going,” I pleaded, pushing his hand with mine, “please.”

He tugged the shirt up and over my head, tossing the shirt and stopping to admire the smooth expanse of my back. In his daze, I turned around and slid the zipper of his jacket down which he happily shrugged off his shoulders. Unsurprisingly, he was sporting a black t-shirt that revealed bits and pieces of tattoos on his upper arms. I ran my hands from his forearms up to his upper arms, pausing to smirk up at him.

“Go sit down,” I nodded toward the bed.

He grinned down at me, the light inside the tent allowing me to see the humored glint in his eyes through the mask, “Yea? What for?”

“Why don’t you go find out?”

He took his bottom lip between his teeth, grinning underneath the mask and stalking over to the bed. Before he could sit down, I grabbed him by the belt and undid it and the button of his pants quickly. He kicked off his shoes and lower garments hastily, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking up at me almost obediently. I dropped to my knees, between his legs, feeling his stare as he moved my hair away from my face. He was thicker than I’d had before, but I didn’t let his size deter me.

I wrapped my lips around the head of his cock, hearing him sigh in relief as I gently sucked. He leaned back, resting his forearms on the bed and giving me more room to work with. Curses dropped from his lips as I took him as far as he could go. He leaned his weight on one forearm, using the other hand to wrap itself in my hair. He hit the back of my throat, letting out deep groan and letting his head loll back.

“Again, just like that, darling,” he moaned, pressing down on the back of my head so I’d get the hint.

I glanced up at the thick line of his neck as he tensed and relaxed. I continued to deep throat him, loving the sounds that ripped from his chest but having to ignore the growing ache in my jaw. Eventually, I let him slip from my mouth, using my hand to keep him going.

He sat up, taking notice of my discomfort, “Easy, easy,” he cooed. He ran his thumb along my aching cheek, “Don’t force it,” he murmured, gently massaging my jaw. “C’mere,” he guided me to my feet and coaxed me into straddling his lap while he sat on the edge of the bed.

I looked down at the mask, attempting to see through it to no avail. I let my hands wander up the back of his neck and around to the side of the mask, where I found the off switch. I flicked it off, the absence of colored light revealing a white base mask. My fingers found the bottom edge of the mask, pushing it up his face and smiling when he didn’t stop me. My eyes travelled upwards as new features of his face were revealed, taking in the sight of his bearded face; soft, parted lips; and strong nose. I finished taking the mask off, letting it fall from my fingers and onto the floor. I took in his face once more, seeing him analyze whether or not I was disappointed in what I revealed.

I took his neck in my hands, coaxing him to meet me halfway before our lips were fused together. His hands travelled up my back, one finding the back of my neck and deepening the kiss. He stood slightly, with me in his arms, turning us so that I was closest to the bed and letting us fall back on it in a heap. His hands blindly found the clasp of my pants, shoving as much material down as he could and sliding his hand down. I gasped into his mouth as his fingers met the hours worth of wetness he caused.

“Is this all for me?” He broke the kiss and grinned down at my expression as his fingertips grazed my clit.

My lips were barely able to form a silent answer before his wonderfully thick fingers were splitting me open. His fingers stretched me in light preparation of what was to come. I arched my hips into his hand, blindly reaching down to wrap my hand around his cock where it pressed against my stomach.

He reluctantly pulled himself away, standing and rifling through his bag. He tugged his shirt over his head, turning back towards me to see that I had rid myself of the rest of my clothing. He ripped open the small packet in his hands, rolling the condom on with renewed fervor when he saw the state of my undress.

He stretched himself out on the bed, eyeing me as I crawled up his body. I hovered over his lap, feeling him line himself up with anticipation written on his face. I sank down on him slowly, enjoying the stretch and burn coupled with his drawn out groan. His hands flew to my hips, holding on tightly as helped guide my movements.

“Lean back, darling,” He said through a moan as he sank deeper. He sucked one of his thumbs into his mouth, then maneuvered it between us and rubbed my clit in tight circles. I leaned over him, nipping at his neck and shoulders gently. He quickly adjusted his hand between us to use his fingers instead.

“Harder,” he sighed, stretching his neck out further.

I bit down as he met my thrust with one of his own, moaning against his skin. I stopped just short of breaking skin. I fisted a hand in his hair, tightening my hand until I was gasping my release and clamping down around him. He whispered a curse at the tightening, latching onto my neck to keep me in place. He didn’t last much longer, wrapping his arms around me in a tight embrace as he trembled under me. He continued biting at my neck until I pinched his arm, earning a laugh that vibrated throughout his chest.

We eventually untangled ourselves and cleaned up a bit. I gathered my clothes into my arms, stilling my actions when I heard his voice.

“You can stay the night, you know?” he shrugged. He folded his arms behind his head, a satisfied smirk across his lips as he admired his handwork. “Beats driving home at this hour,” he shrugged. “Plus, a quickie in the morning won’t hurt, right?” he joked.

I rolled my eyes, depositing my clothes in a neat pile on the floor. I slid under the covers next to him, keeping a decent distance while he busied himself by turning the lights out.

When consciousness took over in the morning, I blinked my eyes open at the unfamiliar surroundings. A heavy arm had situated itself over me with a soothing warmth behind me. As my eyes threatened to close, a disruptive snore broke me out of my stupor. My eyes shot open, my mind immediately figuring out how to ease myself out of the embrace. I, somehow, managed to weasel my way out with out waking him and dressed quietly before disappearing. I didn’t know what I was thinking, staying with some stranger, but I was honestly glad I had.

#original male character x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #oc x reader #female reader #original male character x female reader #oc x female reader #smut

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs “My Humans”

Ok guys I had a TON of fun writing this one. There is a guy on you-tube I watch who raises lions and hyenas and he can go into their enclosures and stuff because they have known him from a young age, and I just thought how funny it would be to make humans the dangerous animals in that same style. I hope you all like it as much as I did. Tell me what you think of the style, its completely new to me, and I don’t know if it’s any good. :)

The feed brightens from black to a grainy white before the picture slowly resolves. The image is of a room tilted at a half angle shaking slightly as someone shifts in the background. You can just see a window in the back far corner. Space glitters in through an inky blackness dotted with a smattering of glittering white, blue and red pinpricks. The camera tilts slowly around, and a face comes into view. It is an inhuman face dark brown in color with large prismatic orange eyes and short antae atop it’s rounded head. It adjusts the picture to the horizontal straightening out the canted view of the room.

“Ok….. it says it’s on.” The creature clears his throat and straightens up, “So for introductions, I am Dr. Krill of the Vrul chief medical officer aboard the human vessel U.S.S Harbinger I have been working with humans for well over a year and a half now. Some say I am the leading expert in the field.” He turns in a circle and heads towards the door, the camera shakes a bit as the room recedes into the background, “I don’t know about that, but I do have the most experience. I have been writing reports on the human’s behavior for some time now, but some comments have been made about my potential biases. Others have pointed out that I am not, in fact a behavioral expert and have asked for video footage on the subject of humans to make their own judgements.” He passes through a door into another hallway flipping the camera around so the viewers can see the long space ahead. Compared to the camera height, the hallway is very tall.

“So I thought it would be prudent at first to introduce you to some of my humans let you know a little about them.” He steps through another doorway, “First of all I am here to dispel a lot of negative rumors that have been going around about humans lately, and let you all see the truth of humans, the good side of them. First off, I am going to be addressing the idea that ‘humans are the most animalistic sentient species in the galaxy’ I personally think this is a dumb statement, first off it makes no sense, and second off it can be intermitted many ways. Yes, humans are more in touch with their animal instincts than a lot of us, they have lots of primitive nonverbal communication, a strict social hierarchy led by unwritten social rules, and they do tend to act on their instincts a little more than we do. However humans are also remarkably smart, and very easy to bond with.”

He passes up a set of metal stairs clattering and clanging while the camera bobs back and forth “Humans are a very pack-oriented creature, and this instinct has allowed them to bond with many other species. I would estimate that my acceptance aboard the ship took about a week to set in and a little under a month to fully form. At that point the humans will accept you as one of their own and place you within the social hierarchy. Human hierarchy tends to have a very pyramid like structure with an alpha human at the top followed by their Betas and then going on down the latter. I would place myself somewhere in the Betas of this human pack.” He turns a corner and stops before a door, “I am about to introduce you to one of my favorite humans, he is the leader of the pack but actually one of the most affable of the humans. It is important to note that each human has a fascinatingly distinct personalities, very colorful characters. This humans name is Vir, and I would characterize him as very social, surprisingly juvenile, but aggressively loyal and laid back for, so here let’s just go in and say hi.”

He turns the camera back towards the door, which clatters lightly before swinging open. It takes a moment for the camera to adjust to the darkness, but when it does you can see the silhouette of a large figure cured atop a strange platform- like object. “Humans use up a lot of energy during the day, and when they nest at night they have to find somewhere dark and soft to do it. Now, imposing on a human’s sleep is not recommended, so we have to feel things out to make sure he’s going to be ok seeing us. I may be part of their pack but every day I have to remain wary and am very careful with how I approach humans.”

The camera zooms in on the figure which churns rolls and then sits up. A single large, forward-facing eyes greet them from the darkness flashing with light from the hallway. It tilts it’s head blinking as the pupils quickly constrict against the light, “This human is a male approximately 26 solar cycles old, 6,2 and 205 pounds with athletic body composition aside from a missing leg and a missing eye, unlike other species humans accept the survival of extreme injury as a status symbol.”

The camera picks up a series of guttural grumbles, hums, hisses and clicks as the human opens its mouth teeth glittering against the incoming light.

“Now, see, right here, he’s protecting his territory wants to make sure I know what I am getting myself into and asking me what I am doing.” More hissing and humming, “He’s warning me, but something I’ve learned to do to calm a human.” The camera turns a little just so you can see his face silhouetted against the backdrop of light. He opens his mouth very wide before, “Yawning is thought to be a social symbol for letting others know everything is ok. It’s contagious.” He turns the camera around, and the large human has a paw over his mouth chest rising with a very deep breath. He stops ad turns to look at the camera.

“See, he will probably let me approach now.” The light flicks on momentarily blinding the camera as it struggles to focus. The human makes a pained mewing sound as he holds his paw up towards the light. Its face is very expressive under a creamy white skin and a dusting of tawny fur atop its head. The tips of its digits glitter with strange translucent claws.

The human grows bigger in the lens as Krill moves closer right up to where the creature is lying. The large head turns to follow the progress single jade eye blinking from deep within its socket. The grumbling noises rise up from the creature’s chest as its teeth flash, “It may look intimidating, but this human knows me, and wouldn’t be likely to hurt me. Humans are very curious, so he will want to know what I am doing in his territory at this time. Now if he really wanted to, as leader of the pack, he could make me leave at any time, but due to his curiosity, I bet he won’t.” The human snorted ejecting a puff of air from flared nostrils.

“See that, right there, humans have a lot of nonverbal noises they use to communicate. That one is exasperation or annoyance. It’s not really a sign of danger in a human but an indication they are willing to put up with you.” The human rolled its eyes flashing the white sclera of its strange orbs towards camera before shifting towards the edge of its sleeping space and throwing off the sheets in which it was wrapped. The camera quickly zooms In on the missing leg before panning out to capture the creature as it raises its hands above its head arches it’s back, flexes it’s arms and cranes it’s neck.

Its strange pink tongue runs over its teeth as it yawns again.

“The human muscular system is very fluid rich, this behavior right here helps the human to prepare for movement by moving fluid into the correct places and recalibrating feedback systems that allow it to move.” The human finishes its stretch and turns to look at Krill, the eye flickers towards Krill and then the camera. It growls, and then with one paw, it swipes at the camera.

“Now, that may have looked aggressive, and I suppose it could have been but that’s what happens when humans get confused and curious. He just wants to know wat I am doing.”

The human sit back with a reproachful expression on his face shakes its head quickly back and forth and then flops backwards with an exaggerated sigh still eyeing Krill with that one green eye. “Now this is rather large for a male human, the average height being around 5’11, but he is by no means the largest male on the ship. Human hierarchy isn’t denoted by size or gender, but rather, the entire human race is placed into a hierarchical structure with their UN president at the top of that hierarchy, currently a short human female. Is has nothing to do with physical prowess and more to do with authority and social standing.”

The camera moves a bit closer to the human who leanes away brows furrowed before turning with a grumble onto his side facing away from the camera, “Now this is pretty interesting, humans have some of the best hearing known to the sentient species. See those folds inside the ear, helps them to funnel sound and determine the directionality of the noise. They have excellent horizontal and vertical sound location when the sound is in front of them. In fact, the path of sound into the brain is directly connected to the movement of the eyes.”

“Another important thing to remember around humans, as I said before, each of them are different, and this is important to note if you ever come into contact with humans. Some are more social than others, and some are more willing to let you touch them than others. This particular human is willing to put up with more than the average human.” A hand reaches out from behind the camera and proceeds to pat the human on the head. The human’s facial muscles contort into an unknown expression, “Now, no one really knows why humans have hair on the tops of their heads, it isn’t particularly useful for anything. At this point it’s mostly just believe it was selected for in the species as an attraction point for mates. Some humans lose their hair over time and others choose to get rid of it all together.”

The human sat up again catching the hand that had been panting him on the head and turned to look at Krill making more noises with his mouth, “Ah see, now there he is warning me off, so I’ll just pull back a little.” The camera shows Take a look at the eye, yes, see the large black aperture, that is the pupil and it gives humans the ability to control the amount of light they allow into their eye. When it is dark, the pupil will dilate giving them the ability to see in both the dark and the light, which is rather unknown to those species who use the spectrums of light between ultraviolet and infrared. Despite this inability, humans have the best depth perception, for reasons of hunting. Of course the alpha has lousy depth perception since you need two eyes for that”

The human’s head levels out, and its single eye locks onto the camera. The lid drops sweeping a layer of mucus over the outer layer of the eye, and then it lunges. The camera spirals spins, there is a scuffle as the image sees only patterns of shape and movement as the picture careens around the room, then it evens out. The camera turns around to view the human looking wide eyed into the lens. It grumble, then the image turns around to look down at Krill who has his arms crossed, “See, now that I have invaded on his territory he has deemed it necessary to prove his dominance over me by stealing my property, but you see there is a simple way to deal with a naughty human, at least this one anyway.”

The camera pans down as Krill walks forward and mercilessly jabs the human in his single leg. The human lets off a high pithed yelp of pain. The camera spirals and tilts viewing the room from floor level before it is snatched up turning back to face Krill, “I do not recommend doing that to two legged humans.” Behind him in the scene, the human is scrambling to his single leg, and rooting around beside the nest. Krill begins to speed up and then breaks into a scuttle, “Of course, I didn’t hurt the human. When dealing with their species, it is important to treat the humans the way humans treat humans, and between two dominant male humans physical dominance is very important….. What I employed was a simple dominance tactic to let him know that steeling my property isn’t allowed”

Something rattles behind him as Krill speeds up, “Of course it is wise to note that not all alphas will take things so well. This particular human is likely to interpret the action as play rather than a threat.” He cuts a corner and hides in the darkness of the next room over, “Keeping the human mind spry with play is very important for their happiness.” He quieted down very quickly as a set of footsteps stalked up the hall.

Loud hooting and chirping echoed from the hallway, “Humans enjoy being able to practice their hunting skills. That would be a hunting call to lure me out.” He whispered, “Luckily humans have terrible senses of smell.”

A shadow blocked the doorway, and the growling was suddenly very close by. Krill squeaked and the camera went black.

Subtitles Krill Neglected to Add

Krill, what the hell are you doing? Why…..krill it’s four in the mourning.

You have got to be kidding me.

Wait, are you seriously filming right now.

I’m not a golden retriever Krill, why are you petting me! Who are you talking to? If this is going to be replacing your reports, I don’t know if I’m down for that.

Lousy depth perception my ass.

OW! SHIT no fair!

Alright, come out come out wherever you are…. Ok if you want to play this game, we can play.

But as you said before, we have excellent hearing.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #earth is a deathworld #earth is space australia #humans are weird

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thethoughtsfromthreeam · 4 years

Text

Sunshine

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x OC (Evelyn “Evie” Blaker)

Warnings: None

A/N: This story is coming to an end, only one more chapter of Sunshine after this and then its on to the next story!

