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imagineslashers · 3 years

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First Words Soulmate AU

okay so i love this au, and i’m not sure if it’ve done it before, but i’m doing it now so enjoy! essentially, the first words you ever speak to your soulmate are imprinted on you somewhere and same for them, if you aren’t familiar with this au! x

WARNING for violence and death and swearing!

also sorry this is long yikes-

Jason

To be perfectly honest, you had lost all hope of ever meeting your soulmate, if going only by the words on your wrist - or rather, the lack of words. All you have imprinted on your skin is a dash, a wobbly line, and nothing else. From day one, you had merely accepted the fact that your soulmate was likely dead, or going to die, before you’d ever have the chance to meet them.

Your trip to an old camping ground was purely as an escape, to break away from all your friends who were happily in love and all met their soulmates. It was overwhelming, the joy they were suffocating your lonely self with, so you needed to get away.

Hiking through the cool afternoon air, your heart lays heavy in your chest, proving that even distance and ignorance can’t shield you from the pain. Anxiously, your fingers rub at your exposed wrist, and the crooked line across it. An owl hoots in the distant treetops, reminding you of your isolation.

You pause, taking a minute to breathe in deeply, stretching your sore muscles, and peering at the glimpse of the lake through the distant tree trunks. A slight sound distracts you, a brief snapping of a twig, and all the birds stop singing. A deer, perhaps? Your head turns slowly, taking in the surroundings. Even the insects seem to be holding their breath, the forest blanketed by a harsh silence.

The hairs stand up on the back of your neck and you exhale shakily, deciding to push on and try to reach a clearing where you may feel less trapped. It doesn’t help. The more steps you take, the more aware you become of the sensation, constantly looking over your shoulder.

When your nerves are entirely fried, the sudden flight of a startled crow sends you into a fully fledged panic, bolting through the trees. The quiet snapping of twigs becomes a heavy thudding, trembling the ground and you no longer waste time by looking back, powering through the forest.

There’s a looming shadow that falls over you and your voice escapes in a shriek, realising the inevitable. You’re not fast enough. The world spins as your shirt is grabbed, yanking you backwards and throwing you off your feet. Rolling across the dirt for a few seconds, you’re finally stopped staring up at the hulking masked figure. There’s a machete in his left hand, and a shred of your shirt in his right. He steps over you, feet either side of your hips and pulls back his arm.

You instinctively lift your hands to defend yourself, turning your head away and gasping for breath. “P-please!” You whimper, heart racing like a hummingbird. “Please don’t!”

He freezes, pulls back, and blinks at you from behind his mask. After a few painfully slow moments, he rotates his arm holding the machete, and you’re able to glimpse three words inscribed down his arm. They’re the words you spoke.

It all clicks and you realise he doesn’t, or can’t, speak. You shakily lift your wrist to show him your mark. He appears bewildered, stunned at the thought of having a real soulmate as much as you, then finally extends a wary hand. You take it.

Bubba

The road trip was a stupid idea, you said that from the start. However, you had been dragged along by your friends to celebrate a few milestones in your lives, and so succumbed to their pleading. Now, you sit rigidly in the back of their car, waiting anxiously. How long does it take to pay for fuel?

Your mind is racing, it’s been nearly half an hour and you haven’t heard anything. You elected to stay behind to keep an eye on the car while they went inside to get snacks, but that shouldn’t take too long, right?

A light flickers in the back of the old gas station, and with it the sound of a machine, perhaps a chainsaw or similar tool. You try to shrug it off. It’s a dilapidated country station, they’re probably fixing something or working at the back.

However, you can’t ignore the screaming, or the sudden bursting open of the door. Your friend’s boyfriend comes streaking out, face ashen, bolting past you. You lean out of the window, eyes wide, calling his name but he ignores you. A whoosh of air rushes past your head and an axe lands squarely in the back of his head. You scream, jerking yourself back into the car before kicking the door open and almost falling out.

You don’t have the keys, but running is obviously pointless. Instead, you bolt for the gas station, hoping to find a phone or a weapon or something! You don’t make it that far before the axe thrower steps out into the light, breathing heavily. He’s hard to make out, but you recognise the bloody apron and odd looking mask as immediately a threat, if you hadn’t already witnessed what he’d just done.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

Shocked by his appearance, you find your feet are sluggish and unresponsive. He notices you but doesn’t charge, instead making cautious steps towards you, dragging a large chainsaw. He mumbles something, just a string of sounds, as if trying to soothe you like an injured deer. It takes hearing more screaming for you to start stepping backwards quickly, unwilling to take your eyes off of him. Your back thuds into something solid and your hair is twisted into an iron grip, making you cry out.

“Got ‘em! Hurry up and finish it so we can go home already.” The man behind you reeks of blood and sweat, his accent almost masking his words. The one with the chainsaw makes a muffled noise of distress, closing the distance between you and shoves the one holding you backwards, releasing the grip on your hair.

“The hell, Bubba?” He growls, but the much taller male hisses, grabbing your arm and pulling you back with him. This captor, Bubba, starts desperately pulling up his pant leg, seemingly having forgotten where his mark is, but finally twists around to see the back of his calf. Your words in shaky handwriting are scrawled across his flesh.

Shocked, you pull down your shirt and try to inspect the nonsensical letters along your collarbone. Bubba makes a slight squeal, pulling you against his chest, delighted to finally have his soulmate! Still in shock, you allow him to lead you to their truck, your heart swelling but your head spinning. Oh well, not like you have much choice anyway!

Freddy

Bad dream would probably be an understatement, that’s what you think as you find yourself sprinting painfully slowly through a boiler room, steam burning your skin as you pass. Laughter rings out, bouncing off the walls and startling you. Bitterness creeps into your heart, a sour taste in your mouth as you try not to fall into the sick games you know are going to begin.

“Where are you, you prick?!” You yell, hands balled into fists, stomping your foot for effect. You’re terrified, naturally, but not going to die looking like a wimp or giving him the satisfaction. You know all about him from the teens in your neighbourhood.

Freddy comes bounding around a corner, looking expectantly gleeful and sadistic, his gloved hand dragging along the wall. His face breaks into a grin, but you recognise the flash of panic in his face, which confuses you all the more. Why would he be scared?

You step back, ready to throw yourself into a fight or flight, but he just looks at you dumbly, huffing, amusement fading. “What did you say?” Something clicks in his mind and he stalks towards you. “Say it again.”

You’re ready to tell him where he can shove his request when you understand the significance of his words. His first words to you.

“Oh, shit, no way!” Your words leave you a breathless rush and it makes him laugh. He’s so badly burnt that your words have been essentially destroyed from his wrist, but he’d never forget what they said. You carefully roll up your shorts and expose the slanted writing wrapped around your thigh. Freddy looks a little stunned, and annoyed, but he finally sighs dramatically in defeat.

“Okay, guess you’re mine then, baby!” He resigns himself to it like a child having to do chores, grabbing your hand in his exposed one, pulling you with him.

Michael

Halloween is arguably one of the best holidays, but you don’t agree with that statement anymore as you’re creeping through the dark streets, trying not to be noticed. The news headlines were that the killer was on a streak, getting more creative with every victim, and you’re determined not to be the next one.

Unfortunately, you live in his neighbourhood, so you didn’t have any options when the television at your work lit up with a warning to stay home. And your car broke down, so you’re now stuck walking home, jumping at the sound of every meow and car horn. Pulling your coat tighter around your frame, you hurry down the street, passing under a streetlamp which illuminates your white knuckles wrapped tightly around your bag.

There’s a siren in the distance and that assures you, just a little, that perhaps the killer is being brought down right now. With that in mind, you let out a breath which escapes you in a puff of smoke in the cold air. Clinging tightly to your reassurances, you speed up a little, having reached your street. Relief washes through you, as well as embarrassment at how terrified you’d been.

You chuckle to yourself, rounding the corner to your house when you see him. A huge black shadow, stepping out from the neighbouring house, his knife stained crimson. You both stand in silence, staring at one another, before you decide to try your luck at running.

You turn around and sprint the way you’d come, biting your lip so hard it draws blood. Your breath comes in short puffs as your body is pushed beyond the limits. He may have the advantage of being quicker, but you know this area. Ducking down an alleyway, you launch yourself onto a wooden fence, scrambling to get over. You’re just about to when a cold hand wraps around your ankle and yanks you back down.

The force of it knocks the wind from your lungs as you lay on your back, gasping. The stranger crouches over you, pressing the tip of his blade to the hollow of your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Just do it!” You manage to force out.

The blade pulls away and you risk peeking one eye open to see the white mask. Your killer is shocked, looking almost like a stone figure, unable to move or breathe. He never wanted a soulmate, didn’t believe in it, but now you’re laying under him and he can’t kill you.

Angrily, he slams his fist into the concrete by your head and you flinch, eyes wide open now as he stares back at you. There’s a quiet word he mutters, just loud enough for you to catch it. “Fuck.”

You barely have time to question him, recognising that one word from the one that’s imprinted on your shoulder blade, before he’s hauling you up and carrying you off bridal style, one hand still tightly clutching his knife.

Beetlejuice

The motel room is kinda dingy- well, it’s very dingy if you’re honest, but you’re so exhausted you can’t bring yourself to do more than collapse on the bed. You’d been travelling for a few days on your way to a new town to start up your new career, passing through this idyllic little town. It’s cute, very homey, but the motel is pretty old.

Whatever, you just need to sleep. Rolling onto your stomach, you pull out your phone and check your messages. The television starts playing. Sitting up, you strain your ears but hear only some corny romance film. Rolling your eyes, you decide that you’re leaving as soon as the sun rises, but begrudgingly force yourself to walk into the living area to turn off the television.

Once you do, you put the remote on the coffee table, making sure it can’t fall or turn itself on again. Turning around, you start walking back to the bed when it turns on, louder this time. Your brows furrow in annoyance as you return and turn it off, smacking the side of the set for good measure.

After staring at the black screen for a few seconds, you decide it’s done being irritating and once again try to walk back to bed. You’ve just collapsed on your side when it turns on again.

Gritting your teeth, you rub your eyes and contemplate how much effort it would be to walk back to reception to ask for a new room. You’ve just decided on getting up when you feel the bed dip behind you, fingertips tracing your arm. Your heart nearly bursts in terror.

“You don’t like this movie?” The words come out dripping in sarcasm and amusement from the stranger behind you. Immediately, your body reacts defensively and you leap from the bed, whirling around to punch the intruder. He yelps in surprise, hand over his nose.

“You asshole! Get out of my room!” You yell, barely able to contain your emotions, completely glazing over the realisation that those words are on your lower back. However, the intruder does notice and sits up excitably, eyeing you like a prize. You’re not sure where to look first, the green hair or the dirty striped suit.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to find you in a motel room, but hey, can’t complain!” He grins, his expression resembling that of a wolf. He pops the buttons on his shirt and you’re stuck standing in confusion as you read back the words you just yelled at him, imprinted on his collar.

“No.” You point at him, then the door. “Not happening. Go away and come back at a decent hour.” He laughs, but then realises you’re serious, whining as he pulls himself from the bed.

“You’re mean. I like it. See you in the morning!” He disappears in a hazy cloud of purple smoke, leaving you coughing and wondering if you hallucinated.

Billy & Stu

School sucks. Not only because of the obvious; preppy kids, bullies, annoying teachers, homework. No, you’re annoyed because everyone is falling madly in love with their soulmates, throwing it in your face. You’re a freak to most, because you don’t have your soulmate mark. You have two.

Wearing long sleeves is how you conceal it, but everyone knows you’re different, the rumours started as soon as you walked in the door. Irritable, you resign yourself to having to deal with not only the first day at a new shitty school, but also being the object of much taunting on said first day.

You manage to sail through most of your classes by ignoring everyone else, but by lunch time, you can’t avoid it. Your feet carry you to an empty table where you hope to just have a quiet meal. That, of course, can never happen for you.

Two rather imposing looking teens slink over to you, and you recognise them as the school’s bad boys, popular kids if a little weird, Billy and Stu. You look down and continue picking at a sandwich, hoping that if you pretend they don’t exist, they’ll do the same for you and move onto someone else.

Once again, that doesn’t happen for you. “Hello, gorgeous.” Billy sits in the seat next to you and Stu sidles up on the opposite one, both of them grinning. “Why are you sat alone, baby?” Stu purrs. You’ve had enough of being taunted today and you stand up, causing your chair to scream in protest against the tacky floors.

“Can everyone just leave me the hell alone?” You scowl, grabbing your bag and missing the look that the boys exchange in surprise. Billy nods, and Stu grabs your arm.

“Hey!” You try to pull it back, but Billy takes your other one and they both pull up your sleeves. Sure enough, the words they just greeted you with are on your arms, one of each. Your cheeks burn with humiliation, and relief, at finding your soulmates.

Stu lets go first, practically bouncing on the spot as he lifts his shirt to show you what you said written angrily across his ribs. Billy’s next, he has the same words but wrapped around his ankle.

You’re in a state of shock when they coax you back into your seat, one hanging one each of your arms. There’s no way you’re getting away now, especially not with the way they’re looking at you like you’re their favourite toy.

The Man

The night was finally quietening down when you decided to sit on the porch for a bit, a hot drink cupped in your hands, listening to the crickets.

Your decision to live in a wooded area is probably one of the best you’ve made, or at least that’s what you believe as you enjoy the blissful peace of your surroundings. Blowing on your drink, you almost don’t notice the figure in the corner of your eye.

Expecting one of the neighbours checking in about something, you aren’t immediately alarmed, sitting up a bit straighter to try and make them out in the shadows. The stranger doesn’t speak, so neither do you, but the longer you both stare at one another, the worse the feeling in your gut becomes. Something isn’t quite right.

You’ve just decided to go back inside when he starts approaching. Coming nearer to your porch lights, you can finally see that he’s wearing a mask, and across his back he’s carrying a crossbow. Adrenaline shoots into your veins and you leap up, your mug smashing. The display of alertness doesn’t concern him, he continues approaching at a leisurely pace, dragging his hand across the side of your car as he comes up the driveway.

You walk backwards to the front door, making sure you can keep him in your sights at all times, your hand fumbling for the handle. He waves at you, and you sense he’s smiling under his mask, judging by the delighted, predatorial glint in his eyes. You simply scowl in response, attempting to hide the way your body trembles as you finally get the door open and jump backwards, slamming it shut.

He leaps up the porch steps and stands outside the door, his shadow spilling in from under the door. You step back, holding your breath. The shadow retreats with the sound of boots, leaving you frozen to the spot listening for him.

The silence becomes so painful that when he finally does make a noise, it startles you. Tracking it down, you find him stood outside your kitchen by the large window, head tilted as he peers inside at you, still jovial and content to be terrifying you.

Unwilling to show him your fear any further, you point at the alarm system, indicating you can set it off to alert authorities. Yelling to be heard through the glass, your words get his attention easily.

“You better leave, or I’m going to make sure they haul your sorry ass to prison!”

He steps back, much to your surprise, and then lifts his mask. You’re taken aback by his face - attractive - and don’t notice him pulling up his hoodie. There in cursive along his hip is your handwriting, and the threat you just gave him. His face breaks out into a grin as he jumps back to his position right up against the glass.

“Show me yours!” His voice is elevated by his delight and you step away, warily lifting your arm to reveal his demand written along your outer forearm. Like a kid given candy, he knocks excitably against the glass. “Let me in! You’re so mine!”

The Blissfield Butcher

What a shitty day. You missed the bus trying to get home from work, and then it started raining. By the time you’d made it to the next operating bus stop, your clothes had been successfully drenched, leaving you shivering under the meagre shelter provided.

Cursing your boss for lecturing you and in turn making you late to leave, you hug your arms around yourself. A ping goes off from your pocket, then another, and another, until you give up on trying to warm yourself and fish around in your pockets to find the source. Your phone lights up your face in the darkness. An amber alert prompts all residents to stay home if they can, following a string of murders.

You exhale sharply, trying to centre your thoughts on anything other than the anxiety creeping into the back of your mind. Your gaze lifts from the screen and is immediately drawn to a passing shadow, which halts the second you look at it. Unsure if you’re seeing things, you put your phone away and squint through the rain, attempting to distinguish whether it’s someone you know.

Likely just a passer-by, you resume huddling under the shelter. The shadow moves away, and your anxiety with it. However, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. After a few minutes, the shadow reappears and you realise it’s circling you from a distance. The reality sets in and you curse, chancing up your options. Glancing over your shoulder, you can see your workplace still lit up a few blocks down. You could run there, but you’re not sure how fast the figure is.

When you tear your eyes away from your distant workplace, you realise that looking away had been a mistake, the shadow significantly closer and now more obviously a male. A very tall male, in a mask. You curse under your breath and decide to risk it, your aching legs once again forced into action. The bitterly cold rain makes running harder, and it’s worse trying to see where you’re going as it starts to come down heavier, masking the sounds of your stalker.

You shoot a quick look over your shoulder, your heart jumping at how close he is, within reaching distance. Your mind makes a quick decision and you jerk to the side so his grab misses you, whilst you run down another street onto a local sports field, now dark and silent.

The wet grass clings to your feet, slowing you down, but you don’t have time to reflect on this mistake because your shoved from behind. The force of your momentum and the power behind the shove sends you skidding on your front, grazing your cheek.

He’s on you before you can blink, pushing you onto your back, straddling your hips. His eyes are wild behind the mask as he uses one hand to keep your shoulder down, the other gripping a butcher’s knife. Your efforts at squirming are denied by his sheer weight and the force of his thighs trapping your lower half. Seeing no other option, you start to panic and gasp, the rain still soaking you both.

“Wait, please, don’t!” Your tears mix into the rain as your hands desperately push against him, one accidentally knocking his mask off. He’s distracted by this and you continue, your hands instead lowering to protect your face. “I know a lot of cops, I-I-” the excuse tumbles from your mouth, but cuts off when you notice the black writing on his neck. “Oh.” Your voice is reduced to a whimper, reading back what you’ve said to him.

He sighs, stabbing the grass and sitting back, looking at you expectantly. “Um, are you not going to kill me?” You curse the way your words shake as you look up at him. The ghost of a smile touches his lips and he grips your wrist, pulling you up. He doesn’t stop there, throwing you over his shoulder and stooping to pick up his knife. “I’m not gonna kill what’s mine.” He growls the words, sending a chill through you as those familiar words are etched onto your arm.

#soulmate au #slasher imagines #jason voorhees x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #freddy krueger x reader #michael myers x reader #hush 2016 #the man x reader #blissfield butcher x reader #billy x stu x reader #beetlejuice x reader #reader inserts

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redrobin-detective · 3 years

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give lilies with full hands

“Ghosts at the cemetery, why am I not surprised?” Valerie grumbled under her breath as she glanced at the glowing dots congregating near Heavenly Gates, Amity’s largest cemetery. It was just after 5pm on a Friday; Valerie should be at home getting ready for a fun and relaxing weekend. Instead, she was speeding forward in the dreary pre-rain mist about to tackle a hoard of the undead. Her life was so strange and unfair sometimes it just fueled her hatred for everything ghostly.

As she approached the cemetery, she slowed down and had her ectoweapon up and ready to shoot. Instead of a fire fight, she found an eerie, unsettling quiet that sunk deep into her bones and made her unable to move. She just hovered above the cemetery and took in the full scope of the scene. The Fentons were here, hard as they were to miss but like Valerie, they were also frozen with unease. Mrs. Fenton kept fiddling with her weapons but couldn’t manage to lift it in a meaningful way.

The fog hung heavily around the cemetery, clinging like wet paint dripping down an unfinished picture. She could make out the unnatural glow of several ghosts, a few of which she recognized. That annoying child pirate ghost none of the adults could ever see was sobbing silently, curled up in a fetal position on the ground as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible. The biker guy and girl were cuddled into each other, leaned up against a grave looked scared and worn, flickering dangerously like static on TV. Val spotted Ember looking frightened and quaking looking like she wanted to run but was unable to. Her soft glow alerted Val that there was another ghost she’d initially missed.

The ghost was more shadow than anything, the fog moving through and from them. They were a swirl of greys and blacks in the approximation of a long cloak covering their face entirely. Pinpricks of bright lights shone from underneath the cloak’s hood. They bore down on Ember as if it were seeing deep into her soul and found her lacking.

Phantom was there too, he looked almost normal compared to everything else going on so it’s not surprising she’d missed him at first. The fog dampened some of his ghostly glow and he was standing properly instead of floating. Like Val and the Fentons, he seemed unable to move. The heavy drizzle in the air flattened his normally gravity defying hair. If she hadn’t known better, she’d say he was a normal person standing there, albeit one with weird fashion sense who went a little crazy with the bleach. And if Phantom looked human in comparison then just what was this new ghost?

“Amber Jablonski,” The ghost whispered quietly within the cemetery but Valerie could hear perfectly well, as if were being spoken into her ear. From the shivers she saw come from the Fentons, they were experiencing the same thing. Ember moaned, something deep and agonizing. She fell to her knees as more of her glow faded. “An eager musician just making a name for herself in her small town. A performance at a barn had faulty wiring. The building caught fire and Young Amber was trapped by debris and unable to escape.”

The flame in Ember’s hair burst into brilliant blue flames before painfully sputtering out like a candle on the verge of going out. A wisp like ghostly hand reached out and tenderly ran a finger down the side of Ember’s face like a mockery of the tears she could no longer shed. “Cause of death was severe burns across her whole body and smoke suffocation at the age of 22.”

“Enough,” Phantom announced suddenly, stepping forward through the ghostly arm putting himself squarely between Ember and the wisp ghost. The dead rockstar barely noticed, her whole form trembling as she looked down at the cold earth with absolute horror. Val wondered if she was feeling the cold of the cemetery or the burning heat of an out of control fire. “You’re killing her.”

“She is already dead,” the ghost answered, “as are they all. They are but echoes of lives come and gone.”

“That doesn’t mean you have the right to remind them,” Phantom said, looking more ghostly again. His aura flared suddenly and his eyes lit up like angry lightning bugs in a jar. “Death is sacred, it’s private and you’re using it to hurt them.”

“It is my duty, I am the Mortem Obire. I make the restless dead confront their own mortality, remind them of what they lost.” The ghost stared down Phantom who flinched but overwise stood his ground. “It is because of you, Danny Phantom, that I have been summoned to this realm. Your life essence has made these ghosts forget what they were. They flock to you, drawn to your vibrancy, seeking what they’d lost. The dead were straying from their existence, emboldened by your example, they were forging new purposes. I am merely correcting their assumptions to preserve the delicate balance that maintains the two worlds.”

