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tehuti88-art · 2 years

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1/27/23: This week's character from my anthro WWII storyline is Isaak Schindel, sans cap (top drawing) and with cap (bottom drawing). He's the Lagerälteste (kapo) at the labor camp in the story...considering that today is International Holocaust Remembrance Day (I only found out as I was drawing him), I felt it'd be terribly inappropriate to submit his art on Reddit, so he'll just go here instead.

Regarding his design, he's a fawn boxer; his character is somewhat short, stocky, and tough, so it fit. He has hazel eyes and black hair, though the latter is kept shaved throughout the series. Kapos were often granted favors such as a private room and civilian clothes; I couldn't find anything about them being allowed to keep their hair, and my character still wears striped clothes with a yellow-and-green star (he committed manslaughter before ending up in the camp), though he also wears a civilian jacket/coat with armband over top of them, and a civilian cap. He has a scar over the bridge of his nose.

TUMBLR EDIT: I was well through Schindel's sketch before a news item on TV mentioned it was International Holocaust Remembrance Day. o_o; So submitting his artwork to Reddit seemed not just potentially disrespectful but a bad idea as well, my character portraits are my least popular art and sometimes get downvoted. So I've posted him separately. Schindel's background is still HIGHLY in development and so may change drastically still, but here we go.

Isaak Schindel and his wife Rebekkah are poor, working-class Jews residing in the unnamed city of the story; they end up moved into a ghetto, which for some reason I haven't figured out, not all of the city's Jews end up in, since Josef Diamant, for example, is never sent there. (Don't know why this is. Maybe it's the poor Jews who are targeted first, whereas Diamant is middle class. This ghetto is a recent concept so still being ironed out.) Anyway, I needn't get into how difficult ghetto life is, partly because I haven't read into it a lot, partly because it's obvious. The Schindels just barely manage to make do. When Rebekkah gets pregnant, there are mixed feelings; obviously they're overjoyed at the thought of their first baby, yet worried about how they will provide for it. Schindel starts taking on shady jobs to get by, to the dismay of Rebekkah, though there are few other options.

The ghetto is patrolled by Jewish police officers. It's a complicated issue that has similarities to what Schindel himself later ends up doing. Some of them are sympathetic, some of them are Nazi collaborators. Schindel, while getting warned away from an illegal situation one day, happens to run into a sympathetic policeman who knows him and Rebekkah. He steers Schindel aside and whispers a different warning: The Nazis are planning some sort of special action centered on the ghetto. "Special action" is a term you never want to hear the Nazis use--it's NEVER good. He can't give many details, but he suspects it has something to do with the new camp that's been constructed at the edge of the city. He urges Schindel and Rebekkah to try to get out of the ghetto and out of the city while they have the chance. When Schindel presses for more info, and asks how the hell are they supposed to get out of there, the policeman has nothing else to offer, he just stresses his warning, cuffs Schindel with his nightstick, and yells at him to get lost, for appearances' sake. Schindel returns home to Rebekkah, increasingly anxious. He keeps his ears open in the following days and starts catching further rumors: The ghetto is soon to be liquidated and the able-bodied men sent to the new camp for hard labor. The women and children and the feeble...who knows. Easy guess, though. The Nazis consider pregnant Jews to be especially useless, so...you get the idea.

Let's take an aside to look at this camp. It's just begun operations, and like its fellow camps, is run by the SS-Totenkopfverbände. It's not intended as an extermination camp, though of course it can't make use of the sick, weak, or injured, so those men are subject to execution via firing squad, followed by cremation. A high-ranking SS-TV officer briefly takes charge of the camp while it's being set up and organized, but then they need to find a permanent replacement to serve as commandant. This officer requests that he be brought the files of camp guards with complaints on their records--"Excessive force, being a little too strenuous with punishments, those sort of things." He and an underling sort through these before the underling brings out a file of a guard accused of causing the death of an inmate. Big deal, the officer thinks, that happens all the time. What makes this one so unique? Well, this guard just happened to force a prisoner to go running right into the camp's electric fence. All right, so that's intriguing; the officer asks for the guard's name. Underling replies that his name is Ernst Dannecker.

Sturmbannführer (Major) Dannecker is promoted to Obersturmbannführer (Lieutenant Colonel) and called to take over. He arrives in time to watch final preparations and the first arrivals of prisoners. He isn't splashy; he seems almost bored as he observes things, and doesn't make much of a strong impression. He does select an adjutant, Maj. Lars Franke, and tells him to keep things in order as he gets settled in. The other guards get to asking around and gradually more of a picture of him emerges: In his teens he was apparently forced into the military academy by his father, against his and his mother's wishes, and several fellow students-to-be witnessed some drama between the three on the railway platform; his mother collapsed after he got on the train, and one of the others jokingly called him "mama's boy,"* leading to laughter. He was doing moderately well in academy when the Great War broke out and everyone headed off to the front without the chance to say goodbye to family first. By chance, Dannecker and the former student who'd teased him came across each other--several years older now--in a trench and the other exclaimed cheerfully, "Hey look, it's Mama's Boy!"--only to promptly get decked in the face and then pummeled before several others could stop Dannecker. The other guy insisted it was just a joke, and apologized repeatedly, but people made sure to steer clear of pissing Dannecker off again: Turns out he has a hair-trigger temper concealed behind a smarmy oily exterior, and no one can really be sure what will set him off or when. There were some other rumors of him engaging in unsavory activities during the war, though he did well, earned the Iron Cross, all that. He didn't lose his military position after the armistice, though when the Schutzstaffel formed he resigned his military post to join them instead, and was assigned to a camp as a guard. (I don't think he ever serves in the Waffen-SS, though I'm unsure.) While new prisoners were arriving, several of them put up a fuss, insisting that as soldiers who'd fought for Germany, they should be freed; Dannecker recognized one of them as the man who'd taunted him (this is figured out only in retrospect)--he's now wearing a yellow star, as he's Jewish--something that was well known during the Great War as well. Witnesses said they didn't speak to each other, though the prisoner went pale, and Dannecker smiled. (Dannecker...has a f**king creepy smile, and everyone knows it's bad news.) In the following weeks he went out of his way to psychologically torment the prisoner by various means, until one day, while he was merely walking in the prisoner's direction, the other man panicked, turned, and ran at the electric fence, apparently committing suicide; the guards had to turn off power to the fence to pry his blackened fingers loose while Dannecker stood and watched. Nobody could prove he'd actually done anything, witnesses clearly saw that he didn't even touch or threaten the guy, but the incident went in his file along with several lesser offenses in which he terrorized inmates. Despite his unpredictable temper, he's also very, very patient when it comes to people who anger him in a particular way--he makes those people his "pet projects" and keeps at them until they snap. The officer who puts him in charge of the labor camp has no idea of the future consequences of this choice.

(*EDIT, OH MY GOD THIS IS A THING. It's called Muttersöhnchen, and apparently there's a sort of "psychological diagnosis" for it. Hahahaha!! Oh my I need to look up slang phrases in German more often...anyway...Dannecker's situation doesn't ENTIRELY line up with that concept. He IS a "mama's boy" of a sort, but...well, I can't get into the details, at least not here. Maybe if I ever get his profile written up. Suffice it to say it's, uh...well, skeezy, just like the rest of Dannecker's life. And it explains a lot of his behavior toward his stepfamily later. But moving on.)

Anyway, even without knowing all this stuff about Dannecker, Schindel has heard enough: He heads home in the middle of the day, surprising Rebekkah, who's not used to him being home so early. Sits her down, and insists that she help him out with a plan, since "You're the smart one, the one with a head for things." Rebekkah can't understand why he wants them to pick up and leave NOW, and tries to protest, but his demeanor is such that she finally realizes how serious he is and they make tentative plans to flee the ghetto; she knows a weak point which isn't as well patrolled by the police, and has some distant family still on the outside; perhaps they'll provide shelter. Schindel hates asking for help, which is why she knows her husband is serious about this now.

When the Nazi officials sweep through the ghetto, it comes completely by surprise--no warning aside from what the policeman had already told Schindel. They wake up at the noise and chaos going on outside and unlike many of the others, know what's happening; Rebekkah has a little pack ready to go (supplies for the baby to come--she's visibly pregnant by now) and they head out, furtively hurrying in the direction of the ghetto's weak point. Before they can reach it, however, one of the policemen accosts them, swinging his club at Rebekkah; he hits her in the arm before Schindel attacks him in return, punching him in the gut and face and sending him falling back against some bricks, where he strikes his head--killed instantly. More police arrive--Schindel yells at Rebekkah to run, and that's the last he sees of her, running away, before the police take him into custody.

Schindel (after being smacked around a little first) finds himself brought before a Nazi official who's told of how he killed a policeman. Schindel insists it was an accident, he was just protecting his wife. Nazi official says this is what men are supposed to do, defend their wives and families, so--"Manslaughter," he says to Schindel, "You can't say we aren't generous, can you?" Schindel protests, "Don't I get a trial?--a court, a judge?" Nazi official just laughs a little. "Look around, do you see a court? Your people don't get a court. But I'll make sure you get transportation."

(Brief note to say I'm fairly certain what this guy is doing isn't entirely legal, but do you really think any of his fellows would care...?)

Well, he keeps that promise--the men are herded out of the ghetto and toward the nearby railroad spur--the ghetto was placed here intentionally. They're loaded onto the waiting train and the doors are closed. The cars are so crowded the men have to stand. It takes a while to start moving, and stops not long after, just sitting on the tracks; "Why are they doing this?--if we were in a truck we'd be moving a lot faster," somebody says, to which someone else replies, "I think that's the point." And indeed, although the camp is not so far away, the train ride takes an inordinately long time, and yes this is intentional.

By now you probably know the routine, arriving at camp, selections (Schindel is told to go right), getting stripped, showered, shaved, tattooed. Schindel is utterly demoralized by the time he's presented with striped clothing and has to provide his name and have a photo taken. An officer recognizes his name--"This is the one, the one they said killed a policeman"--and a patch is placed on Schindel's shirt: A yellow-and-green Judenstern, or six-point star. He's sent out into the camp and made to get into formation with the rest of the new arrivals. An SS officer briefly details what they're to expect from now on, and they're given their new "jobs"--basically, working themselves to death, since it isn't an extermination camp but as it's put later in the story, EVERY camp is an extermination camp, just that some kill you more slowly than others.

Schindel resigns himself to this new situation--what options are there? He's surprised to find that the ghetto police, most of whom are deeply hated by the other ghetto residents, are incarcerated in the camp along with the rest of them. They were Nazi collaborators--some of them even seemed to enjoy what they were doing. What are they doing here? He locates the policeman who'd tipped him off to the raid and asks what's going on. The former policeman--now a prisoner just like him--tersely explains that it doesn't matter how useful you may have been--to the Nazis, an Untermensch is an Untermensch at the end of the day, and as soon as you outlive your usefulness, you're equal to the rest of them. Here in the camp, especially, it's expected to be every man for himself.

Schindel tries to believe this isn't true, but he sees how the regular prisoners target the former police officers, most of whom don't last very long--the SS guards, while technically not allowing fights, don't really do much to stop them, and indeed seem to find them amusing, occasionally making bets on the outcome. Schindel watches silently one day as the body of the policeman he knew is carried off, battered and bloody, to the crematorium. Thus when another inmate picks a fight with him, he has no choice but to fight back, and win. He pummels the other guy into the ground before the guards step in to stop the fight, striking Schindel a few times with their clubs and then having the other guy--unconscious, dead, Schindel doesn't know--carried away. Shortly after, a guard instructs Schindel to follow him: The commandant, Dannecker, wants to see him. Full of dread, Schindel obeys.

He's heard stories of Dannecker--the other inmates call him "Der Teufel," the Devil--but hasn't had the chance to interact with him personally, and has seen him only from afar. He's now led to the commandant, who's standing in the yard smoking a cigarette. He's taller than Schindel, and fit, but not exactly intimidating on first glance; he doesn't look like a devil. He gives Schindel a look (Schindel keeps his head down) and says, "So you're the Jew who likes killing so much." This makes Schindel wince--of course he doesn't like killing--but he doesn't protest.

Dannecker: "Name."

Schindel: "I...Isaak Schindel, Herr Kommandant."

Dannecker: (taps Schindel's chest with his crop) "Why do you wear that green patch?" [NOTE, it's actually green and yellow, but Dannecker knows what the yellow part means.]

Schindel: "M...manslaughter, Herr Kommandant."

Dannecker: "Who'd you kill?"

Schindel: "I...I killed a ghetto policeman."

Dannecker: "A policeman, huh?"

Schindel: "It was an accident, Herr Kommandant, I didn't mean to kill him."

Dannecker: "So what did you mean to do?"

Schindel: "I was just trying to protect my wife and child, Herr Kommandant."

Dannecker: "Your family...? It's always important for a man to protect his family, ja?"

Schindel: (silence)

Dannecker: (drops and stamps out cigarette, steps closer) (puts crop under Schindel's chin and forces his head up) "You like killing people, Jew?"

Schindel: "I...I don't like killing people, Herr Kommandant."

Dannecker: "Really? You seem to do it a lot, for someone who doesn't like it."

Schindel: (silence)

Dannecker: (looks around) "I don't see your wife or child. Who were you protecting this time?"

Schindel: "M...myself, Herr Kommandant."

Dannecker: "Ah...?"

Schindel: "The...the other man picked a fight with me, H-Herr Kommandant...I had to defend myself or he'd kill me."

Dannecker: "So you do like killing, ja?"

Schindel: (silence, though he's just about in tears by now)

Dannecker: (leans close, lowers his voice) "You also like an extra helping of food...? A nice, warm place to sleep, perhaps...?"

Schindel: (silence)

Dannecker: "Hm?"

Schindel: "I...I d-don't know what you mean."

Dannecker: "I mean you like killing so much, why don't you make use of it?"

Dannecker briefly lays it out: The camp needs a Lagerälteste, or kapo, to help the guards oversee the prisoners. Dannecker's camp isn't a big one, so technically he could do without a prisoner functionary, but Franke accidentally put the idea in his head that this might be interesting: In effect, it pits the prisoners against each other, which is the sort of thing he finds entertaining. The job of kapo generally goes to criminals, since they're the ones most likely to be okay with committing violence against their fellow inmates; Schindel is an especially good candidate, given that he's already killed one person and likely another (Dannecker never clarifies whether he killed the prisoner or not, though he hints that he did--this is pretty typical of him). If Schindel wants the job, it means putting up with the fact that EVERYONE will now hate him--both the SS guards he serves, and his fellow prisoners, whom he'll oversee on the Nazis' behalf--he'll have a giant target on his back. But it also means extra food rations...a private room to sleep in...and no beatings. Schindel despises the very thought of working for these awful people who took him from his family...but his family is the only thing keeping him going so far. Dannecker offers him the chance to survive long enough to get back to them. He's already killed somebody...it can't be that bad, just to try to stay alive. Anyone else would do it, right? Although it nauseates him to his core, he takes the offer. And Dannecker smiles his devil smile.