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit. I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags: @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale

Part 9

Pay Restitution

“How long are you going to be in town?” Bette’s voice muffled on the phone as she bent down to pick up Lorraine’s shoes before tossing them towards the front door. That girl never put her shoes away. “Will you have time for a lunch date?”

“Oh, please, Bette, it’s already on my calendar. You still want to try out that gyro place? I’m dying for some lamb or something.” Evie tossed her own sneakers into the suitcase opened in front of her, George sitting next to the bed watching her every move like a hawk. “Do you want to try for Monday or Tuesday?”

“Tuesday, I have a department meeting Monday and can’t miss it. Were you still going to the parade with us on Thursday? Lorraine wants to see you.”

“Yes, do you mind if my dad joins us?” Evie closed her suitcase and set it next to the door before going into the kitchen to start packing George’s bag. The dog walked behind her, nails tapping in excitement.

“Ooooh, your dad is coming?” Bette’s voice turned teasing.

“Would you believe Max personally called him up and invited him?” Now Bette was laughing. The domineering Maxwell Lord was turning into a total softy and it made her cackle madly. “My dad called me, asking why this strange man was calling him to come and stay for Thanksgiving. I lost it and then told him the whole story.”

“Everything?”

“Yeah.”

---***---

“Max. I love you, too.”

Maxwell’s head shot up so fast, he pulled a muscle in his neck. Grabbing at it with his hand, his eyes frantically searching Evie’s face. He was certain she was mocking him, maybe teasing him. But her face was honest and open, hopeful even.

“Evie, I swear to god. . .” His voice was low and cautious sounding. It seemed almost desperate, so opposite of the powerful businessman who ran one of the most successful companies in the world. In that moment he was brought to his knees. “If you’re joking, it will kill me. I’m sure it will.”

“I’m not joking, Max. I do love you.” Her voice was soft, and it felt like a caress against his skin. He lowered his head and his body curled towards her. She dropped her forehead to her hands, which were clasped around his free one. “But what happened Thursday cannot happen again. Ever. I will not allow you to hurt me like that. And if you do, don’t ever think that you can just show up on my doorstep begging for forgiveness because I won’t give it.”

He dropped his head.

“What can I do to earn your trust again?” His voice was quiet, but eager. He was sorry and so badly wanted to prove to her that he wouldn’t ever hurt her again. He dropped his hand from his neck to their joined clasp. He bent his head to lay it on top of hers and they sat there for a long moment.

“Max.” He raised his head and she raised hers so they could look each other in the eye. In that moment pretenses and pride were stripped back so the barest of emotions were exposed. Together, they were both in vulnerable places, but Maxwell felt like he had the most to lose. She quickly had become his world and he didn’t want to think about it without her.

“Remember when I got sucked into those reports in September?” He nodded. “The little things you did for me? I felt so loved and cared for. Your texts every day gave me something to look forward to. That’s when I knew I was in love with you.”

Maxwell brought their joined hands to his mouth and he kissed her knuckles. He was thrilled to know that the things he did meant something to her, that’s what he wanted her to feel. She pulled their hands towards her and she laid her cheek on his knuckles.

“Knowing that you’re there for me and that you trust me and support me – that’s what I need. I need your words and your actions. And I don’t need you calling me a whore.” She narrowed her eyes at him and he at the courtesy to look chagrined.

“Evie, then let me show you with my actions and my words that I love you and that I’m worthy of your trust.” He slid off the chair, so he was on his knees in front of her. He removed his hands from hers and placed them on her face. She held onto his wrists as he dipped his head and brushed his lips across hers. If she hadn’t known it was coming, she probably would have thought it was a breeze touching her. It was that soft and tender and her heart bloomed in her chest.

“Okay.”

---***---

For weeks after their reconciliation, Evie and Maxwell took it slow. They worked during the week and took turns visiting each other on the weekends, talking nearly daily in between. Unlike their first attempt, this time, they choose to work to get to know each other, to let the rest of the puzzle pieces fall into place. Evie found her love for him growing deeper and wide than she ever thougth possible. And she noticed the nights she slept alone were getting worse, unlike the times she slept with him by her side.

She, along with those closest to him, noted a change in Maxwell as the weeks passed. She wasn’t sure if he realized it himself, but he was chilling out. Eric told her that he was as firm as ever in his leadership at Chimtech and the company was doing well. But amongst his friends, they absolutely noticed.

His personal relationships had begun to change – even Bennett and Marnie noticed he took a kinder tone and inquired about their lives and families. He found his friendships less stiff and more relaxing, taking time to connect with people like Eric and others. He laughed more, he smiled more, and in general he was more pleasant to be around.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t get mad or frustrated and became moody or sullen. But even in those cases, he rarely lashed out as viciously as he did before. Marnie, who knew Maxwell’s father, told Evie on the phone one day that he seemed less like his mother and more like his father – a man with a large heart. Evie wasn’t going to pretend that she didn’t have anything to do with it, she was too proud of the man morphing in front of her.

This was the man she wanted to love, and she was giddy it was the man she was getting.

---***---

Taking the train into the city was certainly convenient as she appreciated the time to get some work done during the trip. But Evie also loved to drive the route whenever she could. The natural beauty of the Hudson River Valley around her made for a gorgeous drive and the rise of the New York City skyline never failed to thrill her.

Today, the drive down had been sunny and while the fall colors were long gone this late in November, she still found the trip to be breathtaking. And with George in the back and her father in the passenger seat, she never felt more content.

“George, stop sniffing my head.” Dr. Blaker groused at his granddog. Both the human and the animal males were getting restless in traffic and she rolled her eyes. George stopped on command and instead dropped his head on to the good doctor’s shoulder and rested there a moment. Evie rolled the window down in the backseat and he immediately stuck his head out the window, preferring this to anything else.

Evie��s phone rang and when she saw it was Maxwell, she smiled and before hitting the Bluetooth button on her steering wheel.

“You’re on speaker with my dad, so behave.” She didn’t even say hello and the silence on the other end made her smile widely. She was getting to know him too well for his liking sometimes.

“I wasn’t going to say anything bad, Evie.” There was a thread of curtness in his tone and now she was grinning and attempting to keep the giggles at bay. He had planned something for sure. “I was just calling to see where you were at because Bennett informed me that there is a nasty accident south of Morningside Park and you might want to find a way around it.”

“Oh, then I’m glad I stayed on the 9-A because I figured all the side roads were going to be crazy because of the holiday. Traffic is a little bad, but I should be there in, oh, half an hour.”

“See you then. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” She hung up and she could feel her father’s grin more than she could see it. “Stop, dad.”

“What? My little girl is in love, can’t a father be happy for that?”

“Not with that grin on your face.”

“What grin, you aren’t even looking at me?”

“I know that grin, dad. Don’t start.” The older man grunted in answer, but the grin was still there. Evie deserved to be happy, he thought. She told him everything and while as a father he wanted to clock Maxwell for calling his daughter a whore, but if Evie found it in her to forgive him, then he could keep his mouth shut. They made each other happy and that was good enough for him.

When they final arrived, she was relieved to find a spot directly in front of his house and to see Maxwell standing on his porch waiting for them. He was dressed in a sweater and jeans, hands in his pocket and smile on his face. He was so relaxed that the worry lines that usually formed on his forehead were completely gone.

He came down the stairs to greet them, kissing Evie’s cheek, shaking Dr. Blaker’s hand, and giving George a few scratches behind the ear. He brought in their bags and guided the doctor into the house while Evie took a short walk to let George relieve himself and stretch his legs a bit. When she entered the house, she unhooked George’s leash and let him bound through the house.

Back when he first learned about the dog, Maxwell assured Evie that George was welcomed to come every time she did and the dog was at home immediately the first time they arrived together. Now, he acted as if he owned the place and took up what had become his spot in front of the fireplace. She smiled as she wandered in behind him, finding her dad and Maxwell sitting in the living room, deep in conversation. She noted they were talking about pharmaceuticals and since she had no interest in the subject, she wandered into the kitchen to say hello to Marnie.

The older woman had come to dote on her employer’s girlfriend and in turn, Evie welcomed the maternal love she lavished. The two sat down, chatting about Thanksgiving dinner and a few other things. The conversation continued even after George wandered into the room. He sat quietly, staring a hole into the cook, hoping for a treat or two and when Evie turned her back to leave, Marni slipped him some ham with a conspiratorial smile.

The afternoon soon faded into evening and the three sat down to enjoy dinner. Marnie had out done herself and the conversation flowed easily. Dr. Blaker was much like his daughter and people couldn’t help but to feel comfortable around him as well. After dinner and dessert, Marnie and Evie cleaned up and the cook took her leave, hugging the younger woman before heading out the door. She let George out to do his business and the two went back to the living room.

Eventually, the day caught up with Dr. Blaker and he took his leave to bed, leaving the two lovers alone. George snored gently on the floor in front of the fire and Evie laid against Maxwell’s strong chest, his arms around her. They stared into the fire, letting the silence envelope them as they relaxed. Evie felt the rumble in his chest before the words came out of his mouth.

“Sunshine, are you happy?”

“I am Max.” And she meant it. They laid there a little longer before the fire died down and they decided to move upstairs to bed. Evie called to George, who followed them up the stairs, hot on their heels. They got ready for bed, their routine a comfortable one. As Maxwell passed by her in the bathroom, he dropped a soft kiss to her shoulder and brushed his hand across her lower back.

The chill of the late November night permeated the house as Evie left the bathroom. She saw Maxwell and George already in bed and she crawled in after them. Here, she never felt cool between the dual furnaces of her man and her dog. She snuggled against Maxwell, who had already fallen asleep. She rested her head on his shoulder and laid her hand on his wrist. She could feel his blood pumping beneath her fingertips and she realized their hearts beat in tandem.

As she fell asleep, she never felt more contented.

---***---

“Why did I agree to come here again?!” Evie had to shout to be heard over the din of the crowd. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade was far better viewed on TV from the comfort of her home and not on the loud and crowded Park Central South. Evie could handle crowds, but this was almost too much. Coupled with the freezing cold and she wished she had said no when invited.

“Because you love me?” Bette was just as loud, her laughter evident in her voice. She hung onto Evie as Bennett stood next to them with Lorraine on his shoulders. The foursome was pressed on all sides as people clamored to get a good look at the parade as it passed. Suddenly, Lorraine was waving her arms as the Young People’s Chorus moved passed.

“Momma! Daddy! Look! It’s Claudette!” The young girl was vibrating with excitement for her best friend. It was an exciting thing to be in the parade and seen by millions across the country.

“I see, baby! But do you see what I see?” Bette pointed and Lorraine looked. She squealed with excitement and briefly forget she was on her father’s shoulders when she tried to stand up. Evie and Bette both reached out to catch her as Bennett swayed to kept hold of her legs. They were able to get her back up on her perch as the flamingo floated past. Lorraine waved excitedly and when the rider waved back, she felt her day had been made.

Soon enough, the parade ended, and the group made their way back to the car. Lorraine chatted a mile a minute about Claudette and the flamingo and a few other things. Evie smiled, feeling as if the young girl’s excitement as seeping into her now that the crushing aura of the parade had passed. As they made it to the car, they climbed in and Bennett quickly started it to get the heater going.

“I’m sorry your dad couldn’t make it, Evie.” Bette turned around to face her.

“Naw, knowing dad, he would have lost his shit the minute he saw all the people. He’s lived in small cities and towns for a reason!” Evie laughed. “Besides, I think he wanted some alone time with Max.”

Bette and Evie began to cackle madly, and Bennett rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how this new development was going to affect his boss’ mood. The ride back to Maxwell’s house was pleasant and she hugged everyone before getting out. As she walked up the steps, a sensation of déjà vu passed over her and she stopped.

Yes, she had walked up these steps plenty of times before, but something about this sent shivers down her spine. Something was going to change and soon. Taking a deep breath, she entered the house and was immediately enveloped in the delicious smells of an early dinner. As she hung up her coat, Maxwell appeared in the foyer, smiling at her.

She smiled back and he leaned in to kiss her, she offered up her lips to his. It was soft and sweet and when she pulled back, Evie almost regretted parting from him. Maxwell put his arm around her waist and walked her into the dining room.

As they sat down to dinner, they laughed and joked. Each one of them snuck food to George, who felt as if he died and gone to heaven. The meal lasted a long time but towards the end, Dr. Blaker pulled out the wishbone from the turkey.

“Here, Evie.” He handed it off and when she offered him the other half to him, he raised his hands and shook his head. So, Evie offered it to Maxwell instead and he gladly took it. They each held a leg of the bone and thought about their wish.

When the moment had passed, they each pulled, and the bone broke in favor of Maxwell. He laughed and Evie giggled.

“Do you think your wish will come true, Max?”

“I can only hope, Evie. I can only hope.”

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x oc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #fanfic #ww1984 #Wonder Woman 1984

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rebellect-writes · 4 years

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[SIZE=1][b]Name:[/b] Jess. [b]Age:[/b] 21. [b]How did you find us?:[/b] I didn’t. You found me.

[b]Name:[/b] Ripley York. [b]Nicknames & Aliases:[/b] Rip, Ripper. Yorkie. [b]Age:[/b] 37. [b]Date of Birth:[/b] 12th of April 1975. [b]Gender:[/b] Male. [b]Sexual Orientation:[/b] Bisexual, though he’s more comfortable with males. [b]Occupation:[/b] Works in a bookshop in town.

[b]Animal Species:[/b] Spotted Hyena. [b]Animal Description: [/b] [IMG]http://i672.photobucket.com/albums/vv90/bloodwillout/app%20pics/spotted-hyena_1.jpg[/IMG] He’s your typical spotted hyena. Standing at 3’1 at the shoulders and from snout to rump, he’s 5’5. Ripley’s not very heavy though, only weighing in at 130lbs at large. His coat’s a lot softer then it looks, though don’t get any bright ideas and try petting without asking because his strong bite is worse than his bark. [b]Do you have a hybrid/alpha form?:[/b] Nope. [b]Rank:[/b] Rogue. Will join if the group returns. [b]How long has your character been a lycanthrope?:[/b] 16 years. (Infected at age 18.) [b]Mindset:[/b] Both. [b]Power level:[/b] Beta.

[b]Face Claim:[/b] Matthias Streitwieser. [b]Description:[/b] [IMG]http://i672.photobucket.com/albums/vv90/bloodwillout/app%20pics/2e2j6md.jpg[/IMG] [i]Height:[/i] 6’2 [i]Weight:[/i] 178lbs. [i]Eyes:[/i] Blue. [i]Hair:[/i] Brown. [i]Build:[/i] Average, muscled in all the right places. [i]Visible marks:[/i] He has a small black star on the inside of his right wrist, and the Chinese characters for ‘Ruby’ at the nape of his neck. Ripley also has faint bite marks along his neck and wrists that you can't really see unless you're looking close. [i]Style:[/i] Jeans, t-shirts and a thrown over jacket. Anything comfortable and practical is best. He will wear suits if he has to do so.

[b]Special Skills:[/b] [LIST] [*] He does know Greek and Spanish, and he’ll remember how to speak it in his own time. [*] He does know how to hold his own in a fight thanks to AJ helping him out. [/LIST][b]Personality:[/b] Ripley’s quiet and laid back most of the time. He’s been trained to value manners so you’ll rarely hear him forget them. He’s also been known to lapse into old tricks, where he won’t speak until he’s spoken to. If someone that’s a clear alpha or Master speaks to him, he will rarely look them in the eye unless they say he can do so and it’s little things like that that make things bearable for him. The last thing that he wants is someone to rip out his throat for something he didn’t even mean to do. On saying that, that doesn’t mean he’s completely submissive when it comes to those with more power than he has. Ripley has a deep rebellious and stubborn streak that shows its face at times, mostly when he’s in a sticky situation.

Some may even say that he gets mouthy and sarcastic when this streak of his rises to the surfaces, but Ripley hasn’t honestly noticed anything different except when people give him odd looks. When he’s around people that are younger than him in power, Ripley’s a little more open about things. He likes to laugh and joke around and even though he doesn’t out right say it, he’s the type of person that will give others another chance even though they’ve burned him in the past. Trust is something special to him, There’s only a couple of people that have his trust however, at times when he’s in pain or upset, he even closes down on them to protect himself. Maybe he doesn’t open up fully, but that still doesn’t stop him from being unspeakably loyal to the people that do him a good turn.