“But death shouldn’t have to define them, I mean us,” Phantom pleaded. “They can grow if they want, experience new things. The end of life isn’t the end.”

“How very human of you,” the other ghost said breathily, an unnatural imitation of a chuckle. “Your death, if we can call it that,” the ghost said, “was born out of innocence and ignorance. Nature demanded the experiment fail but your naivety allowed for the flow of life and death to be disrupted. You looked at a machine you could neither understand or control and made the attempt anyway. Your hubris consumed you in the form of electricity, pain firing through your whole body as you screamed for a relief that never came. Your old body was obliterated and remade into the abomination you are now.”

Oh god, Phantom was electrocuted. He had lived his last moments as a human screaming and in pain. She knew he was vaguely around her age but it was one thing to know a kid her age had gone through that and another to hear it described. Without thinking, she lowered her weapons.

“Yeah I know that,” Phantom said weakly. “I took out the power in the whole city for a few hours which I felt bad about afterwards. What’s your point?” His glow was completely gone, the wet humidity of the air clinging to him much like how it fogged up Valerie’s suit. The shadow of the sinking sun made his white hair look dark and the greens of his eyes had faded into a less unnatural blue/green.

The only think remotely otherworldly about him was a faint pulsing glow coming from the center of his chest. It beat like a heart, a soft brightness that seemed to dispel the overwhelming feeling of death. Ember looked up from the ground, the pirate kid uncurled himself a little, biker guy and his girlfriend became a little more solid. They looked at Phantom with such awe and envy and grief it was almost painful to watch them stare at what they clearly lacked.

“My words hold no domain over your heart now, child of two worlds,” the ghost wheezed, floating past Phantom. “But someday you will greet death properly, be made humble by it, and I will be there to remind you of how fickle and fleeting that precious life of yours is.”

“I-” Phantom defended, glowing slightly with his eyes once more an ectoplasmic green. But now it was obvious to see how much more lively and present he was compared to the others. She still hates him, will probably still hunt him but while she knew Phantom was a ghost she knew, whatever he was, she couldn’t call him dead. Not with eyes so sympathetic and expressive and alive.

“Be gone, all of you mortals, this is a place for the dead,” the ghost commanded. The ghost hovered over to the Box Ghost who had been shivering behind a tombstone the whole time and suddenly went still as stone. “Your compassion for them does them no favors. This is the price for their existence, the dead cannot and should not forget. That is their purpose and this is mine. This is not an end to their existence, merely a reminder.”

Valerie never thoughts she’d see the Fentons flee from a fight but still she watched as Jack and Maddie slowly backed up until they reached their garish assault vehicle. They fumbled for the handles, not willing to tear their eyes off the ghosts before climbing in and driving off. Phantom looked torn, grief stricken as he watched the mist ghost, the Mortem Obire, speak softly to the Box Ghost. He looked like he wanted to interfere, to place himself in-between again but his shoulders slumped as he realized the futility of the action. This was the nature of death and memory and the living were not to interfere.

He glanced up at her, wary and saddened before disappearing from view, going off to wherever it was he lived his life when he wasn’t causing her problems. Valerie swiftly turned her board around and sped quickly in the direction of home. This had left her a lot of things to think about, about Phantom, about ghosts, about what it meant to stick around once your number was up.

But that was for later, for now she wanted to get out of chill before the rain started in earnest. She wanted to drink something warm, sit close with her father and feel their hearts beating in time. Valerie Grey wanted nothing more, in that moment, to simply breathe in and appreciate her life before it was taken and those happy memories used against her. She would not die full of regret for what she had missed.

#danny phantom #what the FUCK did I just write #I am a nurse and have seen people die and its clearly affected me #alt title was Robin goes crazy with the Latin and overemotional death metaphors #i swear this was going to be f u n n y #it started with the idea of ghosts being really affected hearing about their death wheras Danny was cracking jokes about it #but that got me thinking on the difference btw danny and the dead #bc no matter what fics claim danny isn't DEAD #he had a death he has ghostly powers but he lives not just in body but in soul #there are some aspects of being a ghost he has no place being involved #his inherent humanity seperates him from those who have lost theirs #And the dead feeling Dannys life energy and being drawn to him feeling more alive #that goes against the laws of nature of life and death #thus the mortem obire which literally means to face death #and its like this weird thing of like ghosts have feeling and memories and emotions but #they're also echoes of lives long past #that memory of their old lives is as terrifying as it is vital to their afterlife #it hurts them but they also have to have it #because they're not alive #to pretend to be so #to act beyond their agency it's uguhuuhu #idk this is too metaphysical for a sunday #wrote this listening to Taylor swifts 'right where you left me' bc for WHATEVER reason it had the right vibes

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justnerdthings · 3 years

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Frigid Heart Ch. 5

F!Reader x Bi-Han

Surprise!

A little short. But here you go.

@poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @whitelotusfighter @icy-spicy @crazytxgradstudent @d-taslim @bihansthot @legends-of-apex @lillikue @missroro @shang-hung

To say the Grandmaster was impressed with you would have been an understatement. You could feel Lily’s eyes bore into the back of your head as she followed you and the Grandmaster through the halls. You had been cleaned up and given a clean hanfu--a nicer one. You were beyond thankful for the gift, but the Grandmaster was wise. He could see the worry behind your eyes. And he could sense Lily’s hostility. She had begun to grate against his nerves… But he understood her frustration. Who were you to come in and turn out be so full of surprises. He’d surely rile up Lily later on. He may have enjoyed her a being a tad jealous. But for now, he would ignore her behavior. You were much easier to look at anyway.

“Were all Snow Ninja servants as loyal as you?” he asked you.

You glanced up to him, then quickly looked away. “We’re raised to be loyal. If we aren’t loyal, we’re disposed of. I’m sure it’s the same here, Grandmaster.”

“Ah. Yes, we do expect loyalty. But such loyalty--to protect their masters? That is a rare treat for the Lin Kuei. Only a handful of girls have ever wielded our blades.”

“There is no use in weak servants,” You repeated the old mantra your former masters had taught you.

The Grandmaster rose his brows at your words, considering them for a moment before giving a single nod. “I suppose that is correct. To an extent.”

You sucked in a deep breath. You couldn’t help it anymore. This was eating away at you. “What happens to me if Sub-Zero dies?” You asked.

He chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. “Who said Sub-Zero will die?”

“Those injuries—”

“I assure you, dear. He has endured much worse.”

You stiffened being called ‘dear.’ You heard a noise of displeasure behind you. Lily didn’t seem to like it either. “But, if he does, Grandmaster…” you cautiously pressed.

“If he does die, then I’m sure you’ll be picked up by another Lin Kuei assassin.”

“I won’t be sold, will I?”

He chuckled. “Perhaps. Though I imagine Tundra would offer to take you. He would have first rights to Sub-Zero’s belongings.”

That was right. That’s what you were. You were one of Sub-Zero’s belongings. You were just a piece of property.

“Though, I wouldn’t mind having you for myself,” the Grandmaster said. Your jaw stiffened and he had noticed. His brows rose. “That does not please you?”

You weren’t sure what to say, so you kept your mouth shut.

“Ah, so you’ve already heard about my girls.” He nodded “I am not unkind to my girls, I assure you. But they are mine. I do what I will with them. I have the means to offer them any pleasures they wish. I only ask for loyalty in return… and one other thing.”

You glanced to him. Once he noticed he’d piqued your interest, he’d smirked.

“A son,” he answered your curiosity. “Throughout the years, I have been given nothing but daughters. God seems to mock me. He denies me a rightful heir. Try as I might, I have not one son to speak of. Perhaps it’s a curse for the horrible things I have done in my life. But I will keep trying until my death.”

Well, now that just made sense. He had so many breeding women because he was trying desperately to have a son. But was it true that he was kind to them? And what of all these daughters?

You were suddenly reminded of Snowflake. She had been raised in the palace, but she didn’t know who her parents were… Was she one of the Grandmaster’s daughters? Did he… Did he just give them away? Your jaw hardened more.

“You wonder where all my daughters are,” the Grandmaster said with an understanding nod. “Dead.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Dead? All of them?

“But, that is a story for another day. You’re worried for Sub-Zero.” He stopped at a door which Lily moved to open. He motioned for you to go on ahead, then followed you into the large room.

It was full of injured assassins. Those knowledgeable in medicine were helping whoever they could. Servants were running back and forth, desperately trying to keep up with demand. Lily pushed herself towards the back of the room and you followed.

Bi-Han was laid out on a bedroll. His robes had been removed so his wounds could be properly assessed. A sheet had been draped over him for his own decency. Kuai was seated next to his brother and looked up as you appeared. He stiffened as he noticed the Grandmaster follow you. He bowed his head respectfully. “Grandmaster.”

“Tundra. How is Sub-Zero?” The Grandmaster asked, stepping closer.

“He’s lost a lot of blood. But he will live,” Kuai answered, then watched as you sat on the other side of Bi-Han.

“Very good. I had faith he would pull through.”

“Yes, Grandmaster.” Kuai nodded.

“I trust until he recovers, you will take responsibility for…” He suddenly became aware that you had not told him your name. He looked to you for it.

You frowned and looked away with a shake of your head. You were still nameless.

“Ah. Well, no matter.” He dismissed it with a wave and looked back to Kuai, who had turned his attention back to you. Kuai heaved a sigh, but nodded.

“Yes, Grandmaster,” he agreed.

“Good. And do tell me when he wakes. I would like to speak with him.”

Kuai bowed his head respectfully. You did the same. The Grandmaster smirked at both of your obedience before turning to leave, Lily at his heels.

_________

Bi-Han’s eyes shot open. His vision was horribly distorted. His lungs were burning. Where was he? Why couldn’t he breathe? Why was it so hot?

It took so much effort to even lift his head, never mind pulling at the chains around his wrists and ankles. He opened his mouth to speak… his throat felt as though he’d swallowed jagged rocks. A grunt escaped him.

As his vision began clearing, he could make out the figure of someone--someTHING standing several feet away. It was blacker than any black he’d ever seen with just as dark wisps dancing over it. Glowing white eyes were locked on him. “Who… Where am I?” Bi-Han managed to choke out.

The figure chuckled and caused Bi-Han’s chest to rumble with the deep resonance. “Home,” it answered.

Bi-Han’s brows knotted. He glanced around at the vast wasteland. No matter how hard he tried to suck in air, nothing soothed the empty burning in his chest. He wouldn’t have been able to describe it if anyone asked. It was like suffocating, but to no end. Death would not come. Even his heart had stopped beating. Agonizing pain radiated through his body as his muscles and organs were denied blood… What was this icy burn that washed over him? Was it… Panic?

“This… is not home,” he forced out, voice shredded.

“Oh. But it will be. Soon.”

“You speak in riddles.”

The figure chuckled again and disappeared from Bi-han’s view. Bi-Han was suddenly hoisted up by the chains and slammed back against a wall of black fire. He cried out as the flames burned his skin, blistering it instantly. And just as with the pain in his chest, relief would not come… And neither would ice as he tried to will it in an effort to protect himself.

Panicked voices soon filled his ears. Opening his eyes, he was faced with the Lin Kuei village in chaos, the palace and surrounding homes burning to the ground. No one seemed to notice him as he struggled against the chains. Smoke now filled his aching lungs, making them burn more. Trying to shout just made it worse. What was going on? Who had attacked them? Who had set fire to the village?

Kuai had run past him, into the blazes, summoning ice in attempts to combat the flames. Sektor and Cyrax were trying to evacuate the assassins and servants. Tomas was nowhere to be seen--he may have just blended in with the rest of the smoke. The Grandmaster collapsed as the smoke overwhelmed him. Lily laid lifeless on the ground next to him. Burned bodies laid everywhere. But you… Where were you? His eyes desperately searched the scene for you.

That demonic chuckle muted the sounds of the chaos around him before it all faded away. No. Wait. He hadn’t spotted you yet!

“She will perish just as the others,” that voice told him.

Bi-Han’s eyes snapped over to the figure. He choked on his words. “What is this?”

“This is where you become your true self.”

“What?”

“Do you not recognize yourself?”

Bi-Han’s brows knotted and the figure appeared in front of him, face only inches from his.

Those eyes… Those were… his.

“Don’t look so surprised. You knew you would end up here someday.”

Bi-Han’s jaw hardened.

“Welcome to Hell.”

No…

“Too bad you can’t stick around. This would have been fun. But, you’re not quite ready.”

“For what?” He hissed.

“To conquer Netherrealm.”

“What?”

The figure--a twisted version of himself--had chuckled again before everything faded away.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat 2021 #mortal kombat fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #mk fanfic #mk fanfiction #sub-zero #bi-han #lin kuei #bi-han x reader #reader x bi-han #sub-zero x reader #reader x sub-zero #joe taslim #reader insert

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tokoyamisstuff · 3 years

Text

Dark Side Of The Moon Ch. 2 - Dark! Loki x Reader

Chapter 2: “On The Run”

Chapter Summary: Even though you can’t help feeling drawn to the lunatic that looks like your deceased lover, you try to surpress your feelings and flee to find your friends.

Warnings: Loki is fucking crazy, Violence, Torture, Jotun! Loki, Mentions of Death, Abuse, Unhealthy Relationship, Mentions of Rape

Words: 3360

[Story Masterlist]

Masterlist to my other works right ->Here<-

“And the shark, it has tears,

And they run down its face.

But the shark lives in the water -

So the teardrops one can’t see.”

- Rammstein - Haifisch

Taglist: @winterglcw @commonintrest @emmojoy @satansbra @just-someone-who-likes-to-write

“She died through my hands.”

That sentence replayed over and over in your head, forming a continuous loop as you silently formed those words with your own lips.

“It’s not him!” you called out to yourself, since your reason had seemingly disappeared ever since you first saw the person that was a perfect copy of the man you once loved.

You were rolling around on the bare floor, shivering as you softly punched your head to not get lost in thought again. The emperor didn’t even have the basic decency to give you any clothes back, only having the Citauri throw you into an old dungeon to keep you prisoner - or whatever he’d plan to do with you.

That man was so different of your Loki.

And the timeline both of you were currently in had exceeded your worst expectations, making you wonder if fate just wanted to torment you.

In this universe, Thanos never even got so far as to collect all of the Infinity Stones. Loki Laufeyson had won the battle of New York and took over this world, then somehow double-crossed and killed the Titan. So right now, he possessed the power of the Tesseract, as well as the Cascet of Ancient Winters. For what reason he kept that Jotun relic was unknown, probably out of nostalgic sentiment you assumed.

Afterwards, the God of Mischief had killed his brother Thor in bad blood, as well as torturing Natasha - the exact way he threatened her back in your world, when he was in his cell. Clint was still his servant, as it seemed. You had seen him when they took you to his cell.

He couldn’t get rid of all the Avengers, however - even though their current location was unknown. They were in hiding for many years now, probably trying to get their hands on the other Infinity Stones.

Also noticeable was the fact that this universe had neither Hela, nor Captain Marvel - so one good and one bad thing to compensate for each other. Not that they’d be a match for Loki in his current form anyway...

And there was no Dr. Strange on this version of Earth, your last bit hope to escape disappearing as you learned about this fact.

That much was all you had learned by now, mainly through tricking and manipulating some of your guards into giving you information.

All in all, you only knew for sure was that this world’s Loki was a terribly trong, murderous sociopath, intoxicated by power and loneliness.

And you had become the focus of the little emotion left in him.

It was hard trying to surpress all the voices and memory submerging in your mind. So there was nothing left for you except for rolling up into a ball, lying on the cold floor as you prepared to be washed over with sadness and guilt once again.

_____

“Would you help me recieve the greatest honor by becoming mine and mine only, Lady Y/N?”

How could you ever forget this moment?

Back on the Asgardian refugee ship, your Loki had asked you that very question, now popping up in your mind once again.

Every detail was still as bright as daylight, preserved deep into your heart.

You clearly remembered the small, green box he had summoned out of thin air, presenting you a plain but still incredibly beautiful ring. The golden piece of jewlery formed a snake eating itself - a symbol of infinity and wholeness.

It was just his way of being thoughtful.

“I-I prepared this a while go, to be precize...but I never thought of being worthy” he had stammered and you found yourself speechless, admiring that very scene playing in front of your eyes. “A-Anyway, after all that happened, I realized that all moments I spent happy, were when I was with you. I don’t want to lose you again, Y/N! And I feared, well...that it might be too late to ask someday.”

It was most unjust that this most blissful moment would be interrupted by a great rumbling shaking through the whole spaceship - and even before Thor would crash Loki’s proposal, both of you were aware just what kind of danger you would have to face soon:

Thanos.

Your numbers had already been decimated by Ragnarok, all that’s left being some civilian refugees, injured and traumatized. The only ones capable of fighting left were Loki, Thor, Heimdall, you and the Hulk.

Yet all of your struggles were to no avail, only able to watch and scream and bag at the Titan, so he’d at least spare those innocent lives as he mercilessly slaughtered woman and children alike.

“Fucking monster!” Pulling out a gun, your mind went completely blank as you gave it some last, desperate attempt to save or avenge just anyone.

No bullet would even come close enough to pierce his skin, as Ebony Maw would deflect them to hit yourself and people close to you. “I’m not the only one you should see responsible for this outcome” Thanos scoffed.

“What do you mea-” Your voice got swallowed by a pained groan as you saw Loki, kneeling in front of Thanos and revealing the one thing he was after:

The Tesseract.

“You......took it?!?” The only thing managing to escape your throat was a high-pitched yell as Loki’s face contorted in disappointment and regret - just now realizing that he had put you all in danger.

They would’ve never went after you if it wasn’t for him. He had doomed his race, failed you and what was left of his family.

“How could you put us all in danger?! I thought you had changed! You swore it with your life, Loki! That you loved me more than you desired power!”

No answer.

Instead, the god would prepare one of his speeches, directing words of undying fidelity at Thanos and his arms. And even though it was meant to be lies, a play to make the threat feel save, every single word hit your heart like knives.

“How could I ever marry someone like you?!” feeling as if Loki most recent, selfish act was suffocating you, you could only whisper - yet he understood very clearly, the facade dropping in an instant. “I-I hate you...traitor...”

If only you knew that those would be the last words you’d ever direct at him...

Loki materializes a dagger, desperately trying to make up for his biggest mistake yet, and at least save you, the light of his cursed existence, and the only thing he had ever done in his life full of wrongs.

But Thanos looked right through the charade from the very beginning, using the stones to trap Loki in their hold - and then, grabbing the god’s throat.

“You have what you want, Thanos!” Thor tried to bargain, “There’s even less than half of my race left. Please, just let us go!”

“Oh, I will” he spoke stony, then shifting his attention to the god in his hands. “But first, I’ll do you a favor and erase that disgraceful pest all of you were too weak to take care of.”

As he was struggling for air, gasping uncontrollably as he tried to free his neck from the Giant, Loki’s glare wandered to you - and when your eyes met, both of your hearts skipped a beat.

He smiled. In the face of death, the last thing he wanted you to remember was the good things after all.

And seeing the ring on your finger, how couldn’t he? Loki knew you were about to say yes - and knowing this was more than enough for someone like him.

After all, the God of Mischief was used to happiness being taken away from him as soon as he thought it to be okay to open up to someone.

But you were safe. That’s all that counted for him!

It was like his eyes were telling you “It’s gonna be alright. I’m sorry, Y/N...I love you.”

You don’t remember much after that, having a mental breakdown as you had to watch the love of your life perish - and forever thinking about how you had turned him down just seconds before.

A part of you had died with him back then.

_____

The creaking sound of the cell’s door made you jump from your dream - but the person which entered was one you had never seen before.

A monster.

It’s silhouette very much resembled Loki, yet his skin was painted in a dark shade of blue, with thin linings carved across his whole body. He had fangs and even horns coming out of his temple to add at that.

The beast’s eyes were shining in a threatening red, glistering contrastful in the dark hallway. But the worst were those black irises, absent of any form of compassion - there seemed to be only rage, confusion and hate.

“Fuck!” you screamed, terrified and fearing for your life. Shuffling until your back hit the wall of a corner of the room, you defendingly put your arms in front of yourself. “Go away! Don’t to-ouch me!”

Loki cleared his voice as he put the Casket away, not making any efforts to revert his outer appearance back to ‘normal’. He had admired it on his way to your cell, like he’d do many times a day when he was reminiscing about the day he learned about his heritage...

...and how he had killed Odin, his adoptive father, with that very relic, afterwards clearing the universe of that despiseful race of the Jotunn - making him the last of his kind.

“Oh my” a dark voice finally declared, “Seems like ‘your’ Loki never dared to show you his true form. Pathetic.”

No, that wasn’t completely true. Your lover had at least told you back then. But when did you ever have the time to talk things over and heal, being dragged from one fight to another?!

The Jotunn felt great joy as he towered over you, gleefully watching your naked body cowering to his knees, covered in goosebumps and shaking heavily. Your breath was clearly visible while you tried to cover your shame as best as you could, wary glare never leaving the abomination that was just lurking right in front of you.

“Wha- OUCH!” you hissed as the Frost Giant took ahold of your wrist, monitoring the pain spreading across your face as his touch would frostburn any skin he was touching with ease.

Loki grinned menacingly as he let go off of you, admiring his handywork as the first layer of your skin had already died, crumbling away to reveal your pink flesh.

“Oh, how I missed that” he explained, much to your surprise ripping a piece of his own clothing apart to cover the wound with it. “Your kind is so easily broken. It’s always fascinating to watch.”

“Just kill me already, you freak!”

Well, Loki had in fact spent hours after hours thinking about how to handle you, and yet he couldn’t decide. Obviously he would’ve killed you right away if it was otherwise, but he still had a soft spot for you somewhere deep in his heart, after all.

And it upset him more than he’d ever admit. So he tried to assert his dominance, to ease the feeling of weakness and loss of control.

“I’m only doing you a favor, woman.” The god would touch your cheek, making you flinch away - but this time, it wouldn’t hurt. Never would he dare to scar this most beautiful face!

“The man you loved was just the same as me, yet it seemed he wasn’t completely honest with you. What you are seeing right now is the form of a Frost Giant...the monstrosity you chose to love.”

“L-Loki…”

It was no surprise that he saw tears filling the rim of your eyes - yet out of a whim, you pulled your arms around his neck, tears wetting his robe. He gasped, unable to act in any way as he stiffened in the pose.

That was by far not the reaction he had been expecting - and he surprised you as well. You had thought him to instantly shove you away, beat you agaib or even bite - but he just kneeled there, not daring to make a move.

"Why?” Now his voice was much softer, pained even. “I’m a monster. I hurt you. So why?”