Schindel assumes it's going to be a trick, but nope, he's given a small but private room, extra food, better shoes, a cap and jacket to wear with an authoritative armband, and a club to carry. He rises every morning with the guards and rouses the prisoners from their barracks and out into the yard for roll call, then wanders through the yard throughout the day, making sure everyone's doing their jobs. It grows easier over time to tap, then smack someone with his stick, then to give someone a beatdown if they get too far out of line. (For a while he even socializes, in a sort of way, with a guard named Jan Delbrück, who occasionally stands in the yard with him and shares cigarettes, at least until Dannecker decides Delbrück is better off sorting papers in a file room.) Dannecker holds up his end of the arrangement in that Schindel is never on the receiving end of any beatings, but Dannecker never said anything about his trademark psychological torture--he inflicts that on everyone, prisoners and guards alike--even his own adjutant, Maj. Franke, isn't exempt. Watching him target others this way, including occasionally himself, Schindel finally gets why they call him Der Teufel. He's fortunate that he never ends up one of what everyone calls Dannecker's "pet projects"--these are relatively rare, since their execution takes such a massive amount of time and effort, and most people are careful not to piss Dannecker off enough to go through with this. Simple beatings (usually performed by his guards or Schindel) or gunshots to the head are usually enough to do the trick.

Schindel gets the chance to witness Dannecker pull off a pet project firsthand when a new prisoner named Josef Diamant arrives at the camp. Diamant is Schindel's opposite in many ways--not a family man, a skilled worker (he's a jeweler/watch repairer with his own shop), middle class, educated. But still--Jewish. And like Schindel, he sports a yellow-and-green star, marking him as a criminal--except his offense is even worse than Schindel's--he didn't kill anyone, but he did forge documents that helped numerous other Jews escape the country. The SS vandalized his shop and tortured him with his own jeweler's tools to get the names of his clients, but he didn't give them up; so, to the camp he went. He doesn't capture Schindel's, or anyone's, attention when he arrives, just another prisoner, but that changes one day when Dannecker loses his temper--actually a rare occurrence--and starts beating an inmate. Everyone just stops what they're doing and watches--nobody intervenes. Then, a noise--a prisoner (probably Lukas Mettbach) lets out a short, cut-off warning, but Diamant is already on the move. As Dannecker is bringing his stick down at the cowering prisoner, Diamant strikes it from his hand and sends it flying into the mud. Commandant and prisoner stand there frozen, staring at each other. Everyone--Dannecker, Diamant, Franke, Schindel, the other prisoners--has the exact same expression. Absolutely nobody can believe Diamant just did that.

Everyone expects Dannecker to lay into Diamant next, but he simply lowers his arm, turns, and walks back toward the administration building. Diamant tries to help up the beaten prisoner but is shoved away--"What have you done? You've only made it worse! He'll kill us both, now!" And indeed, a murmur ripples through the camp: Dannecker is striding back, seemingly having composed himself. The prisoner gets on his knees and starts begging for forgiveness--Dannecker doesn't even stop to look at him, just pulls out his revolver and shoots him in the head. Schindel and everyone else watches as Diamant panics and goes running, Dannecker fiddling with his gun as he just continues walking after him. He corners Diamant against a wall, puts the gun to his head, and fires--nothing happens, yet Dannecker smiles and says, "Your lucky day, Jew." There's a reason Dannecker prefers carrying a revolver--easy to play Russian roulette, one of his favorite torture methods. He doesn't kill Diamant that day, but later that night, he arrives at one of the prisoners' barracks after dark and motions the guard to let him in. Schindel isn't there to see it, but other prisoners who are wakened by Dannecker's unexpected appearance murmur about it the next day. Dannecker singles out Diamant's bunk, kneels down, presses his gun to his head, and whispers a promise. Diamant is officially his new pet project.

Schindel admittedly doesn't feel too sorry for Diamant over the following weeks--he was too uppity for his own good, didn't know his place, and raised the potential of danger toward the rest of the prisoners, so of course he deserves what he gets. (A recurring theme I've noticed throughout the story is the differences between the social classes, and I figure that's part of Schindel's lack of empathy as well--Diamant used to be better off than he was, in Schindel's view he had life handed to him on a platter, it's about time he was taken down a notch.) He knows how Dannecker gets while pursuing a pet project, however, and even if he isn't the target, it makes him nervous--it's easy, as an innocent bystander, to get sucked in. And this is exactly what happens, not just to him but to others. The dominoes unintentionally set up by that SS-TV officer so long ago finally start to fall, and one of the first is Dannecker's own stepdaughter, Margarethe.

Margarethe, or Gret, is by now well known to the prisoners and guards. The oldest of Dannecker's four stepchildren and in her teens--petite (she's only about five feet tall and looks quite childlike next to her stepfather), fair skinned, blond haired, blue eyed, and stone faced--she's become Dannecker's frequent companion when he arrives at the camp in the morning (technically Dannecker should be residing on camp property, but he instead lives in a house nearby); he always helps her out of the limo and parades her, in her immaculate dress, boots, and braids, past the guards and prisoners to the main building and then to his office, where she keeps him company throughout the day. He's exceptionally proud of showing her off, and appears to spoil her, gifting her her numerous colored dresses, hair ribbons, jewelry, toys; every time they see her she's arm in arm with Dannecker or holding his hand, or he has his hand on her shoulder, the very picture of a doting father. It's only when Schindel and others look a little bit past the surface that a different picture emerges. Dannecker never brings his wife or three other stepchildren to the camp--although he spoils the others as well, Gret is the one on whom he lavishes all his attention. He's frequently seen whispering in Gret's ear, putting his arm around her and holding her a bit too close, smiling that devil's smile at her while her face always remains blank--she never laughs--never smiles. They spend a lot of time alone in his office. And a guard mentions one occasion when they were leaving, Gret's normally pristine braids were a little bit mussed and her stare a little bit glassier and more vacant than usual, and when he wished her farewell her voice was faint and hoarse. It's obvious something unpleasant is going on behind the loving facade, but nobody speaks up about it, it's not their business.

(Later in the story a character sees an old family photo of Dannecker with his parents, Walther and Margit, and despite the lack of blood relation, remarks on the resemblance between Margit and Margarethe--petite, beautiful, fair skinned, blue eyed, long blond braids. Remember "Mama's Boy"? I'll just leave it at that.)

Schindel, like the others, suspects something weird is going on, but also keeps mum. It's Diamant, of course, who acts, and sets off a complicated and dramatic string of events. It starts out with him watching Gret every time she arrives at camp; she glances at him, and he smiles at her. Diamant's smile is not like Dannecker's. Gret responds by blushing and turning away, but she starts looking for Diamant more often as she goes by. She never smiles back...but one day, she does arrive in a yellow-and-green dress. This catches Diamant's attention unlike anything else, and it catches Schindel's attention, too. He'd noticed the looks shared between the two and let it pass, but for some reason he can't explain, this incident alarms him; he shoves Diamant against a wall later on and demands to know what's up with him and Fräulein Gret. Diamant denies anything's up, insinuates maybe Schindel's the one who has a thing for the commandant's stepdaughter, gets Schindel's club shoved into his gut in response. "Mind your business, Jew!" Schindel snaps, "And eyes off Fräulein Gret." He can't think of much else to do on so little, though, and lets him be after that.

I need to pause here and back up a bit. Schindel has never liked Diamant, as I said, but by now he has an even bigger reason to despise him. I also already mentioned the tendency for Dannecker's schemes to suck in innocent bystanders; Schindel is one of them. Dannecker spends a great deal of time making Diamant's life a living hell in every way he can think of without outright killing him; just killing a pet project is no fun, it's much better to watch them slowly destroy themselves--he got a taste of that when his mere presence was enough to send his old foe running straight into the electric fence. Well, despite his patience for such things, after a while Dannecker begins to grow tired of just how long it's taking Diamant to break, so he racks his brain trying to think of something new and creative to try. And he does come up with something, and it involves Schindel. Why Schindel?--he's never crossed Dannecker, always obeyed orders, a good well-behaved obedient kapo. And that's exactly why Schindel: Dannecker has Franke bring the two prisoners to his office, where he points this out to Diamant, how obedient and broken Schindel is, and that's exactly what he has in mind for Diamant. And now he thinks he knows how to do it. Diamant is different from Schindel in another respect: Schindel is looking out for himself, whereas Diamant still has some of his altruism left. Of course Dannecker can't break him by threatening or humiliating him. He might be able to break him, however, by having him humiliate someone else--namely, Schindel.

I can't go into any detail about what exactly Dannecker does here. (Even in my writing, Diamant simply relates it himself, somewhat in passing.) When he calls Franke back, however, Diamant does indeed look positively broken inside, and Schindel is outright crying. Dannecker doesn't explain to his confused adjutant what's happened, just cheerfully tells him to return them to the yard. They leave without a word. Yet a few days later, while Schindel is overseeing the prisoners as they leave their barracks, without provocation he hits Diamant in the back of the leg, knocking him down; he then commences beating the s**t out of him, all the while screaming, "Fight back! FIGHT BACK!" Diamant covers his head but does nothing to defend himself; Franke, hearing the commotion, approaches, only to accidentally get hit in the face by Schindel. The guards knock Schindel out and he, Diamant, and Franke all go to the medical building for attention. Franke, his nose broken, warns the other two--when they regain consciousness--that they better not do such a thing again. When they've recovered enough to go back to work, they do; camp life returns mostly to normal, though Schindel does still target Diamant for a brief beatdown here and there, and unlike previously, Diamant never fights back. Franke is worried that when Dannecker finds out about the fight, he'll be angry, but all he does is smirk a little and go on with things. The dynamic between the three--Dannecker, Diamant, and Schindel--has changed.

So of course, now that Diamant seems to be up to something involving Gret, Schindel is full of dread that he hasn't learned his lesson, and could end up sucking him in again. He isn't quite clever enough to figure out what Diamant is planning, though; just that every day, a guard starts calling him away from the yard for extended periods, and he returns only when the workday is over. Then one day Schindel has actually been permitted inside the administration building to help transport some boxes of files to the back file room where Delbrück is currently occupied. He's just carried in another box and is heading back to close the door when the sound of running footsteps coming closer catches his attention. As he watches, somebody flies past, abruptly stumbling to a halt as soon as he sees Schindel looking--it's Diamant, and he has no guards with him. The two of them stare at each other for a moment, eyes wide. More footsteps come running and now Gret appears, also giving Schindel a look; the three stare at each other in silence a brief moment before Gret grasps Diamant's sleeve, urges, "Come on," and the two hurry on up the hallway and out of sight. Schindel can't be sure, but he could've sworn that for at least the last few seconds, Diamant's eyes were pleading for him to go with them. His feet are rooted to the spot, however, and he stays--good obedient Schindel. His legs start to work again and he shuts the door and slowly walks back into the room, his brain belatedly recalling something else odd about what he just saw: Diamant was carrying a revolver--and Gret was carrying a giant Ehrendegen--an SS honor sword, exactly like the one Dannecker wears. He returns to the files and to Delbrück, who hasn't noticed anything amiss; he jumps when Franke arrives, expecting some sort of awful news, but Franke just wonders why they're taking so long with the files and says to hurry it up, then leaves. Schindel waits, and waits, filling with more and more dread, yet nothing happens. After about an hour, he's almost convinced himself he imagined the whole thing, when the camp alarm finally starts to sound. Something awful has indeed happened.

Delbrück, just as startled and confused, exits the room with Schindel close behind to figure out what's going on. Other guards are racing back and forth through the building, eyes wide, faces pale; Delbrück accosts a few, catches a few comments, grabs Schindel's sleeve and goes running himself, toward Dannecker's office. A big crowd of guards is gathering here, and Franke is berating one of them loudly. When he spots Delbrück and Schindel he lays into the kapo immediately--"And YOU! Where were you? What did you have to do with this?" Schindel, of course, has no idea what's happening, and cowers behind Delbrück, who fortunately vouches for him: "He's been with me all day, in the file room! What's going on? What's with the alarm?" Franke says there's been a prisoner escape--that much Schindel had guessed on his own. Then he says that Commandant Dannecker is dead--THAT, Schindel had had no clue.

The rest of the details seep out over time. A while back, Gret Dannecker had requested a gift from her stepfather--a ring. Always willing to spoil her, Dannecker had his guards fetch Diamant--a jeweler. Sure, Dannecker had been torturing him for weeks, including ramming a jeweler's file through his hand, permanently damaging the nerves--but Diamant agreed to design and make a ring for Gret, with the right tools and materials. Dannecker set up a temporary workshop near his office and gave Diamant the required tools--under strict supervision--and materials (including gold bits taken from prisoners' teeth); the reason for Diamant's daily visits to the administration building was to work on Gret's ring. Nobody's quite sure of the details after that, but apparently supervision of Diamant's activities slacked off a little, enabling him to be alone with Dannecker when he presented him with the ring--somehow, he acquired a gun, and shot and killed Dannecker before escaping with about a dozen other prisoners in what was obviously a coordinated effort, plotted ahead of time. Even more alarming is that Gret Dannecker, who was visiting that day, is also missing--presumably taken hostage by Diamant. He hates that he has such thoughts--Schindel has nothing against Gret, she's been polite to him the few times they've interacted--but he suspects the situation isn't quite as it appears. It isn't long before these suspicions are confirmed.

Franke attempts to assume command of the camp, a decision which doesn't go over well with the other guards; when one of the guards stands up to him, he orders Schindel to beat him. Schindel freezes--he doesn't mean to disobey, but he's not permitted to touch the SS guards, so he has no idea how to react. Franke loses his temper, grabs Schindel's club, and beats the guard unconscious himself while everyone else watches, before warning the other guards not to provide him with help or he'll do the same to them; he storms back into the building, and locks himself in Dannecker's office. Schindel notices the other prisoners edging toward the unconscious guard with murder in their eyes; he picks up his club and brandishes it threateningly so they back off, though one of them spits at him first. He sits by the guard for the rest of the day and night; the other guards never announce meal time, never call the prisoners back to work or to their barracks. The camp is in effect left to itself until another Obersturmbannführer arrives the next day, alerted by a guard who'd fled during the beating; he approaches Schindel first and demands to know what's going on. Schindel explains the best he can. The Obersturmbannführer tells the other guards to take the injured guard to the medical building, heads to Dannecker's office, orders Franke to open up and get out, and without much ado takes command of the camp himself. This is Hasso Reinhardt, and he's quickly authorized as the new commandant as the SS investigation of Dannecker's murder picks up speed.

I already mentioned the escape didn't go QUITE as the initial SS story of it insisted. It's actually worse. Nobody knows HOW Diamant and the others fled the camp, and the SS doesn't figure this out until the end of the war, when Reinhardt and Delbrück, his adjutant, discover a hidden passage system under the camp--there had been rumors of it, but nobody knew where it was, except Dannecker--and Gret. Turns out Dannecker had taken Gret down there one day, telling her the walls and door were so thick nobody would hear her scream, and he was right. By chance, Reinhardt and Delbrück discover the entry to the main passage not far from Dannecker's office, hidden behind a tapestry. So, how did the prisoners find out about the passage...? This is the most scandalous part of the story: Gret told them. She was in on it the whole time.