What people don’t know is, and what Ripley doesn’t remember is that he’s got a bad side. He won’t hesitate to do something if an orders given, if that means attacking someone and drawing blood, so be it. Sometimes an order doesn’t have to be given, he’ll go on the defensive if he has to, and the offensive if he needs to, to protect himself and those around him. It’ll hurt him, sure, but half the time he doesn’t even register that pain. He doesn’t like seeing people in pain, but it’s a trigger that’s so deeply rooted in his subconscious that he jumps before he really thinks. Another thing that hasn’t shown itself is that he’s addicted to a vampires bite, craves it and has for over twelve years, will do anything to get the fix. No doubt it will show, but for now, Ripley’s just a mite emotionally retarded and no one’s complained so who knows what trouble he’ll get into.

[b]Likes:[/b] [LIST] [*] Curling up with a good book when it’s raining. [*] Being bitten by a vampire. [*] Cooking. He’s a natural in the kitchen surprisingly. [*] Being stroked in his hyena form. [*] Watching a movie when he can’t sleep. [*] Exploring Jackford when he’s not working. [/LIST][b]Dislikes:[/b] [LIST] [*] When he can’t sleep because of tension headaches. [*] Drama. He can do without it. [*] Others shedding blood for no reason. [*] When he’s reprimanded. [*] Loud annoying music. [*] When he’s talked over by people but he won’t say anything. [/LIST][b]Strengths:[/b] [LIST] [*] He knows when to keep his mouth shut and eyes on the floor. [*] Can follow orders to the letter. [*] Doesn’t let how much pain he’s in show. If he’s in pain. [*] Good at giving people a shoulder to cry on if they need it. [*] He’s got all your standard shifting abilities. [*] Keeping his inner hyena on a short leash and away from others. [*] Giving people what they want to hear most of the time. [/LIST][b]Weaknesses:[/b] [LIST] [*] Won’t hesitate to put himself in the line of fire for someone else. [*] Doesn’t have an alpha form. [*] Can’t repeatedly shift repeatedly in one day, the most is five times back and forth. [*] He’s a bite addict. [*] Silver. [*] Hasn’t even known a true cackle. [*] Doesn’t always tell people when things are bothering him. [/LIST][b]Family:[/b][LIST] [*] Manuel Lagana; Father, died in an RTA. [*] Lucinda York; Mother, died in an RTA. [*] Dominga Lagana; Grandmother, died of natural causes. [/LIST][b]History:[/b]

During April of 1975, one man’s life came crumbling down around his ears because of a drunken one night stand with his best friend’s younger – and underage, at the time that things got hot and heavy in the bathroom – sister. Manuel came home one evening to find Lucinda on the couch, screaming and hollering as his mother and uncle scurried around trying to stop the baby that was coming one month early. One call was all it took when his common sense kicked in at the sight of the blood, to get Lucinda to the hospital and the help the teenager deserved. Despite the few complications with the birth and the consequences that followed, the baby now named Ripley, was allowed to come home just a little over a month later with Dominga Lagana – the baby’s biological grandmother on Manuel’s side – as the legal guardian, Manny and Lucinda being more babysitters than parents.

Growing up in Leeds; Ripley felt at home in the urban wilderness and it was the only thing that he knew. Lucinda always told him that she was his mum, he believed her, and he’d seen the pictures on Dominga’s albums. What he didn’t get though was why the York’s didn’t approve. They made it known that he wasn’t wanted when Lucinda had to take him along when she went to see her brothers or parents place. In the end, the strain that Lucinda was under, forced her to dump Ripley on Manuel and Dominga more and more, much to his Grandmother’s delight. She didn’t like the prissy little white girl or the judgmental patronising parents that sneered and crossed the street when they were walking the same way as them. The tension lasted for almost three years and everyone suffered for it, Manuel tried to patch things up and show to Lucinda’s parents that he wasn’t trash and Lucinda tried to show her parents that she wasn’t a child anymore and could look after herself, it was a bit redundant really, Ripley’s mum was twenty and legally an adult capable of looking after the five year old boy with Manuel who was twenty nine at the time. Dominga didn’t like that one bit but there wasn’t much that she could do at the time but sit back and make sure they didn’t kill Ripley by mistake by giving the kid drain cleaner or something instead of milk over his cornflakes in the morning.

Even school wasn’t a big thing in Ripley’s eyes; he was in and out of it for a lot of reasons. The majority of the time though, was for medical reasons; sometimes he wasn’t there because of life at home. By the time he was fourteen years old, he’d been permanently excused from physical education due to his poor health, expelled from two schools and facing being kicked out for the third time because of his slipping grades and general attitude to authority figures in his life. Lucinda even went as far as to send him to see a therapist because of these things and it just sent Ripley spiralling down a path of rebellion and hate to for the world around him. In fact, the only time he really seemed at peace was when he was with Granny Dominga’s dogs and the old gal used that to her advantage. He didn’t go to college, there was no point. Education wasn’t really something he’d excelled at and he didn’t want to stay at home for the rest of his life, so when Granny Dominga offered him a place to stay and work in her small greasy spoon cafe, he snapped it up and moved in with her. It really wasn’t that exciting afterwards; he lived with his Gran and saw his mum and dad every other day when they stopped by after their shifts at work. Basically, it was a rinse and repeat life and that suited him fine.

Fine, until just after his eighteenth birthday. His parents had ‘kidnapped’ him away for the day to have some good old fashioned bonding time; the truck that hit them came out of nowhere. One minute Ripley had been groaning about Britney Spears on the radio and the next there was chaos and the world was spinning as the car was pushed off the motorway and then there was simply silence. Lucinda and Manuel had been pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital and Ripley was rushed into surgery for multiple internal injuries and head trauma. He didn’t even know that his parents had died until he came around a couple of days later, and he’d had to plead with his Gran to find out what had happened to them. It was a shock, something that shocked him to his core because no matter how much of a brat he’d been to them growing up, he’d still loved them.

No one bothered to inform him, that the blood that had been used during one of several transfusions had been contaminated with lycanthropy. Maybe no one knew, but that was the hand that he was dealt. It probably would have been better if he’d know though, while he was healing up, because the following full moon after a particular nasty bought of the flu – or at least what he thought was the flu, little did he know that his body was changing and if he had, he’d have probably mad a joke about puberty hitting twice. – Ripley was locking up the cafe for the night and the hyena made itself known. It ripped its way out of him and destroyed the cafe when it found there was nothing to eat. The morning, once the animal had gone back, Ripley woke up in the remains of the cafe, sore and confused but feeling better than he had done in weeks, didn’t have a clue that he’d turned into a hyena though. When Dominga demanded to know what had happened, he told her that someone had broken in and trashed the place and that it had probably been a junkie looking for a fix.

The following weeks became a blur, more rinsing and repeating until one evening he felt an unmistakeable pull to just leave work. Just like that. There was no warning, no nothing. He just felt the need to go. He walked across the city to some seedy back alley dive that was home to all the drunken scum of the nation, or well, the city if you wanted to be technical. Defiantly not his place, and from the few others that were milling about that he noticed didn’t fit in, not theirs either. He found out exactly what was up though when they came in, lanky crew, pale, avoided mirrors and standing directly under lights, looked like the supporting act for the guys that did the YMCA. For a moment Ripley had thought that he was being set up by his friends, because bikers with fangs? Really? It was so wrong. So out there, so unnatural, and yet so normal all at the same time, and it just made Rip curious and scared for what was happening next. The crazy red headed chick in the corner that was cackling and stroking a flipping big hyena was even more out there and put the fear of God into him.

Ripley York never came home that day and wasn’t seen by his Gran again.

He was dragged down to Cardiff with the vampires and the red headed bint with a few of the other guys that had ended up in the bar with him. Mistress Ruby – the self proclaimed Queen of the merry little band – told them what was happening, how he’d service the vampires just like the others that had come to her call. Ripley refused and started mouthing off, and so he was punished. Ruby ripped his inner beast out repeatedly before forcing it back over the space of three days. Then Theodore – the king of the band, a big guy that could’ve snapped Ripley over his thigh for disobedience – decided that that wasn’t enough and decided he wanted a taste, and a taste he got and then some. Just like the rest of the rogue band that called the Hyena Queen and Vampire Master their leader because to them, Ripley and the hyenas that had been Called where nothing but animals meant to be used in anyway their Masters saw fit. Theodore didn’t just have hyenas at his beck and call, there were other shifters as well that were pets to the thirteen vampires that he ruled, while he was a rotting vampire, there were Belle Morte rogues and fear masters and beast masters to boot and each and every one of them where young enough to be a power to be reckoned with and still hate the way that the vampire council did things.

Over the next twelve years, between Ruby and Theodore the young hyena started to lose himself. The rebellion and need to fight what was happening to him died, painfully and slowly, but it did die. Gone were the days he had to go around wearing a collar and on the end of a leash and had to be escorted by one of Ruby’s older and more treasured pets. He was no longer handcuffed to the bed of some two-bit vampire Rogue. He was allowed to come and go as he pleased, because they had something he needed, something he craved so badly that he broke out into cold sweats, shakes and shivers. He craved them. Needed them just like the air he breathed some nights that he would go down on his knees and beg to be bitten. It wasn’t always easy either; Ripley would have to do things that he didn’t want to do but did it anyway. Mistress Ruby explained it one time when she’d been waiting for Theodore to wake, she told him that it was them simply asking for a favour because they’d given him a gift.

That wasn’t to say that it was all doom and gloom, despite his current situation, Ripley made friends. One such friend was Sissy. It wasn’t exactly a fun evening for the both of them. Ruby and Theo’s second in command dragged him along to a local tattoo parlour that had a decent reputation in the inked circles. The Mistress wanted something new and exciting, and the vampire and Rip were only sent along as bodyguards for the crazy bitch. Ripley wouldn’t have done anything if the beast master male hadn’t taken a shine to the girl, oh he’d seen her, she’d been chatting with an artist or something, but the vampire took an instant dislike to her for some reason. The artist was rolled, mentally told to forget that they’d ever existed as the vampire went after Sissy. Ripley was left with Ruby and boy, did he want to help the girl.

The moment blood was drawn; he had an idea and turned to the bitch queen that had sat giggling the whole time. He bargained for her safety, offering Ruby anything she wanted in return. Liking that idea, Ruby pulled the beast master off the red headed girl, and after checking on Sissy to make sure that she was ok, Ripley turned to get what was coming his way. All she asked was that he get a tattoo of her choice in return for the girls life and safety, Ripley didn’t even question it and let the Mistress do what she wanted, sat through the rolled tattoo artist branding him with the Chinese characters for ‘Ruby’ at the nape of his neck, after his Mistress and the beast master got theirs. Theodore never noticed that his servant and queen had left her permanent mark on another man, if he had then they would have destroyed the parlour, killed Sissy and the artist that had done their work, instead they stayed in town, the vampires and shifters coming and going as they got new ink and Ripley got to know Sissy a bit more.

Eventually the group moved on to a place called Jackford at the back end of 2010; they rolled into town and found that there was so much chaos they could create. They didn’t have to do anything; there was no time because Ruby, during a Christmas shopping break, was smacked down by a blonde harpy. The Oba of Jackford didn’t like another in her territory and she made that clear when she drew first blood, Ripley had grinned at that, seeing the scarlet streaks down on freckled cheek. Ruby didn’t have time to defend herself, and even if she had, Theo was the ruler and he declared no one was to help and Ruby was furious. She gave it all she had, but on her own with no vampires or hyenas to help her, Petra Graves whooped her skanky ass fair and square then told the rest of the mob to take Ruby and leave her town. Theodore was fairly reasonable, as an Old World gentleman at heart, he agreed and they made plans to leave though he requested a little time from Petra because it was Christmas. His logic being that it would be their first proper Christmas together and sadly, Petra agreed.

Over the next three months, the rogue band drifted apart. There’d been moments when Ripley had wondered if he could just slip away and make a run for the Kiss that had been reconstructing itself from the ground up. However he didn’t have to. In February, one of Ruby’s other pets made a big fuss about not being marked in front of Theodore of all creatures. Ruby, desperate to shut the idiot up, snapped his neck but it was too late for that. Theo had heard enough and dragged Ripley close to check and sure enough, the Master saw the tattoo was there. Theodore crushed Ripley’s throat and tossed him aside like trash to die in the gutter, before dragging his whore-queen off to deal with her. The two hyenas bodies where left in a semi completed housing estate, but that wasn’t the end of them, nobodies in a sea of silence.

Ripley should have died, except he didn’t. The male had no idea what had happened but one moment he was choking and struggling for air that wasn’t there and then the next it was daylight and he was blinking up at the faces of two werewolves that called the Fun House home. One of the wolves, Eric, had ripped Ripley’s inner beast out to try and save him and it had worked, mostly. As a result from the event, Rip didn’t know what had happened, who they where, where he was. Nothing at all except his name, and the flashes that he gets sometimes when he’s stressed, he hasn’t spoken of them to anyone at all. So here he is, in Jackford, a ward of the kiss and still a nobody.[/SIZE]

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energonalucard · 5 years

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A FEM Team of my Own Design (RED Edition)

Usually, I don't like doing this kinda stuff. One: I don't usually share my ideas and I am very nervous. Second: FEM characters are one thing, BUT A WHOLE (TWO) TEAM makes me sweat. The good sweat, but also a nervous sweat. Because I am now sharing a personal part of my brain and my love for woman. Beautiful. Lovely. Yes.

@medics-secret-shipfic-folder, this is one half of those FEM's I talked about!

Is this more OC team's then canon gender swap? Yeah, and that's because I don't think that's my endgame here, I didn't make these for a gender bend AU, I made them out of love and from a community of great idea makers. I'd rather make OC's then be another generic half-hearted bending AU maker. <3 <3

Also, this really is just a dumb fact thing as I don't want to give away plot stuff. Fun facts and getting to know them a bit.

(Yes, I said PLOT)

═══════❖══════════════❖═══════════

-- RED Team:

𝗦𝗰𝗼𝘂𝘁: The default FEM Scout you see around. Pony-tail, blonde like normal Scout, Bostonian. Has a bit of dimples but I swear, she'll punch you if you call her cute.

She/Her. Straight, but an Ally. Or so she says. Nobody believes her.

But something you won't know is how many sisters she has! The answer is four. Four sisters and a single dad back in Boston. While lower on the sibling count then most Scout's she is far more likely to NOT talk your ear off in a large group... but will corner you and chat you a blue streak if your like Sniper or Spy and seclude yourself. Since she has less family to push her to run, she's a slower Scout but she can run ALL day pal. Even Medic needs a break but she keeps going, going, going...

Will beat you with heels/pumps (Spy will have loaned them) if you even offer the idea of her wearing them. Sneakers, pal, are Gods gift to feet.

Right handed, and uses left only to throw a ball or clever. Only. ONLY.

Once drank Mad Milk. No one saw them for three days. Medic had her strapped to a table. She apparently was found in town on a rooftop at 6 AM after vomiting loud enough for neighbors to notice. She got better, but has amnesia from the incident.

Favorite weapon of all time is the Holy Mackerel, because its freaking hilarious and Spy's are disgusted by it. Also reminds her of her dad only being able to cook fish and roast back home in Boston.

𝗦𝗼𝗹𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗿: Looks like the canonical Soldier, but her hair is similar to the Battle Bob (https://wiki.teamfortress.com/wiki/Battle_Bob) but with no bangs and it barely peaking from her helmet. Blonde, American, and named John Doe respectively.

She/Her. Bi(romantic/sexual).

Has a thing for tank tops and will wear them around base when not on duty, because she's a very sweaty person and her clothes suffer (and who ever does laundry as well). This was a compromise. Trust the RED Team on that one (Medic approved).

Helmet 100% of the time though.

Bra comes off = be ready for a fight maggot.

Has more lower body strength, absolutely loves the Manntreads. But don't underestimate her running Original. See her on Battalion? She most likely has Rage ready when she pops out of nowhere.

Has no idea why people tell her walking around naked is weird/distracting/rude or whatnot. She's covered up! In jam (Pyro mourns their jam and preservatives cupboard)!

𝗣𝘆𝗿𝗼: Looks... exactly how a Pyro should. Like a balloon bodied Pyro. Yeah, nothing strange here other then their SASS. Dear heavens.

They/Them. Non-binary.