“I’m so sorry” you whimpered, words being interrupted by heavy sobbing. “I try to fight it, I really do. But I just can’t, I-I”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“How could I be? It’s you, Loki...no matter what you look like.” Eventually, you’d face him again, wiping the tears out of your face when for another moment, you made yourself forget that this was a completely different person. “I was just surprised, that’s all. Letting me see this form out of nowhere...”

“Y/N, I’m not the same as him” he retorted, knowing very well what it’s like to lose oneself in daydreams and illusions to ease the pain of loss. His sight wandered around the room instead of your face, stating “I did horrendous things, dear. Tormented and killed countless. It’s unforgiveable.”

“So did he” you stated, even though you knew those two Loki’s couldn’t be compared. “And you should already know: I feel dead inside, ever since he died.”

“You really loved him, didn’t you?” When you nodded confidently, Loki sighed ashamed, reluctantly touching your wrist again. A warm magic would flow through you, healing the wound in no time. “I wish she had felt the same for me...”

For a while, both of you were plainly sitting in uncomfortable silence, with Loki even lending you his cloak to warm yourself up.

“It’s not him” you told yourself once again. “It’s not him. It’s not him. IT’S NOT HIM!!! That man is dangerous and instable. He can’t be trusted!”

And then, finally, you dared asking, cutting through the thick air:

“What exactly happened to me, in this world?”

Loki’s face contorted in agony, rubbing his face as if in deep pain. “Is this really necessary? I already told you. She died because of me.”

“More details would be nice” you retorted bluntly, not really caring if he was to have a violent outburst again. Curiosity got the better of you at that moment.

The emperor’s voice was low and husky, and just now you realized how damn tired he looked - with dark rings under his eyes, and more pale than you had ever remembered him.

The weight of his sins sure had taken a stroll on that sensitive man.

"I saw the ring” he uttered deeply affected, “That’s something I could only dream of. Thinking about it, I think she never really loved me in the first place. Or maybe she just grew tired of my lies. Understandable, I have to admit...”

“Yes, it was quite the opposite, even” he continued after a long, strained breath of his. “She hated me. Joined the Avengers and tried to kill me, several times. Only years later I learned about the truth: Already far in the past, back on Asgard, she betrayed me. After I fell off the Bifrost, she thought myself dead - and consoled herself by bedding my brother. I had to kill him, I-I-I just had to!”

Loki’s hands were shaking so frantically you could feel it from over there, mad eyes darting over your physique to take in your reaction. “After they finally lost, I took her prisoner. Seven months of trying to make her mine, no matter the methods. Mind-controlling her would not be satisfying. So I tortured her, played games with her sanity, and- I’d rather not speak about how else I violated her.”

“You, wha-” Now you were the one shivering in horrid anticipation, “You raped me...?”

No answer. Instead he just finished this disastrous story.

“One day, I went to her cell like I always did. I hoped once her mind was broken she’d stop struggling to be mine. But she never did. You Y/N’s are quite the fighters, as it seems.”

“Wha- wwhat happened to me...I mean, ‘her’?”

A loud whine escaped his vocal cords as he hit the wall right next to your face, making you suck in a pained breath.

“She used her chains to hang herself. There was nothing I could do. Ever since then I knew I’m cursed to inflict pain on anything I hold dear.”

"D-Don’t give me that self-pitying bullshit” you wanted to shout at his face - but the cramping in your heart as well as the hyperventillation made talking impossible.

How could one do something like that to a person they claimed to love?!

“Go” you whimpered, already shuffling away from him and he could hear anguish and fear drop out of every vocal, and he realized you were having a panic attack. “Please!”

Loki closed his eyes, letting out one last, deep sigh. He knew he owed you that much.

“Very well.”

That whole night, you spent crying and screaming to your hearts avail, unable to process your current situation and newfound knowledge.

So that would be your life from now on? Being hurt mentally and physically, frostburnt and hurt and violated against your will - all while looking at a face that remembered you of happier days?

Never!

Things were just like that evil Loki said: You are a fighter!

And if you couldn’t help that crazy man, you would at least help yourself! The Avengers are still out there, somewhere. You needed to escape and help them!

How could you have been so blind all those years?

Loki - your Loki - would have never wanted to you give up. He’d want you to survive and live your life to it’s fullest, trying to make the best out of everything you’ve got.

Just like he always did. That much you had learned from him.

“I’m sorry, Loki. If I die, I can’t even remember you...I love you…”

Breaking out succeeded faster than you could ever think it would take - because when you’d finally get out of your fetal courl and wandered across the cell, you realized Loki didn’t properly close the heavy steel door back when he rushed away from you.

“It’s not him. There’s no helping that man. I have to find my friends, I-”

Still shocked and scared and traumatized, you didn’t even realize that someone was watching you, not even questioning that the hallways were oddly empty.

You sneaked out of an open window, bare feet feeling the morning dew as you shook away Lokis cloak and ran as fast as your feet could carry you.

There was it - the fence.

No one could tell you what kind of world would await you outside of that property as you swiftly avoided some guards, rushing through the all so beautiful garden.

But as soon as you reached out to climb the railing, you felt someone balling a fist in your hair, harshly holding you back and causing you to stumble and fall.

“I thought you to be different…” an all too familiar voice grumbled. Loki didn’t even want to hear any apology or excuse, kicking your guts so heavily that you had to throw up, cramping on the ground.

“Don’t you dare to run away ever again!” he now yelled furiously, "She tried it too...so damn.many.times…!”

But before you could even respond, he suddenly began to cry uncontrollably. “I thought you would stay. Do you think I like to do this?!”

His voice was laced with grief and regret, yet he kept on forming countless bruises on your body. “Why can’t you fucking love me, hel?!”

You didn’t know how long his violent crying fit lasted, with him weeping as he let off some steam on your helpless self.

There was no trace of the hurt, regretful man left you talked to in your cell earlier. After being finished, having reclaimed a fraction of composure, Loki pressed your face in between his hands, ripping on your mangled body to face him.

“Fate gifted me another chance to possess you, Y/N. And I will form you into a magnificent pet, I promise.”

_______

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#Loki #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki x Y/N #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Odinson #Loki Friggason #God of Mischief #Loki / Reader #Loki / You #Marvel #Disney #Asgard #Midgard #Writing #Fanfiction #Self Insert #tw abuse #tw violence

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apocalypseornaw · 3 years

Text

Always be yours (Pt 1/2)

Ok um warnings? Demon!Dean first of all. Cursing, mentions of mutual cheating (reader slept with Sam if that's a warning?) supposed death, sex (NSFW) and I think that's about it. Enjoy? I guess

You had to get out of the bunker. It was too much. Every damn corner felt like it was suffocating you. The hunt for Dean, Crowley's taunting because you and Sam had yet to run them down. Castiel was helping with Heaven's business whatever that meant and well things between you and Sam had been a little tense.

------

You were in Limon, Colorado. All in all it was close enough you could've handled the simple haunting case Garth had kicked your way then head back home but you ended up grabbing a hotel room.

------

You were sitting on the bed after grabbing a shower. Graveyard dirt had a bad habit of sticking to nearly every inch of skin even when you had help digging. You'd ended up taking a page out of Bobby's note and stealing a backhoe but you'd gotten it done. Sam had called while you were in the shower so you were calling him back trying to tell yourself to not get your hopes up in regards to there being any news.

"Hey Y/N" he answered on the second ring and you smiled despite your tiredness at hearing your best friend's voice "Hey Sammy. Any news?" He let out a breath "Not really. I mean just normal stuff has been popping up. I've kicked a few cases out to other hunters. How'd your case go?" You rotated your shoulder to work out the slight kink in it before saying "I knew cheerleaders were savage in life, I never knew it got even worse after death but luckily Brittany is put to rest officially and her best friend has admitted to causing the wreck and is in custody"

"That's good. You staying the night there?" You nodded then it occurred to you he couldn't see you "Yeah, digging kind of wore me out but I'll be home in the morning. Call me if anything comes up between now and then ok?" "Yeah. Call if you need me" after the two of you said your goodbyes you hung up and plugged your phone in. It was a little after eleven so you figured you should go ahead and try to get some sleep.

-------

You weren't sure what woke you up. You jerked awake, gun in hand and trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes to clear the room. You spotted the shadow next to the door leaning against the wall and felt your heart flip in your chest "Dean?"

He flicked the light switch on, eyes never leaving yours. "Hey sweetheart" you mentally cursed the fact that he was between you and your bag meaning you had no holy water handy and the gun in your hand would only piss him off if it was to come down to it. As if he could read your thoughts he smirked "Oh come on now Y/N. You know me better than that if I would've wanted to kill you I would've"

You pushed the blanket off your legs, still not lowering the gun in your hand as you climbed to your feet "Forgive me for not believing you baby but a few things have changed since I saw you last" his eyes flickered across your body and it was then you realized you'd went to bed in only a t-shirt and a pair of panties since you were alone.

"You still wear the same thing to bed" he taunted before walking over to your bag. He gave his back to you when he unzipped the bag and grabbed your black flask that you always carried the Holy water in. He turned back around and held it out "Here, take it" you were trying to gauge if it was worth the risk.

You laid the gun down on the side table considering it wouldn't do a lot of good anyways and walked closer to him. Everything in you was screaming but it was conflicting voices. The hunter in you screamed this was a demon, a knight of hell nonetheless. He could kill you before you breathed hard. Your heart on the other hand was overjoyed at seeing Dean alive no matter the shape considering the last time you saw him.

Your fingertips grazed the flask and you were surprised when he let it go and didn't move any closer to you. "There. You're armed now let's talk" "I don't have a damn thing to say to you unless you're saying Y/N take me to the bunker for the cure"

He smiled and it was more a baring of teeth than Dean's usual flirty grin. He moved to grab you and you flicked the top off the flask letting it splash against his neck but he just grimaced and slammed you backwards against the wall with one hand holding your hip in place and the other firmly around your neck as the flask hit the floor.

"Come on now darling. I'm being nice. Why can't you?" He ran his tongue across his lips as he leaned closer and god it took everything inside of you to not look him in the eye. "Maybe because I'm not Sammy?" He whispered into your ear and you weren't sure if it was the feeling of his warm breath against your neck or the shock of what he'd just said. You turned to look at him and he let his eyes slip to black just momentarily before letting the candy apple green you loved slide back into place. "Oh I know. I know Crowley told you about some of the things I've gotten into or rather who I've gotten into"

Your fear was quickly turning into anger. He was here to mock you? Christ this was the first time you'd take a demon looking for a fight over this. "Let go of me you bastard" you struggled against him but he only tightened his grip on your neck until you lost your breath. He loosened it back after a moment and smiled when you gasped for breath "Now you wanna talk?" You nodded not trusting your voice. He let his lips barely brush against your neck, a dark chuckle leaving him when you shivered from the touch.

"I know you were pissed and hurt after finding out and god bless my baby brother he buried himself inside of you to help. I mean I can't blame him look at you" you were effectively pinned but couldn't help but bite back "You left us both high and dry Dean! To run off with Crowley. We thought you were dead. We mourned you! Only to find out you were off living it up"

He grunted in response nudging at your neck with his head until you turned it just enough to give him access to your pulse point "So you fucked my brother. Did you fuck him in my bed?" He bit down harshly after asking the question and pulled a scream out of your lips that was a mixture of pleasure of pain. "Fuck Dean" you tried to put more venom into your voice but it came out more as a moan. Your eyes fluttered shut as he left a trail of light open mouthed kisses along your neck "Answer me" he warned, voice low.

"No. I didn't fuck Sam in your bed" you finally managed to whisper. He repositioned himself to slide a clothed knee between your legs and you whimpered when he added a slight pressure "Good girl. Now tell me did you think about me while you were wrapped around Sammy?" You bit your lip as you fought the urge to move against his leg body craving what your mind refused to. "Did you think about me when you were fucking bar whores?"

"Yeah. Their pussy wasn't as good as yours" he answered finally letting his lips move up to yours. You melted against him, a groan escaping him when you slid your tongue into his mouth rolling it against his.

He pulled back and stared down at you "Sammy better in bed than me?" You weren't sure if it was just how long you'd went without being in Dean's arms or just the adrenaline coursing through you that made you say "I don't know. It's been so long since I fucked you"

He raised an eyebrow at your words "Sounds like a challenge" "Sam doesn't talk so much" you snipped and the next thing you knew he was spinning you around to face the wall. "I'll show you who you still belong to" he growled letting his fingers slide down into your panties. You let out a low moan when he slipped one between your folds quickly followed by another. "You're already so wet for me"

"Dean please" you begged already feeling an orgasm growing as he found that spot inside of you curling his fingers up to have just the right angle. "Please what?" His voice was so deep and so close it vibrated throughout your body "If you still want me prove it"

You were getting so close and he knew it. He held you in place as he continued to fuck into you with his fingers biting down on your shoulder as you came with a low moan. He rolled his hips forward and you felt his clothed erection pressed against your ass. "That pretty little moan of yours has me rock hard sweetheart. You want me to fuck you?"

A slight whimper left your lips when you heard his zipper. "Do you want me to fuck you?" Every word was emphasized by a kiss to your neck before he turned your face to give him your lips. "Please" you whispered against his mouth and felt him push your panties off your hips so he could slide into you. "Fuck I've missed you" he moaned almost too low for you to hear.

----------

He sent a grueling pace slamming into you hard enough your hands were gripping the wall to stay upright. Every thrust pulled a scream of his name from your lips "That's it baby. Let everyone know who you belong to"

Your legs had started to shake as you reached back to grip his hair as he slammed into you "Dean" you moaned and he nodded "I know darling. I know" he pulled out of you then scooped you up into his arms stopping just long enough to kick out of his jeans before carrying you to the bed.

He laid you down onto the bed and leaned up to pull his shirt over his head and throw it before positioning himself back at your opening. You slid down onto him and he groaned "Fuck yes" when he bottomed out.

He grabbed your shirt and ripped it off of you. Once your chest was bare he leaned down to lick one nipple into his mouth "Dean… oh fuck" you moaned gripping his shoulders as he pounded into you. He let go of one nipple and moved to the next never changing his pace. He knew exactly what it took for you.

"My girl.. Just mine" he grunted when he moved from your breasts back up to your neck. "Want you to say it" he groaned. You could feel that building pressure start again and part of you just wanted to chase that high. "Say it" he ordered biting gently on your neck. "I'm yours Dean… only yours" you moaned feeling that pressure burst as another orgasm washed over you.

His thrusts started to get sloppier as he continued slamming into you. You knew he was close and the thought occurred to you what would happen when it was over. Yet again it was like he could read your thoughts because he leaned down to rest his forehead against your chest "I'm not leaving yet sweetheart. Don't worry"

He buried himself inside of you with one final thrust and you felt when he came pumping into you. He caught your lips in a rough kiss "You're mine god dammit. I don't care what I am, you're mine" you were still trying to come down off the high of back to back orgasms but had to say "It meant nothing to us Dean" he kissed you again then said "I know. I know you still love me for some twisted reason, same reason I came here"

When he pulled out of you an undignified noise left you at the loss of contact. He grinned and pulled you to his chest "Rest up Y/N we aren't through yet"

------

You woke up the next day to an empty bed. Next to your bag was a note that simply read "You'll always be mine and I'll always be yours"

Tag: @akshi8278

#supernatural fanfiction #demon dean #deanmon x reader #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfiction #demon dean x reader #always be yours

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reality-warp · 4 years

Text

A/N: So I finished Jedi: Fallen Order and sweet God it was way better and more emotional than I was prepared for. And then before I knew it my mind starting rolling out this idea before I could slam on the brakes. What else is new?

With work stress, difficult physiotherapy, and seasonal affective disorder all kicking my butt right now, theres no way in hell I’m going to have the time or enegry to turn this idea into an acctual polished fic. But after the idea refusing to leave me alone several weeks I decided I just needed to sit down and get the beginning out of my system.

Not my best work by a long shot, but it’s been so good to finally get writing again after a year of struggling.

Set post-game, this follows crew of the Mantis as they start their search for others who survived Order 66, and opens with the POV of one ex-Jedi Healers padawan (alien OC) hiding out in a hospital on Lothal...

Remedial Biomancy - Part 1/5 Auri

The first thing all padawans learned when they apprenticed as healers in the Jedi Temple was that your hands were always going to be the bloodiest.

Bloodier than any knights. Bloodier than any murderer. And if you chose the path of healing, you were going to be living up close and personal with suffering, pain, and not always be able to help. It was not a job for the faint of heart, or for the thin-skinned. But Auri Madraan doubted even Master Sayf, the man who’d taught her everything she knew about the horrors and wonders of being a Jedi Healer, would have been able to remain stoic in the face of all this.

Bodybags lined the room.

Dozens of them lined up in neat rows stretching from one end of the cold storeroom to the other. Twenty-six men. Fifteen women. Forty-one in total. She knew because it had been her job to count, scan and evaluate each one of them. She’d already finished the details of the last entry on her datapad, and now she just found herself staring into the cold room, struck hollow by the stark emptiness of it against her senses.

The absolute silence of life in a room so crowded.

“Medic Rinna,” The tinny voice of her droid assistant using her fake name broke through her daze, floating over from after making his final scan. “I believe that was the last one. Shall I transmit the results directly to Head Medic Jorran?”

Auri shook her head, both in reply and attempting to pull herself together, rubbing her tired eyes and tapping the save function on her datapad. She’d been awake for well over thirty-two hours and desperately needed to sleep. But this was something she always made herself do every time there was a death.

Master Sayf had always said one should never let lost life become something that felt normal…

“No, that’s ok PANN. I’ll deliver it myself,” she answered, her voice a bit crackly from hours of not speaking.

Her Prognosis Analytic Neural Network droid—more commonly referred to as PANN—bobbed in the air where he hovered, amber optical sensors flickering over her face. She could feel him resisting the urge to share how high her cortisol levels were, and that she would start to become dangerously inefficient if she stayed awake much longer. But even if she were already tucked up in her tiny room in the hospital staff quarters, she doubted she would have been able to shut her eyes for the thoughts and images burning through her mind.

There had been another tunnel collapse in the Lothal mines a day ago, and the men and women now lined up on the floor of the hospital basement were the only ones lucky enough to have been close to the entrance for their bodies to be dug out. The initial evaluations of the first-aiders and Auri’s reports both read suffocation and crush syndrome as the cause of death—no need for full autopsies or further investigation. That was what Head Medic Jorran had made clear what he expected to see, and consequences to anyone who thought otherwise.

But Auri knew differently.

She knew the truth of what had killed these people. She’d known the moment she’d touched a hand to the brow of one of the young men, the story of his broken body unfolding out before her like a story in black bruises and shattered bone.

They hadn’t died from lack of oxygen, they’d been killed when a toxin in the earth they’d been mining had been released as a gas. The Imperial mining operation running the dig had realised what had happened as their workers began dropping, and they had quickly collapsed one of the tunnels in an effort to both cover it up and stop the gas from escaping.

No one else knew. And if her Imperial loyalist boss had his way, no one else ever would.

Only her.

The thought made her want to be sick. She might have done just that were it not for the whooshing sound of the elevator doors opening just behind her, the sounds of footfalls on the metal floor.

“Hey Rinna, I hoped I’d find you down here—” Lyle, her co-worker and fellow junior medic broke off halfway through his sentence behind her, clearly noticing the contents of the room for the first time. She heard the air leave him in a single stunned rush, like someone had jabbed him in the solar plexus. “Maker, I’d heard it was bad, but this…”

Auri didn’t answer or turn to look at him.

Lyle was another recent emergency employee of the short-staffed Lothal capital hospital. He was human, blonde, good looking, and unfortunately just enough aware of it for it to be utterly confused by her disinterest. They’d been working the same shifts for the past two months, and Auri wasn’t sure why, but he had started developing what a charitable person would have called a fondness for her. An uncharitable person would have called it annoying. Her polite but repeated rejections only seemed to urge him on, and he always seemed to turn up when she most wanted to be alone…

This was definitely one of those times.

“You ok?” He asked her earnestly, coming up and placing a too-familiar hand on her shoulder, apparently completely unaware what a stupid question it was.

No, she wanted to say. To scream.

To yell that nothing about this was ok.

That she hadn’t been ok for the past five years.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she lied, clipping her datapad back onto her belt and turning past him towards the elevator. She refused to look back at him or the forty-one bodybags filled with people who would never have their truths heard.

Who would never get justice.

She stabbed the button for the top floor without waiting, and Lyle quickly dashed after her, slipping in just in time and almost getting his scrubs caught in the door. A significant part of her really wished they’d cut him off before he could get inside.

“Rinna,” he started, once again reaching to touch her shoulder, but clearly thought better of it this time when she shifted away. “You sure you’re alright? You covered a triple shift today, and you look kinda… well, paler than usual.”

Something halfway between a laugh and a snort escaped her before she could stop it.

Ex-Jedi padawan Auri Madraan was a haedrathi, an uncommon near-human species from the Haedra system whose only real biological difference to humans was that they’d evolved in underground caverns, which meant their bodies didn’t process vitamin D in the same way. The result was naturally pasty skin, snow-white hair, and eyes so sensitive to light that they had to be covered by protective black contact lenses near constantly to prevent blindness.

She was likely the palest being on this entire damned planet.

How this guy had managed to become a medic, she had to wonder sometimes…

“I’m fine, Lyle. Just tired. And doing autopsy scans of tunnel collapse victims isn’t high on my list of favourite things…” she trailed off into the silence of the elevator, the only noises breaking the tension the whooshing of the passing floors.

She sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes again. She had been working herself harder than normal, but focus and eventual exhaustion seemed to be the only way to keep her thoughts and nightmares at bay lately. It was clearly taking its toll on her temper—and for all his dogged determination to get her to swoon over him like the other nurses did, Lyle was only being kind.

“Sorry. Yes, I’m ok. Anyway, what are you doing down here? Didn’t you finish half an hour ago?” She asked more gently this time.

Lyle scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck as the elevator continued its rapid ascent, and even though she wasn’t looking at him, she could feel his gaze running over her.

“You’re going to deliver those reports in person, right? I thought I could keep you company on the way to Jorran’s office, if you like. Give you an excuse to get out of the quickly.” he offered, an almost painful note of hope in his voice. “Look, I’ve been meaning to ask if you’d like to spend more time together? Like, maybe… as a date?”

Auri only managed to restrain her sigh by virtue of the fact that at least he’d managed to wait until they were out of the room full of dead bodies before trying to officially ask her out. If he hadn’t, her training might have failed her entirely, and she’d have simply brained him with her datapad and left him down there.

She was saved from shooting him down by her droid rounding on her, a distinctly disapproving note in its metallic voice.