Schindel's suspicion was aroused at the sight of Gret's yellow-and-green attire that one day. Gret's always made a point of being immaculately dressed, almost always in matching colors--so for her to wear a yellow dress with green ribbons was odd. Schindel couldn't place what it reminded him of, but Diamant, whom the message was intended for, got it immediately: He and Gret had been making eye contact each time she arrived, and he'd even been able to pass along to her a ring he'd fashioned out of found scraps. When she showed up wearing the same colors as his identification badge, it signaled she was willing to communicate with him. From there, the two managed to plot to meet privately on camp grounds to make a plan for Diamant's escape; Gret was invited along. Diamant instructed her to find a way to get him in close contact with Dannecker; Gret came up with the idea to ask for a ring, knowing her stepfather could never refuse her a gift. Diamant told her to procure him a gun, preferably a revolver, and hide it near his workspace; he'd tell her the day and time to be at Dannecker's office to cover for him in case anyone heard the shot. The final day, while Dannecker was admiring the ring Diamant presented to him, Diamant brought out the gun Gret had left for him and played Russian roulette on Dannecker until it fired; Gret, out in the hallway, prevented the guard who came running from entering, claiming she'd accidentally fired Dannecker's gun and he'd sent her out before locking himself in--he was angry, best not disturb him. (The guard didn't even think twice before retreating.) She then entered herself, saw that Diamant had finished the job, but refused to go get the other prisoners waiting at a side entrance to the building and take them to the hidden passage until Diamant fetched her a trophy: her stepfather's Ehrendegen. The two were racing to get the other prisoners and let them inside when Schindel had spotted them. Gret was never a hostage at all, but a willing participant in her stepfather's murder, and she even got a souvenir out of the deal.

The SS don't find out about the secret passage until much later, though they do soon realize Gret Dannecker isn't the victim they thought she was. Quietly, they change out the posters describing her as such and replace them with wanted posters like those for Diamant and the other prisoners, with one additional detail: Execute on sight. Diamant, as horrible as his actions were, is just a Jew, and a criminal at that--he's expected to act like a criminal. Gret's actions, however--not only patricide, but betraying her race--are unforgivable.

Although this means the end of Dannecker, who, despite never beating or technically punishing Schindel, terrorized and demoralized him in every other way possible, Schindel is even more afraid now, not less. He agonizes over not following Diamant away from the camp, but the fear of what's on the outside, ironically, is worse than the fear of what's inside--the devil you know and all that. He's used to the routine of camp life, and the unknown terrifies him--yes, his main goal in staying alive is to reunite with his family, but he doesn't even know if they're still alive. And now there's a new commandant to deal with--and Schindel knows nothing about him. Commandant Reinhardt is big, imposing, with a frequent glare or scowl on his face; he seems quite displeased with the chaotic way Dannecker was running his camp. He vows, from day one, that there will be changes. Although he was gruff yet tolerable toward Schindel when he first arrived, Schindel dreads whatever might come next--change is never good, and he feels even more spite toward Diamant for triggering this situation. As the days pass and Reinhardt starts implementing his changes, however, Schindel's fear shifts into confusion. Supplies are brought in and the prisoners renovate their barracks; there's somewhat more food at their meals; and their jobs are gradually switched out. Previous labor had consisted of useless breaking of rocks, digging of holes, filling them in again--working for the sake of working oneself to death. These new jobs, some of them are about as strenuous, but they serve a purpose now, aiding in construction and the manufacture of goods; plus, smaller and more skilled jobs are added, and given to those who previously would have been sent to the firing squad. Far fewer prisoners are sent left at selections (eventually they're sent to other camps instead), and the crematorium stops running for weeks on end. Schindel is never ordered to beat anyone; when the other guards attempt to beat prisoners, Delbrück, now named Reinhardt's adjutant, puts a stop to it. Sure, there's still a swat or a cuffing here and there, but nothing like before. A few of the guards quit in protest, a few officials show up to complain, but the rest of the camp settles into its new routine.

Reinhardt has Schindel brought to his office. Dannecker's similar requests--especially the visit with Diamant--were never good news, so Schindel braces for the worst. He takes off his cap and stands before Reinhardt's desk with his head lowered, shaking a little. Reinhardt stands up--he's a lot taller than Schindel, and towers over him. First he asks Schindel's name again (a sort of running joke is he can never remember Schindel's name for a while)...then, oddly, starts asking him about how Dannecker formerly did things, since he's been told Schindel likely knew him best. He seems displeased by most of the answers, and mutters a few times, "Well, that's going to change." He finally says he'd like Schindel to help him out with various personal tasks. While true that Dannecker had had Schindel run a few personal errands for him, it wasn't a regular thing, and this really isn't the sort of thing a kapo is meant to do; Schindel is confused by the request. He doesn't ask questions, though, just ducks his head a bit lower and mumbles, "Ja, Herr Kommandant," when appropriate. Reinhardt comes around the desk to see him off, but does something extremely odd--he takes Schindel's cap from his hands and puts it back on his head before sending him out. The inmates NEVER keep their caps on when directly addressing the SS--it's a huge breach of camp "etiquette" and often rewarded with beatings. So Reinhardt's casual gesture is very strange, and Schindel doesn't know what to think of it.

Reinhardt does indeed assign various mundane tasks to Schindel; the way the camp is running now, his actions intimidating the other prisoners aren't needed quite as much, freeing him up to run errands in the administration building. He again frequently comes into contact with his old acquaintance Delbrück, who still shares cigarettes with him now and then, and then with new employee SS-Helfer Britta Azinger, who comes to the camp to work as secretary (Schindel is the one to first find out when she and Reinhardt get romantically involved). Just as with Dannecker, he's loyal to Reinhardt, but the loyalty gradually takes on a different form: He starts to think of Reinhardt as literally saving his life and grows fawningly devoted to him, trailing after him, hanging on his every request, eager for his every "Danke, Herr Schindel." Reinhardt treats him human--like a favored slave or servant, yes, but still human--and he's grown so unused to that that he gladly takes every bit of it that he can. It's by no means an egalitarian relationship, but Schindel was so badly broken by Dannecker that in comparison, he would follow Reinhardt to the ends of the earth.

This ends up happening, in a way, when the Allies storm the city and approach the camp. Reinhardt knows that no matter how he tried to improve the situation, he'll still most likely be executed as a war criminal; after sustaining a serious wound, he returns to the camp (many of the guards and other staff, including Delbrück and Azinger, have already fled), announces over the loudspeaker that he's turning off the fence and opening the gate, advises those who are well enough to leave the camp (also warning them of SS officers patrolling the city) while those who aren't will be attended to by the enemy soldiers when they arrive, then sits and waits. Schindel listens to the message over the loudspeakers, then stands aside and watches many of the prisoners mill around aimlessly for a moment, nonplussed--they can't quite believe what they just heard. They hear the ever-present hum of the fence stop, but have no way to test if it's actually off; yet then the metal gate under the ARBEIT MACHT FREI sign pops open. The first few prisoners gingerly approach--there are no guards left in the watchtowers or at the gate to shoot them--and peer out. Slowly step outside. Start walking away, then jogging, then sprinting. As soon as it becomes clear nobody, including Schindel, will stop them, more and more of them exit the camp, hurrying for cover. A handful stay behind, due to illness/injury or fear of the SS officers still in the city; Schindel is among them, though his reason for staying is different. He knows Reinhardt is still there, probably alone. He hurries inside to find him.

He at last locates the room containing the controls for the electricity supply; here Reinhardt is, slumped on the floor and bleeding. He's surprised by Schindel's arrival and wonders why he hasn't left; Schindel, while trying to tend to his wound, stammers that he isn't even sure if Rebekkah and his child are still alive or not. He's literally too afraid to leave, as he's gotten so used to being a prisoner and having his life laid out for him, he has no idea how to deal with the uncertainties of freedom. When Reinhardt passes out, Schindel stays by him, pressing his cap against the wound and trying not to cry. Soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms, speaking an unfamiliar language, arrive and point their guns at the two--Reinhardt wakes at the commotion--and start yelling; Schindel holds up his hands but can't understand a word they're saying, and he nearly panics. Reinhardt speaks their language, and Schindel starts picking up bits and pieces: These are Americans (the Germans had been expecting--and dreading--the approach of the Soviets, instead), and they want to know their names, ranks, and numbers. Reinhardt offers his information, but the Americans don't believe him or Schindel when they both insist Schindel is merely the kapo--they can't understand why a prisoner would stay behind to help an SS officer. Surely he's an SS member in disguise. Reinhardt does everything he can to vouch for him, including saying to Schindel, "Show them your arms, bitte," and the soldiers take note of Schindel's ID number, as well as his lack of a blood group tattoo. A soldier heads off to fetch the log of prisoner IDs that includes Schindel's information while the others decide to take both men into custody. Schindel tries to stay by Reinhardt as the soldiers unceremoniously drag him to his feet and haul him off--he manages to reach out and shove Schindel's bloodied cap back onto his head before his arms are seized--but shortly after, Schindel is forcibly separated from him and taken away for medical attention elsewhere. The soldier returns with the info that yes, "Isaak Schindel" is listed in the camp records as the Lagerälteste, and his ID number and photo match. They still can't figure out what he was doing with Reinhardt, but obviously he's not SS. They ignore most of his pleas for information on "Herr Kommandant" and make arrangements to question him for information and then figure out what to do with him as both a former prisoner yet also a collaborator. He does learn, eventually, that Reinhardt has been arrested and will stand trial after questioning--he'll almost certainly be hanged or shot. The Americans frown pensively when Schindel breaks down crying.

Everything after is a confusing whirlwind. Schindel provides what information he can under questioning, but it's limited, and the Allies are frustrated by his frequent pleas for updates on Reinhardt's situation. He tells them of Rebekkah, but doesn't know where she is or if she's alive; same with extended family, for all he knows they were sent to other camps to be killed. The Allies decide to keep him in protective custody for the time being. He learns after some time that Reinhardt also provided useful information--including how Diamant most likely escaped from the camp undetected, through the hidden passageway--and that a military tribunal indeed found him guilty, yet sentenced him to prison, rather than execution; Schindel is overwhelmed with relief. Then, more news: They've managed to locate Rebekkah, alive and well...with their young daughter, Hanna. Schindel puts his hands to his face--"I have a daughter"--and bursts into tears again. He's finally released from Allied custody--they decide not to bring charges against him--and he goes to see Rebekkah for the first time in years.

This is the moment he's been literally living for and dreading. Rebekkah has moved into a tiny house in a new, crowded neighborhood set up at the edge of the city. Schindel arrives and nervously knocks--she's been informed ahead of time to expect him, and answers, holding a little girl in her arms. Schindel can barely keep himself from crying again when he sees her; Rebekkah introduces Hanna to "Herr Isaak," then sets her down and tells her to give them a few moments alone. Husband and wife share a few halting, awkward comments, asking how each other is doing, what they've been up to, nothing too indepth. Schindel is overjoyed to see his Rebekkah again, but he immediately senses something is off; Rebekkah doesn't seem nearly as happy as he'd thought she'd be. When he finally asks if something is wrong, and why isn't she inviting him in, Rebekkah averts her eyes and murmurs, "I think...maybe it would be best if you found someplace else to stay." Schindel is stunned mute for a moment; Rebekkah haltingly explains. She's heard by now of what, exactly, Schindel's position was in the camp: a kapo, a collaborator with the Nazi guards. To the Jews, the kapos have become perhaps even more despised than the Nazis themselves, as sellouts and traitors to their own people--the very word kapo has become a terrible insult. Schindel isn't seen as a victim like the other camp inmates--he's seen as one of them. Schindel stammers in protest--he didn't WANT to do the things he did, he did it only to survive so he could come back to her, he was only following orders. Rebekkah winces and says, "That's exactly what THEY said." She adds that his presence there could endanger her and Hanna's lives, so he should find another place to go for now. Almost at a loss for words, Schindel asks if he can at least hug Hanna and tell her goodbye--he's never had the chance to even touch his own child. Rebekkah replies this would be too confusing and upsetting--she's already told Hanna her father died in the camps--and wishes Schindel farewell, retreating inside and closing the door. Schindel stands staring at the door for a moment before turning and silently leaving, his world collapsed, his heart broken. He fought so hard all those years to stay alive, all for nothing.

He holds on for a brief while, trying desperately to find a connection, any connection, to his former life. Nobody he once knew wants anything to do with him. It's like he's cursed, and his mere presence taints things; everyone avoids him. None of his old relatives, friends, acquaintances from the ghetto will take him in or give him work or even stop for a brief conversation. He has no one, but really, it's only Rebekkah and Hanna he wants--he could do without anything else. The fact that his wife and child are lost to him after all at last hits him like a truck and he sits alone in a park one evening sobbing his eyes out. He sees no point in continuing without them. He lifts his head and looks around, sniffling and rubbing his eyes; he has no drug, he has no gun, but there, leading out of the park and over a river, is a tall bridge. Schindel can't swim. The longer he stares at the bridge the more his resolve grows; seeing a way out of the pain, he finally gets up and heads toward it. By the time he reaches the middle of it he's as determined as ever, yet as soon as he finds himself on the other side of the guardrail, leaning over the river far below, that determination wavers. He stands there for a few moments to gather his courage, annoyed that it's fled him when he needs it most.

He's even more annoyed when he hears a voice--somebody is standing behind and below him on the formerly empty bridge.

Voice: (hesitant) "Hallo, mein Freund, what are you doing up there...?"

Schindel: "Go away."

Voice: "You'd like to talk...? Maybe?"

Schindel: "I said go away!"

Voice: "I can't do that, mein Freund, not while you're standing up there like that; think you can come down for a minute and talk...?"

Schindel: "I'm not your friend and I don't want to talk! Now leave me alone!"

Voice: "Not a nice thing to say to your friend. If you don't want to talk then maybe we could share a smoke instead, ja...?"

Confused, Schindel finally turns his head. The man standing below him is dressed in civilian clothes and Schindel doesn't recognize him; he removes his cap, however, and then realization dawns. It's Jan Delbrück, the SS guard--then adjutant--who used to share cigarettes with him, and vouched for him when Franke accused him of being involved in Dannecker's murder. "H...Herr Delbrück?" he says anyway, perplexed; Delbrück had disappeared shortly before the camp was liberated. "Lehmbruck," Delbrück says, confusing him further; then, "Bruno Lehmbruck, now," and it makes sense--he's obviously assumed a new identity while in hiding. He makes a few more efforts to coax Schindel down; Schindel can't help it, against his own wishes he starts stammering out why he's up there. He refuses to descend, however, until Delbrück changes tack, asking him to tell him about his wife and daughter instead; finally, reluctantly, he climbs back over the rail, freezing briefly so Delbrück has to climb up and help him back down. Delbrück leads him back to the park and sits him down, offering a cigarette before taking one for himself; they smoke together for a while, like old times, and Schindel tells him about Rebekkah and Hanna. It's a very long, slow process, but Delbrück convinces him it's worth holding on at least a little longer, to see what might happen; he points out how he's still alive, and despite the way the war ended, he managed to find someone who helped him through. Maybe Schindel will find this person, even if it isn't Rebekkah.

Schindel hates the thought that he may have to go on without Rebekkah--they've known and loved each other since childhood--but decides to try to find whatever other connection he can. There's one he knows of already; he visits an old castle which has recently been converted into a prison for war criminals. Here is where Hasso Reinhardt is being kept, following his trial; he's been sentenced to around ten years, after making himself useful providing information to the Allies. Reinhardt is glad to see him, yet saddened to learn of the situation with his wife; he offers advice similar to Delbrück's, as well as the thought that Schindel may try to make amends to those he feels he's wronged. Schindel mulls this over even as he manages to find a job in a print shop (his boss, learning he's been sleeping in the park, offers him a cot in the back room until he can get on his feet); he finally decides to go looking around the city.