You've only seen these Pyro's around three or four bases in your entire LIFETIME. This walking bag of fire does not have time for ANY bullshit. Loves doing the windup middle finger when someone does something stupid/rude. Isn't really all that serious as they are made out to be but you get it.

Still loves Balloonicorn and cooking even though they act like any other merc. Has a tea set with crudely melted crayons on its outside.

Wanna get BACK here? BACK into THEIR base? Turn around and head BACK son. Backburner and Thruster Pack predator, all day unless the team suffers.

Covers up Soldier in a towel if she's naked. Sows up Demo's pants if she splits them. Engie loves them when they swing by with anything cinnamon realated. Second most likely to do everyone's laundry.

Arsonist Guardian of the Year Award.

𝗘𝗻𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗿: Just like Scout, the typical Femgineer model but this time, she's more chubby then her skinny model on Gamebanana. Her overalls like default Engineer helps her self esteem though. Brunette, Texan, and still a shortie.

She/Her. Bi(romantic/sexual), but leans more towards men.

Ever seen a small volcano of 5'4'' and puffy red cheecks? You've met it, you've angered it. But you ain't staying conscious for long. Not with her weilding a Southern Hospitality just for this occasion.

Has made many comments about making traps and watching unfortunate folk "disappear" from her daddy's old farm. Nobody questions why the cameras in the building have tiny barrels attached to them and a laser sight.

Has mentioned a husband or at least a male partner once to Sniper. Never elaborated. Never showed a ring or even a smile when talking about him.

Cinnamon and jam enthusiast along with Pyro, and the most flustered when Soldier is covered in it.

Hair bun is a must unless she ties it flat with pins. Short hair because she don't wanna catch fire. Smells like burnt metal and a dulled oil smell nobody can rinse out of her clothes. Her hardhat is permanently on her head, googles are a go too. Welding smock and overalls in and out of battle.

𝗛𝗲𝗮𝘃𝘆: Like before, like Gamebanana FEM Heavy. Brunette (like two of her sisters), Russian, and actually has scars all across her chest if you can see her shirt peak off-hours.

She/Her. Lesbian (romantically involved with RED Medic).

You probably think Medic is the one most likely to do laundry since I said Pyro was second right? (I'm not that predictable ;>) Nope, its Heavy. Heavy doesn't like machine washers unless she has to deal with jeans or other thicker fabrics she knows won't dry in under 12 hours correctly (because they fight EVERY day). She washed unmentionables too, and does not make it weird. Until Sniper literally has to answer about why all her underwear is stained yellow, Sniper she just wants you to have nice clean clothes--

You ask Pyro for dinner if you miss a meal or have a diet going on. If Heavy catches anyone not eating, they eat double. Diets? Heavy always grew up with the mentality you ate what you could get, but Heavy is not heartless. Since food types are abundant, she is careful about diets. But she'll still make you eat it double.

Her girlfriend doesn't eat pork products, so she understands. (Slightly)

Natasha may be her right hand gun but her doctor will always have her heart and soul. Still bought a better bed for Natasha though, but don't tell doctor.

Once beat a male Scout cause he called her ally Engineer a fatty. Has had to fend off two Scout's from her team's Spy ("Heavy, they had information I needed." / "Intelligence? Bah."). Actually stepped on a drunk Demo's crotch on accident, but did apologise.

Loves her girlfriends muscles way more then her curves, she has no idea why. But she can appreciation a nice bottom when she sees it.

Two little sisters, an older brother who's tettering around step-brother, and a mother who's nearly paralyzed from the waist down. But that woman was her light, she did things not many woman do anymore and for that wisdom and learning, Heavy is grateful. Mother also instilled a fear of swatters with a shoe tied to it. Creative, but scary.

𝗗𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻: Actually looks like The Demowoman made based on Drew Wolf's own design, but I think a bit more fuller in the cheeks and chin (more square). Scottish, eyes sharp as a sass lass, and a thick as hell skull.

She/Her. Pan(romantic/sexual).

Once cried in a pile of bras while drunk. Not her own. That's how everyone learned about Spy being... more on that later.

Has a father and mother, but both are leaning so far towards insanity she gave up listening a long time ago. Still doesn't back talk them though, she just pacifies them by dividing her money and saying she has many jobs.

Gains weight like crazy, and its not all the alcohols fault. Food is just very heavy in America and since the team is 1/3 American she feels enlarged everytime a meal based around or for the Americans is brought out. And dear god Heavy, bear goes straight to her muffin top. Spy notices her uncomfortable nature when eating and generally tries to swap out their plates (Spy fussing at the chief before dinner saying she needs X on her plate and not Y, just so Demo can keep her ideal self). (Don't tell Demo, she's too drunk to notice it)

Actually will hug Soldier when naked and be like, "Nothing weird about it". Has actually kissed Spy's hand like you'd do royalty as a joke. Has actually spun Medic around in a circle in a bear hug before.

She's all for makeup, but really, all she can manage normally and steadily is lipstick. At least she can wipe it away if she wants (can't wipe away the pain of stabbing your only good eye with a mascara brush).

Nobody touches her hair, never. But she likes doing other's hair. She isn't all that good with cutting or styling or maintaining hair, but playing with hair or just running her hands through it is amazing. The body hair on her legs is shaven and so are her underarms, but her arms and "moustache" that Scout notices are well grown out.

Quickiebomb Launcher Quickiebomb Launcher Quickiebomb Launcher Quickiebomb Launcher Quickiebomb Laun--

Hair always under a beany, nobody sees her hair until much later. She had it all in one wide french braid. Wait, doesn't she normally fail at braids? How did she get that?

𝗠𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰: (Okay, this is where similarities in the FEM models stops. To me, I don't really like the FEM Medic model as much as I should for OC's so I'll explain Medic as best I can.) Just like any male Medic counterpart and she has a square-ish chin, with curves almost as boxy as some of her cosmetics. But its a good boxy, she's wide with muscle and shoulders to carry injured teammates. Black hair, German, and the creepiest white teeth you've ever seen.

She/Her. Lesbian (romantically involve with the Heavy). Gay Energy™.

Thicc thighs saves lives. Like, no joke. She is mostly muscles in her legs and torso so everyone assumed she was good at running. Even Scout. Once lifted Demo with ease in her arms and gave Pyro a piggyback ride all at once. It did strain her back and she was slower, but she was fine after dropping Demo in a safer spot to sleep.

Her posture is shit, but she does form corrections regularly, and uses a pillow to cheat the system if she's grumpy enough.

Her teeth. God, her teeth anywhere in blue lighting make weaker mercs a bit dizzy. You've never seen teeth have a blue-green tint like hers, it feels like watching a horror movie permanently set in a blue shaded tint.

Does not eat pork products, and won't elaborate. Will eat beef, but not pork. Maybe she just hates it? Maybe. A diet? Even Heavy shrugs it off now when it happens.

Medic gives the thumbs up for Soldier walking around in tanktops. Naked Soldier is also a thumbs up. All those bras Demo collected once had Medic sorting through them happily. Actually figured out Spy's real cup size.

Medic has banned Sniper's ace bandage bras. Not in this house, not under her roof. She fits Sniper for personally made bras, Spy bought and tailored.

Loyal girlfriend. But gayer. Heavy is fine with it, and actually partakes in showing everyone love sometimes too. Since Demo is also affectionate, it can't be too bad.

Push-up queen, but will drop in the dirt in exhaustion afterwards. She only beats Soldier by a few points and mostly runs on spite.

Has actually stollen all her team's uterus'. What?! She gave them all back later! Just... someone else needed them first. And in a Female vs Female war zone her teammates weren't planning on using them. But they are back now! Well... not all.

Has actually tried to make a Spyper out of an old male Spy and Sniper she used to fight. Both just despawned and targeted her the next day. Sadly.

BLU Demo's line about shagging Medic's husband always makes her go into a laughing fit.

Has a ring ready for Heavy, because Heavy is best wife material and loves her dearly.

𝗦𝗻𝗶𝗽𝗲𝗿: (Changed a bit too.) Taller then her Gamebanana model, and god is her face longer and more like regular Sniper. You've heard of laugh lines but the Sniper has frown lines, and the dip in her cheeks has wrinkles from the sun. She has a unibrow growing almost as fast as you can wax it, she leaves it be. So much arm hair. Brunette, Australian (New Zealand), and her hands are big for her size.

She/Her. Bi(romantic), Asexual.

Never shaves. Never.

She has a mom, a dad, and a big brother. Her brother snipe's as well for RED Team and they have secret mail chains going between them (not so secret, Administrator knows). Her parents don't know she's Bi and after what they said to her brother about him being Trans, she never wanted to figure out.

Her brother is actually fully transitioned with the help of a Medic who seemed pro-Trans. Of course the doctor waved that off but he had been careful about the procedure enough that they could tell he was a good doctor about all this.

Her brother is the reason she wears ace bandages for bras. So he wouldn't feel bad. She just never STOPPED wearing them after that, and she always reasoned it was because of her broken family and wanting to hold on a little longer. A "little longer" was nearly nineteen years of wearing it to help her brother mentally. Until Medic banned it. Then, she had tailored bras that were strapless but wouldn't fall down. Sometimes goes without the bra onto the battlefield and will tie her shirt off as a makeshift support. She doesn't feel she betrayed him, just... cloth is real itchy sometimes.

Jarate. Isn't... entirely enthusiastic about hygiene outside of basic shower stuff, brushing her teeth, and trimming her nails. Her underwear is clean but since jarate is... yeah, it stains her clothes. Jarate is a lot harder for females to make with how pants work.

Yes, has mooned the enemy Spy before. Not on purpose. Many times. Yes, her pride is shattered every time it happens.

Had long hair upon arrival to this war. She refused to cut it even as her team warned her about what long hair can cause. She changed her mind after the male enemy Spy yanked her around by it and smashed her head in a windowsill. She had her ally Spy cut it after she could stomach letting it be tugged, even for a cut. Spy was gentle, and asked her questions on what she prefers: suits or dresses.

Suits mate.

(And that BLU Spy was never seen again on the battlefield after a week.)

𝗦𝗽𝘆: (Different from the model ENTIRELY, I really do not like the Spy FEM model at all. But I have grown more warm towards it lately, probably from my BLU team ideas *wink* *wink*) Wears a suit like all other Spy's, and a balaclava as well. Her shoes are as Italian as they come and could take out a man's eye they are so sharp. Blue eyes, sharp chin and nose, and she is NOT a mother.

She/Her. Pan(romantic/sexual)/Polygamous.

Is not the mother to any children at all. She does not need nor want any. Still gets all the men thought. And ladies.

She actually does not have a uterus at all, she caught wind the doctor had taken something out of her (what Medic doesn't) and didn't want it back. Turns out, she really does not care for the missing body part. Oh well, a Spy's lose is a Medic's fortune.

Has her breasts restricted a bit by a special SpyTech bra that distributes muscle instead of pressing it all against her lungs. She looks like a D cup for her bust size. Is a E cup naturally. Medic drools when she sees the tag on the bra for the first time. Sometimes wears buisness casual around base, without her SpyTech bra and using a normal one for comfort. Attracts Demo and Soldier like flies when she does.

Cuts and manages everyone's hair. Sniper was her first job, and that was easy. Next was Medic coming in it get a half fade. Next was Soldier to keep her hair barely peaking from the helmet. Demoman was the hardest to convince and she can only touch her hair if she "uses those leather fancy gloves" she always wears at all times while braiding Demo's hair.

That BLU Spy from before? Gutted multiple times over the course of games throughout a week. His score suffered and he was moved to a team of lesser skill. A temporary "fix" to the problem. She still wants to gut him but can't do it outside of work hours as he's employeed to BLU (costing her a contract). But did find him in a seedy city with the mother of his child, and casually reminded him of his deeds out of spite while in disguise. He apologized, but she refused to take it. She wasn't the victim. They parted ways after that and promised to never see each other again.

Will actually hit Scout on the head. Hand open, palm ready. Right in the back of her head. Stupid American loudmouth...

Likes the Dead Ringer with the stock revolver a lot, and likes being active. Really good at acting like Pyro, its kinda scary. It's probably the sassy movements they mastered.

Third least shameful having no top on. Proven.

Has secret meetings with BLU Spy outside both base ranges. For some reason, even though the ritual of enemy teams Spy's meeting and exchanging whatever they have for whatever they need is long over they both still come out here. Probably to get away from the base and at least smoke in peace, or at least she hopes so.

-- BLU Team... (soon)

#Team Fortress 2 #TF2 #TF2 AU #TF2: Stay The Same #FEM Classes #Scout #Soldier #Pyro #Engineer #Heavy #Demoman #Medic #Sniper #Spy

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leviosarpg · 5 years

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Congratulations, SNOOZE! You have been accepted for the role of AMADEUS AVERY! Snooze, where do I begin with this app? When I created Amadeus I knew I wanted depth, but Snooze, you gave me so much more depth than I could have ever dreamed, I mean for goodness sake, you gave me an entire diagram! Your app genuinely captured me from beginning to end. From Amadeus’s relationship with his sister, Isolda, to his fascination with Ancient Runes, I was beyond blown away with how you managed to flesh Amadeus out into a fully actualized person--a living, breathing wizard. But what put this incredible app over-the-top, was your incredible second para sample. Despite bringing so much depth to Amadeus, you still manged to highlight his cruelty in a way so gut-wrenchingly perfect, know I will remain in complete awe for the rest of the night.

Your faceclaim change to: Keith Powers has been accepted. Don’t forget to send in your account to the main and complete the items listed on the CHECKLIST!

THE PLAYER

name/age/pronouns/timezone: Susan (though I prefer Snooze); 18; she/her; PST

THE CHARACTER

desired role: Funny story! Amadeus was actually not my first choice. I was trying to figure out who to apply between Bishop, Odin, and Silvanus. I got my Amadeus inspiration from brainstorming for Bishop, because I was asking myself, what kind of dude is Bishop listening to? Then I got into a rabbit hole and tada! Amadeus app.

Here’s the thing: Amadeus is nothing like any character I’ve played/written before. I tend to be attracted to characters who stand in the middle, who are struggling with a decision, torn between two sides, who don’t want to check the option boxes presented to them and who seek to make their own paths. But Amadeus grabs my attention. He grows up with a solid foundation and he’s sure of himself. He knows exactly what he’s doing. What happens if things deviate from his plans? He may be smart but he’s only eighteen. There are things he doesn’t know and situations he hasn’t experienced. His relationship with Seneca is so, so intriguing because how in Merlin’s name can a person like him has feelings? I’m also a sucker for secret/forbidden romance, so there’s that. I want to let him suffer and make mistakes — I want to see his growth and how the war and certain secrets will change him. He’s a volatile little guy. Anyway, read on!

gender/pronouns: he/him; cis-male

extracurriculars: In addition to the pre-selected ones, Amadeus is also in Astronomy Club, Charms Club, and Dueling Club,

para sample:

Note: The first sample I have no specific year in mind — it could be Amadeus’ fifth, sixth, or seventh year. The second one takes place in the summer of Amadeus’ fifth year.

Also! To prevent any confusion, since I wrote the app non-chronologically, Isolda is Amadeus’ little sister. They are eight years apart. Isolda was kidnapped in the summer of Amadeus’ fifth year, and he was the one who tortured and killed her kidnapper afterward.

————————————

Amadeus dressed in the dark, glancing at a mirror that only outlined the dark silhouette of his body, as the sun has yet to rise this early in the day, and he broke the unbearable silence by humming quietly a tune whose origin he could not recall. His mind was still groggy from the ten-hour sleep he’d indulged in yesterday. Stifling a yawn, he snatched his wand from the nightstand and whispered a Reducio to his trunk.

When he was about to leave, the door to his room cracked open, letting in a sliver of darkness against the grey carpet of the floor — the hallways had always had a tendency to cloak itself in pitch-black shadows, even darker than his room. A small figure entered.

“Where ar’ya goin’,” Isolda muttered, her words slurred together because she certainly shouldn’t be up at this time. Amadeus frowned, turned on the chandelier light with a wandless wave, and kneeled down to see her face-to-face.

“Hogwarts, of course,” he replied. “I would’ve stopped by your room before I leave, you know that?”

She nodded, though she didn’t seem convinced. “Papa said the same when he was going to Turkey, but he didn’t.”