“Medic Rinna, I really must insist you engage in at least one REM sleep cycle as soon as possible. Your cortisol levels are impractically high, and—”

“Yes, thank you PANN,” she interrupted the fussing droid, cutting him off before he could launch into a full-blown lecture. “I’ll get some sleep as soon as I’ve delivered the reports. Why don’t you both go on to the dorms and get plugged in to charge for the night.”

“But—” PANN and Lyle started at the same time.

“I’ll be five minutes max. No need for an escort,” she cut them both off, deliberately not meeting Lyle gaze. The elevator came to a stop at their floor, the doors whooshed open and Auri quickly stepped out before either of them could try and stop her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lyle looked crestfallen, but PANN just grumbled, immediately floating away back towards the staff quarters at the other end of the building.

She’d tried tinkering with the little medical droids AI processor a few years ago before arriving on Lothal in an effort to improve his analytical speed, but it had somehow affected his personality algorithms too. Now instead of being a clinically detached medical encyclopaedia, he fussed when her stress levels got too high and chipped in with sarcastic commentary whenever she least needed it, and she had no idea how to fix it. It was like having a nagging metallic nursemaid following her around every day. She’d found herself cursing the fact that she’d never taken any programming courses back during her training; but metal, chips and circuit boards had never been her area of expertise…

Cal had always been way better with that stuff anyway.

The sound of his name, even inside her own head was enough to send a lance of pain through her chest. She buried it quickly before it could show on her face, forcing a small, weak smile into its place.

“Thanks for offering, Lyle. But I’d rather just get this done and go to bed. I’ll see you for the next shift,” she said over her shoulder.

“Yeah, sure,” he mumbled, failing to hide his disappointment as she strode off. “Night, Rinna.”

Auri started making her way towards the Head Medic’s office on the far side of the building, but instead of heading there directly, she turned down another hallway and made a detour towards the recovery wards.

There was someone more important she needed to see first…

Three minutes later she was swiping her ID card to enter the paediatric wing, the smallest but also most colourfully painted section of the hospital by far. The wards weren’t particularly big, only four beds to a room, and at this time of night, all the kids in them were fast asleep. The one Auri entered was at the end of the long, brightly painted hallway, and it was the only one with just a single kid curled up on his own inside.

“Rinna?” The boy mumbled, hearing the door sliding open as she entered, turning over to peer sleepily at her from under the blankets. It hadn’t been safe for Auri to use her real name in five years, but the smile the little boy gave her as he saw her was always just enough to ease the ache of missing it.

The kid coiled under the hospital blankets with bio-monitor patches all over his chest was human, small even for his years, with dark hair, coppery tanned skin, vivid blue eyes, and an infectious grin in the rare moments when he was feeling ok. His entire family had been living on Lothal since the days of the Republic, and the day he’d first come to the ward a week ago and met Auri, he’d excitedly told her that he loved haedrathi pop music, was a crack shot with a slingshot, and was going to be a pilot one day.

The name on the bed chart read: BRIDGER, EZRA.

“Hey little soldier,” she smiled at him, this time a genuine one, quietly shutting the door behind her. “I just came to check up on you before my shift ends. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Ezra lied, trying to sit up. “I don’t even think I’ll even need my meds tonight.”

Auri gave him a sceptical look, eyeing his shaky arms struggling to support him, and the low blood oxygen level reading on his bio-monitor.

It turned out the same toxins that had killed the workers in the mines had been leaking into the water supply a couple of weeks before, and Ezra had got a heaping dose before his parents realised what was wrong. Now it was wreaking havoc on his organs, the toxin fiendishly difficult to purge, especially for smaller children whose body mass was less than an adult. Ezra was barely six, short and skinny as a rail, and he was getting sicker by the day, even with the treatments and Auri’s regular help during their checkups.

Still, he was a fighter, and stubborn as a Loth-cat. Especially when it came to foul-tasting meds.

She placed a hand on one hip, trying not to smile.

“Oh really?”

Ezra scowled determinedly, but on his young round face, it was closer to a pout.

“Really!”

She raising a brow theatrically at him.

“Then I supposed you won't need this either?”

The kids face lit up as she pulled a little album stack out of her pocket and held it up—an innocent little palm-sized chip that stored sound data and could be plugged into any system or droid to play music. She’d managed to find one of the bands he’d mentioned while complaining how boring and quiet it was in the ward on his own, and she’d promised to bring it during her next visit.

She waved the album stack in front of him before setting it pointedly on the side table.

“Meds first, then music.”

Ezra pouted at her again, but dropped his little shoulders in defeat.

“Urgh, fine,” he grumbled.

Auri couldn’t help but smile sadly to herself as she opened the medication compartment on his bedside table, and began measuring out his prescribed dose of immune boosters. A nurse or med-droid would have been round later to give him his nightly meds, but they were so short-staffed at the moment that they likely wouldn’t have finally got to him until late at night. The kid was already struggling with his condition so much, she didn’t see any need to keep wake him once he finally managed to get some rest.

And she would have been lying if she said she hadn’t wanted to visit the one person in this hospital she actually enjoyed spending time with.

Once she’d double-checked the measurements, she pressed the little measuring cup into his hands and poured him a glass of water to wash it down with. Ezra took it without complaint but pulled a face as he gulped it down.

“Urgh! Why does it have to taste so bad?”

“That’s how you know it’s good for you,” she teased, setting the cup aside and handing the glass of water over. He took it gratefully as Auri pulled a pressure band out of the side table and wrapped it carefully around his skinny arm. “Just going to quickly check your blood pressure too, then you’re all done.”

In truth, she didn’t really need the band to check his blood pressure, but it gave the excuse she needed to get close enough to use her Biomancy.

She’d had the ability for as long as she could remember—a rare talent even among the Force sensitives that let her sense and read a persons life force through direct contact. It meant she’d effectively been able to tell when a person was healthy or sick since she was a child, and after years of training in the Jedi Houses of Healing she was now able to pinpoint and identify the cause of almost any pain or illness with a single touch.

Or in Ezra’s case, it allowed her to sense every part of his body that was struggling most against the poison in his system, and do what little she could during her checkup visits to help him. She’d added specific toxin absorbers into his daily meds to try and help take the pressure off his kidneys, used tiny amounts of Force biomanipulation to boost his white blood cell count, but to be honest there wasn’t an awful lot left she could do. Pretty soon the only thing she’d be able to do was numb his pain receptors so he could sleep comfortably. She hadn’t even been able to think about how she’d break the news to his parents that he was unlikely to ever fully recover…

Frustration and regret roiled deep in her chest as she read his bio-signs, seeing barely any improvement since she’d checked the day before. If only she could just do what she’d been trained for years by Master Sayf to do. To reach out with the Force and help heal the actual source of the problem, not just clumsily try to manage the symptoms. To be the healer she’d worked so hard to become since she’d first walked into the Jedi Temple at two years old.

But it was a different Galaxy now.

She’d only been on Lothal six months. If she cracked now, used her true power and took the risk of being found out, at best she’d have to flee. Start all over again.

At worst she’d be found by Purge Troopers and executed on the spot.

“Hey, Rinna,” Ezra asked abruptly, pulling her out of her morbid thoughts.

“Mmm?” She answered, pretending to check the pressure monitor before releasing the air and removing it from his arm. He pointed at a spot around her collarbone.

“What is that?”

For a second she didn’t know what he was looking at. Then she saw that he was pointing at the cord she wore around her throat. It must have crept up without her noticing, and was now barely peeking out over the neckline of her scrubs. She shrugged it back under the grey-green cloth a bit too quickly to be subtle.

“It’s nothing, little soldier. Nothing important.”

“I always see you wearing it, every time you visit,” he pressed, a tiny pout appearing again. “None of the other nurses or doctors ever wear any jewellery. How come you do?”

“Because this isn’t jewellery,” she answered automatically, then mentally kicked herself for it. Ezra just kept looking at her expectantly, and she knew instinctively he wasn’t going to let it go. So with a sigh, and against her better judgement, she pulled it out just enough for him to see the small jade green stone bound at the end. “It’s called a kyber crystal.”

Ezra’s vivid blue eyes went wide in wonder.

“Isn’t that what’d in Jedi lightsabers?” He breathed.

“They use to be. But not anymore,” she murmured, quickly tucking the cord back beneath her shirt. “It’s just a silly trinket. But one that you have to keep a real secret, ok? I’m not supposed to have it, and I’ll get in a lot of trouble if you tell anyone.”

He gave her a solemn look and a slow nod, his dark hair flopping adorably.

“I won’t tell.”

“Swear?”

He drew an X over his chest.

“Swear.”

Auri tried to regard him seriously but eventually smiled, unable to stop herself. He was a starry-eyed kid, but he was also the most honest and genuine person in this place.

“Good. Now let’s get you tucked in. Your folks will be in to visit tomorrow morning and you don’t want to sleep through it.”

He nodded, coughing a little as he pulled the covers up to his chin again, peeking out and giving her and the album stack on the side table another hopeful look.

“Can you put the music on?”

Auri rolled her eyes with a smile, but nodded, bopping him lightly on the nose with the stack.

“Ok, but only on the lowest volume.”

She got up from the cot and started plugging the stack into the small radio near the door. Ezra coughed again, a bit harder this time. And then a strange noise came from him; a kind of gasping wheeze that quickly became a throaty cough, like he was struggling to catch his breath. Auri turned instinctively, feeling the pull of something wrong through her senses, only to see the colour had suddenly drained almost from Ezra’s round cheeks, leaving him a sickly grey colour.

“Ezra? What’s wrong?” She asked, dread creeping into her chest.

“R-Rinna…” he mumbled, sitting up and swaying dangerously on his cot, “I d-don’t feel good…”

He slumped sideways, almost falling out of the bed entirely. Auri shot across the room and caught him by the shoulders just in time. She tried to sit him up again, but he’d gone almost entirely limp, eyes rolling back in his head.

“Ezra? Ezra!"

He didn’t respond. Only continued to wheeze out breaths that were far more laboured than they should be.

Not wasting a second Auri rolled up his sleeve and touched her entire hand to his upper arm. That one solid point of contact brought a fresh flood of sensations, and she instantly understood, the breath slipping out of her in horror.

“Oh no…”

She could feel the frantic flutter of his pulse through her senses like a hummingbirds wings. Feel the pain of his insides and every laboured breath as if it were her own. The toxin had finally found its way into his heart, and the shock of it was causing the organ to beat wildly out of control.

Not wasting a breath, she yanked back the sheet and laid him out flat on the cot, tilting his head back to open his airway. He was so small it barely took even her any effort to lift him, his little form not even taking up half the space on the cot.

“Keep fighting hard as you can, little soldier,” she whispered, pulling out a syringe and a vial of cardiac stabiliser from the nearby emergency cart. She didn’t realise her hands were trembling until it took her three tries to get it filled correctly.

If this didn’t work…

She returned to his side, sliding the needle into his bicep and depressed the plunger, keeping a hand firmly on his arm and letting her Biomancy monitor his response better than any of the equipment around her could.

But…

“No, no come on, please…” she cursed under her breath, dread beginning to turn to panic.

It wasn’t working. She’d managed to slow his pulse and calm his adrenaline with the stabilising drugs, but it wasn’t enough. His heart was still beating out of rhythm and getting quickly worse. If that poison stayed in his body any longer she knew it was going to destroy his heart beyond any hope of repair…

The sight of those bodybags filling the room downstairs invaded her mind again. The image of one more of them, slightly smaller than the others—

No.

The thought rang through her head with the long dead voice of her master, and the panic in her chest stilled into sudden, familiar calm as she looked down at Ezra again. This time with all the years of lessons and practice she’d gone through to get here rushing in to fill the void.

To heal a hurt, you must first understand the hurt, padawan.

To ease the pain, you must know that pain.

She could still feel the poison lingering in him through her senses, could feel the damage it was doing through the contact. She also knew it wasn’t going to be enough to just remove some of it. Every last drop he’d managed to accumulate by drinking that contaminated water had to be pulled out if she was going to save him now.

So, taking one of his small, tanned hands in her considerably paler ones, Auri reached a hand out to hover over his chest, stretching out with the Force. It was like flexing an aching muscle that had long gone unused, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to do it.

But then, her thoughts brushed up against a cluster of something cold and foreign. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there—a knot of wrongness caught up in the complex weave of life that made up all of Ezra.

She reached out further, and her mind stumbled over another. And another. And then another. Feeling the pressure building in her own head with the concentration, she forced herself to focus harder, latching her will onto all those knots of wrongness until she could feel every molecule of the poison scraping against her thoughts—a million pinpoints on a map laid out in the shape of the boy before her.

Then, as gentle as she could, Auri began to pull on all those pinpoints of wrongness.

If anyone had been watching, it might have looked at first like the young haedrathi medic was simply praying over the kid, one hand holding his while the other hovered over his chest. But then, ever so slowly, what looked like tiny beads of pale orange sweat began to appear all over the boy’s clammy skin. At first they were almost unnoticeable, but quickly they grew, forming together into bigger drops that began to slowly rise off him entirely, floating in dozens of perfect spheres up into the air.

She didn’t stop until all of those droplets had risen off Ezra’s clammy skin, and only when every last bit had left him did she shift her hand slightly, condensing them all into a single floating sphere the size of a large marble in the air.

Her head beginning to ache with the strain, Auri automatically reached a hand towards the side cart at the edge of the room, and a test tube flew into her grip as if pulled by a magnet. Sweat began to bead on her own brow as she guided the floating ball of poison into the glass before finally releasing her focus. The pale orange liquid fell straight into the container as if someone had finally turned the gravity back on, and Auri felt her hands trembling as she quickly stoppered it.

Her perception of the rest of the room flooded back in as she pulled in a few steadying breaths, if someone had turned the volume back on for the rest of the world…

Only then did she hear a noise come from directly behind her.

Auri whirled to face it, her head spinning and heart pounding as she automatically shoved the test-tube full of poison into her back pocket. Lyle was stood in the open doorway to the ward, a confused look on his face. For a horrible moment, she thought he’d seen everything, his gaze flickering in bewilderment between her, the boy on the cot, and the empty syringe of cardiac stabilisers on the side table. But the look softened to worry as he saw the expression on her face.

“Rinna, what happened? Is he ok?”

She was saved from trying to flat out lying when Ezra groaned. She turned back to him to see the boy’s vivid blue eyes flickering open as he began to regain consciousness.

“R-Rinna?” He rasped, and she immediately knelt next to him, gently stroking his messy hair back from his face.

“It’s ok. You’re ok, little soldier. You just had a bad spell,” she assured, calmly as she could despite her own racing heartbeat. He coughed a bit and she helped him take a few more gulps of water before gently laying him back down on the pillows. “Try to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”

He was out barely ten seconds later, the exhaustion of having the poison forcibly purged from his body taking its toll.

But at least now he would live.

Auri covered him in an extra blanket from one of the other beds, and set the bio-monitoring system to alert her if there was any change to his vitals. Then, once she was sure he was as comfortable and safe as she could possibly leave him, she turned back to face a concerned-looking Lyle. He was gazing at her like he was desperate to somehow comfort her, but had no idea what to do or say to help.

“What happened?” He asked quietly the moment they were both outside.

“His heart, it started going tachy right after I gave him his meds. I barely got the stabilisers into him in time…”

It wasn’t a complete lie, but she still hated the taste of it on her tongue. Lyle glanced down at her still trembling hands, and once again she could see him barely resisted the urge to try and take hold of one.

“You’ve done everything you can,” he told her, not realising the truth of those words. “But you really should sleep now too, Rinna.”

She nodded, glancing back at the door to Ezra’s room once more before turning back to Lyle.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said quietly. He looked at her in confusion, and she gave an anaemic smile that she couldn’t quite make reach her eyes. “Would you mind walking me to Jorran’s office after all?”

It took him a second to process what she’d said, but once he did he nodded vigorously.

“S-sure! Yeah, of course.”

Auri followed her colleague down the hallway, falling into an exhausted step beside him. But not before quietly pulling the test tube of poison out of her back pocket and dropping it quietly into a nearby biohazard bin.

Much as she hated to admit it, PANN and Lyle were both right—she really did need all the sleep she could get tonight.

Tomorrow she was going to have to start planning her escape from Lothal.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

#mine #my writing #swjfo #star wars #star wars fic #auri madraan #star wars oc #ex-jedi padawan #jedi healer #5 part mini fic #My characters #alien oc #alien character #original alien race #young ezra bridger #finished Fallen Order for the third time #and now i need to get this idea out of my system #just for fun

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gvbejvmes · 4 years

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Drabble: August 15th

Title: August 15 Rating: PG-13 Relationships: Gabriel & Georgie, Gabriel/Jonathan Warnings: References to canon character death, first person POV Summary: Doesn’t everyone have a least favorite day of the year?

Once upon a time it was just another day; it didn’t hold any meaning to me whatsoever. Now it’s my least favorite day of the year. It’s probably the least favorite day of my life, to be honest. Though I have had some pretty bad days over my lifetime. Days I thought were going to kill me; some days that almost did. There’s something about August 15th though. It poisons the air around me. It’s hard to function. My brain becomes a twisted mess. August 15th is the harbinger of bad memories. It’s the day I wish never happened.

Over the years I’d learned that the best way to deal with it was to forget it existed. I’d try to skip over it, like hotels with the thirteenth floor. As far as I was concerned there was no 15th in August. It was easy to do that in prison. The days blurred together there anyway. In some ways, life was easier behind bars. Learning how to function outside of steel and concrete, especially on this day, that was the hard part.

I would find more and more elaborate ways to forget what the day symbolized. It’s funny. Art has always been my escape from life, but this is the one day a year where art makes things worse. Her voice lingers more when I try to paint. Past comments and compliments on my pieces echo through my mind. My hand tends to draw her face over and over again. It’s best just to avoid art all together.

The last couple of years have been hard. The coping mechanisms I had created were tainted with other memories and I had to figure out a way to make it though. I don’t think I succeeded very well. It’s funny. They say time makes things easier. Whoever came up with that particularly popular saying is full of shit. All time does is give you time to focus on everything you could have done differently.

I see Georgie all the time, and I don’t mean in the “I see dead people” sort of way. I see her when CJ wrinkles her nose in a perfect imitation of my sister. I see her when I stare at DJ for too long. While CJ definitely took after the demon I married, DJ is pure James. Sometimes when I’m caught up in my work, when I’m not paying attention, when I see her out of the corner of my eye, I think she’s Georgie. It breaks my heart every time when she’s not.

Everything feels suffocating today, but that’s nothing new. Neither is my desire to claw my way out of my skin and slip into the abyss. Everything is too raw, too temperamental. The hedonist in me wants to open the package Kale gave me on Thursday - a mixture of different psychedelics that he guaranteed would make me feel no pain. A part of me wants to wallow in the pain. It’s the last thing I have left.

Today is the 18th anniversary of my sister’s death. It’s also the 18th anniversary of the day I lost my freedom, the day I went to prison. We both died that day. My death was just more philosophical.

My fiancé’s body is wrapped around mine when I wake up. It’s a small miracle that I’m up before him, but I suspect he’s faking still being asleep. He knows what today is; he’s always known what today is. Fuck, he probably knows more details about the original August 15th than I do.

He read the files. He interviewed the witnesses. He’d seen the crime scene photos and he’d been to the house. He watched me relive every excruciating detail while a jury of my so-called peers watched my face for reactions. He knows how I’m feeling better than I do. He knows more about that night than I ever wanted to know.

His usually comforting presence against my back makes me feel like I’m going to burst into flames any minute. Carefully, I slip out of his embrace and pad to the other side of the room. I watch him for a couple of moments. He’s definitely faking. Felony slips out of the bed after me. The other dogs are strewn across the floor, but the only one spoiled enough to get to sleep in the bed with us is the baby. I’m not surprised that Felony is following me. She feeds off Jay’s emotions. She’s definitely his little spy.

It’s too early to go to the Collective, but that’s where I’ll spend most of the day working on the fall event calendar and figuring out what the hell Kale did to the budget and payroll. We don’t need a budget, not really, but I rarely get to use my degree. It’s almost relaxing to balance the books. When I first became Kale’s partner, I didn’t realize how delusional he was when it came to how much things cost. He was spending thousands more each month than he needed to be. For as much as I love to shop, I also know how to buy in bulk which apparently is something foreign for the ridiculously wealthy.

I pull the throw blanket and a pillow off the couch in the den and wander over to my window seat. And it is mine. Clashing aesthetic or not, the one thing I insisted upon when we were making this house ours was a window seat. Before our divorce, no, our separation, I rarely used the damn thing. Now that I’m living back at home, I use it all the time. It’s funny the things you miss when you don’t have them.

I curl up on the bench seat and almost immediately Felony jumps up into the crook of my bent knees. Within minutes I’m asleep. It’s not surprising. I could probably sleep the entire day away if I really wanted to.

The next time I wake up I can smell bacon and coffee. My fiancé smiles at me, but he knows how I get on August 15th. He doesn’t say anything. I don’t like words today. Words are what started all this. The wrong words left my sister dead. An ill-thought out confession cost me almost 7 years of my life.

Jay wraps an arm around me and presses a kiss to the side of my head. I lean my weight into him, knowing he’s more than prepared to support me and what level of mess I become today. He feeds me a piece of bacon and I let him. I’ve learned over the years that shutting him out today makes things worse. It’s better when I let him in. After all, he’s the only other person who knows how bad today is.

I won’t see the girls today. I never do. It’s too hard for me to look at them, especially at DJ today. My heart can’t handle that level of pain. Jay is probably the only person I’ll talk to today. If I decide to speak at all today.

I know he won’t let me be alone all day. I know he’ll stop by my office at the Collective at least once, if only to make sure I eat something. And I know that once 5 o’clock rolls around he’ll come and collect me. I don’t drive on August 15th. I can’t get in a car really, especially not in the backseat. It’s too much for me today. Too much.

“Briel?” And Jay is helping me into a seat at the island. I don’t even remember moving. “You with me, baby?”

I nod, and bury my face into the crook of his neck for a moment before letting him go so he can finish breakfast.

It’s my least favorite day of the year, but it could be worse.

#drabble #pairing: Gabe/Johnny #relationship: Gabe & Georgie

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cherryjuicegf · 5 years

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Wraith

A/N: So i guess im gonna post this here cause im insecure and i need attention. Anyway, have some angst in first place with 6 more chapters coming if you like this one. I'm bad at descriptions, guess the theme from the title. Hope you enjoy (?), I would really appreciate an opinion to go on!