On one street, a sort of "memorial" has been left: an old jeweler's shop whose windows were broken out and insides torched, the words "DER JUWELIER" crossed out and replaced with "DER JUDE." Also on the remaining portion of window is the name "J. DIAMANT." The Nazis left the gutted shop standing as a warning following Diamant's capture; after their defeat, the citizens leave it alone as well, though they put a fence around the front to keep out potential vandals. Schindel visits the shop next door; the proprietor, Jutta Bentz, confirms Diamant used to own the shop, and is still alive; word is he started a new shop in a mountain town. Schindel heads there, finds the shop. Within, he's surprised to meet Margarethe Dannecker; she recognizes him also, tells him, "I'm glad you're doing well, Herr Schindel," and retreats to fetch Diamant. Diamant is even more surprised than Schindel was, and seems uncomfortable as well, yet invites Schindel to join him for tea when Schindel has difficulty saying why he's there; Schindel declines but at last haltingly apologizes for the way he treated Diamant while he was kapo. As he speaks, Diamant looks more and more confused, and finally cuts in to say, "I'm not sure why you're apologizing to me, Herr Schindel; if anything I feel I should apologize to you." Schindel is perplexed to learn that Diamant feels just as guilty as he does, especially regarding the humiliating situation Dannecker forced them into, and doesn't even blame Schindel for beating him afterward. To hear the same issues he's agonizing over coming from his former foe's mouth puts things in a bit more perspective; Diamant says he owes him no apology, and Schindel departs, his heart feeling at least a little less heavy.

A week or so later, while Schindel is busy typesetting, his boss informs him he has a visitor, and to take his lunch to talk to them. He's stunned to find Rebekkah waiting for him. The two talk a little, awkward and shy, before she says, "I miss you," and invites him to stop by that evening for supper: "And...maybe you could stay, if you like." She doesn't mention that Diamant had visited, explained a little bit how difficult Schindel's position in the camp had been and he'd done it all for her--he doesn't blame Schindel for what he did, perhaps she should give him another chance. Of course Schindel agrees. He meets Hanna when he arrives, and has to force himself to hold back his tears, though when Rebekkah leaves the room for a moment, Hanna slips off her chair, trots over to Schindel, and hugs him; surprised but overwhelmed, he hugs her back. Rebekkah, coming back in the room, admits that she's since told Hanna the truth about who he is; she hopes they can start over. Schindel wipes the tears away from his eyes and murmurs, "I'd love nothing more."

[Isaak Schindel 2023 [‎Friday, ‎January ‎27, ‎2023, ‏‎5:00:16 AM]]

[Isaak Schindel 2023 2 [‎Friday, ‎January ‎27, ‎2023, ‏‎5:00:26 AM]]

#artists on tumblr #ibisPaint x #original characters

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fwkei · 3 years

Text

Time.

Kazutora x fem!reader (angst/fluff)

CW/TW: Mentions of suicide, (slight) mention of starvation.

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR VALHALLA ARC

Note! Explanation of story at end just incase you’re confused also i apologize for mistakes, i did not read this over. 🙆🏻‍♀️

WC: 3.4k

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You sat at the edge of your seat. Watching the clock above your teacher's head ever so closely.

“When you want to find the common di-”

Suddenly the bell rang, interrupting your teacher from his final words.

“Oh my bad, guess I lost track of time, anyways please remember to study for your quiz on Monday! I know it's a weekend, but save some time for academics!” said your teacher as your classmates packed up their stuff to leave.

Today was Friday, meaning it was the day you get to visit Kazutora at juvie for the first time after Keisuke's death, and your attempt. It was 3:30, and visiting hours started at 4 to 5 every Friday for inmates. Running to the metro takes about 5-7 minutes, and walking from the station to the actual juvie takes about 20 minutes, while the ride lasts up to 10, meaning you should arrive there at around 4:10. And there's no time to waste.

You ran out of class, ignoring your fellow classmates goodbyes. You held your book bag tight as you ran fast to the Tokyo station. Seeing you arrived just on time you jumped in just before the 3:30 o'clock train leaves to a different side of the district where Kazutora is being held. You held onto the rail beside you to keep yourself steady as the train started to move .

You felt scared but happy to see Kazutora. He most probably didn't know you would be coming, he probably thought you would at most write letters to him, like before, but again...Kazutora believes that you hate him now. You didn't know what you were going to say to him. Draken told you that he already visited him while you were in psychiatric hold for a bit, and he told you that Kazutora was planning on killing himself. Draken did not specify if he told Kazutora about your own attempt but you didn't worry too much because you were healing, and you now had hope.

Your heart was racing, as the train came to a stop. As the doors opened you ran, and fast. Dodging people to not hurt them and almost stepping on things you shouldn’t be stepping on. You checked the time to see it was 4:01, and you still had about 10 minutes worth of walking/running to cover.

You were breathing heavily when the Juvenile building came into view. You checked the time again to see it was 4:11. You jogged to the doors of the building despite the fact that your thighs were burning from the amount of cardio you had just done.

It's all worth it.

You thought to yourself opening the doors.

Kazutora sat on the bed of his bland and colorless cell. He signed as he looked up at the ceiling light before turning his position to look at the side of the wall. He held his pillow tight. He knew it was visiting day, and his heart was anxious despite the fact that others had already been called to see their visitors, and there was still no call for him. He didn't even expect any visitors.

Kazutora didn't know if he wanted to see you or not. He’s spent so much time alone in his cell thinking. He wondered if you had figured out the other reason for him stabbing his best friend, you could read people, but he knew you had a hard time reading him. He felt his heart ache. He was scared of the karma that would hit him because of it. Maybe not even Karma, but just some sort of punishment, for causing pain to the soul that cared for him so much, and for not being there for that soul when she needed it the most. Which... ultimately lead to your attempt, which Draken told him about during his visit. He shut his eyes as he remembered Draken's words.

“I don’t wanna hear you say there is no point anymore. Because there is, and it’s kinda frustrating and irritating how you can’t see it even though it’s right there. She’s in psychiatric hold right now because she was close to ending her own life. After Baji died, and you were taken away, Y/n couldn't take it anymore, and no one could see it because she just...she just kept it in, like you do. She was going to die on Baji’s birthday if I wasn’t there to make her throw up the pills she took. Her and I may not be blood related siblings, but I know she’s been through a lot and has always gotten over it just fine, you know that...but this time...I got really fucking scared.”

Kazutora felt his heart drop to fucking hell at Draken’s words. He felt his breathing stop as his mouth parted.

“I know you love her, I'm not sure in what way but I could care less about that. I know, Kazutora. All those times you came crying to the brothel, crying into her arms, begging for some type of help and she helped you, lended you her body for you to cry on, I’d hear all of it. I know you’re hurting, but if you go, I don't think she will be able to live with herself. She’ll blame herself for not being there for you like she’s always been. Do you understand?”

He felt his body throb from literal physical pain. Kazutora was feeling and getting the punishment he deserved right then and there.

“You owe it to her, whether you like it or not, to stay alive because she's doing the same for you. And once you’re out of here, you should finally grow up. Let her cry into your arms for once. She’s your best friend, right? Because she deserves for those efforts to be reciprocated. And you deserve to see what she’s gone through because of everything that happened. Take care, Kazutora.”

Kazutora was lost in his own mind, to the point where he couldn't even register that one of the guards was calling his name from the cell door.

“Hm? I’m sorry I wasn't...uh, paying attention. What did you say?” he asked sitting up nervously

“You got a visitor, kid. C’mon get up.” said the man unlocking his cell

“A- visitor?” he said quietly getting up from his bed with shocked eyes

It was already 4:15. Kazutora grew anxious at who his visitor could be. He was sure it wasn't you, your school is too far for you to make it here in time. There would only be a couple minutes to spare if you did try. Could it be Draken wanting to give him a word of advice? Or maybe Chifuyu.. Maybe Mikey? God, who could it be. It made him feel even more congested and trapped than before.

As Kazutora walked, he looked down at his feet avoiding people's gazes. He saw the backs of his fellow juvenile delinquents from the side of his eye. His heartbeat became stronger, and he felt it thumbing in his ears. God, he didn't know what to expect. He was just so...frustrated.

“Here, you have until 5.” said the guard, taking off his hand cuffs. His back was facing you. You grew anxious bringing your hands to rest on your things and skirt, waiting for him to turn around and look at you. You watched as he rubbed his wrists and sat down at the stool still not looking at you. You rubbed your hands together under the table separating you both, as the guard walked away to patrol. Your eyes followed the guard, not even noticing that Kazutora had turned to look at your face.

Kazutora felt his face get hot at the sight of you. You had a school shirt on, with a dark blue tie and a sweater vest, Your hair tied into a low and messy bun with some of you natural and dyed hairs falling out framing your face. He felt his whole body go warm as you turned your head and gave him a nervous smile as a small blush formed. He didn't know why he was scared to see you, because every time Kazutora had the chance to see you, he instantly felt better, no matter what.

You two, and the other inmates and visitors, were all separated by a piece of plastic with a vent to capture sound better. On the side there was a subsection with an opening to the other side where you could pass things through. Such as notes, toys, hygiene stuff, and extra. You brought your hands to the table holding them.

“Hey...sorry I’m late.” you said as you saw Kazutora snap out of his gaze

“Oh no I-, please don’t be..” he said waving his hands frantically, clearly nervous

“I had to run about 2 miles to get here..” you laughed trying to not tense up

Kazutora felt… stupid, why would you do that? Just to see him? It just made him even more confused...confused about how he felt towards you.

“Just to see me? But..why?” he asked without thinking and just speaking, giving a regretful and embarrassed face after asking his question.

“Hm? Oh well it's simple really…” you said bringing your hands to rest in between your thighs on your seat

“I know that I've told you that I don't like saying these words to people because it sounds like some sort of goodbye but it’s time I grow up from my past, and stop keeping things in..so…it’s because I love you... I thought that was fairly obvious but I don't wanna mess up like I did last time. I want you to know that I do love you and care for you.” you said giving him a closed eyed smile, this made Kazutora realize that you deeply regretted not telling Keisuke that you loved him more often when you two still had time. He felt his heart ache. He felt so guilty and gross.

“So, I’m gonna try and start saying that more often..” you said laughing to break the silence

Kazutora was still speechless at what you had just said. He couldn’t seem to process it, and he wanted to say it back but for some reason he just couldn’t. He was afraid that something else might slip out. He truly didn't think he was worthy of your love and care. It became quiet. Again.

“I made you a bento box with your favorite things, I made sure to put some extra meat. Cause you always used to ask for that when I would make bentos for study days with you and Keisuke. And don’t worry! It’s allowed and you can have the kitchen hold it for you till you’re ready to eat it for today's dinner, the guards said so. And the container is microwave safe! So you can warm up the entree section. There’s rice and BBQ meat, little octopus shaped sausages and sauce with it! Oh and a salad with sesame dressing on the side, and desert which is just mochi. Every Friday I'll come by, and give you the new bento and you'll just give me back the old one, so that I can wash it and so we don't have to waste stuff.” you said smiling

Your hand dung into your bag, and you pulled out a wooden bento box sliding it halfway through the subsection, but Kazutora hung his head low. You smiled, trying your best to make things right, as silence grew loud again.

“I can also bring some mangas for you, I know you like shounen and also horror.. So I can buy some and give them to you so that you aren't bored! This week's shonen jump is good… It’s about a boy who is trying to save his mom, and ends up traveling across lands, with close friends, to get this special potion that will heal her, but I’ll make sure to look for some good horror manga too...I know you like stuff about folk tales, that sound okay?”

Silence.

After a few minutes you spoke again.

“I decided to let my hair grow out cause I kinda miss having longer hair…There's this really pretty girl in my class who has long blonde hair.. Like Emma’s but longer and more wavy.. What about you? Anything you wanna do to your hair when you get out? I’ll take you to get it done-”

Silence.

The time now at 4:40. Kazutora bit his lip out of frustration, refusing to look up at you.

“Oh! What about I bring over a sudoku book, so you can work on your academics as well! I can teach you how to play, it’s fun once you get the hang of it. Or I can bring just a simple literature book, it’s really up to you, I think both are great.”

Silence.

“Maybe markers so you can draw on yourself when you’re bored? I remember you doing that while I would tutor you and Keisuke. I can get big and small ones, and ones with different colors too. Also a sketch book, since you’re really good at drawing.”

You were met with silence again. You felt your heart ache. Your eyes looked up at the clock and saw it was 4:47. You both were running out of time. About half an hour went by of your speaking, you giving a couple minutes in between waiting for him to speak back, but nothing. You clenched your hands into fists, biting your bottom lip as you looked down at your hands, resting on your thighs.

You felt a strong feeling in your throat, the feeling you get when you’re about to sob. You were so frustrated, and you were trying to keep a level head. It was hard and you just wanted to fucking cry.

“I- '' you said before closing your mouth realizing you were about to let out a whine. You didn't wanna cry, you wanted to say something but you were afraid that if you did, it would just come out as a sob.

“I know it’s hard on you-” you said holding back your sobs while still looking down at your hands, letting your hairs cover your face

“If you don’t want me here, I promise- that I’m fine with that...but~” you said in between pauses keeping your sobs in, but your last word came out shaky making Kazutora shoot his head to see you about to cry.

He felt his heart ache once again.

“But please….jus-just say something. Anything. At least acknowledge that I'm here.” you cried quietly while tensing up your shoulders

Kazutora frowned. This was his punishment. Seeing you cry, and not being able to hold and comfort you like he desperately wanted to. He opened his mouth, but closed it soon after when nothing came out. Not even a squeak, or whine, or breath.

“I-”

You heard him say. You looked up with tears in your eyes seeing his face of desperation.

Kazutora wanted to speak so badly, there were so many thoughts in his head he just could not push one out of his mouth, and he was afraid he might say something he would regret. He wanted to respond to everything you asked him, add commentary, tell you that you looked pretty today, say thank you for the food you made him. Tell you to not waste your tears on someone like him. Say sorry for making you feel uncomfortable because of his silence. God he just-

“I love you-” he choked up and said in a louder tone causing your eyes to widen and mouth to part from shock at his sudden outburst.

He was avoiding your eyes as he spoke.

“I- thank you, thank you so much for the food! Really! And I would really love whatever and everything you bring me.” he said, quieting down towards the end.

“I...can’t put my thoughts into words… and I don’t wanna say something I’d regret. All this time I’ve just been lost in my own mind. I just want you to know that..that I really am in- that I really appreciate you. I want you..to be here, and I’m so...sorry for making you cry.” he said in between pauses of frustration and embarrassment

You felt your body get warm, your heart beat was strong and you could feel it in your finger tips and temples. You opened your mouth to say something before Kazutora spoke again.