Amadeus sighed; his father may be a great man, but he never remembered his promises. He hoisted Isolda up and tucked his left arm underneath her legs so that her face was buried in his neck, then he walked to her room. His nerves tingled while going upstairs, but his parents, he thought, were still deeply asleep and thus unlikely to appear and shake their heads at his physical display of care. It was a shame that Isolda was born into a culture of rigidity. She was too emotional for her own good.

She was already sleeping when they arrived, so Amadeus laid her gently on her bed and pulled the blanket over her. He fished from his pocket a small set of papers, upon which he’d copied numerous alchemical formulas from Hogwarts’ library. Surely she would have a grand time looking through them until Christmas.

After that, he called for Milsy, their house-elf, to make sure that his notes to his parents would be delivered when they breakfasted later. Shrugging on a suit jacket and a hat, he left the Averys’ premises with his miniaturized trunk and apparated away.

Amadeus stopped by Hogsmeade Post Office to drop off several contract packages for his father, then he headed to Borgin and Burkes. The air was so foggy and saturated that he felt as if he’d just swam the Thames.

“The Tome of Cleopatra,” he demanded upon entering. The man working behind the faux-wood table pursed his lips and sniffed his rat-like nose twice, but Amadeus only needed to lift his eyebrows to kick the man into gear. Anyone who didn’t recognize him may as well sign a death warrant — a social one if he was in a good mood or a literal one if he wasn’t. While waiting, he eyed a pair of gilded cufflinks sitting in a glass box on a shelf. Diamonds decorated their surface, glittering brightly despite the dust that had settled on the box. They were certainly expensive and a fitting gift for someone he knew. He may have to lift some curses, but that shouldn’t be too hard. Small, probably unnoticeable, easily excusable price, perhaps …

No, no. Amadeus let the temptation slide. He should not be so careless — nor should he, for that matter, assume that the action would be appreciated. The man returned, slamming the thick book on the counter, and Amadeus felt dread creeping up his spine.

Merlin helps me, how can I go through this whole thing?

He slid the pouch of Galleon over and left with the tome. Seeing a beggar on the side of the road, he spat on the old woman’s face, then, for good measure, kicked her can of coins as far as possible. He wanted to make other people feel as miserable as he suddenly was.

The damn book. These damn feelings. This bloody muggy weather. What rights do they have to make him feel like a failure? Nothing! He was fucking Amadeus Avery! His throne sat on a wealth of power and money and he knew how to keep and better them. The economy of Wizarding Britain lay in his palm. The rich magic of this planet was his to command. He was not a failure.

Platform 9 ¾ was, as expected, empty, with only a couple of stragglers here and there and two shady individuals whispering near the ticket station. The Hogwarts train was here though, and its doors were unlocked, so Amadeus entered and claimed a cabin for himself. On the cabins of the Gryffindors he carved a mild curse of bad vision, created a few weeks ago, and hoped that it would kick in at opportune times during Quidditch matches, though there was a large chance that he guessed the cabin wrong or that the curse would have already petered out by then.

Satisfied with his task, he returned to his cabin and lay down on the bench, drifting off to a quick nap.

————————————

Trigger warning: Violence, gore, death, vomiting, torture

Money changed hands, and Amadeus stepped inside the cell where Isolda’s kidnapper was sleeping, resting, so peacefully that Amadeus felt his hatred burst out like a cobra springing to tear apart its prey. The man shifted on the stone floor. Amadeus gripped his wand tighter and thought, if you know what’s good for you, you will wake up now, a clumsy attempt at Legilimency, but he didn’t care for it had succeeded. The man’s eyes snapped open, deranged and red, and a half-smile tugged on the corner of his chapped, bloody lips.

“What’s this?” he spoke, voice hoarse and tinged with amusement. “Come to kill me?”

He stared down at the wretched piece of shit that didn’t deserve the mercy of the Dementors with his back straight, his voice steady, and he said, “Yes.”

The man mustn’t have expected a direct answer, as his expression faltered for a moment, but he went on, “Yeah, let’s do it then.”

“Not yet. Petrificus Totalus.”

The spell hit true. Amadeus shrugged off his suit jacket and set it on the floor; then he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, unhurried, for he had all the time in the world, all the while he flickered brief glances at the kidnapper to gauge his emotions, which had become more muted, more cautious, and, to Amadeus’ pleasure, more frightened.

Amadeus placed his wand on top of his rumpled suit, popped a collar button open, and kicked the man’s stomach hard. The man’s back slammed into the wall with a satisfying crack. Amadeus kicked again, this time to the man’s chest, and heard the pleasant sound of ribs breaking. He went on, and on, and on, lost in the vesuvian rage, in the rhythm of grunts and the thudding of soft flesh. At one point Amadeus straddled the man’s body and started punching his face, aiming everywhere he could—cheeks, nose, mouth, forehead.

“You think you can insult an Avery and leave unscathed?” Amadeus shouted, panting from the physical exertion. “You touched my sister, filthy mudblood, and I will make you fucking beg to be killed by the end of this.”

He stood up and backed away a few steps, grabbing his wand.

“Petrificus Totalus, Petrificus Totalus, Petrificus Totalus,” Amadeus intoned.

The man’s muscles seized tighter, tighter, until he was shaking and sweating and the veins in his neck were bulging, until several loud snaps rang loud, the sounds of ruptured muscles and tendons, and Amadeus felt the delicious, ugly glee in him morph into a grin. He released the spell, but the man remained in the same position, cursing, pleading, tearing up.

“Crucio.” A roar of pain; the man’s body arched up.

“Crucio.” Nonsensical babbling for mercy; empty promises to do whatever the Averys wanted. Too late.

“Crucio.” Eyes rolled up; a drooling mess; broken whimpers.

Amadeus paused. He breathed. He calmed his pounding heart. He’d gone further than he had ever been, and his fingers were trembling, maybe from the magical drain, maybe from the bleeding knuckles, maybe from the horror that was beginning to overcome his fury. But—Isolda, he thought. The rational part of his mind was yelling at him to stop, retreat, recalculate, for he, frankly, didn’t know where this was heading toward, didn’t know if he would jump off that cliff of indecision and into the chasm of immorality, passing the point of no return, staining his hand with the blood of another.

So Amadeus delayed. He transfigured all his buttons to thin needles, then he crouched down and held up the man’s hand. The hand that dared take away Isolda.

“Ennervate.”

This was the part he would not remember, the part that would appear blank were he to search for it:

Amadeus lined a needle to the tip of the man’s index finger and pushed it in steadily, watching life, awakened by pain, returning to the man’s dull eyes. The man screamed, wildly, uncontrollably, all his self-control gone. Amadeus kept on going: middle finger, ring finger, pinky. Deaf to the howling, he repeated the procedure to the other hand, half of his mind a far distance from reality while the other half drew on courage from hatred. Afterward, Amadeus stabbed the man in the stomach with the knife in his pants’ pocket, once for every hour Isolda was missing, methodically, as if hypnotized. He switched to the thighs once he ran out of space.

Finished, Amadeus moved back and took stock of his handiwork. The darkness of night hid the worst parts, but somehow he could still make out every bruise, every cut, and every bit of blood that littered the man’s body. The man yet lived.

“Merlin,” he murmured.

He pointed his wand to the man again.

You’ve got to mean it.

He’d done this before, a dozen times, but only to kill insects or to pretend to kill Isolda’s monster in the closet, never to a human.

You’ve got to be calm. I don’t care if you’re in the middle of a five-way duel, find that moment of silence in your head.

He reminded himself that this—this was worth it. For Isolda. For the Averys name. Or, if not, to end the man’s suffering.

Aim, draw on your willingness to kill, and be swift. Like snapping your fingers.

“Avada Kedavra.”

A flash of green, and then, the end.

He put on his suit jacket and cast an illusion over himself. Money changed hands, from a quivering grip to a hesitant palm, and Amadeus apparated back home. All of the lights were off, and he stumbled down the hallway, noisily, but only one elf appeared. She asked what he needed, but he didn’t reply, so she followed him as he opened the door to his room, crossed the bed, pushed forward the bathroom’s door, planted his hands on the sides of the sink, looked at himself in the mirror, and saw, as reality closed down on him like a strangling noose, the wretched face of a murderer and the wide, panicked eyes of a teenager yet to be of age.

He threw up. For a while.

“Milsy,” he called after his stomach stopped churning, throat still burning from the acid and nose thick with the scent of vomit.

“Yes, Master?”

“Get me some warm milk.”

“With three spoons of honey, Master?”

“Yeah.”

The house elf went away.

Now facing his reflection alone, Amadeus glared at himself, as if disgusted with his inability to contain the appearance of shock, and he said, “It was a good kill.”

Then, again, with more bravo, “It was a good kill. Your first one too.” He paused. “You need to learn that sooner or later, so it doesn’t matter either way. Father did it when he was eighteen. Mother when she was twenty. Everyone does it.” Not to mention it was a befitting punishment for taking away Isolda for thirty six hours.

And so he kept on going, muttering to himself, repeating what he’d said, making it a mantra, making it his truth, a truth that he, perhaps, could live with.

OTHERS & EXTRA (OPTIONAL)

FC: Keith Powers!

Extra Content!

Disclaimer: I’m 100% down to change some details of what I wrote below, since a lot of them involve my cursory interpretation of the rest of the characters. Also, I try to explore his relationship with Seneca as much as possible, but I don’t want to delve too deep until I talk to Seneca’s writer & discuss some details.

BIOGRAPHY (Intro, Hogwarts, Tom Riddle): An imaginary piece of writing by Amadeus, briefly exploring his past and his years at Hogwarts. Note that this represents his perception of the world around him and does not necessarily reflect reality, especially when he boasts about his accomplishments. This is how he wants people to remember him.

LETTERS I WILL NOT SEND, WORDS I WILL NEVER SAY: Short, non-chronological pieces that Amadeus “writes” (the exact mechanics are explained in PERSONALITY section) and burns as an outlet for his emotions for Seneca. Amadeus only pens these when he’s overwhelmed with feelings, so they may seem excessively sentimental.

PERSONALITY: Self-explanatory.

HEADCANONS: Things that I can’t fit into other categories. This part may seem really messy because I was jotting down thoughts as I go, so I apologize in advance!

THE DIAGRAM: Because I got lost in Amadeus’ complexity. It’s in a separate photo submission.

————————————

BIOGRAPHY

Introduction

August 15, 1942

As the heir of the Illustrious and Ancient House of Avery, it is traditional that I record the events in my life for future generations to peruse. For this is merely the first draft, I shall save the typical long-winded introduction for later and get started on the story.

My parents are a good match, perhaps the best there has ever been in the Avery line. My mother is Calista Avery, the Averys’ Matriarch, and my father Sivert Solberg, heir to the prominent Solberg line in Norway. They met during the Autumn Ball of Marseilles and was engaged three years later, in 1925. Their marriage was a winter one, brilliant and luxurious with six hundred and eighty two guests from Britain and Norway. Sivert adopted our name as per traditions of marrying a Head of a family, and I was born about two years later in the summer solstice of 1928. I should have had two sisters, but my mother miscarried once, so now it is only me and little Isolda, who is eight years younger than me. She will be attending Beauxbaton three years from now, and we are, naturally, very excited, for our private tutors have affirmed that she has talents in Alchemy. I was jealous of her for a while — Alchemy, after all, is the field of famous wizards such as Nicholas Flamel and Albus Dumbledore. But I later realized that her work would bring her to the shadows, to the edge of the crowd, while I, heir and a genius myself of the Dark Arts, would have the spotlight. I have stopped my unwarranted competition with her since and have fully devoted to train her to be worthy of the Avery name.

But enough about my sister. My name is Amadeus Avery. I have no middle name, for I am in the shadow of no one but myself. The Avery name is powerful, the Avery blood more so, and I plan to be the greatest Avery to have ever lived. I was born June 22, 1928, a day brimming with magic and, coincidentally, also the birthdate of the 5th Head of the Averys. My birth was a hard one, for I was my mother’s first child, twelve hours in total, a sign, apparently, for my stubbornness and determination. I grew up in a household of emotional detachment — not apathy, I must clarify, as I always know that my parents love and want the best for me. Public and private gestures of affection are much frowned upon, and we show our care through indirect means — material goods and gifts, the sharing of secrets and inner thoughts, criticisms and advice (how else could we maintain the image of a perfect family?).

My parents have had rough times — the aftermath of the first miscarriage when I was six, for example. My mother shut herself from my father, and he, frustrated with the isolation, left the country for two weeks, during which he had a tryst with some Ukranian lover. My mother, too, went out more frequently to meet with, I had guessed, her own lover, and sometimes my tutors and I would be the only inhabitants of the house. The Lestranges and the Rowles had had a grand time with the gossip then, I remember. At some point, I’m not sure when, my parents properly talked with each other (thanks to my uncle’s insistent; I have mentioned, of course, that my family does not explicitly express emotions) and the issue was resolved. Their connection and loyalty, strangely, only grew stronger. Perhaps the bad streak in their history motivated them to shine even brighter than before. Isolda’s birth when I was eight smoothed over the last of the scars, though I knew they could never forget their first daughter, Leona Avery.

Up until six I was showered with toys and magical trinkets, with bedtime stories of the founding of the Dark Arts and the beginnings of the Averys in the Fertile Crescent. We are part of the Sacred Twenty Eight, but such title is inconsequential, for the Avery name has, for the better part of the Wizarding World’s history, though not without ups and downs, garnered much reverence from the general populace due to our natural inclination to the Arts of Old Magic, recently defined as the Dark Arts by the more ignorant. My first accidental magic occurred when I was seven months old — hunger had compelled me to call upon all the chocolate cakes reserved for a party later — and after I learned to speak, my paternal granduncle, the former Norwegian Head of Law Enforcement, came down to teach me the basics of manipulating magic. Afterward tutors taught me, only the best in London, among which are a former assistant to Nicholas Flamel, Vice Chief of the Auror Department (my maternal aunt), a descendant of the Gamp family, and the reigning Champion of European Dueling Tournament (though she only started when I got into Hogwarts).

I mastered the curriculum of Hogwarts’ first year when I was nine, and after that I branch sideways instead of forward (it was later explained that my physical body needed to catch up with my magical prowess; balance and harmony are important in the making of a strong wizard like me). We possess two libraries worth of tomes — one in the current Averys mansion and one in our ancestral home in Babylon (formerly known as the Babylonian Society of Ancient Magic). Books are not my forte, as I learned better with practical demonstration, but they nonetheless are an incredible source of knowledge. I delve into the arts of occlumency, legilimency, necromancy, ritual magic, blood magic, bone magic, runic magic, demonology (rather too obscure and unstable to be feasible, sadly), various branches of hex- and spellcrafting, ancient Egyptian and Roman curses (those people have a fascinating imagination, I must admit), and the lighter sides of magic such as arithmancy and charms. When I entered Hogwarts, I was not a master in any of those fields, but I knew enough to be one of the top students, and my sheer power was often enough to overwhelm my opponents.

Hogwarts

I have been aware of pureblood politics since I could read, but to be thrown into such a large body of students was a nasty surprise. Slytherin, the microcosm of pureblood society, was filled with intricate schemes and power plays between noble houses, a network that I at first found it hard to engage in, for the Averys had never been terribly friendly or popular. We stand above everyone else — because we are, indeed, better than most — and the purebloods, with their fragile egos, often take offense to our supposed arrogance. It is the Lestranges, the Rowles, the Malfoys, the Blacks, among many others, whose voices are heard and frequently recited. I struggled for two years to gain a footing in their network to no avail until I realized that I did not have to do so. I am Amadeus Avery, and I need not their acknowledgement. As soon as I stopped participating in their games, I became respected. They value me because they understand my importance, because they see my influence despite not being the top of their food chain. And so I gained my footing in pureblood society by refusing to acknowledge its presence. My parents were proud, and that Christmas they gifted me a brilliant case of jewelry stones for me to practice my blood curses on.

In school I focus on the Dark Arts, Charms, and Ancient Runes — the rest are unimportant to me, though I maintain respectable grades. I am far too busy with my projects nfor silly creatures or, Merlin forbid, divination. Astronomy is decent, but the subject is impossible to enjoy because the Blacks are so disgustingly vocal about their naming traditions. The teachers are merely satisfactory — none of them seemed to appreciate my talents in Dark Magic. Their responses typically fall into two camps, wariness or jealousy. Horace Slughorn is slightly better than most, as his Slug Club provides immense networking opportunities for like-minded individuals. It is where I developed a friendship with Tom Riddle — rest assured that I shall expand upon this remarkable person later.