Chapter 1st

Aftershocks

Silence. Strange as it is, silence can be so quiet, so calm and peaceful, yet so insufferably loud and overwhelming at the same time. Silence can either fondle tenderly one's skin to sleep or violently grab their head and mercilessly smash it on the wall, until egoism gives its place to begging, and the love of death is stronger than the love of life. Silence may fill the busy mind with gentleness, offering rest, a soft pillow for one to bury their head and close their eyes, silence feeling like an old friend. Adversely, silence can be like an enemy to an empty mind, full of sorrow and darkness, a sea of despair that deepens and deepens along with silence, bonging the ears with doom and denial, slowly creating a new world of illusions, the world of the crazy, the world where everything remains the same, a speculation of what could have been, a private reality where the dead and the living cannot be told apart neither by the mad nor by the sober who watches the collapsing from the distance. Either way, silence is always there, either for comfort or pain, either to empty or to fill instantly one's world with dear people or twirling shadows of the ones who were, the ones who are and the ones that will never be.

No one wants to be alone, not even with himself. And that is where inhuman illusions take the place of the empty air, phantoms, ghosts of the past, a desperate attempt for company and compassion from the ones that are gone and remain alive in memory and only. Those are the immortals, the ones that leave their mark like a scar on the hearts of the ones they leave behind, on the words of an inked sheet of paper, on the floor of a bedroom, on the pavement of the street, on the walls of a café. Those are the ones that come back. Not in the mind. Nothing remains in the mind. They're all real, as real as a shadow can be. They come back to caress, to help, to torture or to help by torturing or to torture by helping. It always depends on the amount of pain and guilt and denial the one left behind carries on their shoulders. The visited are the ones who live on in acceptance. The haunted are the ones who go on in sorrow and denial, without even knowing if they are alive anymore. No one remains alone, either they see them or not. We think we can control them, we say. Everything is in the mind. They can go away whenever we tell them. Oh, no. No. They control us. And as soon as a life gets haunted, the light of the sun becomes a hard thing to acquire, a blessing and sometimes something never seen although shining in the eyes. As soon as a life gets haunted, it is not a life anymore.

"Jehan?"

The young man slightly flounced at the sound of his name and turned his head to glance behind him, closing the old book he was holding, using his thumb as a bookmark. He looked at his friend who had now approached him near the couch and smiled, slightly tilting his head.

"Hey..."

He faked a smile and nodded passively, sitting beside him with a snort. Jehan shook his head compassionately.

"Grantaire..."

A deep sigh escaped Grantaire's lips and he squeezed Jehan's hand in his, grinning timidly.

"Are you okay?"

Jehan raised his eyebrows and chuckled softly.

"Physically?", he tried to hide his sarcasm in a nod, "Yes, I've been okay for a week now."

Rarely did he express himself with sarcasm, he wasn't used to it anyway. It had been a while that he discerned it appearing swiftly in his everyday speech. Maybe that way he could add a little life in the air that made them suffocate with open windows. He had changed. They both had.

Grantaire shook his head snorting.

"Right...", he muttered abstractly as if trying to bring himself back to reality. "Your wound is healed so..."

Jehan sighed. His wound was healed, yes. He didn't suffer the pain of the bullet anymore. The pain of the loss was stronger anyway. You can't stop the bleeding of the heart.

"I'm alright, Grantaire...", he said as if forcibly and looked him in the eyes. "I can't say the same about you though."

Grantaire didn't answer. He just stared at him absently for some seconds that felt like a century to him. He had lost track of time. He couldn't say what day it was. Every minute seemed like a day, every day like a year. He couldn't see the sun though it being reflected in his eyes. The stars were no more than candles lighting the sky. He remembered the sunset after night had fallen. And when he looked out the window to see it, a vain attempt to lighten his face, it was not there. It was lost. It was always lost.

He bowed his head, awkwardly folding the fabric of the blanket. He couldn't face him, he knew it was too much for him. Jehan swallowed worryingly.

"How many today?"

Grantaire felt his hands sweating. His heartbeat fastened for a moment. Why lie? It wouldn't serve anything anyway.

"Three...", he mumbled and bit his lip. "For now."

"Grantaire, look at me."

Jehan's voice, though gentle, sounded more demanding than usual. He raised his head and stared at him anxiously.

"You must stop doing this to yourself, Grantaire", he said emphasizing each word and shook his head. "You have been drinking too much, I...", he snorted with a sad chuckle, "That insane, Grantaire."

Grantaire smiled bitterly and raised his eyebrow.

"If it has to do with sanity, then mine is lost anyway."

Jehan didn't answer. He just fixed his eyes upon him dejectedly, feeling another part of his heart breaking in pieces. He watched him every day, drinking more and more, trying vainly to put an end to his pain, as if wine would drown his sorrows away. Oh, he was losing him. He was losing him too.

"I can't watch you suffer everyday because of this..."

"Because of what?", Grantaire interrupted him ironically and nodded. "Because everything has gone to hell? Because all of our friends are dead? Because all your dreams vanished? Because I lost the only person that has ever shed a bit of light in my life? Because of all these?", he almost laughed trying to dry the tears that had flooded his eyes ready to fall and his voice became low and sharp. "Well in my view, Jehan, it's my duty to suffer because of these."

Jehan felt shudders passing through him. He was right. He was always right. Oh, God who was he trying to deceive? Everything was lost. He still couldn't believe it, he didn't want to believe it. His whole life was built on hope, his dreams pictured a future so joyfull and bright and filled with ambitions. And now suddenly everything had turned to ashes, while he worshiped the fire burning them as the flame of hope.

And yet, he didn't want to admit it. Not in front of Grantaire. Because he knew he suffered much more than him, because he knew how much he loved Enjolras and what his death had cost him. And he shouldn't represent another bottle of wine that pulled him down to his knees. He tried to light him up, he knew it was vain but he tried. Because he owed it to him.

Grantaire stood up abruptly and made to turn his back but his friend's voice behind him stopped him.

"Wait, Grantaire...", Jehan snorted and took his hand looking at him in the eyes. "I miss them too, alright? And it hurts way more than a wound once did. But...", he tried to fake an encouraging smile, "We're still alive. And there's still hope."

He knew he wouldn't achieve anything with his words. He could almost predict the answer. Grantaire pulled his hand with a cold look and shook his head.

"I hate hope", he stated and fixed his look on Jehan, his eyes sparkling as though with rage. "This crazy hope took everyone I loved away. And I'd rather be dead and with them than alive and damning my fate."

Jehan didn't answer. His eyes clouded over. Grantaire felt hot tears wetting his cheeks. Jehan understood. He knew he did. But his sorrow was so blinding that he had no time to show compassion for anyone. He wasn't like him anyway. He never had hope by his side.

"You have to try, Grantaire, I know it's hard...", Jehan didn't manage to finish as Grantaire's look made him freeze.

"I have tried", he snapped. "I have tried too hard. But it's vain once more...", he made a pause as he stared at his friend and then chuckled sarcastically. "Why do you care anyway?"

Jehan's eyes suddenly flashed and he flounced up abruptly leaning on the couch, stubbornly ignoring the pain whipping his leg. His words suddenly became loud and sharp.

"Because you are my friend, Grantaire", his voice almost cracked. "And because you saved my life... I have to care about you, why can't you understand?"

"You have to stop!", Grantaire growled and wiped a tear that prevented his vision without taking his eyes off Jehan. "And believe me, you would have been happier if I had let you die."

Maybe he would regret those words later. But now his heart was too sharpened to think. Of course he would be happier. He had barely gained anything by surviving. A wound that would never heal, a fake hope and a friend that was already dead.

He turned and headed to his room anxiously, his steps heavy and unstable.

"Then why?"

He stopped. He didn't want to turn. He didn't want to face him. He bit his lips trying to prevent more tears from flowing down his face and put his hand on the door as if he searched for somewhere to lean his body. He bowed his head.

"Because I had to save someone."

He disappeared in the dark. But Jehan didn't move. He stood still staring at the door, his fists clenched in an attempt to hold back the sobs choking him harrowingly. He closed his eyes. Oh, God. He was afraid. He was so afraid he could hide himself in his friend's hug and stay there forever only to prevent him from going away. But he couldn't. Because his friend was lost long ago. He was lost there in the barricade, among the others that fell. And now he was nothing more than a ghost trapped among the living.

Grantaire came out the room putting on his coat and without aversing his eyes from his feet, he made to leave, heading to the door. Jehan swallowed, his eyes following his movements.

"Where are you going?"

He felt his heart fluttering, his breath became shaking. Grantaire looked at him as though ashamed and clenched his fist.

"I...", he howed and raised his head with a look full of guilt. "I don't know..."

Jehan didn't answer immediately. Oh, he knew. And if he actually didn't, the road would always lead him there, as if the place was attached to him, refusing to let go, as if his soul had become one with this place. Home. He was going home

He snorted, feeling tears wetting his eyes.

"It's raining...", he mumbled hesitantly and touched awkwardly his long hair falling on his shoulders. Grantaire nodded indifferently and shrugged.

"It's okay..."

They remained staring at each other for some minutes, feeling the despair mercilessly devouring them as angst was ripping their heart out of their chest. Grantaire felt the rain pulling him even more to get out. And yet, as if a hand was gripping him, he didn't move. Maybe it was Jehan's look fixed on him that stirred in him so much guilt for abandoning his friend after he was the one who took care of him after the barricades. Maybe it was his love for this man, the memories that hit him like waves and made him want to turn back in time, then when everyone was happy and hopefull. Maybe it was that. Or maybe it was the fact he almost knew that after he stepped out of that door, he might not see his dear friend ever again.

But was that not what he wanted anyway? He turned his back and his fingers touched trembling the door handle.

"Grantaire!!!"

He turned his head at the desperate cry filling the room to face Jehan with rivers of tears coming down his face, his eyes stabbing him like blades of accusition, innocent and mourning at the same time, looking at him probably for the last time. He felt his knees bending. Yet he didn't move. Jehan shook his head and let a sob escape his lips along with his words, his tone low and soft as it had always been but weak, reminding him of that day, when he found him covered in blood, groaning and begging for help, even if this meant death. He shivered.

"I don't want you to go..."

And his voice cracked, drown among his sobs as he sat on the couch, resting his head in his hands and crying comfortlessly. Grantaire sighed and approached his friend with trembling hands, sitting beside him and embracing him gently as Jehan hid his face in his shoulder wrapping his arms around him and letting the tears wet his shirt, his fingers gripping the coat, refusing to let go. Grantaire swallowed and held his head tenderly, caressing his soft hair with love.

"It's okay, Jehan, I'm here..."

He was there now. But he couldn't tell if he would be there when he needed him again. And this moment wouldn't last long. Jehan's body was shaking in his hug as his voice was heard among his tears hoarse and whining, like that of a little child lost alone in the dark.

"Please don't...", he stuttered breathlessly and his embrace became tighter, "Don't leave me alone..."

Grantaire didn't answer. He didn't want to leave. Staying with him seemed like a duty though much he actually wanted it. But he couldn't take this anymore. Nights sinking in misery, days drowning in sorrow. If it was to end, why couldn't it end earlier?

He glanced outside for a moment, eavesdropping the raindrops hitting the window and a thought crossed his mind. He didn't want to condemn Jehan to the same fate as him. But they were not the same anyway. It might be better for him or it might not. He had to risk it. Neither he nor their dearest friends up in heaven would ever want him to end up alone. And this was the only way.

chapter 2

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k00kie-krumbl3 · 5 years

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Previous: 1

Standing still I looked back at Jimin, breathing heavily, I couldn’t keep up with him, especially with my new found speed.

“How are you able to control your speed?” I asked, standing up again after face smacking against the cushioned wall.

“It takes time. You won’t be able to control it instantly,” Jimin replied,

“Speak for yourself, I was able to control mine pretty quickly unlike like you Jimin-ssi,” a voice like honey replied.

Turning around I saw a boy with wavy black hair, brown doe-like eyes and caramel like skin. He was wearing grey sweats and a white tank. When he smiled at Jimin and I, I couldn’t help but think how similar the smile was to a bunny. There’s no possible way he’s a vampire, right?

“He sadly is,” Jimin replied, making me look at him in shock. Sighing when he saw my shocked expression, he confirmed my thoughts about him being able to mind read as everyone has a unique form of power.

“So what powers do you have?” I asked the doe-eyed boy,

“Being able to do everything,” he smirked, only for Jimin to scowl. “Don’t flatter yourself. It took you a whole month to control your powers,” he growled.

“Okay and? It took you what? Two months and a half?” the other male snickered. Looking towards me, he held out his hand and gave me a warm smile, “I’m Jungkook by the way.”

“Taehyung,” I answered, shaking his hand.

“I know,” he smirked, a glint in his eye, the hand he was holding beginning to squeeze a little bit harder.

‘Strength,’ I thought, eyes widening in fear and shock.

“If you’re not going to be of any assistance, then get out. You’re scaring the damn kid,” Jimin scolded, pushing Jungkook towards the door he entered.

“Aww c’mon Jimin. Live a little why don’t ya. I’ll help the kid, you can relax. I know it’s your time of the month,” Jungkook stated, only to be kicked on the shin as Jimin gave him a harsh glare.

“Don’t test me boy, especially on a day like today,” he sneered, his usually brown eyes know turning a dark red.

Raising his hands up in surrender. Jungkook gave him a small smile. “Seriously Chim, go ahead and rest, you’re more aggressive than usual,” he reasoned, messing his hair a bit as Jimin finally agreed and left the room.

“So he’s not always like that?” I asked, looking over at Jungkook.

“Nope. Today’s the death of his parents,” Jungkook said,

“That’s why he got aggressive when I asked,” I concluded, only to pout as I couldn’t help but feel bad for him to tell me.

“Don’t worry about it kid, let’s finish up training then eat,” Jungkook explained.

“How old are you?” I asked,

“Human years 15, but vampire years 115,” he smiled,

“I’m 17 years old, I’m two years older than you,” I retorted,

“Yeah human years but vampire years you’re a baby, a fledgling,” he pouted, having a more whiny voice as he started to move my face side to side and giving me tiny kissy sounds, only for me to scowl at him and push him away.

“Whatever dude, lets just continue training so we can eat,” I replied.

“And what makes you think you’ll be able to catch your food?” Kook questioned, as he raised a brow on suspicion.

“What do you mean by ‘catch’?” I asked,

“Oh did you think I meant as in food is already cooked and ready to eat,” Jungkook asked in a taunting tone, “I mean catch Tae. You’re a vampire now, you need to hunt your food, no more eating chicken or noodles or soup, you’re diet now is blood, blood, blood.” Jungkook gave Tae a Cheshire Cat smile which sent shivers down his spine.

Gulping, he couldn’t help the feeling of nausea, he didn’t want to drink animals or human blood. He wanted to eat normal food, he didn’t like this new him not one bit. He didn’t like Jungkook either.

Looking back at Jungkook, the elder gave him a sinister look. “Catch me,” he said, as we began practice once again.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Finally getting cleaned up, we headed over to the forest, Jungkook looked much more frightening as his fangs were on full display.

“Kook, go inside, I got this one,” Jimin said, as he appeared next to us.

“It’s okay Jimin, I already did the first training-“ but he was cut off as Jimin pointed towards the door. “Joon needs you.”

Sighing, he wakes back to the house, looking back at the blonde hai- wait blonde?

“You dyed your hair?” I asked,

“Jin did... said I needed a new look since black is getting ‘old’” he air quoted, rolling his eyes after.

“Oh...” I looked at his blonde hair even longer, “it looks good on you,” I said.

“Thanks, anyways, back to hunting 101,” Jimin smiled, in that moment he genuinely looked sweet, a very kind person.

“You should smile more often,” I said only to look away as I realized how rude that sounded.

“I should, it’s just today is-“

“The death of your parents, yeah, Jungkook told me,” I finished, still looking away.

“Hey Taetae, don’t get shy on me now. We’ll be good friends and sorry for all the outbursts. This week is just not a good one but next week I should be back to my normal self,” Jimin winked, giving me a Cheshire Cat smile that weirdly enough looked much better on him than it did on Jungkook.

“Okay!” I cheered, looking back at the woods, my smile immediately dropped.

“Do I have to drink animal blood?” I asked, looking back at the woods.

“Yes. I know, I didn’t want to change my food choice but it’s our only way of survival,” Jimin reassured. “Weirdly enough, you’ll enjoy the taste, not as good as human blood, but it’ll do.”

Looking at him in shock, he explained that Jin is a doctor so he has a secret service where people can donate more blood for the “helpless”, and by “helpless” he meant us vampires. Nodding my head in understanding I couldn’t help but think back to the boy with icy blue eyes.

“What happened to Yugeom? Gyeom? What was his name again?” I questioned,

“Yugyeom?” Jimin asked,

“Yes! Him. So why is he bad?” I asked.

“Well each breed of vampires are different. Queen Diane and King Fred are the rulers of all the kingdoms. However, after Kind Fred died, Queen Diane became prey. Some kingdoms decided to stay humble and respect the Queen but others like Gamma Omega Tau or GOT7 and Epsilon Chi Omicron or EXO decided to go against her.” Jimin explained.

“So what’s our house name then?” I asked,

“Beta Tau Sigma.”

“BTS,” I stated, “cool.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Finally catching a deer, I looked over at Jimin, he had his teeth already elongated.

“You want to drink the blood from the jugular vein,” he stated, moving the deer’s neck and grabbing my hand, moving my pointer finger down it’s jugular.

“I-I’m not-“

“Drink,” he stated, giving me a blood-lust look.

Moving my head near the neck I felt my teeth soon begin to elongate, putting them near the deer’s vein, I soon punctured it and closed my eyes, the red liquid soon going down my throat. It at first tasted metallic but the more I drank the more it began to have a more sweeter taste.

“Let go,” Jimin said, only for me to continue to suck and suck and suck.

‘No one mentioned how good blood can be,’ I thought, as I continued to drink only for Jimin to pull my hair and rip me away from the deer that fell limply.

“And that’s why I said that’s enough,” he seethed, “you need to control how much you eat, if you drink too much you might as well be part of EXO or GOT7. They don’t know when to stop, they are greedy and selfish and will try and destroy all human life. What they don’t understand is if there is no human or animal life left, we will die too,” Jimin stated.

“I-I’m sorry,” I replied, looking back at the dead deer, feeling tears well up.

“It’s okay. That’s why we are training you until you’re ready, but this is why you need to listen when I tell you too. However, I did the same thing as you when Namjoon was training Kook and I, I was lost in the feeling and taste and killed the poor deer but as we continued to train, I was able to control my hunger and the amount I drank.” Jimin explained, I nodded in understanding.

“I think that’s enough training for one day. It’s getting pretty late, we should head back to the house now,” Jimin said. As we headed back to the house.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“So Jungkookie,” Jin said, grabbing the attention of the said man, “how did you know that GOT7 are planning an attack on ATEEZ? Or partner?”

“Yugyeom told me,” he answered, a smug smirk plastered on his lips,

“Okay and why is Yugyeom telling you this?” Jin pushed, raising a brow,

“Well I’m not exactly supposed to tell you this but he’s thinking about switching sides,” Jungkook replied, his smirk growing, I swear I can see his ego swell as his smirk grew.

“I swear to god Jungkook. If you’re lying to me, I will not hesitate to kill you. You lost my trust once by letting one of them go. Don’t fail me now,” Jin hissed, glaring at Jungkook, his eyes flashing a dangerous red.

“Of course Hyung. You know you can trust me,” he said, going back to his feast, as did everyone else but me. My stomach felt slightly queasy, excusing myself, I headed over to my room.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

As I stared out my window, I soon heard a knock on my door, opening it up, I gulped as there stood Jungkook.

“Can I help you?” I asked,

“What’s your power?” He asked,

“I-I don’t know,” I replied.

“Come on then, let’s try and figure out what it is. You should already have them since they tend to show up in about 12 to 18 hours,” he smiled, grabbing my hand only for me to jump up and gasp as electricity soon shot up my arm.

Different visions blurred right past me except it was all things based off of Jungkook. One with him carrying a box, another one where he was at the club, another one where he was with a human girl. Soon escaping the vision, I gasped for air, coughing as it felt like I was suffocating.

Looking up at Jungkook, I stared at him wide eyed as his brown doe-eyes that had a playful glint was now gone. His sweet smile was now replaced with a scowl, his fangs were on full broadcast and seemed to gleamed under the fluorescent lights. His eyes were a ruby red as he stared at me intently. “What did you see?” He growled out.

“I-I don’t know,” I answered, only for me to shriek as he hit the wall, leaving a bent as he glared at me. “Taehyung what did you see?”

I shuddered as I opened my mouth only for Jimin to open the door. “What the hell is wrong with you Jungkook? You’re scaring the damn kid,” Jimin scolded as he pushed Jungkook away. “I know it’s something to get used to as he’s new. But we don’t want him to run away, we need to keep him safe!” Jimin hissed, his eyes flashing in warning.

Jungkook soon went back to his normal physique, nodding his head, when Jimin went back to his room, I soon turned to mine only for Jungkook to yank me back.

“If you say anything to anyone about what you saw, I will not hesitate to kill you. I don’t care if you are the son of Queen Diane, no one knows you exist so I don’t see what’ll be the problem. Ever since you showed up, havoc has reigned,” he huffed, his grip on my arm increasing in strength, only to finally let go and walk to his room.