“I..wanted to.. Wanted to help you...in just some way...after seeing you cry for the first time...with Baji in your arms….I shouldn't have stabbed Baji...I took the person you loved more than anything...away from you.. Because I was j- because I was so stupid, and still am. Even when you’ve done...so fucking much for me...I- and I took him from you...I just don’t get it… how can you have any empathy towards me anymore.. It doesn't make sense. I took so much from you… I killed Shinchiro, and I killed Baji. You loved them both...Mikey loved them both, why do..why do you even have any feeling towards me?” he said looking into your eyes with tears

Your eyes softened at him. You took a small breath before saying-

“I thought I already told you why, Kazutora. I love you.”

Kazutora felt a tear run down his cheek. He knew how much thought came behind those simple words.

“I don’t need a reason to love you. Just like I don't need a reason to be hungry. It’s just there, and will continue to be there, you know what I mean? Same thing with everyone I love.” you said

His breath hitched. The time now at 4:52.

“The only difference is I was in love with Keisuke. I still am in love with him. Even though he’s not here anymore. I know you might think I love him and Shinchiro and Mikey because they saved my life and helped me. But I was only so little. I had no concept of it. So was Keisuke. So was Mikey. Keisuke had no reason to come up to little me while I was starving on the ground practically dying. He just did it. He was too young to understand love. You think he understood his feelings for me the second he saw me? Or even with Mikey or Shinchiro. Of course not. They were just focussed on saving my life at the time. We discovered the love that was involved later. Even if it was too late to say anything about it. It took Kei and I about...hmmm..5-7 years maybe...to understand what we felt toward each other specifically. It is different with everyone. The love is just there, it’ll just be understood when the time is right. Like when your hunger just hits you. So when you ask me why I love you, or care for you, or forgive you. I just can’t give you a simple answer, even if I wanted to….because there's so much. Too much.”

Kazutora understood your words. He really did. It made so much sense to him and he just wanted to scream.

Why? Well..

“The time will come where you believe that you're worthy of someone else's love and even your own, and even worth loving someone else yourself. So don’t worry. I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as it takes. Even if it takes all the time in the world, okay?” you said smiling at him leaving him with shocked eyes

“Alright times up! 5 o'clock!” yelled a guard

“Well, I'll see you next Friday, okay? I’ll bring over some manga, oh! And don't forget the bento!” you said getting up from your seat as Kazutora did the same keeping his hands on the table as the guard came to cuff them

“Y/n I-I’m…”

No. He can’t say it. He can never ever say it. Why? And say what?

Because he will never be him. He can never be like him for you, and he was perfect for you. He was the one there for you. He had the time to love you. He was the one. He could never even compete. Not after what he did. Not after the jealousy and envy grew and brewed inside him towards him. He is filthy. Not worthy of your love. Right?

But someday, he desperately and genuinely wants to allow himself to be loved, and to love. Kazutora will forever be longing for that moment. And when he can love, and allow himself to be loved, he wants it to be with you.

But till that time comes..

“I’ll...really be looking forward to it.” he said biting back his words and smiling softly

“Likewise.” you said smiling as you both parted your ways, at least for the time being.

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

Explanation/note: when i wrote this, i made y/n be a ‘foster’ siblings with Draken and childhood friends with Mikey and Keisuke. << Reason being is because i gave her a backstory where she was neglected and ran away, hence her having a more naturing personality. Y/n and Keisuke were a couple till he died but Kazutora always loved Y/n so it’s a love triangle in a way? I don’t know, but Kazutora grew envious of Keisuke in this ff which ended up being a motive to stabbing him during the fight, to which he later regrets and gets punishment for. Y/n in the story doesn’t know that so that’s why Kazutora can’t accept her love for real because he doesn't know if Y/n will really forgive him after that, and Kazutora won’t be able to learn/accept love till he admits what he did. Holding in that secret, and being in love with Y/n makes him feel frustrated and act out. And obviously time is the theme of this whole story. Kazutora at the end decided to avoid his feelings because the way things are going right now fro the time being for him are fine because he doesn't believe he deserves anything more. But that can only last for so long, so he’s gambling with his relationship with you. He thinks of it as his punishment for now, not being able to tell you how he really feels, and not being able to comfort you.

ANYWAYS hope you liked it, sorry if it’s confusing.

#tokyo revengers #tokyorev x reader #kazutora #kazutora x reader #angst #keisuke baji #baji #mikey tokyo revengers #draken #tokyo manji gang #baji x reader

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butwhyduh · 4 years

Text

A Date to Remember

Damian Wayne x Superman’s daughter reader

Damian is 20, reader 19, Jon is her little brother at 18 and Kon acts like an older brother to her.

Warning: angsty and kidnapping

You’d always told Damian that the sunset on the Kent farm was the best in the world. Damian smiled a little as he drove down the long road to Smallville. Damian had thought about classic dinner date in one of Metropolis’ fanciest restaurants but you insisted on meeting him in a barn.

He felt underdressed. Blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Why did he let Jon help him get dressed? He felt ridiculous but at least he wore sensible shoes. But deep down Damian knew you world like it. And he was certainly willing to feel a little foolish for you.

Clark was off world and Lois was on a mission. Jon had his own date in the city so it was the both of you alone tonight. How long had it been since the two of you were alone without someone around? Between his half a dozen brothers and your family with literal super hearing... yeah it’s been tough. So being 50 miles from everyone was kind of a dream.

Damian pulled in the driveway with some flowers and walked up to the house. He knocked on the door only for it to swing open. Damian noticed the splintered door frame and his heart sped up. He called your name. Act like the rich billionaire son while working like Robin, even though he wasn’t quite sure he still wanted the name.

He scanned every surface and he noticed a small scratch near the back door after looking through every room. Most people wouldn’t even notice it. You weren’t there. He looked closely and saw drag marks in the gravel path to the barn. His heart was thundering at this point. You weren’t in the barn either.

You were half Kryptonian but the genetic inheritance was complicated. Jon had won the lottery with having most of his father’s powers and not being as sensitive to Kryptonite. You had lost it. Hypersensitive to Kryptonite and only some speed and increased hearing and strength. Barely about the average human. You weren’t a fighter.

Damian pulled out his phone to call Jon.

“Bit busy here, Damian,” Jon said, sounding far from amused. Damian could hear kissing noises in the background and frowned. He didn’t want to hear that.

“Your sister is missing,” he said and he heard a lot of movement on the phone.

“What??”

“The door jam was kicked in and there are scrap marks of her being dragged away. I think she’s been kidnapped,” Damian said. His voice felt tight. He, son of Batman, let his girlfriend get kidnapped. “Whoever it was clearly waited until she had no other Kryptonians around to grab her. It wasn’t a coincidence that she was taken tonight. Can you get out here? I’m calling father to try and trace her. Her phone is missing too.”

“I’m leaving in 5. Damian, if Luther has her, she can’t handle Krytonite,” Jon said, worry bleeding into his voice. “It’s like it poisons her.”

“I know. But we don’t know who has her. Let’s hope they don’t know she’s part Krytonian,” Damian said, already mentally moving on to his next step. Contact Bruce. Get the bat computer to trace her. Look for more evidence. Don’t freak out completely that she might be poisoned by Kyrotonite.

“Okay. I’m about to fly. I’ll see you soon,” Jon said before hanging up.

——————————

You woke up with a cough. You head throbbed and your stomach rolled as you laid in a bed? Maybe a couch? It was a horrible feeling but you knew exactly what it was: Kryptonite. You couldn’t forget what how that stuff made you feel. You tried to look around to see it but the room was completely dark. Night vision would be nice but you got human eyes. Your slightly enhanced hearing heard nothing but the wind outside. Okay, you were ground level or higher.

You tried to twist in the cuffs that bound your hands only to cry out. There was the Kryptonite. It was on the outside of the cuffs and you almost threw up at it touched your skin. You were cuffed with Kryptonite to a hospital bed, you figured. What other bed had areas perfect for cuffs? Your legs were equally restrained and you felt so exposed in the dark room.

Your dad was off world. He wouldn’t hear you if you called for him. But Jon might. But if you yelled, someone might come in and who knows what they would do. You’d wait a little bit longer. You wanted to fall asleep. The Kryptonite made you feel so dull. Like the first time you were exposed to it.

You were all of 4 years old. Your dad had brought you with him to the Justice League meeting. Relatively safe and Batman promised Robin would watch you. Dick was so excited to be a babysitter. You had hugged him tight enough to hurt before running to the climbing wall.

“Hey!” Called the 16 year old. “I brought games instead!”

You warily walked back over to him and card games and board games fell out of a duffle bag as he opened it. Half the stuff you were far too young for. You bent down as he scooped up his gameboy. You pulled out some games and open a side pocket to grab a small metal box. Dick sat down his gameboy carefully before turning back to you.

“Don’t open th-“ he started before you pulled open the box to show a bright green stone. Followed by you throwing up all over his bag of games. You dropped the box and sat on the floor. Dick quickly closed the box with the piece of Kryptonite and put it in his pocket. He had boroughed one of Bruce’s bags that apparently wasn’t fully unpacked.

“Dad, I don’t feel good,” you said as Clark ran over. Dick looked at you so guiltily.

“I didn’t know,” he swore. “I’m so sorry.” Bruce stood by quietly.

“We need to talk later,” Clark had told Bruce and yeah, they were mad at each other for a while.

——————————————

Jon arrived shortly in a dress shirt and slacks and he looked at Damian just as weird as Damian looked at him. They had basically switched clothing.

“Not to judge but that’s date clothing? You told me to not wear flannel,” Jon said accusingly.

“That’s because your sister wanted me to wear this,” Damian said back. “Let’s focus on finding her. Father’s calling me now. We’ll change in a minute.”

“Hello, you’re on speaker phone,” Damian said.

“Her tracker is showing a warehouse owned by Luthor Corp in downtown Metropolis,” Bruce said. “Do you need help? I can see if Dick is nearby.”

“No thanks. Jon will help me. Thank you, father,” Damian said before hanging up.

“Luthor. I knew it,” Jon said with a frown. “Wait, you put a tracker on my sister? Does she know?”

“Now is not the time. Let’s get to Metropolis,” Damian said, changing the subject while both got dressed. Jon nodded and offered his arms. “I’m not being carried like that. I’ll hold on your back,” Damian said. Jon rolled his eyes and nodded again.

As they flew over corn fields and pastures, Jon began to question Damian. “So when did you put this tracker in? Does she even know? Where is it? Do I want to even know?”

“It’s sub-dermal in her forearm and I haven’t told her yet. And it’s irrelevant right now as it might save her life,” Damian said and Jon looked disgusted. “We need to focus on saving her and then you can be her angry brother.”

“Wow...”

————————————

You moved and the cuffs burned your skin. You gasped and screamed “Jon! Kon!” You called out to them hoping one of them would hear you.

“Dad!” you cried frantic. There was no way he would hear you. “Damian! Jonathan! Conner!”

You panted and your head pounded. You were so tired. You’d lose consciousness if no one saved you. Then who knows what they would do to you.

“Superman!” You screamed desperately before finally passing out.

——————————

“Did you hear that?” Jon said as they flew towards the Metropolis skyline.

“No all I hear is wind. What did you hear?” Damian said.

“Y/n. She’s calling for us,” Jon said speeding up.

“Is she okay?” Fear bled into Damian’s voice.

“I can’t tell. I’m trying to hurry,” Jon said flying quickly towards the industrial area of the city. He landed on the roof of a warehouse. Jon’s eyes glowed as he looked through the building.

“7 men. 4 posted outside the door to the room that’s she’s being held on the 2nd floor. Her heart rate is steady and she isn’t screaming any more. Almost sounds asleep,” Jon said after his analysis.

“Probably tranquilizer. Father’s data said this building is used for research purposes. Does that fit?” Damian asked.

“Uh more like research subject holding. Maybe a small lab on the first floor but other than cameras everywhere, there isn’t much science stuff that I can scan. But also the basement is sealed off,” Jon said.

“How?”

“Lead bound. You can check it out while I rescue her. 4 guys is nothing,” Jon said making a fist.

“Hold on. Luthor would probably have her surrounded by Kryptonite. Just in case one of you look for her. And that’s the last thing we need,” Damian said. “I’ll rescue her and you look for the basement. Knowing Luthor, it’s probably an entire facility of experiments below. He just hadn’t gotten her room ready yet.”

Jon looked frustrated. “Fine. You rescue her but be careful. She is the weakest of us. She’s not invulnerable to bullets or anything.”

“Most of the people I rescue aren’t either,” Damian reminded him. “And I’m certainly not taking a chance with my beloved.”

Jon looked over to respond but Damian was already gone. Just like the rest of the bats: silent goodbyes. Jon quietly moved down to the first floor. He was working but at the same time, his ear was trained on his sister’s heartbeat. Jon might be the younger sibling but she didn’t have powers and he felt so protective.

—————————————

Damian rolled his eyes at the 5 ways he could see that the security sucks in the 3 minutes he hung out the window before climbing in. Large rafters and guards who didn’t bother to look up. Not to mention the fact that they let there be a solid wall between the set of guards which meant that Damian was easily able to jump down to knock them out in pairs without the other set knowing. If the security was any worse they would leave the door unlocked.

The door wasn’t unlocked but it was a deadbolt that Damian easily disabled. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it was on purpose. He gulped before opening the door. What if you were really hurt? Or dead? Ignore and get in there.

Damian opened the door and he felt white hot rage. You were tied to a bed and were unconscious. You were in a nice dressy shirt and sweatpants. They’d clearly taken you while you were getting dressed. Damian wanted to kill them. He had to take a breath to help you. Jon was taking them out and Damian was on rescue. He had to stay level headed.

Even the cuffs on your wrists were inadequate. If they had attempted to restrain Damian, he would have gotten out in 3 minutes. When he was 6 years old. The Kryptonite had left nasty red burns on your skin and he clenched his jaw at the sight. Jon better be punching extra hard.

Damian picked you up bridal style and you groaned a little before turning your head against his chest. The farther he got you from that fucking Kryotonite the better you were. He took you to the roof and you started waking up.

“Damian,” you said softly and a little confused.

“Hey you’re awake. How are you feeling?” He asked looking all over your face for injury.

“Kryptonite. I hate that stuff,” you said. Damian grabbed your hand and you hissed. He looked to see bright red knuckles. You’d clearly fought at some point. He certainly knew the signs of punching someone.

“You fought back?”

“Yeah and hitting someone in a helmet and body armor sucks. I got just a few in before they pulled out the damn rock. I throw up every damn time,” you said shaking your head.

Before Damian could comment on how brave and stupid it was to punch body armor, there was a huge crash down on the first floor as someone flew in the building through the window. You grabbed him tightly.

“What the hell is that?”

“Kon. Conner’s here. I’m up here,” you yelled.

Conner flew up to the roof. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Kidnapped. Damian and Jon saved me. He’s still down there actually. Can you check on him?” You said. Damian suddenly stood up.

“What if you were a distraction and the real problem is downstairs?” Damian suddenly said with clarity. The Kryptonite alone was enough to hold you down. The half ass security was to hold their attention when they rescued you. Jon was already flying back down before Damian could say more. Damian weighed his options: leave you alone, bring you with him, or stay out of it and while the last sounded nice, he’d have to go in case of more Kryptonite.

Before Damian could decide, Kon was back on the roof. “You’ve got to come see this.”

Downstairs was a lead lined basement. That alone had you nervous. Jon stood by the door. Little spattering of blood could be seen on his hands. He had a hard look.