I discovered the joy of inter-house rivalry in my second year when I became Beater for Slytherin’s Quidditch Team. Ivon Blaine was particularly entertaining. He’d always been weaker than me in all aspects — save for some lucky instances on the Quidditch field, of course — and I wholeheartedly enjoyed taunting him. He’d always been so easy to rile up, so easy to manipulate, and I, who had recently discovered my sharp tongue, was only too thrilled to test it on him. Gryffindors have always been so embarrassingly brash and physical — it is absolutely nauseating how they publicly display their affections and weaknesses out in the open air, as if they are desperate to be hurt. The duels were mere exercises to me, though they had the side benefit of elevating my reputation. Ivon became predictable as time passed, however, and I stopped enjoying our little games. I had better things to worry about — Grindelwald, for instance, and Tom Riddle’s vision. Though riling up Ivon no longer brought me as much joy as it did before, I am still rather entertained by his reaction whenever I speak to him.

Bishop Vermeer is a Ravenclaw that I respect. I met him during my fourth year while preparing for my OWLs and was impressed with his intelligence, which rivaled mine. He listens more than he speaks, but his interjections are always insightful and helpful to me, and so I come back to him as a friend, always, for his ears. We work on projects too, mine more often than his. I think he is too smart for his own good — he is never swayed by my honey sweet words, even though he sometimes pretends he does, and I am both disappointed and pleased by that. Had he been more weak-willed, I doubt I would have respected him as much as I am now. It is a shame that he is not more zealous about Riddle’s cause, but when the time comes, I have faith that he will side with us. If not — well, I would not wish to face him, out of respect for our companionship.

Tom Riddle

He was a bit of an underdog, I must admit, and him being quite mum about his origins except when absolutely necessary (at least during his first year at Hogwarts) hinted at his blood status, though now I dare not think about it, for his legilimency skills far outstrip my occlumency. His cause gripped my attention the moment he mentioned it in the Slytherin common room, and I remember being vocally supportive of it, for, with the current politics surrounding Grindelwald, I recognized immediately that his ideas would bring us far. Tom Riddle is a revolutionary who will usher in an era of greatness, of pureblood culture and appreciation for real magic, not the childish stuff that Hogwarts teaches. I intend to be at the forefront of this movement alongside Riddle. I will make a name for myself.

You may wonder why I am not the leader. First of all, I have no wish to make an enemy of Riddle — we may match in dueling prowess, but he is, I am reluctant to admit, hard to outwit. Furthermore, he has a better hold on the purebloods than I do — as I have said before, the Avery name is respectable, not popular. Riddle has a way with words that is gently persuasive and malleable. He knows how to push buttons. Let him lead the movement and I be his loyal soldier. The position is prestigious enough that I can contend with not being the top. His ego and mine sometimes clash, but I try to keep to his good side more often than not. We share details of our projects, though he tends to work alone rather than in a group, and he absolutely detests me offering help.

I suppose I shall mark this as the temporary end of this biography. I intend to update this as frequently as possible.

————————————

LETTERS I WILL NOT SEND,

WORDS I WILL NEVER SAY

My grandmother, a famous jewelry collector in her nineties, gave my father a ring of blue zircon, who, in turn, passed it down to me. It sat in a drawer back in my room, only to be worn during Christmas balls. The ring was thick and ostentatiously ornamental, heavy on my middle finger every time I wore it, and I complained all the time until I was five and learnt the art of formal presentation. The ring is a sign of power and a reminder that my parents are of two famous lines, and it often sat next to the Avery heirloom ring on my index finger, glinting, mesmerizingly blue, always distracting me when light shines at the right angle. Tonight, when I saw you, when I looked into your eyes, I thought of my ring, and I wished, for but a brief millisecond, that we were better, that I was better, so that I might, perhaps, be brave enough to —

[ … ]

I did not see you today, but I was frightened for you, for us. Charms class ended early, so I was traversing the hallway, sketching in my head a new design of some anti-apparition wards, when thoughts of you filled my mind. I remembered our kiss yesterday even though I tried not to — at least, not until I was safe in my dorm. I couldn’t help smiling. Then, Tom Riddle rounded the corner, and I froze. My heart dropped, my mind emptied, and I willed my face to express something close to pleasant surprise. You cannot imagine how fearful I was. It isn’t close to my fright for Isolda when she was kidnapped, but it is certainly high up the list. Had he been searching in my mind, we would have been discovered, and the fallout, though may seem inconsequential at first, could only be catastrophic to me. Everything would have been ruined, and the choices I would have to make were unimaginable. But he wasn’t searching, thank Merlin, and I would have known if he was. I am entertaining the thought of avoiding you for a while until I could calm down. I know I may hurt you, but you must understand that I have to control myself, I have to set boundaries, or else I —

[ … ]

You were worried today, and I am not sure why. Had you been anyone else, I would have attempted to persuade an answer out of you, but strangely I complied with your request not to pry. You have no idea how much control you have over me, and I am frightened. I cannot see our future, though I must admit that I always strived not to think about our future; there are too many complications there that I cannot resolve, and I cannot bear the thought of you absent from my life, much as I loathe to admit such weakness in myself. I want to enjoy the present and only the present. Sometimes, you are the only outlet for my emotions. Sometimes, we are strangers. Sometimes, you scare me to death with your glances and your smiles and your kisses. I have thought about breaking things cleanly between us, because the stakes are becoming higher and higher, and yet I never manage to do so, because to break cleanly is to admit that there is something to break, and because I simply —

[ … ]

Sometimes I believe my parents are clay figurines carved with human features and charmed to be alive. Their expressions are stiff, their emotions strained, and they always seem most at ease with blank countenances and frigid glances, with careless words and calculated touches. I remember vividly that they barely touched Isolda when she was returned to us, a mess of a child, eyes red and dress muddied. My mother touched her hair, and I could not tell if she was too frightened to do more or if she simply detested public displays of affections so much that she would ignore her own child’s trauma. I was the one who scooped Isolda up in my arms and soothed her cries. I tried my best anyway. No one has ever done such things to me. You may wonder why I am telling this story, and here is why: I noticed that you were distraught today. You were hurt, and I hurt for you, but I could do nothing to alleviate whatever burden you were shouldering. I was too busy struggling with my confusion toward you. I do not know what to do. I do not know what we are. I asked myself how I could grow to care for you when I was not built for such emotions, how I could be in —

[ … ]

For a moment I feared that our secret was exposed, but we both performed well the role of casual acquaintances in class today, don’t you think? I am relieved that despite certain progress in our … companionship, we are still capable of maintaining a facade of normality in front of the masses. Tom Riddle, I think, suspects I am hiding something, but he cares far too much for his pet project to figure out. He’s never been too invested in our personal lives. If worse comes to worst, I could still tell him about my projects on developing possible resistance to the Killing Curse and mass-producing Inferi through a variant of a demonic rune design, neither of which, unfortunately, are straightforward enough for practical use, but they certainly will satisfy his curiosity. On a side note, I wish so fervently that I could buy you a better gift for your birthday, but alas, I could only lie about my expenses for so much, and the size of your gift could not be too large. My wish manifested in my dream three nights ago. In it we were happy, had been for months, and I, on that brilliant winter day, like a bloody muggle, horrifyingly, was on my knees —

————————————

PERSONALITY:

Amadeus is …

Arrogant: He believes himself to be better than everyone else due to his magical might and his bloodline tracing back to the beginning of civilization.

His arrogance doesn’t quite manifest in speech (like, say, Draco Malfoy) but in his body language, his stance, the way he looks at people, the inflections of his tone. Taken alone, his words may seem casual and respectful, but coming from him they could be the worst insults.

He doesn’t care that people are weaker because of their circumstances. He cares that people are weaker than him, period.

Hypocritical: He criticizes the actions and personalities of other people but does not admit to himself that he sometimes shares those characteristics and does similar things.

For example: He thinks displays of affection are a weakness, yet he treasures his moments with Seneca and loves Isolda. He claims that he doesn’t care about Venus’ (or Odette’s) popularity, but he is actually jealous that they, along with the Lestranges and Rowles, have the ability to influence a crowd. He preaches that you reap what you sow, but when confronted with the consequences of his actions, he will never admit his faults. He believes Olive Hornby ridiculous for being contradictory in her actions (a guilt-ridden bully), but he is a creature of dichotomy also.

Judgemental: The number of people he respects or gets along with is small due to his tendency to either be critical of their differences (compared to him) or be jealous of what they have that he doesn’t.

Obstinate & Ambitious: Once he has a goal, he will never budge from it — for instance, nothing can shake him from his desire to be the best Avery there ever has been. It is difficult to change his mind about anything, including first impressions of people and ideologies.

Cruel: He is cruel not because he wishes to hurt (unless under certain circumstances) but because he is naturally unsympathetic to most.

But he is also …

Passionate: Though he is raised and tries to be otherwise, Amadeus is a passion-driven individual.

He loves magic and the Dark Arts, loves its instability and its potential for good and bad, and he delves into research with a furious fervor, never stopping, always wanting to have more, know more, always wishing to break the limits and go beyond what is known.

His jealousy comes easily. Amadeus grows up thinking he has the world in his palm, so he’s jealous of anyone who seems to be better than he.

He absolutely adores Isolda, at least once he gets over his jealousy, and he showers her with love and affection to a level that would be frowned upon by his parents had they known. He thinks she is too soft to be an Avery — she was born to be compassionate, and the rigidity of his parents hurts her, so he will lessen that pain for her in any way possible.

As an unintentional consequence of his love for Isolda, he also comes to like her pet hippogriff (a species of smaller size, fitting to live in a mansion) despite his vocal denouncement of anything creature-related.

He has deep affections for Seneca Montague — love, perhaps, though he’d never admit it — and despite his best efforts to contain these feelings, they are too much to keep inside, always threatening to spill out, and he has to compartmentalize his feelings, sometimes unsuccessfully.

Clever: He has a different brand of intelligence, but his mind, full of knowledge, always proves to be useful.

He may not be the best strategist, but he can process information incredibly fast and skip to a conclusion in lightning-speed. He works best under pressure and during duels.

He has an instinctive grasp on spellcrafting and runic magic, though he tends to lean toward the latter. He’s like a genius computer programmer or an engineer. He knows the pieces and he knows how to put them together; when they don’t work, he could easily tweak a bit here and fix a bit there to craft better rune diagrams for long-term curses and charms.

He cannot, for the life of him, read theories, but after a single demonstration, he can understand even the most complex alchemical concept

He figures out a way to compartmentalize his feelings for Seneca so he will not have to acknowledge them:

In the moments he shares with Seneca, he will not think of the repercussions. When he is not with Seneca, he will try to put him out of mind.

Sometimes when he feels too much, he would put his feelings on paper — using a quill charmed to inscribe his thoughts — and then he’d burn it. The reasoning is that if he makes it physical and then destroys it, whatever that is bothering him would stop existing. He doesn’t read these paragraphs, nor does he physically write them, so it’s easier for him to deny his feelings.

A downside to this compartmentalizing method is that his mood can swing widely from hour to hour, and often he wonders if it would someday break him. It works for now, so he doesn’t care much.

He is proud of …

His dueling skills: He has lost to no one except Tom Riddle and occasionally some members of the Harbingers & Liberation.

His runic diagrams: They are his own creations, and he is proud and thrilled to see them in action, no matter how destructive they could be.

His knowledge: He is well-versed in the rules of Wizarding economy and pureblood politics, and he was taught to keep up the prominence of the Avery name. Magically, his knowledge is shallow but extensive, and he frequently reads (or tries to read) to gain more information.

The murder of Isolda’s kidnapper: He tortured her kidnapper before finally killing him. It was his first kill and first usage of the Killing Curse on a human at the age of fifteen. Deep down, he’s horrified at his actions, but he successfully convinces himself to be proud because he could never admit that he feels guilty — a feeling that does not exist in the Avery household.

And he hates …

Nothing, which is what he would’ve said to himself, but in reality:

The isolation of the Averys: He envies those who can participate in pureblood politics and loathes that he is often pushed to the sides. He may pretend that he doesn’t need them, that the Averys doesn’t need to be a participant, but he is, nonetheless, lonely, because he doesn’t belong properly in any community.

The rigidity of his parents: He thinks his parents are too stringent with their emotions and believes Isolda is harmed because of that. Subconsciously, he blames his parents for his cruel nature and doesn’t want Isolda to live through his loveless childhood.

A subject that belongs in neither categories is his relationship with Seneca, which he loves and hates at the same time. He likes Seneca beyond the boundaries of friendship, but he hates defining what they are. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s aware that he’s making a mistake, perhaps the best mistake in his life, and he’s waiting for the inescapable fallout.

HEADCANONS

What’s his attitude toward muggles?

He believes in all of the stereotypes: they are dirty, primitive, stupid, and ignorant of the true beauty of magic.

He’s actually really into classical music (once he finds out about it through William Brown, unintentionally) but he wasn’t aware that most of the composers are muggles

What does he do in his free time?

Runic projects; finance planning/investment with his father; whatever Riddle wants him to do at that time;

His relationship with Ogden:

Good relationship until the end of 6th year when Ogden approaches Amadeus about an apprenticeship in Ancient Runes. Anyone would’ve been ecstatic, as it’s a rare occasion that a sixth year would be offered such opportunity, but Amadeus was angry. He couldn’t believe Ogden would offer him such a lowly career option, and he has a sneaking suspicion that Ogden wants to supervise his work more closely to prevent him from “falling” to the darker (and purer, in his opinion) forms of magic. Their relationship has been tentative since then.

His runic experimental room arguably shows more aspects of him than his dorm, which is often under the scrutiny of his dorm mates

Amadeus stopped bullying Ivon in the aftermath of Isolda’s kidnap. The taste of real violence and death has dulled the entertaining value of sharp words and silly duels. Amadeus turns his focus to bigger targets: necromancy, darker runes, deeper & more ruthless manipulations using money that will keep him in power. He’s also more focused on Riddle’s cause, and his runes projects also take up more of his times.

Wisdom and Power, to Amadeus, go so hand-in-hand that he’s never thought that it is more Ravenclaw than Slytherin. A trait he shares with Gryffindor is how passionate he can be, though no one really knows this except Bishop & Seneca. People do know that he hates easily though.

Motto for anything too sentimental is: React first, break down later

He was taught that “Power amazes, but money drives the world.” Despite this, he’s more attracted to raw power than wealth.

Doesn’t do well with criticism, especially from people he doesn’t care about.

Will initiate duels when called for.

He can convince himself to believe in false things.

Physical marking:

A horizontal scar on the side of his neck: A kitchen house-elf once went insane and injured him as a kid with a knife; said house-elf was killed but the knife was cursed so the scar doesn’t go away. Amadeus always illusioned it or wear clothes with collars.

Amadeus doesn’t quite remember this, but the incident is one of the few times that both of his parents touch him — keeping the wound close, healing, using salve, but he was too out of it to recall properly. He was seven.

Doesn’t have a fear of knives, but if someone is to lay the blade of one on his skin, that will kick in his fight-or-flight response and (depending on the situation) he will react.

Fashion:

He’s big on fashion

Style: Expensive, trendy but not gaudy, wear accessories to show off wealth (cufflinks, rings, modified ties, shoes, etc.)

Boggart:

Its form varies; but the two forms he’s faced is the burning of the Averys mansion (signifying the end of the line, which would be his fault) and the body of Isolda (recalling the kidnap incident).

Wand: spruce wood, 12-inch, dragon heartstring core

His spells are powerful and flamboyant, often attracting the attention of other people.

Amadeus has a sweet tooth.

He also cannot hold his liquor. He’s a touchy drunk.

He produced a Patronus once, during his fifth year, a hippogriff, unsurprisingly, but he hasn’t tried again since he killed Isolda’s kidnapper, telling himself it is unnecessary while actually thinking that he can’t do light magic now that he’s killed a wizard.

House Elf Treatment:

The Averys aren’t cruel but they do think that the elves are beneath their notice. The Averys, powerful as they are, does know that house-elf betrayals can be destructive, so they strive to inspire loyalty

He’s got no sense of self-preservation:

Because he thinks he’s invincible. Also he gets excited when faced with a challenge.