Quickly closing the door, I felt fear and confusion wracking up my body. What did he mean the son of Queen Diane? There’s no way I’m the soon to be prince. I laid down on my bed, wrapping myself up as tears slipped down my face. How I wish mom could be here and tell me everything’s alright.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Next part: 3 4

A/N: Here’s links to what each character looks like. (I will add Yugyeom and the rest of the group later on for each story)

Namjoon: https://photos.app.goo.gl/CRQv5hE8GQRwV5zT6

Jin: https://photos.app.goo.gl/JNHxnXNpEYLnD8Mx5

Jimin: https://photos.app.goo.gl/M66amAN4Sm5wGLcP8

Jungkook: https://photos.app.goo.gl/u7FpGjAmWg9aucVKA

Taehyung: https://photos.app.goo.gl/qLHXaPWAKms2ttv26

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alicewritesthisstuff · 6 years

Text

Part VII

When I met her, she had never been with a woman before had never been interested and the thought of passion with any person made her physically sick he had taken everything and had left nothing but fear terrible fear of having someone put their hands on her again

in my opinion, two things can happen to a person who’s been sexually abused and traumatised at a young age regarding sex

one - sex makes you sick the mere thought of it turns your stomach and freezes your blood in your veins you cannot imagine ever enjoying hands on your naked body again

two - sex becomes an obsession it’s like the dial has been violently turned up too far and broken off sex is used as everything as a way to deflect a way to escape as a painkiller or as a way to inflict pain on yourself as a sign of value or worthlessness

I belong in the second category sex became a way for me to escape my darkest thoughts for a while it let me harm myself when I needed it and it gave me an excuse for everything I never used to get much pleasure from sex sex wasn’t there for pleasure, not for mine anyway but I loved giving others pleasure and I made damn sure I was as good at it as I could possibly be I loved watching my partners coming apart in front of my eyes seeing them shake in the heat of the moment their brains clicking off and being reduced to basic instincts and spasms of nerves exploding it made me feel valuable like I served a purpose at least one and it made me feel in control complete control something I crave like nothing else in life so the eating disorder makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?

when I met her, I had already been with a few women but never had there been love involved I loved men, fell in love with men women were just a nice asset a safe way to live out all the sexual pressure I felt I liked touching them softer skin, softer curves the first female friend I had taught me how to appreciate sexual activity with another woman as something easy and fun without obligations sex with men seemed dangerous, rough, painful, full of ties that can drag you down and suffocate you whenever I entered a relationship with a man, I made sure they knew that there would always be the hands and lips and curves of another woman touching my body that I did not belong exclusively to them and I had never met a man who had a problem with that men are controlled by urges and fatasies when it comes to sex and I didn’t mind fading into them as it made me feel more in control which worked out great for me

but she was different with her, everything was different I went to the club she worked in after my shift one night I was already so deeply lost in my eating disorder that I could hardly bear anyone else near me So I go out alone with my cigarettes and booze and empty stomach I sit in dark corners, get drunk and then dance until it’s light and the club closes and I stumble home and merciful exhaustion brings me sleep

then one nightI noticed her behind the bar it was instant attraction I wanted to touch her long black hair kiss her pale skin feel her long thin fingers on my body sink into her emerald green eyes I watched her for a couple of nights trying to figure out why I felt so attracted to her why I craved to touch her like I did I’ve been attracted to women before but never like this usually people just sort of grew on me and so did the attraction bit by bit never full force like it happened with her never before did I feel like this and it scared me I needed to know why so I watch her

she seems like a frightened deer at first eyes wide, hands trembling as she serves the drinks shy smiles for the guests and those flashes of panic in her eyes when men hit on her when they get too close too personal and I can see she’s been hurt as well and probably belongs in category one and I try to forget her try not to think about her try not to picture her face while sleeping with the man I’m with

but I can’t

as if to deliberatly torture myself, I keep going to the club after my shifts, watching her she works almost every night, just like I do and I wonder if she’s also trying to figure out what to do next in life just like I am and if she’s slowly destroying herself like I am

a few weeks after I first laid eyes on her one of those awful days comes around to beat me to the ground again one of those days where the gates of hell seem to open right in my head and pull me in I spend two days in bed, unable to get up and speak to anyone I lie there and stare at the ceiling, feeling dead and empty on the third day I start drinking in the morning and don’t stop all day I go to the club, drink more, dance in my completely drunken state I finally bring up the courage to order my drink from her I tell her what I want and she looks at me a few moments, her green eyes bright in the flickering light, then leans forward “how about a water?” she says softly in my ear and I shiver at the feel of her breath on my skin “bad day for water, honey” I say on impulse and there’s a flash of something across her face… something that looks, incredibly, like understanding she pours me my drink and I push a bill across the bar she shakes her head and pushes it back to me with her long, beautiful fingers “it’s on me”, she nods towards an empty bar stool, “come sit here, please.”

I don’t know if she says it because she wants me to stay close to her or because she doesn’t want me to get even drunker and become a problem but I’m beyond caring at thte moment so I take my drink and sit

she’s busy for a while and I talk to the bouncer who has come up for a beer he buys me shots I drink them look up and see her watching me I take another shot my heart racing what is the matter with me…?

the club empties she comes over leans across the bar her eyes still bright black hair tumbling down her back my eyes flicker to her cleavage and I bite my lower lip god, I want her the thought screams in bright neon in my mind I WANT her she looks into my eyes asks my name I tell her she tells me hers we talk she’s 19 I’m 21 she moved here to study but can’t seem to figure out what I’ve been living here a while but haven’t been able to figure out what to do either between conversation, she just looks at me and I feel like she’s looking into my soul she leans further towards me and says, very softly:

“you’re broken, too, aren’t you?”

my heart skips a beat and I just stare at her, at a loss for words I nod ever so slightly she goes to serve another customer and I finish my drink in one go completely rattled that drink pushes me over my tolerance the bouncer comes back it’s closing time and the last thing I remember is falling of the bar stool and his arms catching me and her calling out my name and that it sounds like liquid gold on her lips

I come to a few minutes later sitting on the cement floor of a storage room my back against a crate of cold bottles and she’s sitting in front of me holding a glass of water and a wet cloth she smiles softly at me and I think about how beautiful she is and how I could write books about her fill pages describing the green of her eyes, the curve of her upper lip, the clear lines of her cheekbones

I find my voice

“I…never…I usually know my limit”

embarrasment floods me but she smiles again

“I know”

the bouncer told her I’ve never been a problem, that I seemed to be having a really bad day

or a really bad year

she says I seem so sad it breaks her heart I linger on the word heart longer than the word break and later think of that moment as the start of our downfall

she hands me a bucket asks if I want her to show me how to throw up quickly so I won’t be hung over later

“no, thanks, I…I know” my words stumble I worry about her reaction but I do feel horrible now and…all those calories I tie my hair back lean over the bucket slide my fingers down my throat purge quickly and silently no coughing no gagging that all goes away after the first couple of months and it becomes ridiculously easy I don’t stop till I taste blood and feel her hand on my shoulder she hands me the cloth and the glass of water, then fixes her green eyes on mine again “how long?” she asks softly “too long” I tell her …way too fucking long “me, too” she says, her voice almost a whisper and I realize that this might not just be infatuation not just physical attraction but so much more so much deeper that she might be the death of me

and that I’m fully willing to accept it.

#love #love poetry #poem #heartbreak #heartache #lez #biseuxal #anoreixa #bulima #anxitey #eating disroders #deprecion #truelove

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artificialqueens · 6 years

Text

Until the Flavor’s Gone (3/?) (Biadore) - Kitschy Pixel

AN – So this chapter took a bit longer than the first two because first I was busy and then I just couldn’t stop writing the thing. Hopefully it’s worth it. And hey, remember when I said I was playing fast and loose with continuity and queen relationships because this is an AU and I can? You’re about to see an example of that. I debated this and then thought “Imma do it”.

Anyway, welcome to chapter three aka that chapter that makes you think “Oh, this wasn’t that much of a slow burn after all” but spoiler alert: it is.

Warnings include: not-quite-smut with suggested nudity, age gap mentions, crude and very direct language that you’d come to expect from these two, and Danny being insecure as all get out. I think that’s everything?

Chapter Three

It took the rest of the week – the day before he and Jay were set to leave on a plane back to their normal lives, to be exact – for Danny to find himself back at that club for that drink he’d promised himself he’d try to grab. It took about an hour of vague and non-committal answers to Jay’s thousands of questions for him to shake the other for the night. Though the suggestive eyebrow waggle Jay shot him as he finally conceded to let Danny go his own direction was probably a bit uncalled for. Maybe. Most likely.

He arrived about an hour early and loitered around the bar, trying his best not to seem obvious or nervous and frankly failing. He kept staring at the stage and fidgeting with his hands and the only reason he even bought a drink to begin with was just to have something to hold. There weren’t very many people yet, most being just bar patrons who kept clustered to the source of their alcohol.

He sipped at his cocktail absent-mindedly as he rehearsed through what he would say. Try to be clever, but not too clever! Stay direct. Let him know that you really did appreciate the stage slot and the make-up advice. He’s obviously got his shit together. His act is great, his look is great, his ass looks great out of drag – no! No wait, don’t say that.

Danny sighed heavily into his drink and just stared into his glass as his long ago shelved desire to sleep with an older man started rapping insistently on his consciousness. It’s that fucking smile, he reasoned to himself, as if this attraction could be solely blamed on a perfect set of teeth and brown eyes that Danny could safely drown in, if you could safely drown in anything.

Shit, I forgot about his eyes…

He hiccupped at the sudden jump in his heartbeat before he downed the rest of his drink to try to burn away the growing lump in his throat. Instead? He almost choked. He sputtered and fought the urge to cough before he patted down his chest and let out a sigh. Okay, focus, he thought to himself, What are you doing?

Not that he was given a lot of time to really rethink his whole approach. From the corner of his eye he saw a very familiar hairstyle breeze past him, stopping only when someone approached for some brief small talk before heading back on a narrow path to backstage. He felt himself shift forward and before he knew it, he was caught into a gravitational pull and forced into the orbit of a much bigger undiscovered star. Danny followed obediently, sneaking backstage (which wasn’t hard) and hovering awkwardly in a dressing room full of drag queens preparing for the show.

Bianca was the only one already dressed, having arrived in full drag. Probably easier, Danny reasoned to himself absent-mindedly. He chewed on his lip and paused a moment when he realized now that he was here, he had no idea how to actually approach Bianca without seeming creepy.

“Hey there sweetheart, you look a little lost!”

Danny jumped when he recognized the young queen from the first night at his elbow and beaming at him. He managed a timid ‘hello’ before the queen hyperactively introduced herself.

“Oh don’t be shy! You’re from the other night, aren’t ‘cha? I remember you! I’m Billie Wicked–” she flinched slightly at the snide remark to change that name filtered from behind them before widening her smile and soldiering on, “–what are you doing back here? You’re not a queen, are you? You’d make a good one – oh wait!” Her eyes got wider as she started to shakily connect the dots, “That’s right! You were talking to Bianca!”

“Billie! Down girl, good lord, let him breathe!” Speaking of the devil herself, Bianca sidled up behind Billie and grasped her by the elbows. “Go finish getting ready, okay? I’ll take care of this.” She waited until Billie was mostly out of earshot before blowing out a sigh, “Sorry – she’s not the brightest but she makes up for it with sweetness, bless her sugary and over-accessorized heart. Why are you skulking around here, California?” Danny gently reminded her of his name and Bianca nodded, “Yes, right. Danny. Wasn’t there another with you?”

Danny tackled the easy question first, saying he came alone before he cleared his throat to buy enough time to collect himself, “I was just… I’m leaving New York tomorrow and I had time so I thought I’d come back just to thank you again for what you did…”

“That really wasn’t a problem, but you’re welcome. Thank you for not choking or being awful, otherwise it would have become one. Come on, let me show you back out…”

It must have been that smile again, or the warmth from those fingers on his back that made Danny stand a bit taller as Bianca started to steer him back to the main floor. It could have been the haze from the drink he’d downed earlier settling on his brain that numbed him to his nerves. Whatever it was, something was responsible for the next bit of word vomit Danny spewed and he’d already decided he couldn’t be held accountable.

“Look – “ he spun around to look at Bianca’s face, pushing aside how stunned he was that she managed to make such a clownish approach to her make-up look so appealing, “Seriously, thank you. I’d never been on a stage like that before and it was such a wonderful rush and I’m so thankful that you gave that to me and I just really want you to understand how appreciative I am for that.”

“Believe me, I’m beginning to…”

Danny cut her off before she got too far, leaning in and concentrating hard on keeping his voice steady at a low volume, “I’m super bad at being coy and playing hard to get so I’m just going to be straight up honest with you and hope to god you find that charming…” One deep breath in and spill the truth, “I’ve taken more showers today than I have this entire trip, my ass smells like vanilla or linen or what the fuck ever, and I’m nervous as fuck but I just want to fuck you… or have you fuck me… or just suck your dick… any of it.”

He immediately cringed at how desperate he sounded, coming to a verbal screeching halt and pushing himself away from Bianca as he frantically tried to back pedal, “But you turned down those guys last week and it’s so fucking obvious that you’d do the same to me and I’m realizing really fast that this was a really big fucking mistake…”

Bianca recovered from her initial shock from the very blunt offer before holding up her hands in an attempt to placate the downward spiral that was spinning before her, “Okay, hold up. Calm the fuck down…” a giggle crept into her words, but it didn’t sting Danny’s pride like he thought it should, “I’m honestly flattered. Just… Christ… calm down before you hyperventilate.”

There was another long sigh and two hands gripped Danny’s shoulders as Bianca tried to collect her own thoughts on the matter at hand. She squeezed a little and a few breathy bits of laughter escaped before she smoothed down the shoulders of Danny’s jacket. “I really am flattered,” she nodded down the hallway to the main floor. “Stay for the show, okay? There’s some really talented bitches going on stage tonight so I think it might be worth you coming out here. Maybe I’ll see you after.”

–––––––––––––––––––––

Danny couldn’t seem to decide if that ‘maybe’ tacked on to Bianca’s parting words was a promise or merely a polite rejection to keep him from suffocating on his own mortification. It was that off-chance glimmer of something resembling hope that kept him from slinking out that door and back to his hotel room to lick his wounds in peace.

So he stayed for the show, keeping towards the back and the alcohol to the minimum. He was glad he did. It was a good show made better by Bianca’s humor and flair, even if it was brutal and scathing. He couldn’t tell if the judgemental bitch act was just that or if it held a grain of truth to it. Maybe it was both, but it managed to make him laugh none the less. He was glad he stayed, he reminded himself.

And when it was over, he was a bit unsure what to do with himself. Did he stay and hope he could talk to Bianca (or Roy, he supposed) again? Or did he just high tail it out of there to try to minimize whatever damage he’d done? He supposed the latter was the safer option, though he still took his time leaving. The sting of rejection brought on by his own stupid mouth lingered a little but it’d be okay, he reasoned. Tomorrow he’d leave and probably never show his face in this entire city again. No big deal.

He was outside trying – and failing – to hail a cab so he could get back to his hotel. He shoved his hands in his pockets with a hefty sigh and prepared himself to just up and walk the six miles back. He needed to try to come up with a less pathetic story to tell Jay when he got back anyway, may as well stall the inevitable.

A hand on his elbow jarred him out of his decision.

“We can share a cab if you’re willing to split the fare.”

Danny turned to see Bianca, still in drag and with a smile. He offered up a sheepish one in return.

“You’d do that?”

“We’d be headed to the same destination, right? Unless you’ve changed your mind…”

“No…”

“Then come on. Before I change mine.”

–––––––––––––––––––––

The ride to Bianca’s apartment was quiet and Danny decided for once in his life to keep it that way. Meanwhile, his heart thundered in his chest and he tried to hide the obvious red in his cheeks by decisively staring very intently out the window.

They didn’t speak until they crossed that threshold and Danny’s legs were instantly investigated by two very curious balls of fluff.

“Hope you like dogs.”

Danny instantly beamed and began to coo at them, as he crouched down and let them sniff his fingers. “I love dogs. They’re adorable!” He missed the small smile shot in his direction as the two pups instantly approved of his presence. He heard the vague sound of Bianca setting down the clutch she carried and her keys before he was drawn further into the apartment.

“I’m not drunk enough to do this in drag,” the clatter of shoes being kicked off and another sigh, “You’re not in a hurry are you?”

“No. My flight’s not until late tomorrow. I’ve got all night if you do.”

“Convenient and… obnoxiously charming,” that last bit was said with a tone of exasperation that Danny had to fight not to smirk about. He curled his lips over his top teeth and forced his mouth closed before he looked up to see Bianca flick what he assumed was a bathroom light on and disappear before the sound of running water filtered from behind the door. He got up and ventured further, eight paws trotting after him as he took in his surroundings.

It was small, as one would expect a New York apartment would be, but it was organized – every bit of space utilized to its maximum potential. “Wow,” he whispered as he took a step towards the designated sewing area that was shoved in one corner. He busied himself with looking at the sketches and fabric swatches that were spread across the table, staying mindful not to touch out of fear he might upset some sort of delicate balance and throw off whatever meticulous system had been put into place.

He headed back to the hallway, suddenly aware of his thudding heartbeat again when he heard the water still. He swallowed as the door opened and he was faced with Roy, freshly showered, with a very small smile, a towel, and not much else.

“Last chance to back out and spare my feelings,” he quipped as Danny gaped and shook his head.

“I’m good,” Danny managed to breathe out before he leaned forward, cupped Roy’s face in his hands and kissed him.

There was that split second of clarity as something sparked with the initial contact of lips against lips. It was followed by another split second of What the fuck am I doing? before Danny’s inhibitions were thrown to the wayside and completely forgotten. He got lost in a fiery and flurried fierceness that fogged up his cognitive functions faster than any drink or drug could dream. Could you get intoxicated from a kiss of a near stranger? He assumed if that kiss tasted like spearmint mouthwash and a hint of – was that wine? – that it would be entirely possible. Whatever it was shot straight down, coiled tight and made him gasp.

With nothing but the faint glow of the blue-white light of a bathroom vanity to guide them, they travelled the short distance to Roy’s bedroom. They’d stumbled a bit at the door. Danny groaned when his back hit the wood, both sets of hands scrambling to simultaneously rid him of his clothes and turn the handle. He nearly tripped backwards when Roy managed to push it open, narrowly escaping his fall by Roy grabbing his forearm to keep him upright and using that momentum to steer him to the bed.

Danny vaguely recalled losing his jacket and shirt at some point in the struggle. It was entirely possible that it was his shirt that was the culprit of him nearly colliding with the floor. There was a soft curse when they hit the mattress. He didn’t know who made it or even what it was. He completely forgot exactly when he managed to kick off his jeans. Or if Roy’d just pulled them off. He favored the second option whenever he’d think back on it in the future.

The rest of it, though – he’d remember clear as crystal.

–––––––––––––––––––––

It was daylight by the time Danny managed to fully open his eyes and he groaned a little as he pushed himself out of bed. His brain felt blurry from lack of sleep, his body was sore, and his skin felt grimy but a dopey smile still curled at the very edges of his lips as he started to collect his clothes. Last night (or early this morning, however you wanted to look at it) had been pretty fucking good.

He checked the time on his phone as it clattered from his pants pocket before he pulled them on and wandered out to the hallway to gather his shirt and jacket. He sneaked into the bathroom to pee and was able to get a good look at himself.

Essentially, he looked like he’d been thoroughly fucked. His hair was sticking up at awkward angles, there were dark circles under his eyes from the aforementioned minimal sleep, and he sported at least one hickey that he could see near his collarbone. The dopey smile turned into a mischievous smirk. He felt a little satisfied with himself.

And why shouldn’t he?

Danny just had – maybe not mindblowing sex – but definitely above the standard sex. Really good sex. His fingers ached a little from gripping the side of the bed kind of sex. So… great sex… with a guy he found to be kind of interesting. And sure, he was about to sneak out of that guy’s apartment and do the walk of shame to the nearest cab back to his hotel room and he was going to be on the literal opposite corner of the country by the end of tonight, but god damn, it was worth it. Right?

He turned on the sink and cupped his hands under the trickle of water before splashing his face and trying to get his hair to behave. He sucked in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly before throwing his shirt over shoulders, jacket still in hand before he went on to find exactly where he’d kicked off his shoes.

He ran into Roy instead.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Danny’s eyes flitted over Roy’s figure, his mind’s eye filling in what that black tank top and joggers now covered before he cleared his throat and replied, albeit a little raspy.

“Yeah… I… um… thanks for letting me stay, I was just going to… you know… go. Once I find my shoes…”

“They’re near the door,” Roy offered flatly before he followed Danny down the hall only to detour to the kitchen when he could. Danny sat down on the floor to pull on his sneakers before he stood back up and started to actually button his shirt. Or attempted to.

“Shit…”

It came out a bit louder than he wanted, Roy rounding the corner from his kitchen and shooting a look towards the entryway. “You o–?” he trailed a bit as he raised an eyebrow at Danny’s current dilemma. “Oh.” There was a low snicker that faded off into soundless laughter before he shook his head. “Shit. Damn. I suppose that’s my fault.” He gestured with the coffee cup in his hand to the several missing buttons that made the shirt in question gap in an odd manner. He set the cup aside and held up a finger to delay Danny’s incoming whine. “Hold up, don’t panic. I can fix that easy if you don’t have to be anywhere this instant.”

Danny could only process one thing at a time as he stared down at the missing buttons, “You’re such an asshole…” he managed to squeak out and Roy could only roll his eyes.

“Well aware, and yet I’m going to fix it if you can spare like… an hour, not even that but let’s say an hour just for the hell of it. Can you spare an hour?”

“Yeah…”

“Then quit pouting, shut up, and take off your shirt.” That strange, soothing giggle Danny had heard last night lifted the lilt of the command and helped soften it a little, making it easier for him to comply. He shrugged off his shirt and handed it over to Roy before the other man gestured to the kitchen, “I’m not the type to cook anyone breakfast but I can at least offer coffee if you want it.”

Danny accepted the offer and soon he was settled with a warm mug on Roy’s couch as he watched the other get out a sewing kit and begin to rifle through his stash of notions to find similar enough buttons to at least look passable. Danny brought his knees up to his chest as he watched Roy set to work, tilting his head as he searched for something – anything – to say. He settled on repeating himself.

“Thank you, again… for, you know. Letting me stay here.”

“Not a problem,” Roy’s voice was distant as he worked but he was obviously still listening as he threaded a needle and got to work replacing the – three, he discovered – buttons that had gone missing since last night. “Felt it would be a dick move to let you fend for yourself at four in the morning in a city you don’t live in… and I didn’t have to work at the shop today so I wouldn’t have to kick you out right away anyway.”

“The shop?”

“Costume shop,” Roy lifted his eyes for a second as he answered, another smirk at Danny’s perplexed expression. “Day job. No way I could survive in this city on a drag queen’s salary, let’s be honest here.”

“So wait…” Danny set his coffee aside and shifted forward. “You’re like… a professional when it comes to sewing shit?”

Roy’s laugh was almost shy before he cut it short and nodded, “Yeah,” Danny was beginning to really like that soft smile that did just enough to bring out those indents in his cheeks. Roy flicked his eyes up to Danny once again, pausing to snip the thread before moving on to the next button, his fingers manipulating the needle in a well-practiced, fluid motion. “You make it sound like that’s impressive…”

“It is!” Danny beamed, “Holy shit, so do you make all of your dresses then?”

“Most. What I don’t make, I’ve usually altered…”

“Fuck, man. I can’t sew for shit. I can barely hot glue shit together. What kind of stuff do you make at the costume shop?” He quickly clarified when he saw Roy’s eyebrow quirk, quip loaded and ready, “I know costumes, smart ass. But like… for what?”

Roy leaned back as he snipped the thread of the second button before rolling his shoulder and pausing to think, “Bit of everything. I’ve done anything from runway shows to ballet to theater…” He paused again at Danny’s enthusiastic ‘cool’ before he rolled his eyes, but the self-satisfied smirk escaped no one.