“Warning: this is going to be messed up,” he said and you were even more worried. You walked in to see cages. Kids. Unconscious adults lay around in the hallway. “They were experimenting on them.”

You felt nauseous.

“My father is on the way. This is much bigger than I thought,” Damian said messing with his comms. His free hand was on your shoulder protectively.

There were 8 kids in cages. Bruce was running tests on their blood and investigating the area as you helped to get them out of the cages. What a terrible Valentine’s Day.

“Beloved, let’s get you home. We can stay at the farm tonight. You need sleep,” Damian said worried. You looked at him distracted.

“They’re just kids.”

“Come on. Let’s go. Kon is going to stay there too. Just for the night,” Damian said helping you up. Kon flew you both back to the farm.

“I’m going back to help. You okay, kid,” Kon asked as Damian inspected the house.

“I’ll be alright. Just help those kids,” you said.

“Yeah, of course,” he said ruffling your head. You rolled your eyes. “But seriously, the way you screamed I thought you were being murdered.”

You stiffened. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

Kon knew when to quit. Something he had learned from Tim. He gave you a big hug and flew off towards Metropolis.

“Hey. I made your bed so you can sleep,” Damian said quietly. “And a change of clothes.”

You nodded and went upstairs. Damian helped pull off your shirt and put on a sweater. He looked at the marks around your wrist and red knuckles but didn’t note any more bruises or cuts. You pulled on sweatpants and climbed in small twin bed that Lois kept for guests. The pink and yellow flowery quilt felt warm and comforting on your skin. Damian lay beside you after changing and looked at you seriously.

“What is it,” you asked.

“I was so scared tonight. I have been doing this for years and I’ve never been so worried,” he said softly and you looked down and flushed. If you weren’t so freaking sensitive to Kryptonite this wouldn’t have happened. Damian gently lifted your chin and you looked at him.

“I was scared to lose you,” he said running his thumb across your cheek. “I’m going to drive you absolutely mad because I don’t want to take my eyes off of you.”

“Yeah?” You said with a little smile.

“Uh hm. But first sleep,” he said and your body certainly agreed. You curled into him and rest your head on his chest. His arms held you tightly before rubbing your back. You fell asleep to Damian staring at you. He stared at you all night, not even sleeping when Kon came in a few hours later.

———————————

“I have to know what all that was, Bruce,” you said at the Batcave the next day. “I was in there.”

He looked at you for a minute. “They were experimenting with meta DNA. All of those kids have gifts and they wanted to take you too. There were even plans to inject those kids with your blood to see if it would affect them.”

You shivered a little at the thought. Lex Luthor and his obsession with Kryptonian DNA.

“All the records were burned. Most of the warehouse too. Your brothers were.... thorough. And Clark will be home in a few days,” Bruce added.

“Really?”

“Yes. And he’s furious at Luthor. Probably will call soon. He wanted to let you sleep earlier. We’re just running programs here. Why don’t you and Damian go upstairs,” he suggested.

“Bruce Wayne,” came a stern voice behind you. You turned to see your mother, Lois Lane, looking like she was going to beat up Batman. “You put a tracker in my daughter without her permission?”

“You what?” You said.

“Actually that was Damian. Though I want to point out that it helped save her life,” Bruce added. Lois slapped him soundly across the cheek. Bruce just blinked and rubbed his cheek.

“Damian, you put a tracker in me?” You asked shocked. You’d assumed Jon had heard you or Damian’s detective work brought them to the warehouse. Not an invasive tracker in your body. “What the hell?”

“Well I can explain..”

#Damian Wayne x reader #damian al ghul x reader #robin x reader #Damian Wayne angst #valentine fic #batboy x reader #dc #fns

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Text

Accidental Family

Hey folks! This is one of two fics for the six month celebration of this blog! Woohoo! Blood on the Ice is one of the most popular series I've written, and expanding it into Josie’s (@prohibitionincurls ) Winging It world with her was unbelievably fun. Disclaimer: one of the OCs has ADHD and it is a central theme of the story--while Josie based some of his characteristics on her own experience, we both recognize that this is not a one-size-fits-all situation. Thank you again for six amazing months, and I hope you enjoy!

Lots of love,

Eve <3

TW for mentioned injury

“Oh my god, they’re gonna kill me,” the kid whispered in a wavering voice, sounding much younger than he actually was as he left the penalty box.

“They’re not going to kill you,” Bowie soothed, still watching the tunnel where Remus had disappeared mere minutes earlier. From what he saw, there had been a bit of blood, but the bruising didn’t look too bad. Then again, there had barely been enough time for anything to visibly swell before he was whisked away.

“Can I just stay in the box?” Felix cast a look toward the Lions bench and his voice cracked. “They can’t yell at me in the box, right?”

“Hey. Look at me, Marty.” Bowie took him by the shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. “The Lions are good guys. They’re not going to hurt you, but you did just fuck up one of their best friends. What would you do if someone hit me in the face?”

“Come on, man, I’m a terrible fighter. I don’t know how well I’d be able to defend your honor after something like that. It was an accident. Do you think they know it was an accident? Should I go tell them?”

“I know. They know. Loops definitely knows. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re a little cold at first.” He ruffled the rookie’s hair and turned back to the game; the Lions were moving fast and brutal, slicing right through their defense for yet another goal. Shit. Felix clearly felt bad enough already--losing the game wouldn’t make him feel any better.

They ended up losing the game.

Bowie had figured it might happen; he would have had the same fire if it had been his teammate that got clocked like that. Hell, he used to have the same fire when he and Remus had played together, so he completely understood.

That did not change the fact that once they got home, Felix was still borderline inconsolable. The 18-year-old wasn’t technically billeting with them, but the apartment he was renting just so happened to be in the same building, on the same floor, and right across the hall from his and Simon’s. This led to an informal adoption of the rookie and he was around their house at least five times a week, if not more.

Felix Martin was a good kid, and that idea was confirmed when Kronk immediately took a liking to him; the cat loved nobody but the three of them. Bowie was grateful that he and Simon were there to quell some of the homesickness that came from moving out to a new city on his own for the first time. The transition was always tough, but they could provide a little support.

They parted ways from the team when the bus got back from the rink and drove to their building in silence. Once they made their way up the stairs and down the hall, Felix moved to go back to his apartment.

“Nope,” Bowie said immediately, placing a hand on his shoulder and steering him through the door to his and Simon’s place. It wasn’t a good idea for Felix to be alone right now--there was nothing to do alone after a loss aside from beat himself up about it, and Bowie would be damned before he let that happen.

Simon and Kronk were perched on the couch, but they both moved into the kitchen as soon as the door clicked closed. Simon took one look at the pair and carefully wrapped his arms around Felix; the kid practically melted. The three of them stood there for a moment until Simon pulled back a bit and tilted his head toward the living room. Felix nodded and Bowie followed the two, sharing the couch with Simon while the rookie curled up in the large armchair diagonal to them.

He...well, if Bowie was being honest, Felix looked like hell. He chewed his lower lip like an anxious beaver and fiddled with the loose threads of the closest armrest; everything about him screamed discomfort. Bowie caught Simon’s worried glance in his periphery and let out a slow breath, trying to relieve at least a little of the tension in the room.

“You don’t have to relive it if you don’t want to. I saw the game. But if you want to talk about it…” Simon trailed off with a significant look.

Felix sighed and his shoulders caved in a bit. “It was just one of those moments. All of a sudden, I didn’t really have a grasp on what was going on, which feels like shit because I’ve been doing pretty well so far. I dunno. It was just...bad.”

That was it. Bowie knew Felix had seemed a little off. When Felix mentioned he had ADHD at the start of the season during one of their ‘getting to know your neighbor’ chats, Bowie hadn’t thought much of it. But as they grew closer, he began to notice when Felix forgot to eat or drink, or got overwhelmingly excited about something, or when he suddenly spaced out. It wasn’t just Felix being Felix.

The whole team stepped up and became intensely protective, of course. They not only helped him remember meal times, but also scheduling, directions, and everything in between. Bowie felt especially responsible for reasons he didn’t entirely understand--there was just something about the kid’s sweet heart that struck a chord.

He also knew that Felix was highly emotionally intelligent, but had no concept of whether people liked him or not. He was someone who assumed the worst, all the time. So, Bowie decided to do the only thing he knew would work: after a few more beats of uncomfortable silence, he pulled his phone out, tapped a few buttons, and pressed ‘call’.

“Hey, Remus, are you alive?”

An amused snort came from the speaker even as Felix blanched. “Hello to you, too, Bowie. Jeez, you’re worse than Sirius. I’m one hundred percent alive, just a little swollen. Your rookie’s got a helluva shot, but maybe tell the kid to hit the puck and not my face next time.”

Felix flushed red and put his face between his knees, though hearing the laughter in Remus’s voice and knowing that he was okay clearly took some of the weight off his shoulders. Bowie whooped internally and shot him a quick, reassuring smile.

“Yeah, the kid’s got spirit, but he’s also got ADHD. He’s great most of the time, but sometimes under extreme pressure he can’t figure out where the fuck he--or anything else around him--is. Something about focusing or neurons firing the wrong way, maybe? Either way, it’s why he’s a terrible fuckin’ driver.”

Felix flopped back against the chair with a groan. “How the hell am I supposed to know how far away the cars around me are based on the mirrors? And how am I supposed to park?!”

Remus’s laugh echoed once again. “Don’t ask me, kid, I’m not allowed to drive, either. Not because I’m ADHD, but because I’m terrible at it.”

“You can say that again!” a muffled voice called from behind Remus.

“Please excuse my fiance,” Remus said politely. “He’s a jackass who’s trying to make me lay down again.”

Felix smiled, though it was a bit pained. “I didn’t get a chance to apologize earlier. That stick was totally on me. And--I mean, I heard some of the guys talking afterward and it sounded like you got pretty banged up, so I’m really sorry. Like, really sorry.”

“Hey, woah, you’re fine,” Remus soothed. Bowie recognized his ‘talking to newbies’ voice and hid a smile in the cuff of his hoodie. “It’s the name of the game, after all. Did Bowie ever tell you about the time I accidentally checked him into a wall? Or when I broke his visor with a puck? For context, this was when we were on the same team.”

“Or that time you kicked my legs out from under me and sent me sprawling across the ice during practice.”

“That one was on purpose.”

Bowie glared at the phone, but Felix was snickering and his grin was genuine. It calmed him a bit. “Thanks, Loops.”

“No problem, kiddo.” Remus paused for a moment, then mumbled something inaudible to someone in the background before clearing his throat. “Bowie.”

“Yes?” Remus had never been a wild card, per se, but he certainly had a knack for asking strange questions out of the blue.

“Did you accidentally adopt a child or do my ears deceive me?”

Bowie was about to laugh at the absurdity of it, but then he took a moment to think, looking back and forth between Simon and Felix. “Fuckin’--maybe I did, Re, but he’s ours now. And if that’s the case, I’m going to formally request that you tell your fiance to quit being mean to my son.”

Remus laughed on the other end of the line. “Will do. Felix seems like a sweetheart, I’m glad he’s got you two.”

Bowie nodded with a slight smile, even though Remus couldn’t see him. “So are we. I can practically sense Sirius hovering, so go let your boyfriend fuss over you for a little while.”

An offended noise came from Remus’s side, followed by a lower laugh and the click of the call ending.

Simon looked Felix dead in the eyes. “I’m seconding the ‘kid’ thing. You may just barely be a legal adult, but it doesn’t mean we can’t adopt you. Congrats on your new gay dads.”

Felix’s bright laugh sent a wave of relief through Bowie. “You guys are only, like, eight years older than me.”

“Silence, spawn,” Simon said, pointing a playful finger at him as his grin widened into something sweet and lopsided. “Now both of you need to come eat something. I made cookies while you were getting pushed around for a living.”

Bowie was still worried about Remus’ face--he made a mental note to call the next day to check in--but all his concerns disappeared as Felix scooped the cat up for a snuggle and followed Simon into the kitchen. They may have lost the game, but he would lose a million Cups to keep that moment forever: his Simon fussing over them both, his cat purring in pure bliss, and his kid settling into place at last.

#remus lupin #sirius black #bowie #felix martin #simon #sweater weather #coast to coast #lumosinlove #coops #hockey #adhd #blood on the ice #found family #prohibitionincurls #collab #fanfic #my fic

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nanaminokanojo · 3 years

Text

Play the Game | Nanami Kento X You | Part 8/8 [COMPLETED]

collection masterlist

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight (final)

"Play the Game" Masterlist

You stood by the door, watching the chaos in your brother’s bedroom as he prepared for his wedding at sunset, waiting for everyone to leave so you can finally speak to him in private. He was, after all, the only one in the family you cared for enough to inform him of your decisions.

People always say you and Gojo were similar. However, those very things that made you alike also set you apart. Besides the platinum white hair and remarkable blue eyes you shared – unique even within the clan – being the absolute obvious, the similarities stopped there.

You siblings were supposed to be akin to one another, but the same things they loved about your brother were the same things people abhorred about you. You and your brother were both prodigies. He was richer than the whole clan, all assets combined being the successful businessman he was ever since he was in his teens. It was as freakish as it was awe-inspiring. You were an artist of great renown with your multi-million dollar pieces and the youngest to have been dubbed as a national artist when you were the same age as him.

But where he basked in fame and acclaim, your prominence was fueled by infamy. Gojo built an empire that served as one of the pillars of the local economy. You produced artistic pieces that inspired execration and controversy. Undeniably brilliant, yes, but absolutely contentious.

Your brother was kind. In fact, he was the best older brother one could ever ask for, and that was not lip service nor was it because of your biases towards him. You can never discount how caring he is to you, how hard he tries to make you happy and how he would go through lengths as to be the idiot just to satisfy your whims. He was just genuinely good-natured although he appeared somewhat insouciant. He had his evil streak, too, which is established in the clan, but his goodness radiated like a light that followed him wherever he went.

However, you have long accepted that your side which reflected Gojo in every way when you were younger had long died. Altruism wasn’t one of your strongest suits and you were only ever affectionate to people you had deep, deep fondness for. And that wasn’t even something common. Even your parents had always been the receiving end of your lackadaisical attitude.

He attracted people, you repelled them. Being surrounded by the good people he called friends was a testament to that no matter how vexing his personality was, and more people want to be near him. Apart from your three friends, you didn't make any more and your school life sucked because majority of your classmates hated you. For what, you didn't know. You don’t think you will ever understand.

It was your seven-year gap that made all the difference, you liked to think. It was much easier to swallow than the concept of the whole cosmos conspiring to create two creatures to be equals but of the opposite nature. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be that way, but you will always be the one looking up to him regardless if you did not choose the same path as his; regardless of whether there were no comparisons with what either of you endeavored to do.

And above everything else, you loved Satoru very much.

“Got a minute?” You began, standing before him in front of the mirror. It was rather annoying watching him struggle with the cufflinks, and you didn’t think he would manage to fix the bowtie still hanging loosely on his neck. Thus, you thought of taking charge. “Give it here.”

Gojo was surprised, but he was nonetheless happy. He wore his heart on his sleeve after all, and you could only guess it was that vulnerability he risked showing that attracted people to him. You have only learned the intricacies of such a matter recently, something you had to agree with since it all made perfect sense.

“Thank you,” he said, tilting his head to the side, watching you work on his cuffs.