Likes to write but dislikes reading:

He actually doesn’t hate reading. He just has a very specific taste for a writing style & anything that doesn’t fit the bill makes him bored. He especially hates translations because they’re so dry.

He’s bad at defense magic - he likes to be on the offense & doesn’t guard himself much

The three P’s of Amadeus: Proud, Powerful, Private

He loves to low-key taunt people he dislikes, especially back when he was still harassing Ivon, and he lets his tongue lose when he’s angry. He also speaks his mind when he’s in the company of people he trusts.

He’s very ignorant when it comes to his emotions. This is by choice, not because he’s dense.

He (lowkey) admires Dumbledore because of how powerful the man is, and he secretly wishes that they are on better terms. Their ideologies, unfortunately, create a barrier between them.

To him, wisdom is …

Tom Riddle: knowing how to play the field, how to manipulate, how to be in the spotlight and claim it for yourself

Knowing everything - hence his attempt to branch out laterally

Naively, he also thinks being wise means never makes a mistake

Amadeus is verbose in writing but succinct in speech, touch-starved yet would never initiate body contact:

The Averys household is emotionally distant but not apathetic. Amadeus grows up understanding that display of affection is a bad thing, but sometimes he mistakes this with emotions are bad. His parents’ love for him is measured with material goods—their meanings, their quantities, their qualities—though of course, their meanings are exceedingly easy to misinterpret. Writing is an outlet of emotions in the Averys household—letters to their parents when they are abroad & when Amadeus is in school, notes delivered by house-elves (their mansion is very big)—thus, Amadeus shows himself more in writing, though it always seems to be otherwise. He masks his sentiments with pureblood politeness on paper, and only those close to him (his family) could read between the lines and understand.

He was taught the concept of formal presentation when he was six and learned how to check his speech. He became more succinct and direct or persuasive and round-about when needed.

Half of the time what he says isn’t really what he thinks/feels, but he has a habit of convincing himself that what he says is always the truth, so it becomes a falsehood in him that he never notices, and from this born his hypocrisy.

The Averys household frowns upon body contact except when absolutely necessary, and so Amadeus grows up, without noticing, touch-starved. He’s hyper-aware of the distance he puts between him and other people and the casual touches he received. He, therefore, treasures his moments with Seneca, but also are scared of them, of the body contact, of physical displays of affection that he knows nothing about. He’s always hesitant, testing the boundaries, reading the signs (sometimes over-analyzing them), always so scared that he’ll fuck up somehow.

His Runes Experiment Room:

Same wing that houses the Ancient Runes classrooms.

Approximately U-shaped

Left room is for the actual experiment, connected by a hallway to a sort of “office” on the right where all the theories/writings occurred.

Office:

Big blackboard filled with maths & diagrams

Big wooden desks filled with papers, very messy, on top of which sat …

Letters sent by Isolda

A pot of talking cactus, sent by Isolda

Lots of candy boxes ordered from Hogsmeade or sent by his mother

Two bookshelves overfilled with books; papers; chalks of different materials; boxes of preserved animal blood; rulers & measurement devices; bowls of different parts of different animals scattered around; a locked metal chest of rarer materials

When there are visitors, he puts everything personal to him in a trunk in the corner of the room

Two sofas for guests

Experimental room:

Kept clean & in pristine condition

Two Parts

A square part of the room in the middle, sectioned off by magic & physical means (eg: salt, powdered thestral fur, etc.):

This is where the floor diagrams occur, for more complex projects. Experiments here are frequently unstable.

The rest: There’s a trunk of gemstones + other objects for blood curses; there’s a long desk lining the wall with tools for carving, burning, melting, writing, and holding on top

He usually levitates the object or holds them by physical means as he carves runes on it

The long table is also used to deconstruct runes done by other people

People who have seen this room: Riddle, Bishop, Seneca, Ogden

Attitude toward teachers:

Ogden: already mentioned

Dumbledore: professional admiration. Amadeus secretly idolizes him because Dumbledore is too Badass not to, though he thinks Dumbledore is too soft on Muggleborns.

Rakepick: doesn’t like since she likes the Gryffs

Edgecomb: likes her tattoos; on good terms because Isolda will be going to Beauxbatons; tries too hard not to ask her questions about schooling & dorming over there

Dippet: nice man, not useful but it helps that he likes Riddle

Fairbanks: likes her for various reasons. She went to Durmstrang is number one. She’s intense and, to him, she has a real appreciation for the true nature of magic. That she’s a Herbology professor irks him — he wishes she was teaching Dark Arts instead. Imagine the kind of spells she would’ve taught!

Isadora: annoying because of the homework

William Brown: muggle lover, ew

Sylvia: doesn’t care

Astrid: doesn’t like divination because he’s not a seer, but on good terms with Astrid because of her views

Binns: doesn’t care, except when his lessons mentions something related to the Averys

In summary: Amadeus is an ambitious individual who grew up in a distant household. He experiences lots of emotions despite being groomed not to. He is smart about many things except himself. He has the ability to rationalize his feelings but chooses to ignore them. He can exert great control over himself and he chooses his words carefully. He is proud and powerful and knows exactly what he wants — but what he wants may not be what he needs in the end.

Playlist: here

#rp #rpg #roleplay #harry potter rp #literate roleplay #accepted #amadeus

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ask-law-unfiltered · 5 years

Text

My Black Heart

Disclaimer: I do NOT own one piece nor do I own any of its characters. If I did Ace wouldn’t have died, Zoro and Sanji would be lovers, and DofLaw would be canon. Pairings include but are not limited to DofLaw, KidLaw, ZoSan, and potential other yaoi goodness. Warning! This fic contains spoilers, non-con sex (aka. rape), drug and alcohol abuse, violence, yaoi (aka. male on male relationship), severe mental abuse, and emotional abuse. Consider yourselves warned and also, any criticisms will result in more of the objected material so no like no read. No one is forcing you, if horrible rape sex, brutality, and abuse isn’t your style, go read a cute fluff piece. Hope you enjoy the story…

Chapter Three: The protege is marked

****************Doffy’s Side*************

Doffy's grin had returned upon hearing Law's confession. So he would be the boy's first, perfect. He would be able to teach the teen how to best please him. Behind his beloved shades his eyes narrowed in anticipation, the young pirate was still fully clothed. A flick of his strings and the raven's wrists were released and soon tattooed hands were stripping away the offending garments. A laugh fell from the Shichibukai’s lips at the molten orbs glaring at him as he forced the younger male to strip. The first thing to go was the hoodie, as it was pulled over the teen's head the blond smiled at the inked chest. The boy had gained some muscle over the years, the sight made the smirk widen. Next the spotted jeans and boxers were removed along with the boy’s shoes. This was the view he was most eager to see. For despite all his protests, a semi-erect length was displayed in between the raven's legs. A chuckle echoed from his throat as he took note of the smooth flesh of the teen's willowy limbs, seemed the surgeon wasn't a fan of hair. Not that it mattered in fact that only added to the allure of the youth's appearance. Once Law was naked Doffy forced him to resume sitting in his lap. A chuckle echoing from his throat at the look the hateful teen fixed him with.

“What's wrong Law? You seem so miserable.” he chuckled darkly that silver glare making him laugh in anticipation. Oh he was going to enjoy this, the rush of being able to break and mold that rage into the perfect tool. He knew Law wouldn't be the type to tame easily, but that was half the fun. With a flick of his strings he forced the teen to wrap his arms around him, as he pulled him in for a kiss. This time was far more enjoyable as the teen gave in to the ravagings of his mouth. The moist cavern still lingered with the taste of his salty essence, and the resulting flavor made the Shichibukai snicker against those pale pouting lips. When they broke apart a trail of saliva connected them, until the raven looked away. With a chuckle Doffy grabbed the doctor's jaw in his firm grip, turning the boy's head to face him once more. Despite the glare the teen was giving him his body didn't lie. The stiffened flesh between those tanned thighs made the blond's grin grow wider.

“You look so miserable Law, yet your body betrays your desire.” The king smirked as he moved his long slender digits, forcing the raven to grip his own length. “Shall I show you how to get off?”

******************Law's Side*****************

‘Damn’ came the thought when he was forced to strip down and once again resume his seat in the blond's lap. The feeling of being controlled was one the young surgeon loathed the most. A blush tinted his cheeks as he was forced to grip his own cock. He despised his body's betrayal, how the hell could it be excited at a time like this? Humiliation burned in his chest as the Shichibukai's strings forced him to start jerking off while the blond watched. That long wide grin making his flesh crawl, despite the jolts of pleasure that came from touching the sensitive muscle. As the pace quickened a familiar heat started to pool in his lower abdomen. The flush on his face deepened at the thought of cumming in front of his tormentor. Yet a laugh from the grinning blond saved him the shame for now, as the gleeful psychopath spoke.

“Ah now we can't have you cumming just yet, I want to play some more.” The silken purr was like sandpaper against his skin. The raven was forced to dig his thumbnail into the slit of his shaft, hard enough to draw blood. The pained cry drawing a larger more toothy grin from the blond as his tongue slithered out to lick his lips. He had been so close to release, a few more moments and he would have had it. Silver irises glared at the trademark shades only to be met with a roar of laughter.

*****************Doffy's Side****************

The teen's cry was music to his ears, it made his cock throb with the need to hear more. With a dark chuckle he had Law release his now weeping length, the bit of precum mixing with the blood of the fresh cut made for a lovely shade of pink. His own length was hard as a rock and ached with the desire to be inside his wayward protege. With a smirk he released control of the teen chuckling as the boy tried to escape from his lap. That fighting spirit is what first caught the Shichibukai's attention, and to a certain degree he enjoyed the struggle. Yet in the end it proved pointless, with one swift motion Doffy grabbed Law by the throat and slammed him next to him onto the bed. The view of the boy struggling to escape his grip was a pleasing one, though not as pleasing as the sight of that ass. With a laugh he effortlessly lifted the boys kicking legs holding him by his ankles in a bruising grip.

“Don't kick Law or else your crew will die, be a good boy and lay still. I want to enjoy this.” A deep chuckle fell from his lips when the raven stopped fighting. His lean form falling limp in the blond's hands, as those silver irises glared up in pain and unwelcome defeat. Yet it only made him laugh more, he released the teen's legs but his grip on his neck tightened.

“Spread your legs, otherwise this will hurt.” A soft choking sound echoed from the thin throat as the brat complied. Hungry fingers prowled around the tight entrance before thrusting in without mercy.

******************Law's Side*****************

As he lay on his bed pinned and choked by his former captain the raven glared at the injustice. He wanted to fight back but with his crew's lives on the line he couldn't. The flush across his cheeks only deepened as he was told to open his legs. A cry was torn from his lips as two fingers were brutally shoved into his barely prepared ass. The rough treatment of the thick digits stretching and probing his entrance, combined with the hand around his throat made it hard to breathe. Tears of rage and hate burned in his molten hues, as he was forced to look upon his tormentor. Amused laughter fell for the blond's lips and the grip around his neck loosened slightly.

“FuFuFu, what's the matter Law?” The Warlord purred, “I promise it will feel good soon. Once I'm done with you, your body will never forget my touch. Who knows you might even come to crave it.”

A snarl hissed from the raven's lips at the prospect of being used by the monster above him. Though he didn't have much choice in the matter, not with the difference between their strengths and the fact his crew was at stake. As the long fingers curled upward they managed to find the sensitive bundle of nerves deep within him. A jolt of pleasure shook his form causing his flush of shame to deepen. When a third finger was added accompanied by more laughter from the Shichibukai, the tears that had been welling up started to slid down his cheeks. Hot breath ghosted over his face as the pink clad asshole leaned in to lick at the moisture staining his flesh. The fingers were removed with a chuckle to be replaced by the head of the mammoth shaft. This had been the part the young surgeon had been dreading. He forced himself to relax as the blond shoved himself in. The Shichibukai forced the tip in quickly, but took great care in easing the rest of the length into the tight orifice. Yet even with the slow entry the surgeon couldn't get his muscles to properly relax. As a result he could feel the tender flesh tearing as the large prick forced its way deeper.

The intrusion drew a gasp and a pained whine from the doctor's throat. Stormy irises glazed over in his fevered state, the slender teen was in agony but that only made the blond enjoy this even more.

***************Doffy’s Side*****************

It was tight the warm muscle seemed to draw him in, with a soft snicker he leaned closer to the teens ear.

“You feel great Law, so good in fact that I don't want to share.” He pulled out slightly only to ram back in, hitting the youth's prostate with a harsh jab. The strangled gasp and sudden constriction of the body below him, caused a pulse of pleasure to rush through his veins. With a broad smirk Doffy tightened his grip around the raven's throat, once again delighting in the renewed tightness around his length. The thrusts only intensified, if Law was to learn how to properly please him he'd have to be broken in. The grip around the slender neck slackened a bit as the king leaned down to make his point. Once again his prick was buried fully inside the tearful teen, as he traced his tongue across his teeth.

“Law, if anyone touches you I will consider it a personal insult. From now on your body belongs to me, and only me. All others who so much as dare to look at you will be killed by my hand. Do you understand? You shall always be mine.” After watching those stormy irises close in shame the Shichibukai's smirk intensified. With a chuckle the monstrous male bit down on the right shoulder of the weeping raven. The flawless enamel clamped down to tear through the olive flesh, leaving a large angry mark.

“This mark is to remind you who your master is. If you let anyone else mark you I'll hunt them down and destroy them in front of you. So don't even try to betray me little slave, or it will cost you the lives of those you keep close.”

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imagine-knb · 6 years

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Homecoming [Kagami Taiga]

Wrote this one last year I think. Honestly not one of my favorites ;;;;; Also, as a side note, the rest of the things that will be posted were before I switched to using “____” as the name placeholder, so sorry if it’s a little weird seeing “[Name]” instead, but there’s just too many for me to go and fix @_@

A shrill sound echoed through the small apartment, the mechanical noise repeating itself every few seconds with an incessant beep. It was loud enough to be heard throughout all the rooms, alerting anyone in the vicinity of the paper thin walls to hear it. A few decibels beneath that noise, the sound of a sizzling frying pan could be heard. Smoke and steam billowed from the searing metal, the former being the cause for the repetitive whine of the fire alarm. From another room, rushed footsteps followed by a heavy thud and loud cursing resounded.

“Damn it,” Kagami growled the curse, reciting it over and over again as he reached for the fire alarm. “Damn it. Damn it!” Fingers fumbled around with the tiny machine for only a few seconds before finally finding the button that would turn it off. Pressing down, the shrill beeping came to a halt and the tall red head could once again hear himself think.

Replacing the fire alarm back onto the wall, Kagami turned his attention to the frying pan on his stove where the onions he had placed inside were quickly becoming akin to charcoal. He quickly stepped over to it, removing it from the heat completely and turning off the stove to avoid any more incidents. Looking at the now ruined vegetables, Kagami clicked his tongue before muttering, “I was only gone for a minute.”

He set the unsalvageable pan of onions on an oven mitt where he would allow it to cool down before placing it in the sink. It sank into the mitt heavily, the metal bottom rounded and dented from a few moments of misuse. The sound of scorching metal meeting chilled water was still fresh in his memories, reminding him of every moment that caused the cookware to bend out of shape. Of course, it hadn’t been his fault; he knew better than to put hot metal under the flow of water.

Grabbing the plate with his still warm burger from off the kitchen counter, the tall man slowly sulked his way over to the place he deemed the living room. He would have to deal with eating his food without any grilled onions to accompany his meal.

He sat on the left side of the couch, one hand holding onto his plate of food while the other switched on his television with the remote that had been sitting nearby. After a few moments of channel surfing, Kagami started to feel a bit awkward with the empty space occupying the right half of his couch. He shifted in his seat, placing his legs on the other half of the couch so that he could lounge on it. Content with his efficient use of space, Kagami went back to changing television stations until he was finally satisfied with something to watch.

There was a movie on, Kagami noted as he took a large bite out of his burger. Chewing slowly, he watched the characters interact with each other. After five minutes, it had become apparent to him that the movie was a romance—though it took the main characters suddenly making out with each other for him to realize. Feeling a knot form in his stomach, Kagami reached for the remote and quickly shut off the television. Once again, the apartment was silent.