“Is that how you got into drag? Making costumes and stuff?”

“Sort of? Not really a remarkable story behind that. Something I kind of picked up and never could seem to put down again… now it’s just an extra source of income.”

“Damn. How long have you done it?”

Roy paused in thought and exhaled slowly, “Since I was twenty so… fifteen…ish… almost sixteen years?”

And there it was – a number placed on the age gap that Danny was aware of, maybe even craving a little. It made it supremely real as opposed to some sort of specter that floated in the back of Danny’s mind. And it was weird. Not the age gap itself, but how little he thought of it. Should he be bothered? Did it even matter? Sitting on this guy’s couch, sipping the coffee he’d offered, and watching him replace the buttons he’d torn off late last night (early this morning), Danny figured it really didn’t. He pressed his lips together and sucked in a breath, ready to blurt something out when he realized he’d let the silence run into awkward lengths.

Roy beat him to it.

“What about you?”

“Me what?”

Roy shrugged one shoulder and waved a little towards Danny in a vague gesture as he paused in his task, “How long have you done it?”

“What? Drag? Oh…” Danny slumped further into the corner of the couch and cleared his throat, “No, that’s… that’s mostly Jay’s thing…” That was technically true. It was very much Jay’s thing. “I let him paint my face sometimes for practice and we were trying to kill time so…” Now it was starting to meander into ‘fibbing’ territory. For a mental check list worth of reasons, he wasn’t compelled to tell Roy about the polish remover queen Adore Delano he had residing in his closet. “He wouldn’t shut up about how you helped him, though.” And there was the flat out lie.

The seasoned queen raised an eyebrow and looked at Danny with scepticism before he slowly drawled, “Let me see if I got this right…” He deliberately slowed his work on the final button, drawing it out for as long as he could. “Jay’s the baby queen who takes you to shows and you’re the supportive friend who just so happens to reap the benefits of Jay having a somewhat memorable drag mother?”

“You never did explain how you and Alyssa know each other…”

“And you’re avoiding the question.”

“You said my singing wasn’t that big of a deal…”

“No. Getting you on that stage wasn’t that big of a deal to me. You singing in front of that crowd was very much a big deal to you, you made that plainly obvious,” Roy clarified, gesturing between the two of them and obviously alluding to the events of the night before (or very early morning). He plucked the last stray thread from Danny’s shirt and tossed it over to him. “Try that. They should be even.”

“You’re a fucking miracle worker.”

“Far from,” He leaned back in his seat and watched Danny carefully as the other pulled his shirt onto his shoulders and started to button it from the bottom upwards. “Are you going to answer my question or not?”

Danny stood and tugged the edges of his shirt to check that the buttons were in fact even, “I don’t see why it matters.”

“Just humor me.”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before he shrugged, “Jay didn’t have any drag with him and I didn’t need drag to get up there…”

“So you do have drag…”

“I… no?” Danny flinched at the crack in his voice that made that into a question.

“Convincing,” Roy leaned forward and looked Danny up and down in a way that made him fidget. He was calculating something in his head – and it was making Danny feel rather uneasy. Not so much like he was prey – that would turn him on a little bit, if he was to be completely honest – more like he was a puzzle. For some reason, that was worse. “How’d you and Jay meet?”

Shit. Danny squared his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height before he picked his coffee mug back up to take one last swig and looked down at Roy from over his nose. “None of your fucking business.”

There was a hint of a smirk before Roy stood with his hands held up in surrender. “Fine. I’ll drop the subject – but for the record? I think ‘Adore’ fits you better than ‘Violet’.”

“I…” Danny stood stock still as all the air left his body like he’d been kicked in the ribs. His mouth gaped as he floundered for some kind of comeback but could only stammer out a very high pitched “…how?”

That smirk turned triumphant as Roy walked over to take the empty coffee mug from Danny’s slacking grip. “You know the modern world is fantastic? If person A wants to contact person B… there’s countless of ways to do it just from the palm of your hand.” He held up his phone and Danny groaned in response, sinking back down to the couch.

“You talked to Alyssa…”

“I sent him a text after you two stopped by the first time to make sure you were the real deal. He told me your drag names – couldn’t remember which one you were using so he gave me both,” Roy spoke over the running water as he rinsed out the mug and started to clean the few dishes that had piled up the last couple of days. “So you wanna try this conversation again?”

“Not really…” Danny shrugged on his jacket that he’d abandoned in the entryway, his face bright red from embarrassment – nope – more like that pesky mortification rearing its ugly head again. “It was nice meeting you,” he gritted out before checking his pockets to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything and then heading out the door.

–––––––––––––––––––––

He got to the top of the stairs before Roy caught up with him. He didn’t get a chance to speak before Danny cut him off. “Anyone tell you that you’re a fucking asshole?”

“All the fucking time, but shit… I fixed your shirt after ripping it off your body last night and get elevated to Annie Sullivan levels of sainthood but catching you in a lie completely strips me back to asshole territory? That makes sense.”

“God!” Danny snarled a little, “I can’t believe I fucking had sex with you!”

“Yet it’s the reality of the situation. Now can you stop being angry with me for maybe… thirty seconds and explain to me why you’re pissed?”

“I’m not pissed!” Danny made a mental note to reel in the volume back down to a reasonable indoor voice, “I’m just… fucking embarrassed.”

“Of what, exactly?”

“You wouldn’t understand…”

“Try me, bitch.”

They stood on the landing in silence as Danny wrapped his arms around himself and held on tight as he backed himself up into a corner quite literally. He willed himself to calm down and breathe before sighing through his nose and looking down at his shoes. Roy remained the pillar of calm in front of him, which only proved to make the shame burn a bit faster. He unfolded his arms and rubbed his temples before he closed his eyes tightly and gestured vaguely in Roy’s direction.

“Fucking… look at you, man,” he opened his eyes but kept his focus on the other’s shoes. “You’ve got it all figured out. The look, the act, you make your own shit, your make-up’s exactly what it needs to be… while I’ve got a couple of shake-and-go wigs, dresses I bought at the mall, and just figured out how to glue my eyelashes on two months ago. Queens at home don’t take me seriously for shit… and… I dunno. I just didn’t feel like getting read by the guy I just hooked up with.”

“Okay… back up,” Danny lifted his eyes when he saw Roy beckon with his fingers, “Look at me. Let’s start this over again and I think maybe we can get on the same page here… when… exactly… did you start doing drag?”

Danny twisted his mouth as he tried to calculate it in his head, “I dunno… kinda blurs together… I guess I started doing the full drag thing in clubs and shit maybe… four or five months ago?”

“Okay… five months? Meet fifteen fucking years. Of course you don’t have shit figured out.”

“Not making me feel any better…”

“Then let me try again,” Roy took Danny by the forearms and tried to catch his eyes that kept flicking down to the floor. “Look at me, seriously. You’ve got a lot of talent and a lot of guts and that’s a better start than most. Wigs and clothes and make-up? That all gets better in time – but don’t let your confidence get shot down just because you’re not there yet, because you will get there. Got it?”

It was a very soft and comforting sentiment coming from the bitch he’d watched read a set of queens to filth on stage not even twelve hours ago. Danny wasn’t exactly sure how to reply as he, again, felt that age gap in just the way Roy saw the world. He wanted a casual fuck with an older guy, he reminded himself, that warmed feeling at the bottom of his heart didn’t settle well for the circumstances. So he did what he always did when he wasn’t ready to think about something – he made it into a joke.

“Ever consider writing inspirational greeting cards? Because that was pretty good…”

“You know what? Fuck you,” Roy broke into a cackle before he reached up and pushed Danny’s hair from his face. “Are we good, then?”

“Yeah, we’re good… but why did it matter?”

“What matter?”

“Me leaving mad at you?”

Roy pressed the tip of his tongue on the inside of his bottom lip before he released it with a light ‘click’ and pushed himself away. The genuine sincerity was wiped clean in an instant and that impish spark that seared through anything in its path on stage returned with a vengeance. “Because I learned awhile back to never let a bitch leave angry unless you want to battle malicious rumors about your dick size. I have a reputation to uphold,” he turned on his heel and waved Danny to follow him, “Come on, I’ll get you a cab.”

“You know, your dick isn’t that impressive,” Danny began as they both trotted down the rest of the stairs.

“Don’t fucking start with more lies, cunt.”

#kitschy pixel #biadore #au #alternate meeting au #slow burn #tw crude language #not quite smut #brief nudity #age gap mention #bianca del rio #adore delano #rpdr fanfiction #submission #utfg #flavor #queen au

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the--walking--daryl · 7 years

Text

The Painful Wait. PART 3 (DarylxReader)

Hope y'all enjoyed part two! Here’s part three✌🏼 Summary: Y/N and Daryl have finally been reunited, but Daryl has fallen ill due to exhaustion and infected scars. Hershel and Maggie tend him back to health, much to Y/N's relief. The two finally address their feelings for each other and the harsh words they exchanged.

Warnings- strong language, implied smut, angst, fluff, mentions of abuse. _____________________________________________

“I thought I lost you.” I sob.

“You couldn’t lose me if you tried, Darlin’.” He chuckles breathlessly.

Daryl begins to stumble slightly, so I unwrap my legs from around his waist and push some strands of hair out of his eyes, which are fluttering open and shut.

“Daryl? Baby, you alright?” I ask, my voice laced with concern.

“I… I can’t…”

Daryl collapses to the earth, his head smacking onto a log in the process.

“Daryl? Daryl! Daryl, wake up! Oh God, no! No! Rick! Rick! Michonne! Glenn! Maggie, somebody! Help!” I scream, kneeling at his side and placing his head in my lap.

Rick and Glenn speed over, Hershel following shortly after.

“Hershel, please help him! Do something,” I weep.

“Y/N, I’m gonna do everythin’ I can, but right now, I need you to give him some space and go back inside.” Hershel instructs.

“What? No, no, I’m staying, I need to be with him!” I argue.

“Glenn, will you please?” Hershel orders.

Glenn grabs me from behind and drags me backwards to keep me away from Daryl. I struggle and thrash around, desperately trying to escape Glenn’s hold, wearing myself out and eventually letting him take me away. I give in and walk back with Glenn, constantly looking over my shoulder to see what they’re doing to Daryl.

I’m stuck in the library with Glenn, Carol, Carl, Tyrese and Sasha, pacing back and forth, biting the skin around my nails due to anxiety and stress, waiting, longing for news on Daryl’s wellbeing. Maggie strolls in, blood on her hands and sweat on her brow. Her gruesome appearance makes my heart drop into my stomach and my pulse race.

“He’s out cold still, but he’s gonna be okay. You can go see him if you want.” She smiles sweetly.

“Thank you so much Maggie.” I whimper, hugging her tightly.

“No problem. Now go be with him, he needs you.”

I walk briskly to Daryl’s cell, only to be greeted by Rick and Hershel.

“Now, he’s stable, but go easy on him. He’s very dehydrated. The exhaustion was what knocked him out and he’s lost a lot of blood. Lucky for him, we managed to clean him up, stitch his cuts and chill his fever. I think what he needs is to wake up to a friendly face. You will be friendly, won’t you?” Hershel explains.

“I don’t think I’ll ever say a bad word to that man for as long as I live, Doc. I love him.” I sigh.

“You do!? Glenn owes me a drink!” Hershel chuckles and pats Rick on the back. I hug Maggie’s father with the same amount of gratitude I showed her.

“Thank you for savin’ him. You’re a good man, Hershel Greene.” I tell him in all honesty.

“I know, Y/N. I know.” He laughs.

I turn to Rick as Hershel walks away and he puts an arm around my shoulder.

“Our boy’s gonna be just fine. The man’s invincible.” He sighs.

“Don’t tell him that, he’ll probably believe you.”

Rick snickers at my remark and gives me a comforting kiss on the top of my head before heading over to the library to join everybody else. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world to me, I climb into bed next to Daryl and cuddle up to his side, tracing my fingers along his stitches and bruises.

“What happened to you?” I whisper, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Finally calm and at peace, I drift off into the first content sleep I’ve had in months. All because I know he’s safe.

~~~~~~

The scorching Atlanta sun beams through Daryl’s cell window, shining over my eyes and waking me up. Unlike when I first got into Daryl’s bed, I can now feel strong arms wrapped comfortably around my waist and legs intertwined with my own. I turn over to see a finally conscious Daryl.

“Hey…” I croak in my morning voice, stroking some stray hairs out of his eyes.

“Hi.” He smiles, pulling me closer to him and gently kissing my forehead.

“How you feelin’?” I whisper.

“Like I been dragged backwards through thorns. But other than that, I’m peachy.” He jokes.

I roll my eyes at his remark and playfully nudge his shoulder.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how worried I was, Daryl. I was so scared. I thought I’d lost you and I was never going to see you again and-”

“Hey, hey, hey… I’m here now, ain’t I?” He reassures me.

“Barely, Daryl! You were hurt real bad,” I sigh. “Hershel said you got lucky.”

“Nah, I’m just that good.” Daryl smirks cockily.

“Darlin’, I know you think you’re gonna live forever, but you ain’t immortal. You could’ve gotten bit, shot, stabbed-”

I’m cut off by Daryl’s lips pressing against mine, a feeling that I’ve craved for so long. Our kiss deepens, becoming more passionate and needy by the second. His fingers dig into my hips as an attempt to pull me closer, but there’s absolutely no space left between us anymore, but I definitely won’t stop him. I reach up to have my hands on either side of his face, but he pulls away and hisses slightly, wincing in pain.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” I panic.

“Nah, it’s fine, it’s fine… just stings a little bit.” He laughs.

I rest my head back onto the pillow and let out a deep, content sigh.

“Listen… about what we said before I left. I’m sorry. Weren’t right.” Daryl says awkwardly.

“Normally I’d tell you that you should be sorry. But everything you said was right. I’m too reckless. You saw, if you hadn’t have been there in time, I would’ve died. I just wish that I never said those things. You aren’t suffocating me, I just overreacted.”

“I hope you know… the only uh- the only reason I’m like that is because I uh… I guess what I’m trying to say is I, uh-”

“I love you too, Daryl.” I smile, a rush of happiness surging through me because I finally got to tell him.

“Yeah… yeah, I love you, I really do. And that night, it wasn’t just going to be a quick fuck, I really want you for you, y'know? I’m sorry, I ain’t good at this stuff. I just… I don’t know. Let’s just stick with ‘I love you’.” He blushes.

I giggle at his awkwardness and struggle to show affection, as Daryl always knows what to say, so it’s unusual to see him so dumbfounded. It’s so refreshing to see this side of him, as he’s normally so tough and full of bravado, but to see him so soft… it’s beautiful. I can’t help but run my hands through his hair and caress his temple with my thumb, just to reassure myself that he’s actually there and I’m not dreaming. He clearly understands what I’m doing and gently smooths away a tear I hadn’t realised rolled down my cheek.

“Hey, listen… I’m fine, okay? I’m okay, I’m alive and I ain’t dyin’ anytime soon.” He says softly.

“I know, I know, I’m just trying to process it all. I’ve gone from losing sleep because I never thought I’d get to touch you again and now you’re here and I can and I’m just so happy, it’s all really overwhelming, y'know?” I laugh in embarrassment.

All of a sudden, Rick appears at the entrance of Daryl’s cell, armed with knives and guns, looking about ready to go on a Walker killing spree.

“Going on a run, won’t be long. Y/N, you coming?” Ricks asks.

“Am I not included in this? I’m comin’ too.” Daryl grumbles and tries to sit up. I let out an amused scoff, earning a confused scowl from Mr Over-Enthusiastic over here.

“You ain’t going nowhere. You had your time being overprotective and now it’s my turn. I’m gonna keep you in this prison if it’s the last thing I goddamn do, Dixon. Rick, I’ll stay here. Need to keep this one out of trouble.”

Rick bites back laughter at the sight of his best friend’s frustration and nods knowingly.

“Probably a good idea.” Rick sighs with a smirk.

“Who’s side are you on, Grimes? Good Lord.” Daryl groans, falling back down onto the limp pillows.

“Her side, dumbass. Almost got yourself killed. Consider yourself on administrative leave. Recover for God’s sake. Anyways, if you need anything, Hershel and Beth are gonna be around if you need anything. See y'all later.” Rick waves and leaves to go on his travels.

“You’re killin’ me, Y/N.” Daryl sighs.

“You did a pretty good job of that yourself baby.” I laugh, still sat up.

“Hey, listen… you think Hershel and Beth have good hearing?”

I turn back and look at a smirking Daryl with raised eyebrows.

“Are you fucking with me right now?” I scoff.

“Not yet.” He winks.

~~~~~~

Beth’s P.O.V

“Sweetheart, can you take this down to Daryl please?” Dad passes me a cup of water and some antibiotics.

“Sure Pop.” I smile sweetly and take the objects from his hands. I travel down the stairs towards Daryl’s cell when I here a slight whimpering, causing me to stop in my tracks. I clear my throat and what follows is a series of whispers and curses. I continue and when I reach my destination, the scene that’s laid out before me makes me feel both delighted and extremely awkward. Daryl has just resurfaced from underneath his sheets and clearly has no shirt on, and Y/N has the sheets pulled up to her mouth, blushing like there’s no tomorrow.

“Subtle guys.” I sigh. I set Daryl’s water and pills down on a table next to his cell door and turn to leave, but turn around last minute.

“Hey Daryl? The next time you go down on your girlfriend, can you go to a different cell block or at least give us warning so we can? We’re literally upstairs. Y'all are gross.” I giggle.

Y/N buries her head in the crook of Daryl’s neck in embarrassment, resulting in my going all fuzzy on the inside because they’re so damn cute.

Your P.O.V

Beth finally walks away and I let out a little squeal of bashfulness.

“Well, that could’ve gone better.” Daryl sighs.

“No fucking shit.” I laugh.

We sit in the awkward atmosphere for a while before I turn on my side and let out a small chuckle.

“Maybe later. We can go to cell block A and they won’t suspect a damn thing.” I suggest.

“I like the way you think, baby girl.” He winks and we high-five.

Daryl turns and faces away from me, allowing me to wrap my arms around his sculpted torso, but I’m distracted by wounds and scars on his back. These aren’t recent, either. These are permanent. Long cuts crossed over, spread over his shoulders, spine and tattoo. I have to cover my mouth to stop me audibly gasping at the clear mistreatment. I gently run my fingers across the scars, causing Daryl to flinch slightly.

“What are you doing?” Daryl snaps.

“Daryl… what are these?” I ask in an airy, barely-there voice due to shock.

“It’s none of your damn… ugh. Fine,” He turns to face me once again.

“My Dad… he wasn’t a nice guy. Used to beat the crap out of Merle. When Merle left, Dad had to fine something else to take whatever had pissed him off that day out on. I was just the closest thing I guess.” Daryl confesses.

My heart shatters knowing that at some point, somebody hurt this precious, pure man.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” I whisper.

Daryl shakes his head and let’s out a deep breath.

“You don’t have to say anything. Not your fault. What’s happened’s happened, it’s all in the past.” He shrugs.

I snake my arms around his shoulders and lovingly press my lips to his and in response, he clutches my waist and pulls my body closer to his, once again closing any form of space separating us. He lays on his back and pulls me on top of him as we make out, but as I sit up to take off my shirt, I hit my head on the top bunk, sending Daryl into fits of laughter.

“Smooth.” He chuckles.

“God, what is it with this cell block!? It’s a fucking concrete cock block!” I exclaim, much to Daryl’s amusement.

“I’m a mess.” I complain, covering my reddening face with both of my hands.

Daryl takes my wrists and sets them down by my thighs, gazing up at me with pure, unadulterated devotion.

“You’re my mess.”

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inadequeer · 7 years

Text

title: Hang Me Up to Dry

relationships: jayroy

summary: When Jason happens to be state side training with another teacher Talia set up, he runs into someone from a past life.

a/n: Set during lost days. I wanted to write Jason helping Roy get clean instead of Dinah and Hal

[on ao3]

Star City was a shithole, but in a different way than Gotham was a shithole. Star City was where you went to make it big, and where you died of an overdose in swimming pool fifteen years later. A sprawling southern California city and the center of the nation’s film and television industry. Where Gotham had endless families of organized crime and psychopaths in masks, Star City just had crime, plain and simple. Gang bangers and Pushes ruled the city while the rich movie stars snorted cocaine in their beach homes and pretended the world didn’t exist outside of Star Hills.

The air reeked of pollution and sweat, and something left sitting out in the sun for too long. You couldn’t throw a rock without hitting a homeless person or an aspiring actor. Jason didn’t know if he would burn Gotham or Star City down first if he had the chance, at least Star City had beaches so you could at least pretend it was pretty Gotham didn't even have that. He was only here on business, he never would have set foot in the hole otherwise, learning how to make poisons and toxins from a cruel Chinese woman who doubled as a heroin supplier. (Another pointless errand from Talia.)

He was sprawling out on the couch watching some Spanish soap opera that he had gotten invested into while he waited for Soo to return, when he caught the tail-end of a conversation between two thugs who ran the streets for Soo, selling her product. In other words— scumbag drug dealers. They were both Mexican like him, one with a close shaved head and a tacky goatee, and the other was decked out in gang tattoos, including a tasteful teardrop inked onto his cheekbone.

“If we're short again this month, she’s going to kill us.”

“Relax. We just need to find Harper. He’s gotta be itching for his fix by now.”

“Haven’t seen him in a while. Maybe he finally ate it.”

“I hope not. He's a piece of shit, but he’s a regular.”

They whispered to each other in hushed Spanish— as if they thought because he was from Gotham he couldn’t understand them. The chatter was nothing interesting, but the name caught Jason’s attention. It was a name from a past life, a lazy grin, messy red hair, memories fleeting behind his eyes like a forgotten song. A person, he’d actually remembered a person, that almost never happened.

“Hola,” He greeted, stormy eyes bright and intense as he stood up and gave the two gangsters a casual grin. “Who’s Harper?” He asked in Spanish. They gave each other uneasy looks, unsure of what to do when cornered by an eighteen-year-old who looked ready to snap either of their necks.

“He’s just some white trash junkie. He’s a regular, but he hasn’t been seen for a while.” Jason cracked his knuckles and tried not to think about it, a mysterious someone slumped over a table, blood running down their nose with the needle still in the other hand.

“Can’t be a good business practice to off your regulars, but I guess that can’t be helped when you’re dealing drugs.” He mused to himself. After a month of working with Soo, it was clear that heroin was the deadliest thing she created. “What’s he look like? This Harper guy.”

“Like every other junkie living on the street. Why do you care kid?”