“You’re really getting married, huh?” you began, feeling yourself start to falter, but you have decided. You may not have gotten him the best wedding gift materially speaking, but you swore to let him in on what was going on with you, to be honest with him like you hadn’t been for the longest time. “Who would have known?”

“Am I finally getting that emotional pre-wedding sibling talk?” he asked, walking towards the seats by the window and looking out into the garden.

“You’re getting married, not being sent away to prison. I don’t even understand why this happens during weddings,” you quipped, sighing. “But I guess you could call it that.”

He smiled at you, patting the space beside him. You did as you were told, assuming the spot, but also looking out the window, watching as the organizers made finishing touches to the garden below. No expense was spared to make the occasion as perfect as it could get. You couldn’t argue with it. Gojo deserved the best, and to him, Utahime did, too.

“I’m waiting,” he said, breaking the silence that had befallen the room. “You’ve been pacing before the door for god knows how long when you should have been getting ready.”

“I got ready much faster than you did.”

“And you look beautiful.” He tilted his head to the side, eyeing you appreciatively. “Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re all grown up. And what a beautiful woman you’ve become.”

You smirked. “You’re looking at your mirror image after all.”

“Well, there’s that, of course.” He laughed slightly. “But I’m not just saying that because we’re basically the same person. You really are beautiful, baby sis.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, opting for it instead of his usual choice of mussing your hair since it has already been styled for the wedding.

You just shook your head. “Thank you, Satoru.”

“So, what did you want to talk about exactly?”

“The other day…” Your voice trailed off, thinking about what to say. It wasn’t that way before between you and your brother. He was always the easiest person to talk to, always open minded and optimistic about matters. But now that you were going to discuss something that he had vocally opposed, you were a bit scared of saying anything. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t do Nanami justice if you decided to hold back now, considering that he was more than ready to speak to your brother.

You’ve both initially decided to sit Gojo down and tell him about your decisions together, but you informed Nanami earlier in the day that you needed to have a proper conversation with him first. It wasn’t just your choice to be with Nanami that was the matter, and you wanted to get things straightened out with Gojo before he gets married.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“You said I don’t talk enough to you; that I don’t tell you things anymore.”

Gojo slowly nodded.

You breathed out. “Things changed. We can’t deny that. I grew up and you…well, you’ve decided you want to spend your life with Iori and build your own family.” Your lips curled up awkwardly as you tried to keep your emotions at bay. It was new territory having such talks with him when you’re used to your easy-going dynamic with him. “I’m scared, too. I mean, I can’t just bother you anytime anymore cause you’ll have your wife and eventually children to pay attention to and prioritize.”

He was taken aback by what you said, immediately drawing closer. “What are you saying, Y/N? You’re my sister. Nothing will change –”

“Our bond will not change, dude, but you have to admit that what I’m saying is true.” You took his hand in yours, squeezing it gently. You beamed at the fact that your fingers were structured in the same tapered manner as his. Even the shape of your fingernails were the same, just that his hands were bigger than your delicate ones. “What I’m saying is that even if you need to do that, I will be fine.”

“Of course, you will be. You’re my sister, and above that, you are your own person, and you’re stronger than you think. You’ve been handling things on your own for as long as I can remember.” He pouted, trying to act cute with you. “It’s disappointing, to be honest, because you’ve never really given me the chance to play my role in your life because you’re always the mature one.”

You were confused now. “What are you on about? You’re my only brother, but I can’t imagine anyone else holding that position in my life. You’re the best I could have asked for. I’ve always looked up to you. You’re my role model.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. The fuck are you so surprised for?” You snickered. “That aside, if you felt like I’ve been leaving you out, that’s not the intention at all. I always want you to be the first one to know what’s going on with my life…”

He clucked his tongue. “I understand you’re not doing it on purpose, kid. I’m just worried that you didn’t think I’m worth telling anything because, well, I’m not exactly a proper adult, am I?”

“You’re realizing that now that you’re about to get married?” you taunted him, jabbing your thumb towards the direction of the garden. “Should I tell Iori to call this whole thing off?”

He waved you aside. “Hey, don’t say that!”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Anyway, there’s something I wanted to tell you for a while now.”

“How long is a while, exactly?”

“Years and years.” You flashed him a rueful smile. “I just couldn’t figure out how to tell you because I am not exactly sure how you feel about it although you’ve told me many times you were opposed to it. What I’m saying it that, I know that fact, but it’s the motivation behind it that is beyond my knowledge.”

Gojo’s eyes rounded, realizing what you were saying. “Are you…”

You nodded. “Yes, I am talking about Kento.”

He just blinked and stood up, pacing around in front of you for a while that you had to stop him from doing it. He had such a bad habit of doing that when he is in deep thought, and always in front of you, too. He was making you dizzy.

You seized him by the wrist. “Please say something.”

“I…”

“Why are you opposed to it?”

He stopped pacing and faced you, taking you by the shoulders, his eyes starting to water. “Y/N…”

“Oh no, are you gonna cry?”

He furiously blinked his tears back, the action almost comical if it weren’t for the serious look on his face. “Because you are my little sister. You think it will be easy for me to just hand you over to anyone? My friends aren’t exceptions to that although I trust them with everything that I have. I will always, always worry about you when it comes to that matter because I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want you to be taken advantage of, and I don’t want to have to break either Suguru or Kento’s bones when the time comes.”

“I can manage the latter on my own.” You sighed, finding your resolve strengthening. “But like you said, I’m this old now. I want you to understand that I know what I am doing and I am confident about my decisions. Honestly, I didn’t want to talk about this as if I am asking for your permission. This is what I meant when I said I will be fine. I am not saying you don’t have a say in my life, but I am telling you this time because I want you to know before anyone else does.”

“Suguru doesn’t know?” he asked, eyes sparkling.

“Don’t be petty. I tell him things I can’t tell you just like you tell him things you can’t tell me,” but you nodded anyway. “He doesn’t know yet…I think.”

“So…you and Kento…”

You nodded again. “I’m in love with him, Satoru. And he feels the same way.”

“You are?” His expressions softened, hugging you to him. “You’ve grown. Really grown.”

You returned the gesture, holding onto him tight. “Please don’t ever think that I am leaving you out of my life because I always want to tell you everything.”

Just then, he pulled back, his brows furrowing while his eyes narrowed at you. “So, why isn’t he the one telling me this? Where is that bastard?”

You shrugged. “He wants to be here. Trust me. I just asked him if I could talk to you first because I have issues to resolve with you apart from my relationship with him.”

Gojo exhaled, nodding in understanding. “I understand, Y/N. But are you certain?”

“Yes. I’m scared of hurting him, but I’ll do my best, I guess.”

“Hmm, yeah. Maybe you should tone down on your mischief, too. I don’t want him dying of stress because of you. He’s still precious to me.”

At that, you laughed. “I know.”

He poked you on the cheek. “Alright then. If that’s what makes you happy, I won’t stand in your way. You have my blessing.” His teeth clenched then. “But I’m still going to have to talk to him man to man in case he thinks he’s off the hook.”

“Worry about your wedding first,” you jibed.

“I almost forgot about that.”

“I’m telling Iori.”

He shook his head, feigning panic. “Don’t.”

You both ended up laughing, joking about the guests who were arriving at the garden, poking fun at the relatives you both detested but had no choice but to invite. Just like that, you were back to how it used to be, easily conversing and sharing the same sentiments about things and same penchant for devilry.

Soon, the organizer came to his room, informing him that he needed to go to the garden to prepare. You reached up and fixed his tie and jacket for him, holding him at arm’s length to appreciate your handiwork. “You’re all set.”

“Thank you.” He smiled wide but you saw the nervousness in his eyes. “I’m getting married!”

“You are.”

“I’m more anxious about seeing Kento after what you told me,” he stated dramatically.

You eyed him witheringly. “Shut up and pull yourself together.”

He snickered then. “Kidding. Let’s go.”

“Okay.”

The two of you walk to the garden, your arm around his. He stood at the spot just by the last row of seats with you, grinning at you when he saw you looking at Nanami who was already dutifully standing on his spot, speaking to Geto.

“Concentrate on your vows, yeah?” you told your brother.

“I’m off.”

“In case we don’t get to talk before you leave for your honeymoon,” you began, “Just know that I am waiting for the speedy arrival of my nieces and nephews.”

Gojo laughed at that, but nodded anyway and said, “I’ll do a good job, I promise.”

“And Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“Love you.”

“I know, kid. I know.” He turned on his heels and walked towards his place at the front pews while you watched, his steps leading you towards the very man you would want to see standing there when the time comes, his halo of golden locks bright under the setting sun but you knew your future with him would be even more brilliant.

The familiar bars of Johann Pachelbel’s “Canon” began to play in a modified, slowed-down wedding version made especially for Gojo and Utahime’s wedding, played on the harp, piano and violin, cueing the beginning to the entrance of the bridal entourage. It began with the entrance of the flower girls who scattered petals of different flowers on the white carpet that lined the long aisle.

Arches and bouquets of flowers festooned the garden, with gossamer cloth hanging about, interlaced with live wisteria that hung down from the canopy along with fairy lights that progressively turned on as the sky grew darker. White and pink dominated the color palette as Utahime had wished and the same goes for the reception area. It was probably one of the most beautiful wedding setups Nanami has ever seen.

But his eyes weren’t on the ornaments. They were trained on the end of the walled garden, waiting for your ascent on the marble steps where the white carpet extended, the march made more dramatic by the organizers by opting for a meandering aisle instead of the traditional, straight walkway for the bride. And it did achieve the desired effect when you finally emerged from the steps and into view.

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips upon finally seeing you clad in that familiar faded rose gown he had first seen being fitted on you to perfection. He kissed you while you wore that very article of clothing not long ago at the couturier’s shop, and though he thought back then that he has never seen anything more beautiful, he was amazed at the fact that you looked even more gorgeous in it as you glided towards the front.

He loved you so much it hurts, and although you’ve both professed your deep affections for one another and decided to take things head on together, he still felt like he was in the middle of a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. You came closer, and once more, he was back at the semi-outdoor ballroom the first day he came that week, beholding the goddess that was you but seemingly in a different light – brighter this time, overwhelming him to the point that he had to remind himself how to breathe when you finally looked his way and beamed unabashedly, your affections towards him unmasked, real and not under the guise of a game.

“Kento,” he heard Gojo say softly just then, the man’s blue eyes furtively glancing at him.

“Yes?” he answered in hushed tones.

“Hurt my baby sister and I’ll have your severed head hung by the gates of the estate,” he said. “Are we clear about that?”

Geto snickered, concealing it by facing the other way.

“Understood,” Nanami said seriously. “I’m counting on it.”

When you were near enough, you smiled at your brother and Geto before turning your attention to Nanami. You winked at him as you passed by before turning towards your spot opposite them across the aisle, your attention trained towards the point where you came from.

He couldn’t stop looking at you, not even when he felt Gojo hold onto his arm, squeezing tight as Utahime came into view. He didn’t mean to be insulting to his friends. She was beautiful in her wedding gown and he couldn’t help but be moved by the loving look that your brother had on his face as he watched his wife-to-be come closer, guided by her father who will give her away as the sun set. It was poetic. A new beginning after a beautiful end. He probably looked the same whenever his eyes would find you.

The ceremony carried on as everyone sat down, waiting for the couple to exchange their ‘I do’s.’ their vows, rings and the much-awaited kiss. It was making him emotional, thinking of the time when he himself would draw your veil and get to claim you as his for life in front of everyone you both loved and cared about. He couldn’t wait for it, and he may be getting ahead of himself, but he wanted what Gojo and Utahime had with you.

As the minister announced the pair man and wife, everyone applauded and cheered for them. He did so, too, chuckling when Geto whistled loudly, being his cheeky self. Just then, he nudged Nanami on the side, grinning impudently.

“Is it safe to assume you’re next?” he queried in the same manner.

Nanami rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Who knows? Someone might actually steal your heart in the next months and we’ll be seeing you crying as you watch your bride walk towards you by next year.”

Geto snickered at that. “Yeah, right. You looked like you wanted to jump Y/N and replace Satoru and Iori at the altar all this time.”

“Who wants to replace my brother and sister-in-law at the altar?” they heard you say, appearing out of nowhere, your head tilted to the side as you shifted your blue orbs between the two males, but before either of them could answer, you linked your arm with Nanami who smiled down at you blissfully. You returned the gesture, your cheeks blushing prettily under the twinkling lights overhead.

“I see you’ve figured things out.” Geto smirked, patting Nanami on the back just as Shoko came into view, taking the former by the arm, claiming she needed a smoke. She pulled him away, leaving you and Nanami to yourselves, winking as they walked away.

“So, you told him?” you asked, cocking your head towards the wide lawn where the pergolas were, built on three sides of the square and closed by an elevated area for the band, all surrounding a dance floor under a huge, white tent above, also adorned with thousands of lights. It was your design, solely for the wedding reception and a form of gift to the newlyweds.

“Satoru did indirectly when he said he’ll have my head hung at the gates of Gojo Manor if I hurt you.” He shook his head, laughing slightly. “Bastard had the gall to laugh at me, too.”

“He nearly cried when I told him earlier,” you said, regaling him with how your conversation with Gojo went. “He trusts you and is actually afraid I’ll hurt you, too.”

He shook his head. “It’s all part of the process, isn’t it?”

“Mhmm.”

“We’ll take it head on.” He held your hand, twining your fingers together.

You nodded, squeezing his larger hand. “We will.”

Just then, your friends emerged from the reception area with Noabara taking the lead, mischief drawn all over her face as she approached you. “I took care of the sitting arrangement,” she said to you then turned to Nanami. “Take care of Y/N. Make her cry and –”

“You’ll have my head?” Nanami supplemented but Nobara shook her head. “I’ll tan your hide. Satoru gets your head apparently.”

At that, Nanami laughed, nodding nonetheless. But to your surprise, she also turned her attention to you, holding you by the shoulders. “Are you still playing?”

“Nope.” You pressed your lips together, shaking your head slowly.

She smiled then. “Good.” She glanced at Nanami. “You’ve got you a good one here.”

“I know.”

They left you alone after that much to his relief, but then you said, “Wanna play a game?”

His eyes rounded and he felt tension again once he heard you say those familiar words, always the preamble to every single mischievous stunt you’ve ever pulled on everyone including him. He paused and looked at you. “I thought no more games?”

You smirked at him. “One more won’t hurt.”

He sighed, giving in. “You’re going to be the death of me, I swear to god.”

“So, are you in?”

“When did I ever say no to you?”

You giggled. “Great.”

“What is it about this time?” he asked, indulging you.

“Whoever gets a rise out of Satoru first wins.”

“The stakes?”

You just winked suggestively at him.

You forfeited. For the first time, you lost in your own game. It counted – albeit momentary – because you initiated the game…said the very words that began everything that paved the way to the result you’ve always wanted. But you did not really consider it a loss when for the long run, you’ve gained the very person you’d always gladly lose to at any given time.

After you father offered a toast for the newlyweds, the speeches began, starting with Utahime’s parents then yours, eventually moving on to you, then the bride and groom’s shared close friends. Geto had been rather irreverent as usual, pointing out the things that both Gojo and Utahime supposedly disliked from one another yet brought them closer, making everyone laugh when Shoko came up the stage and began her speech, saying, “Opposites do attract.”