With nothing better to do, Kagami once again felt the need to look around at his surroundings. Taking more bites out of his burger, he observed the subtle differences that had come to his apartment over the past few years. Though the color of the walls had remained the same, they were more heavily decorated, framed pictures of special moments and posters pinned up in random places. An entire bookshelf took up part of the wall space, filled to the brim with books that Kagami neither heard of nor read.

Kagami had finished his burger while he was distracted by the room. Setting his plate on the floor and closing his eyes, he leaned back into the couch as he imagined the bedroom where he lay in bed every night. He had traded his single mattress in for a queen sized bed a year ago, finally able to afford the larger mattress, and the wooden frame took up quite a bit of floor space. The desk he had in his room had to be moved to the opposite wall, facing away from the window. There were two chairs resting near it and Kagami would often prop his feet up on the second chair, pretending he was in a hammock as he lazed some days away.

It was true that, within the years after graduating high school, the apartment had gotten fuller with the introduction of more furniture and decorations, but Kagami couldn’t help but feel as if it was still empty.

The red head had just started dozing off when a familiar sound started resonating throughout the apartment. At first, through the haze of sleep, Kagami thought it was the sound of his fire alarm going off again. Sitting up in a panic, he looked around for the source of the offending noise, but soon realized that his original thought had been false. The noise wasn’t from the fire alarm.

Feeling around his person, he searched for the only other thing that could be making the incessant ringing. He pulled a cellphone from his pocket, flipping it open and placing the speaker against his ear impatiently. “Hello?”

He was met with silence for a few seconds, though there was clearly another person on the line—he could hear them breathing. Feeling his patience waning, the brash young adult was just about to give his caller a piece of his mind when a quiet and formal, “Kagami-kun” was heard.

“Kuroko?” Kagami asked, confusion laden in his voice as he tried to understand his friend. “What the hell? Why are you calling?”

“Other than work, you haven’t gone out of your apartment for a while,” Kuroko stated calmly, almost as if he were speaking to one of his students. “Let’s go play some basketball. For old time’s sake.”

Kagami hesitated in answering. It was true that he hadn’t been out of his home for recreational purposes in a while and the apartment was started to feel a tad suffocating despite its emptiness. Drawing in a breath, Kagami said, “Sure. When should I meet you?”

“Right now,” Kuroko said hastily. “I’m already outside.” The soft-spoken male ended the call promptly, leaving Kagami no time to retort at Kuroko’s bad timing.

Growling out some offensive curses, Kagami stood from his seat on the couch, the sore muscles in his back protesting as he did so. He stretched a bit before heading for his front door, ignoring his dirty plate that he had left on the floor beside the couch. His socked feet dragged along the wooden floor, making no sound as he made his way to the entrance. If Kuroko wanted to play right at that moment, he would have to deal with Kagami being dressed in only a wife beater and sweatpants.

Grabbing his keys off the new veranda near his front door, the tall red head swiftly and expertly pulled on his sneakers before opening the door to his residence. He set his gaze to the outside world, a semi-bored expression creating a mask on his face. The sunlight danced through the sky, bouncing off cars that were driving on the road and causing some glare to hit his eyes. With a scowl, Kagami turned to close the door behind him, locking it so ensure no intruders would make house in his apartment.

“Where you going, Taiga?”

Despite being turned away from the voice—which had caught him completely off guard—Kagami instantly recognized its owner. Fearing that it was a dream, he stopped himself from turning fully around. Instead, he went for a retort to the voice, but soon found that his own voice box was unwilling to cooperate. A thick lump had lodged itself in his throat, making it hard for him to breathe let alone speak. He would have to turn and face the person.

Taking a tentative step, he shifted the one-hundred and eighty degrees to face the person of interest. The first thing he noticed was the dark black boots he had watched walk away from him only months ago. Accompanying them were different shades of green, the camouflage doing little to meld the person into the off white walls of the surrounding buildings. There were patches on the left breast of their uniform top, their last name neatly embroidered with gold stitches.

“Taiga.”

At the call of his name, he dared a look at the person’s face. Familiar eyes and a warm smile met his gaze and, blinking back the tears that threatened to form in his eyes, he rushed forward. Strong arms encircled his waste, returning the squeezing hug that Kagami was giving the person. Despite having not shed any tears, the red head could feel a rawness in his throat as he repeated their name like a mantra. He buried his nose into the crook of their neck, inhaling their scent with a shuddering breath. He could already feel the creeping blush forming on his cheeks and neck, embarrassed by his current public display of affection, but not caring in the least as he engulfed the one person he had been deprived of for so long.

“[Name],” he gasped, pushing them away at arm’s length for only a moment before instantly pulling them back in for a hug. “You’re home.”

[Name]’s body was shaking in his arms and soft sobs escaped their lips. Kagami could feel fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, threatening to never let go. “Yes, I’m home,” [Name] answered through their crying. He could feel them nod against his chest, their laugh evident in their voice despite the tears that were surely running down their face.

The honk of a car’s horn caught both their attentions and, wiping the tears and fluids that had escaped their eyes and noses, they both looked out towards the street. Kagami noticed a familiar blue eyed former teammate in the driver’s seat of a car. Kuroko waved briefly, flashing the pair a small smile before driving away from the scene. Kagami twitched a bit, thinking about how that sneaky bastard had once again pulled the wool over his eyes.

But for good reason.

Returning his gaze back to his lover, Kagami gave them a gentle smile. He picked up the heavy suitcase they had carried with them, nodding his head towards their front door. Understanding his gesture, [Name] unlocked and opened the door, waltzing in before Kagami. Watching them prance through the rooms as if they hadn’t left at all, the former high school basketball player felt as if his home wasn’t so empty anymore.

In fact, it was perfect once again.

#kagami

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simplyimaginesxx · 7 years

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True Feelings {Kai Parker x Witch Reader}

Author: simplyimaginesxx

Request: Hey, if your requests are open could you do an imagine about kai Parker where the reader was putted in his same prison world and eventual they get to know each other, and he likes her? Oh and he tries to win her being all flirty but then when they manage to get out together he doesn't want to "ruin" her so he says bad things to her to push her away but in the end fluff Thanks if you'll do it, love u💞

Words: 2,383

Warnings: slight angst?

A/N: Flashbacks will always be in italics for my work ^^ I apologize for the long wait, and the possible mistakes there are but I hope you enjoy this imagine ♡

✧ Gifs used in here are not mine. TVD characters don’t belong to me and belong to their rightful owners

Your eyes glanced up towards the sunny sky, watching as the birds flew freely, chirping loudly. Was this actually real? Were you finally back?

A small laugh escaped your lips as the sudden realization hit you. You were no longer trapped in the prison world. You were free, and back in the real world.

“We’re finally free! Kai, we’re free, we’re back.” You yelled with a large smile, your arms spreading out as the cool fall air blew against you. The autumn leaves decorated the forest floor with its orange and yellow colors. You almost forgot how autumn had looked after so many years being trapped in the prison world.

It was quiet, the only hearable sounds were the light crunching of leaves along with the small giggles that escaped from you every so often.

Kai stood against a tree with his hands dug into his pants, his orbs never leaving your form. He was very quiet despite his talkative nature, but recently his thoughts had been clouding his mind more so than before.

The steps he took in order to free not only him from the prison world, but to free you as well wasn't what one would call the right way of handling. He hurt Bonnie in the process and left her behind, trapped.

Although, you had no idea that Bonnie was still trapped. Kai knew you wouldn’t have left if he told you the truth, and so he lied, saying that Bonnie left with Damon, leaving the two of you behind.

You felt betrayed and hurt by both Damon and Bonnie, but what did you expect? They knew about your crime and the reason why you were imprisoned, so it only made sense that they’d leave you behind, right?

But eventually, you were over it and decided to help Kai to find a way out. And here you were.

You turned around to look back at Kai, tilting your head to the side in a questioning manner before you made your way towards the male.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, your lips slowly morphing into a small frown. Your hands were then placed against his face, but as soon as they came they were gone.

Kai had slapped your hands away, and you stood there in puzzlement.

“This isn’t going to work, Y/N.” He spoke, though his gaze was directed someplace else other than yours. He didn’t want to have to look at you or else he’d regret what he was about to do.

Your (E/C) orbs widen slightly, your breathing stopped. Where was he going with this? You could feel a sudden wave of fear overcome you, your hands unconsciously shaking.

“What do you mean, Kai? Y-You promised me.”

With that, your eyes began to water but you willed yourself not to cry, not in front of him at least.

A sudden laugh echoed throughout the forest and it left you dumbfounded. His laugh was then replaced by a small scoff, and he turned to look at you directly in your eyes, a small smirk resided on his lips.

“You actually thought I had feelings for you? I only used you because of your powers, Y/N. You were just an object for me to use for my escape and nothing more.” Kai finished off with a smile. He felt his heart drop, but he knew this was the right thing to do.

He didn’t want to hurt you or ruin the person who you’ve become. You were different than him, you were kind while he was a monster who only dragged others down with him. A monster who could kill to achieve his horrible desires. Yet, Kai knew that he will only ruin the best in you and he was afraid of that.

He made a move to leave, but a hand tugged back at his shirt. Confused, he looked back to see you glaring at him, (E/C) orbs watering.

“If that’s how you feel then why did you take me with you?”

You knew exactly how he felt about you as he knew how you felt about him. Yet, why did he say such things. Were you not good enough for him?

You never got a response back. Instead he pushed you from him, grabbing a hold of your arms and he began to siphon your magic. A small cry left your lips once you felt your magic being drained away and your muscles began to ache.

“I can easily send you back if you prefer, so don’t tempt me.” He whispered in your ear, his tone dark, before he stepped back. With a smirk, Kai winked at you and left as if nothing had happened.

You watched his retreating form with teary eyes, your body trembling with a mix of sadness and anger before you fell down to the forest ground, letting out a small sob.

It wasn’t true, right?

(E/C) orbs gazed around their surroundings, a small frown upon their lips before they turned around to look directly at the male who was sitting in the chair with a jar of jelly in their hands.

“So you’re telling me there is no way out of this place?” You questioned with a perplexed look. This had to be a joke, right?

You didn’t remember much of what had happened before you ended up in this place, actually. All you remembered was a group of witches surrounding you, chanting before your vision went dark.

The male, Kai, was the one who found you and took you in before explaining to you what had happened and why you were here.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. This place is a prison and only the witches who’ve committed something horrible are placed here, so here you are. Now tell me, what did you do, Y/N?”

The question baffled you and yet you didn’t have an answer for him because you weren’t even sure yourself. What did you do to find yourself trapped here?

He noticed the look on your face and he immediately let out a small laugh while shaking his head.

“Seems like they erased your memories. Oh, well don’t worry, I’ll help with that. Now, how about we start figuring out how to get out of this place?”

Everyday was the same day for both you and Kai, you two keep looking through the grimoires to find any that could help in your escape from the prison world, but none of you could find anything. On top of that, you were also trying to find a way to gain your memories back, yet you had no luck.

The two of you both began to grow close as time went by until you grew feelings for each other. Kai was a talker and you never grew bored of him talking since that was really the only entertainment there was aside from the bickering that came from the two newly arrived guests.

One night, you found yourself practicing a bit of your magic from looking up at different spells in the grimoires. Kai told you it was important to practice in order to strengthen your magic if you wanted to access your full abilities.

Your fingers skimmed along the old pages of the book, your eyes scanning along each line before you recited the same spell out loud.

A small ball of flame levitated in your hand, slowly growing in size until it grew the size of a soccer ball. Your concentration was cut off once you heard the door open and the bickering of voices echoing throughout the boarding house interrupted your session.

You tilted your head with a small smile to see that Damon and Bonnie were once again arguing over who knows what, both not noticing your presence in the living room as they went their separate ways. Kai was the last to enter and the look on his face showed that he was irritated.

“As fun as it is to see those two bicker like a married couple, it’s getting old.” The male commented with a slight growl in his voice as he made his way to you on the couch, immediately kissing your lips before wrapping his arms around your waist.

A small sigh escaped your lips as you easily relaxed into his hold, savoring the warmth of his. You two stayed quiet, taking in this silent moment all the while starring at the fireplace. You could feel his breath fanning against your ear, a small shiver running down your spine because of it and Kai took notice of this.

With a smirk, he suddenly placed small kisses along your neck and you let out a small gasp, feeling your body reacting to his small doing. You couldn’t help but to let out a small laugh because of this, and you turned around in his hold to look into his eyes.

The two of you lock eyes, your smile mirroring his. Then, he raised his hand to place against the side of you cheek, your eyes shutting close as you leaned into his touch. Two hearts raised their rhythm.

In that moment, everything around you disappeared and all you paid attention to was the man that you grew to love.

"Once we’re out of here, it’ll just be me and you.”

His words caused a smile to spread across your lips and you placed your hand on top of his.

“Promise?”

A smile answered your question, though this one was different, one where it was genuinely sweet with the touch of seriousness.

“I promise.”

You found yourself standing outside of an apartment belonging to Kai. It wasn't easy to track him down, but it took a couple of weeks to finally pin point where he was. You figured he used a spell in order to hide his location from you, but that wouldn’t keep you away.

You raised your fist and gave to knocks against the door. Your heart ached to see him again and to touch him. To feel the warmth of his hands against yours, and the feel of his lips.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the door creaked open, and on the other side stood Kai with a shocked look on his features.

There was a long silence between the both of you, but you were the first to break it.

“Hi, Kai.”

Silence once again before he muttered a reply back, “What are you doing here?”

He couldn’t believe it nor could he understand why you were here. Did it his words not affect you at all, or were you just stubborn? Of course, deep down he was glad to see you once again but he couldn’t help but feel guilty of what had happened.

Kai knew that he had hurt you both mentally and physically, yet he found you standing there with a smile on your face as if nothing had happened.

Then he heard a sigh coming from you and it caused him to frown deeply.

“I know why you pushed me away. Do you think I wasn’t going to catch on?”

He could feel his stomach churn at those words and now he was just waiting for you to say it; how bad of a person he was, and how you didn’t want anything to do with him.

Although, your next words shocked him.

“I saw Bonnie and she explained to me about what you did,” you paused and took a few steps towards him.

Kai didn’t make an attempt to look at you. Instead, he kept his eyes on the ground. You placed your finger under his chin and lifted it up in order to look back at his chocolate orbs that you loved dearly.

“Not only did you lie to me, but you hurt a friend of mine. But that's not why I’m here. I'm here because I want to be with you,” you finished off.

He finally decided to look at you, and he had an unreadable expression on his face that you couldn’t read. Suddenly, he hugged you tightly into him and placed his face into the crook of your neck and collarbone.

“Why? I’m a monster, Y/N and yet you still want to be with me? After what I did to Bonnie and to you?” His voice slightly cracked at the end, while you tried to comfort your boyfriend.

Yes, he had a few problems that he needed to deal with but you knew that deep down he was changing into something good, something better than he was before.

The darkness that held him was slowly loosening its grips on him and allowing him to resurface once again.

You were determined to help him through his.

“Because I love you, Kai and I'm not going to leave you.”

Kai could feel his heart thump loudly against his chest, and he only hugged you tighter.He didn’t deserve you, but he knew that you were the one thing that made him become the better person of him.You saw a different side to him than anybody else, and most of all you gave him hope.

He stood back in order to look into your eyes before he suddenly reached down to smash his lips against yours. You felt shocked, though that quickly went away once you kissed him back and moved your lips with his in sync.

You both pulled back, though you two stayed in each other’s embrace, smiling at one another.

“I love you too, Y/N.” He replied back, placing a kiss on top of your head before he closed the door to his apartment.

The two of you found yourselves in his bedroom with you straddling his lap. You ran your hands through his hair while he slowly starting unbuttoning your flannel before pushing the fabric off your shoulders. You did the same to him, your hands gripping the end of his shirt before swiftly pulling it over his head.

He placed a kiss onto your shoulder while you left small kisses along his jaw. Kai pulled back to look at you with a devilish smirk before he spoke, “Let’s make up for the time we lost, baby.”

Then you found yourself laying on the bed with Kai hovering over you and soon the two of you spent the night making love to each other.

#Kai parker imagine #Kai Parker #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries imagine #imagine blog #fluffy imagine #angst imagine #kai parker fluffl #chris wood #chris wood imagine #tvd reader insert #fluff chris wood imagine #tvd imagine #witches

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