Jason whipped out his gun from the waistband of his pants and pointed it evenly at the first man’s chest without ever looking away. “Just answer the fucking question before I get mad.” He growled, finger tapping the trigger lightly. The one with the goatee responded by pulling out his gun, and snarling something at Jason. But the tattooed one just gave Jay a funny look.

“Hey hey— Whoa. Easy ese.” The tattooed guy said, raising both hands in the universal sign of ‘Don’t Shoot.’ “His name is Roy Harper I think, pasty, gangly sonovabitch with long red hair and usually wearing some stupid trucker hat.”

“I hear he’s a mutant.”

“Used to be one of those fucking superhero types, I heard, but now look at him. No better than the rest of us.” He scoffed, but Jason had stopped listening. Words weren’t his strong suit but Roy, that sounded right. So he had known… one of those hero types? How the hell? Had he really been in deep enough shit as a kid to get mixed up with capes?

Talia had told him not to go looking for his past. And she was right, it didn’t matter anymore, his past was just a distraction. But the opportunity was right there. What if this Roy had been his friend? And now he was hooked on some bad stuff. These guys said he was a regular, and if anyone knew what that looked like it was the sellers. Jason mulled this information over, chewing on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully before he finally made a decision. He slid his gun back into his waistband and gave the two of them a cheeky salute, tapping two fingers to his temple and then extending the hand towards them.

“Well, that’s all I need to know. Thanks a million you guys.”

Jason had learned (remembered?) a long time ago that if you wanted to find a junkie the best place to look was Chinatown, so that was his first stop. He wasn’t sure what was really driving him to find Roy, god knows he had more important things on his plate than some barely remembered junkie, but Jason had so few shreds of his old life left to him. No matter who he is, this Roy deserved better than dying alone in the gutter.

Anger boiled inside of him, as he swerved through lanes of Star City traffic in his motorcycle.

Just like home he thought bitterly pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up. Every big city in the world had their ‘bad parts of town’ and they were all pretty much the same, and no matter how hard he had tried he had never escaped — not really. He had made sure to park in the more touristy area because he wasn’t a complete dumbass and he didn’t want his bike stolen. From there he looked for the shadier areas, back alleys and rundown shops and the like. If you knew what to look for picking a drug dealer in a crowded street no problem. He watched a hooded man make a sale, palming off cash for a packet of white powder before he approached.

“You sellin’ smack?” He asked in a hushed voice, making a show of looking paranoid, and glancing around.

“Aren’t you a little young for H kid?” Great, a drug dealer with a conscience. Not where he expected a morality lecture.

“Who cares?” He snapped, crossing his arms. “If you’re too high and mighty to sell to a “kid” like me I’ll just go find someone else.”

“Hey, slow down it’s not like that. You have the money?” Jason reached into his pocket, then to his other and winced.

“Shit.”

“Sorry kid, you don’t have the cash you’re shit out of luck.”

“Please man! I just gotta find a buddy of mine, you know a guy named Roy Harper? He owes me big time, once I find him I’ll be able to pay the rest. Maybe you could float me until then?”

“No way in hell mijo, but if you want to get that money you’re owed be my guest. I know Harper and there’s a loft just south of here— old brick building where he and a couple’a other junkies go to shoot up. You go get your money and I’ll be right here.” Jason looked pained, ran a hand across his brow, where he didn’t even have to pretend to be sweating since it was hot as hell outside.

“Fine. Fuck you man.” He snapped, stalking off in the direction he had been pointed. The act dropped but his scowl didn’t. Shit. What the hell was he getting into. He shouldn’t care about some random ass junkie he didn’t even know anymore. So why did he anyway? Maybe he wanted to be the good guy for once. Maybe because he knew what it was like to die alone.

Either way he didn’t stop, not until he was in front of the boarded-up brick building and forcing the door open. There was probably a secret entrance people used, but when you had super strength you don’t need a secret entrance. The smell of garbage, mold, and piss hit him and he groaned out loud. Yep, just like home, he thought as he pulled his shirt up over his nose, and flicked on the flashlight on his phone. He had stayed in places like this, he remembered that now. Jason had suspected he was from the street for a while now and this was only confirming it. Honestly he wasn’t surprised; how could anyone forget a smell like that, how it clung to you wherever you went, filling your senses and suffocating you.

Jason picked his way through the building carefully. From what he could tell it was an old department store, leaking pipes drooping from the ceiling and half assembled mannequins watching him with their painted on eyes and Jason didn’t care for that shit at all. The dealer had said they shot up in the loft, so finding the first floor empty wasn’t surprising. He moved towards the stairs, his gaze sweeping across the empty room with what some might call paranoia. He just wasn’t a fan of dolls, mannequins, or bugs and could you blame him? No.

He was staring at a large black blob on one of the mannequins naked bodies trying to determine if it was a gargantuan cockroach or not when he stumbled on a disembodied mannequin head with a loud crash as he swore and grabbed the closest thing next to him. Which was a portion of the rotted wooden staircase, which he easily tore off as he fell.

“Fuck! Fuck shit son of a piss fucking bitch—“ He seethed, throwing the ruined wood to ground and jumping to his feet. Well if anyone thought they were alone in this building they sure as hell didn’t anymore. He was immensely grateful that no one had been there to see that as he brushed himself off and tried to calm down. “Okay, there was my heart attack of the day. Let’s not do this again.” He muttered to himself, shaking his head. He climbed the stairs, scanned the second floor before continuing upward. The building had five stories, and when he did finally get to the top floor he knew this was the right place. Tables were set up set up and littered with old Chinese food boxes and other garbage, with a couple of lamps scattered about, connected to long orange power strips that ran around the whole room. There was a shitty couch pushed up against the wall. It was clearly the place the dealer had been talking about, but it was empty, and judging by the smell of that take out, no one had been back here in days

“Damnit.” He hissed, climbing out onto the fire escape, unable to bear the smell any longer. The sun had set by now but it was still hot, street lights lighting up the city just as well as the sun. He took a moment to clear his head and think about where else he could look, probably the shelters, ask some other junkies if they knew Roy. When he stepped off the metal and landed in the road below he heard a low groan from behind a pile of trash and a couple of garbage cans.

“Unnnn…” Jason kicked the cans out of the way and the person who had been hiding behind it flinched backwards. Jason got a look at him from the light thrown down the alley by a passing car. He was scrawny, and dressed in a shitty tank top and tucker hat, with long red hair and green tattoos decorating his biceps.

“Roy.” He breathed out. Holy shit. Just seeing the guy’s face was bringing a burst of memories, if only scraps. Roy’s grin, his jawline when it was shaved, his laugh, Jason’s pulse racing at the sight of his arms…

Oh, god, oh god. Roy had been. His crush. Well, that answered the question of if dying had made him gay.

"Please tell me you're here to kill me,” present Roy moaned. This Roy was hardly recognizable from the snapshots remembered. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had been to hell in these last few years.

“Nope. Sorry.” He reached out a hand to help Roy up, but he smacked it away.

“Fuck.” Roy swore vehemently, “If you’re not going to kill me then get me some goddamn drugs.” He whispered, his voice hoarse, his chapped lips cracking and bleeding. “Please, please please please. Common man, I’m dying here. I’ll do anything.” Jason grit his teeth and this time just fucking grabbed Roy.

“Not gonna do that either. Come on.”

“Get off me man! Let me go!” Roy snarled.

“I’m trying to save your life asshole!” Jason yelled back, shaking Roy violently, and sending him cross eyed.

“Fuck, oh fuck. Ouch it hurts, it hurts it hurts!” He sobbed, gripping his stomach and falling to his knees in pain. As he pulled Roy up once more another car drove past, once again casting it’s headlights down the alley and illuminating the them. Roy went pale and stumbled backwards.

“You’re—!!” He choked out, staring up at Jason in shock. “You’re supposed to be dead. No this isn't real, you’re dead.” He insisted to himself. Jason didn’t argue with him on that front, he was clearly going through withdrawal and right now Jason’s priority was to get him off the street. He picked Roy up easily, the guy was thin as a rail and even without super strength Jason probably still would have been able to lift him like he weighed nothing.

“Jason…? Jason I’m sorry.” Roy was babbling, clinging to the fabric of Jason’s sweatshirt desperately and he chewed on the inside of his cheek. This was a bad idea. If Roy ended up telling everyone he was alive that would really throw a wrench in things. Roy probably knew other mask types and that was a group he did not want up in his business.

“I don’t know who Jason is man, my name is Peter Reyes.” The lie felt wrong on his lips but it’s what he had to do. Better to let the world think he was still dead.

“Oh…”

“I think you’re going through withdrawal. How do you feel?”

“Cold, Shit— Ahn my gut is on fire.” He grimaced, and Jason nodded. All symptoms of heroin withdrawal.

“Alright, I’m gonna get you some place safe. Hold tight buddy.” He adjusted Roy on his shoulder, hoping the man wouldn’t throw up on his hoodie and walked south until he found a shitty motel. He helped Roy lean against the outside of the front desk and gave him a stern look.

“Wait here okay. I’m gonna get us a room.” Roy didn’t answer, instead he doubled over in pain his shoulders shuddering as tremors ran through his body.

The woman at the front desk didn’t even blink as she handed Jason the room key, and Jason figured she had seen a hell of lot weirder things. He dragged Roy up to room and to the bathroom, helping him kneel over to toilet as he began to wretch, holding his greasy hair out of his face.

Deja-vu made his head spin, the feeling like he’d been in this exact same situation before and when he looked down it wasn’t Roy puking into the shitty hotel toilet it was… some woman, with messy hair dyed bright red and smeared makeup. She looked like she had been crying, and looking at her made Jason feel angry and sad at the same time. She had the same track marks up her arms that Roy did, and the look she gave Jason was a complicated mix of pity and disgust.

“Drink some water.” Jason grunted, his brain snapping back to the present, to the man before him. “You need to stay hydrated.”

“Thanks…” Roy said wearily, taking the water bottle Jason pushed into his hands. He took a few slow sips, his hands still shaking before he asked “Do I know you? You said you’re not Ja— who I thought you were so who are you? I don’t know any Peter Reyes. Did Angel send you? Because you can tell him to go fuck himself.”

“Don’t know any angel. I’m just a guy who wants to help.”

“Yeah sure, and I'm Superman. What were you doing snooping around in that place anyway?” Even going through withdrawal he was still observant as hell. Jason had a feeling that Roy was a hell of a lot smarter than he let on.

“None of your business."

“Right, whatever guess I’m in no position to argue. So why are you doing this? I assume you’re trying to help me and you’re not actually a deranged psycho killer who brought me here to rape and murder me and then leave my disfigured body in the bathtub, because right now this whole situation kind of reads like a Criminal Minds episode.” Jason snorted at that and shook his head.

“Nah, you’re not worth the trouble.”

“Wow, fuckin’ rude.” Roy’s laugh was thin but genuine and he pushed himself up a little so he was leaning against the sink. “But seriously, what do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“I saw, fuh-fuck shit… I saw you jump out of that building. You a mutant?” He grunted gratefully when Jason brought over the comforter from off the bed and let him wrap himself in it. “You know about me? You gotta… That’s- that’s why you came. You want me to build you somethin’.” So he had a tech mutation or something? Jason was lucky that he had recognized Roy’s name, the fact that he couldn’t remember the details of his mutation— or if he was a mutant wasn’t surprising.

“No. That’s not it.”

“Then what is it. Why the fuck are you doing this?”

“Maybe I was hoping that you’d, y’know… Fall in love with me.” Jason wasn’t sure why he said it, and the second he did he felt like a fucking idiot, but he smiled boyishly and owned it. Roy laughed out loud when he said it and Jason liked that laugh.

“Oh yeah, that is such bullshit.” He said, grinning as he wiped his runny nose and scratched his face. “Trust me kid you don’t want me to fall in love with you. My ex-wife can tell you that much.”

Jason just shrugged in response, sitting down in front of Roy on the hard tile floor with a sigh.

“Can I ask you something?”

Roy raised a curious eyebrow but shrugged. “Sure.”

“Who’s— Who was Jason? The person you thought I was…” There was something in Roy’s eyes that he couldn’t place— grief maybe. Over some street rat kid like him?

“He was a kid I knew…” Roy looked up at the ceiling for a moment, shifting restlessly. “He was a good kid, he was smart, god he was so smart, and he was funny and brave, like crazy brave, like run into a burning house and save the puppy brave… and he died when he was fifteen.” Jason swallowed hard and looked down at his hands. “I used to be one of those superheroes you know, running around in a mask and shit— I know right, funny huh. I knew it was dangerous but none of that had ever seemed real until he… He saved my ass when we were kids, this one time in Pasadena he pushed me out of the way of some gunfire and ended up getting his dumb ass shot.”

Jason’s side tingled, his body remembering the sensation of a bullet passing through it. “He never let me hear the end of it, always making jabs at me reminding me how I owed him my life and how he got shot for me and shit but I never got to thank him, not genuinely you know? That eats at me every day. I think if he ever saw me now, and how I ended up he would kick my ass. ‘I saved your life for this? So you could become some piece of shit junkie?!’ but he showed us all what it really meant to be a hero. To wear the mask.” Roy shook his head to himself and Jason was shocked into silence. Was that really how he was remembered? As a hero? The thought left him shook to his very core and suddenly he couldn’t stand to hear about it anymore. He had to get away. He pushed himself up so violently it startled Roy.

“You don’t know that… Maybe he wasn’t as great as you think.” He said through his clenched jaw, his fists curled into a tight ball before he crossed the small distance to the hotel room door and slammed it behind him. He scrubbed angrily at his face, rubbing his eyes until he saw stars behind his eyelids. Then he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit up, taking a long drag and letting it burn to the filter before he even considered going back inside that room. He smoked a second cigarette before he did, slower this time his hands no longer shaking.

This was a mistake. Coming to this city was a mistake, looking for Roy was a mistake. Fuck even just leaving Talia’s protection was a mistake. He would take being a blood bag for fucking Ra’s over this feeling. It felt like it was eating him inside out, hollowing him and filling the hole with molten rock. He wanted to throw up, he wanted to start a fight, he wanted to run. He smoked another cigarette instead.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!! He ground the cigarette out on the wall of the motel with venom (the stucco was already disgusting, another black mark wouldn’t make a difference) before he came back inside. The smell of cigarette smoke drifting in with him, clinging to his clothes and making Roy sit up straighter, his fingers itching at his arms idly.

“You good?”

“Yeah. Just needed a smoke.”

“Got one for me?”

“My last one, sorry.” It was a deadass lie and Roy knew it, but he didn’t push the issue. “I’m gonna order pizza. What do you want?”

“Pineapple, anchovies with mushroom.”

“You’re disgusting. No, fuck you we’re getting meat lovers.” The ghost of a smile played on Roy’s lips and he shrugged.

“Whatever you say bossman.”

#jayroy #mutant batfam au #hang me up to dry #mine #mine: writing #jason todd #roy harper #side note star city = LA

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zi-tales · 6 years

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Interview: Aum Yzyrlid

#dnd

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wrathandlight-blog · 7 years

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● Short bio: Ri Hyung Soo

Born with the Korean Empire in 1897 - Older twin, and the one who was always in charge when they were children - Lost his memory during the Korean War, and never recovered any of it - Is usually polite, albeit cold with strangers - Prone to violence, against himself and everyone. Quite paranoid - Seems to hesitate between raising his voice against his leaders and silence

● Details:

Age | 16-17

Nickname / Alias | Lee Ye Jun (when he travels with his fake South Korean passeport. Doesn’t use the name outside of customs usually) / Wrath (Spy/Assassin alias)

Birthday | August 15th as his 'real' birthday and September 9th as the official one

Residence | Rason, North Korea

Height | 5'6 / 168 cm

Weight | 50 kg

Handedness | Left handed

Tattoos / Marks | Scars all over his hands, mostly from cuts. Another one on the side of his head, hidden under his hair, caused by a bomb. Also he has a tattoo on the side of his stomach with a standard government approved sentence.

Education | Finished North Korea’s compulsory school system

Actual job | No stable job right now

Sexuality | Asexual/Romantic orientation unknown

Favorite weapon | A switchblade, although he has two beloved knives he got a long time ago from someone important. Daggers are also acceptable.

Phobias / Fears | Drowning, forgetting, being a traitor.

Bad Habits / Vices | Smoking, did opium at some point, various drugs in the past.

Quirks | Checking his food before eating it to ensure it's not poisoned, biting his hands often, or using his knives on them. Will move away if touched.

Style of Speech | Polite, short but direct sentences.

Other | Can play various musical instruments well, the guitar being his favorite. He is quite knowledgeable about music.

● Personality:

At one point or another, people break. Humans, I mean. Nations are meant to be more resilient, able to endure crack after crack without ever ending in shambles. A blatant lie, without a doubt. I experienced forgetting my own mind once, getting everything wiped away by greed and capitalism. Some would call such experience a war, and perhaps it was one. I wonder when it's supposed to end, for the pounding in my head to stop. The world has decided my existence is a bother, an example to keep other nations in check. Born before the Korean War, I would not be able to narrate the blood covering everything in sight as my people fought among themselves. A violent attack left me akin to a blank page, on a hospital bed in a room without a window. Memories I will never recover. They allow me to believe in what is written on every wall, escaping every lips I encounter.

You cannot protect anything by always defending yourself. If we do not show we're here, no one will ever listen. Violent, often called cruel, I do not mind taunting my enemies and attacking first. Such is the North Korean way of existing. The ones who do not fight do not deserve much. The weak will be lead to believe in a paradise, a greater place without harm, only to forget where they come from and their families. I do have a brother, and he will always bear such title. Do not try to put us against each other. Min Hwan and I will always be twins, non-identical siblings who are encouraged to loathe the other. While I have no intention to forgive and forget and cry and lower my guard, he is my sibling, and I will shield him if necessary.

My blade is sharper than my words. Polite, unwilling to swear or threaten authority figures, I have not adapted so well to technology in general, and the smartphone my brother gave to me was shattered, thrown off a building without any regret. North Korea is my home, my safe place, no matter how many times I've avoided the truth happening around me. As long as my people remain alive, that some are still here, I will exist. And if we are wiped out by our enemies, then I will gladly take everyone to hell with my own hands. Religion is not mandatory, in a place where a puppeteer is always watching our steps, ensuring we do not leave the line. Critical thinking will result in more brutality, and punishments no one should bear. I cannot represent kindness, as its meaning escape me. Nonetheless, I have no intention to damage my beloved people.

I do not live in Pyongyang, where only the ones who deserve care are. My steps, and trains, take me everywhere and nowhere. I travel into our smaller towns or village. A preacher's quest, even if I am not trying to convert anyone. I'm self-destructive, violent against myself with my blade and my teeth. Covered in marks which heal too fast, I cannot recall a day in my life where I could stand perfectly still for hours without thinking about removing my fingernails one by one. This cruelty, a mindless one, is my way to fight myself, to ensure I will not break and disappear. My nights are rarely peaceful, no matter how hard I work. My sleep is fragile, and I wake up at any noise, fingers already around my knife or dagger, depending on what I have with me.

As a fighter, I am a proud member of my army, although I do not work with fellow soldiers as often as I used to be. When I trained them, I was careless, causing injuries without noticing until I heard the sound of bones breaking. It's a comforting thing, to be stronger than my opponent. I do not enjoy to stop when I should, pushing myself too far instead. I loathe guns, too heavy, and difficult to use. Fighting bare handed is more convenient, or with a blade. My eyesight is not perfect from afar, although it's not something I've truly pondered over, considering I enjoy to be close to attack. The bomb who caused me a scar under my hair surely caused this too. A permanent reminder of a childhood I lost without even knowing it.

Some would claim I am trapped, brainwashed once again, and forgetting the days where I believed in change. I had not taken in consideration that I experienced too much, without my people getting anything from it. Supporting strangers who speak my language but in the wrong way is disgusting. Yet, I am unsure of being able to understand guilt in itself. The concept would meant weeping over my mistakes, rather than ignoring them and moving on. I will keep on destroying everything around me over and over, until nothing is left anyway. So why should I stop and turn around to stare at the crime scene?

Self-harm comes in many forms, or so my brother claim. Opium, cigarettes, I've done it all, filling my veins and lungs with lies and smoke. Nowadays, only cigarettes are left. Another wrong habit, one who will not kill me. A child should not smoke, you say? Neither should he be starved or mutilated. Sanity is a feeble thing, one I struggle to reach. Being plagued by memories and rejection had turned my heart cold before I was even born. I am North Korea, and I will never be Korea as a whole. Never again, as I do not believe in reunification. What would our people say anyway? They do not know each other any longer. And foreigners around are not a necessity.

I do appreciate their music however. No matter which country it comes from. Instruments are above humans, and a melody can express more than the more sophisticated words. I am talented at some of them, I suppose, through years of practice. Although I adore music mostly because no one is forcing me to play, or to achieve perfection. It's merely a childish dream, a way to bring something brighter into my world. Just as I do when I make paper stars instead of going to bed at night. I owned a violin, and offered it to a child who probably sold it or used it to make a warm fire, and a guitar, broken by my brother. The violin was a foolish pick on my part, as I never mastered it. In fact, the sounds which came out were mediocre, unlike the guitar I understood with my eyes closed. While I abide by the rules, mostly by that point, music is something I carry everywhere, sharing it with my people to mask the screams into the night. A shame my voice is too rough and aggressive for me to sing.

Have I ever played for outsiders? Yes, I did. Friends are not something I desire any longer. Having been betrayed and used by everyone made me cold to affection. Or perhaps I never understood it at all. I miss the Soviet Union, when people trusted my growth and listened to my words. Nowadays, my government pushes me aside a little more every day. I cannot truly blame them, not for this, but I can for other things, considering the constant state of betrayal I used to be in. Once, I believed myself to be able to love, only to realize I had been tricked by legends and dreams. I could only cause damage to this person, hurting him until I opted to flee and never return. My brother got mad about it, calling me a fool, and an idiot. As if he wasn't the same way.

This person… Now I have no intention on meeting him once more, or to face my childishness. I tear apart everything I touch. Who would want such constant violence around them until they suffocate? By that point, I do not intend on leaving my country any longer. Except if I am forced to. A short teenager used as a representative of the most dangerous place in the world. Perhaps there is irony in this situation. I am not able to tell. To be honest, I've never felt bright.

Therefore, I would rather be around the ones who are mine, and support them. I do not mind healing injured animals who bite me with all their might, or wrapping up missing limbs when work goes wrong or there is another tragic flood. Food can be secondary for me, as long as a child is able to get up the next day. Oh, before I had a pet. He was a present from a foreign boy. A soft rabbit, who got named after a musician… My brother cares for him now. I do not have the time any longer.

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