You sat on your table with Nanami, both of you waiting for your turns. He was next in line after Shoko, smirking at you as he stood up and walked towards the platform and began his piece by congratulating Gojo, “for landing a very gracious woman who has the most enduring patience I have ever known in all mankind, given the grief that Ieiri, Suguru and I had to endure before Iori came to his life.”

He continued on with his witty address, pretty much reflecting what Suguru said and entertaining the crowd enough when he started to express his gratitude. “While I know that this changes nothing between us as the best of friends – including your nature that tested one’s forbearance – I would like to say thank you for many things. Thank you because you are, well, you…” He did a dramatic eye roll.

The guests laughed.

“Thank you because you are a real person who offered friendship to quiet, boring old me,” he said, droning on about the things he appreciated about the couple before saying the things he was thankful to Gojo about. “And thank you, because without you, without our friendship, I wouldn’t have met the very person I also want to walk this earth with for the rest of my life.”

You would have fallen off your seat when Megumi playfully nudged you if it weren’t for Yuuji who also held onto your shoulders from behind your seat, shaking you excitedly.

“If it weren’t for one Gojo Satoru, I wouldn’t have met Y/N.”

You felt all eyes turn towards you, including your parents and your brother, heat suffusing your cheeks as you tried hard to keep yourself from smiling like an idiot for everyone to see. Nanami has outdone you this time, and you knew you didn’t have a chance to go against that when he had so publicly expressed how he felt about you.

“I love her with everything that I am,” he continued, “and I will continue to do so even without your threat to behead me.” He raised his glass. “To Iori and Satoru. May you have the happiest, most prosperous married life from today and for always.”

Geto whistled loudly while the guests applauded. You also stood up, clapping your hands slowly as you shook your head. You’ve lost big time, backed by the fact that your brother stood up raising his glass as he said, “I couldn’t have wished for a better future brother-in-law.” He then looked at you, smiling fondly.

Nanami got Gojo to state his approval for everyone to hear. You can’t win against that even if you nearly made the latter cry.

And now, you were just happy to be in Nanami’s arms as he swayed you both to the tune the jazz band was playing, your arms hanging around his shoulders and your fingers playing with the hair at the base of his head while he held you against him by the waist.

“So?” Nanami began. “How’s that for a final game?”

“Not bad,” you acceded, smirking at him. “I’ll admit defeat.”

“Damn right, you are.” He smiled down at you, his dark eyes reflecting the muted, xanthic lights that surrounded you. “I have a couple of things I’d want you to do for me, by the way.”

You nodded slowly, keeping a straight face at the mention of his prize. “Rules are rules.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “Then again, you haven’t told me what you wanted when you won a week ago.”

You grinned, burying your face on his chest, listening to the faint sound of his heart. “But I did get what I want.”

“And that is?”

You met his gaze from under your lashes. “You,” you stated in full confidence.

Nanami nodded, suppressing a smile. “If you say so.”

“I wouldn’t wish for anything else.” You pulled him towards you so you could peck him on the mouth. “Thank you.”

“I don’t know what for, but as always, anything for you.”

You chuckled at that. Knowing him, he’ll make good on his words for sure, so much so that you didn’t feel the least bit of worry where your future with him was concerned. “You have to learn how to say no to me.”

“I guess, but since I won, have I finally made it to the list of people you don’t mess with?” he asked.

“As promised, yes.”

“No more games?”

“No more games,” you repeated. “Although I have to say it keeps things interesting between us. Don’t you think so?”

You both dissolved in laughter, the merry mingling of your voices coming to a standstill when he bent down and cupped your cheeks, running his thumb over your cheek before staking his claim on your lips while you returned the gesture in kind, locked in each other’s arms, glad you both played the game. And won.

-THE END-

I would like to say thank you to everyone who read this and kept up with my erratic updating. It's been a good 6 weeks. Thanks!

*I used “you” here, but since my character is Gojo’s little sister who is established to be his female clone for reasons essential to the plot, she possesses the same blue eyes and white hair. I did not exactly want to create an OC (although technically, I did by describing Y/N), but I opted for the best of both worlds in this fic, leaning more towards the literary aspect of it as opposed to it just being reader/you-oriented. I hope this isn’t iffy to anyone, and yeah, i’m not being exclusive or whatever.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 3 years

Text

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 10

A/N: I can’t believe I’m already on part 10 for this series and to be honest it’s fun to write. And in all seriousness, the tumblr mobile app needs to allow you to put a read more link. But anyways love you all and let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! Mwah! 🖤🖤🖤

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, some violence, and blood

“Im sorry, did you just say Madripoor?” You blinked at Zemo, dreading the destination ahead of you.

“What’s up with Madripoor? You talk about it like it’s Skull Island.” Sam questioned, looking between you and Zemo.

“Imagine Mos Eisley from Tatooine but without the aliens and blasters.” You tried to make an analogy. “In other words, a shithole. And to be honest, I’d rather be in Mos Eisley.”

“It’s an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary back in the 1800s.” Bucky explained to Sam.

“It’s kept its lawless ways.” Zemo added before turning to James. “But we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone.”

You had a feeling Zemo would suggest all of you going in with different identities, and being the only woman in the group, you already had a wild guess you weren’t going to be ecstatic about yours. You looked to Bucky with a frown on your lips. You knew what Zemo had meant towards him, and you didn’t know how it would affect him to transition back into the person he tried so hard to deviate from. Bucky saw the sympathetic smile you gave him, and he returned it with a look that reassured you that he would be fine.

“Y/n.” Zemo now spoke to you, tilting his head to meet your eyes. “I’m sure you are aware of the conditions.”

“Zemo if you...” Bucky trailed off as he glared at him, silently warning him to watch what he says next.

Sam and Bucky kept their eyes on Zemo, waiting to hear what his suggested persona for you was and ready to beat his ass if he dared to suggest something that would be demeaning to you.

“No way in the pits of Tartarus. I am not going in as an escort.” You voiced with a clenched jaw. “And if it’s eye candy you need, you have Sam.”

Sam gave you a surprised look from your comment, flattered to have you recommend him to be the designated eye candy before going back to the topic at hand. “Hell no Zemo. You’re not having y/n pretend to be an escort.”

“I’m afraid Sam is already going as someone.” Zemo sat back with his hands folded in his lap. “And don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on having you go as an escort, it isn’t befitting of a baron like me. Plus, I figured it would be uncomfortable for you, so I was going to suggest you act as my fiancé, if you are willing of course.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pondering on the subject. You were a bit relieved in all honesty. But to pretend to be Zemo’s fiancé and be in close and almost physical proximities with him?

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to y/n.” Sam uttered to you.

“I’ll do it.” You confirmed.

“Are you sure?” Zemo asked you again, making sure you were comfortable with acting the part.

“I thought Zemo might step out of line with this one, but we don’t want you to do something that will make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure. I’ve had to do things I wasn’t comfortable with plenty of times in the past.”

Once you had all landed, Zemo decided to stop by a place so that you all may get dressed. You had already packed a dress and a pair of heels with you just in case for situations like these, since this wasn’t the first time you had to dress up for a mission. The dress you wore was a black, burned velvet silk slip-like dress with the velvet print being dark red roses. The dress wasn’t too tight to be constricting of movement and fit perfectly around around your curves. If the situation should arise that you needed to defend yourself, you needed the freedom to be able to move. Going down, the fabric flared slightly at your hips, brushing barely against the floor with your heels on. The skirt was slightly sheer from the bottom of your thighs and down with the floral velvet print, and had a slit going up your right thigh, perfect for kicking and concealing your dagger. The top torso portion of the front of your dress was a spaghetti strap cowl neckline that stopped just above the curve of your breasts, allowing for just a bit of cleavage. Your back was left bare, stopping at your mid back with thin straps that came across in a pattern. Your dress almost had a Grecian/witchy look from the way it draped over your chest and hips. It wasn’t too formal or too scandalous, it was elegant and classy, and showed just the right amount of skin where it wouldn’t be too revealing.

Even though you completely loathed and detested heels of any kinds, your heels were fairly simple, made of black velvet with straps that came across your ankles and toes. You dreaded heaving to wear them but at the same time you’d stick out like a sore thumb if you wore your docs with these. Perhaps you should’ve brought your nicer sandals, but it was too late now. You kept on your mother’s necklace and wore a set of amethyst drop earrings, throwing on a silver cuff bracelet on each wrist. Your hair was let loose to conceal your short sword that you hid on your back underneath your dress, the hilt resting right between your shoulder blades. You prayed that having your hair down would cover the scars and the sword you had on your back. But you were mostly focused about the scars, you failed to mention them to the guys about it since it was something that was hard for you to share. The only makeup you had on was some eyeshadow and mascara to darken your eyes, very little blush, and a lip tint.

The last thing to do was to put on some perfume, so you spritzed on your favorite oil based one that you had from Olympus on your pulse points. The scent was filled with incense-like scents like dragon’s blood, sage, crushed red roses, sandalwood, ghostly white musk, absinthe, almonds, and heady gardenia. It wasn’t as harsh as the common alcohol based ones, this one was more earthy and ancient, and every time you wore it, the scent lingered and heads turned. You gave yourself a once over when you were done, taking in a deep breath before heading out to join the others.

You became nervous as you saw them gathered together, talking amongst themselves as they haven’t noticed you yet. You rarely ever wore dresses these days, especially of the kind you were wearing now which left you feeling bare and exposed even though the dress wasn’t at all much revealing. So as you approached them, you couldn’t help picking at your fingers in anxiety.

The men turned at the sound of your heels clicking against the ground, and when they laid their eyes on you, they couldn’t help but gawk with their mouths parted open, as if they had seen the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth. You chewed on the inside of your cheeks as you saw how they stared at you.

“Wow.” Sam was the first to say something. “You look like a million bucks.”

“What? Never seen a woman in a dress before?”

“No, I’ve just never seen you in a dress before.” Sam answered. “You’re always dressed like some hippie/librarian, with your bands shirts, sweaters, plaid pants and jackets.”

“Haha vary funny.”

“Also since when did you have muscles?” Sam noticed as he poked your bare arm. “And since when did you have a tattoo?” He observed the mark you had on your upper right arm, right below your shoulder. It was the mark that was given to you to signify your Olympian status and what you represented. It was about the color that henna left behind after you wiped the paste off your skin, the color of ginger and bronze. The center of your mark was a lightning bolt, which represented a child of Zeus. Below that was your symbol, the torch and the triple moons.

“Since when did you start asking so many questions? But yeah, I’ve always had muscles Sam, I was trained in combat since I was, you could say 9 years old in human years. Also, technically everyone has them, it’s what allows us to move and lift things. And that.” You pointed to your tattoo. “Is my goddess mark, not a tattoo. Every Olympian god has one and they each have their personal symbol that represents them.”

“Wait, so you’ve been trained since you were a kid?” Bucky looked at you to clarify what he heard as they all started to head out.

“Technically, everyone on Olympus starts training that young. Then, when they become of age, a tournament is held to display their skills, following a ceremony after, to celebrate their victory.” You explained as you walked beside them.

The four of you were currently walking on the bridge that led to Madripoor. You could see the city’s skyline out in the distance, the cyberpunk like buildings lighting up the night sky.

“Do you need my coat?” You heard Zemo say beside you, making you look at him.

“Sorry?”

“Do you need my coat?” He repeated himself, referring to how your arms were bare against the cool night. “I wouldn’t want you to get cold.”

You stared at him, stunned from the kind gesture as you tried to form words to say. “Oh uh.....I appreciate the gesture, but I’m fine actually. I’m not that cold.” Though you didn’t want to admit it, you actually would’ve liked to try on his coat, because in all honesty it was a damn nice coat.

“We have to fix this.” You heard Sam say with irritation visible in his voice. “I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.”

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing.” Zemo mentioned as he pulled out his phone to show Sam. “The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“He even has a bad nickname. Hell, he does look like me, though.” Sam observed the photo.

“You smell this?”

“Yeah, what is that? Acid?” Sam sniffed the air as you did the same.

“Smells rancid.” You scrunched your nose at the smell.

“Madripoor. No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There’s no margin for error.” Zemo instructed as a black car pulled up in front of you. “High Town’s that way. Not a bad place if you wanna visit, but Low Town’s the other way.”

“Let me guess. We don’t have any friends in High Town.” Sam remarked as he opened the door for the back seat.

“Y/n. A moment please, if you will.” Zemo uttered to you.

You stopped in your tracks, seeing Bucky and Sam stand on either side of the car doors, looking between the two of you and especially Zemo, with caution. You nodded your head at them, signaling you were fine and that they can get seated. And though they sat themselves inside the car, that didn’t stop them from keeping their eyes glued to Zemo to make sure he didn’t pull anything stupid.

“What’s the issue?” You turned to Zemo, giving him your attention.

“Since you will be portraying my fiancé, there’s a certain key element you will be needing to complete the image.” You watched as he pulled out a ring from his coat pocket, displaying it in front of you. “If I may?”

You stared at Zemo blankly before nodding your head and holding out your left hand for him. You knew this was only for a show, but you couldn’t help but stiffen as he delicately held your hand with his gloved one before slipping the ring onto your ring finger.

“There.” Hi smiled softly at you, his hand still holding yours. “Now you look the part.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, his thumb brushing against your knuckles, leaving behind a trail of warmth as he gazed down at you. Zemo swore he could have gotten lost in the violet swirls and gold flecks of your eyes forever, which now sparkled against Madripoor’s lit up skyline, the neon city and the places he’s visited not even coming close to the beauty he held before him.

You tried not to blush under his gaze as you gave him a polite smile before slipping your hand out of his. “I should probably change my eyes huh.” You remembered, changing your eyes to a normal color known to earth. “Should I hide the scar?” You asked him, referring to the one on your face.

“I think you should leave it. It suits you, and besides, you never know who might recognize you without it.”

Nodding your head at him, you headed to the car and settling in beside Bucky as Zemo followed, getting in the passenger seat in front of you. In the car ride there, you glanced down at the ring Zemo slipped on your finger, it was definitely a beautiful elegant ring, with a rose gold band and a pear cut garnet in the center that had diamonds that accented the bottom. Once you arrived in the city, you walked through the neon lit streets beside Zemo while Sam and Bucky followed behind. You loosened up your body as you went, swaying your hips slightly as you tried your best not to walk like a bodyguard and look threatening as everyone’s eyes followed the four of you strolling through the streets.

“Here we are.” Zemo announced, stopping in front of a bar before speaking to Bucky in Russian. “Ready to comply… Winter Soldier?”

As you went in, Zemo leaned in to whisper in your ear, his warm breath tickling your neck and startling you as he spoke in a hushed tone. “I want to apologize in advance, forgive me.”

You looked at him with furrowed brows to question what he meant until you felt his gloved hand slide across your back before resting on your waist, pulling you closer to his side. You noticed how his hand fumbled after brushing across your sword as he gave you a questioning look. What was that on your back? Did you really conceal a full on sword on your back underneath your dress? On your way to the bar table you saw people stare as you went through, some of them gawking in surprise at Bucky, or the winter soldier as he was now portraying, while the slimy men in the area roamed their eyes over your body hungrily. Zemo noticed your uneasiness from the way your muscles tensed, though your face didn’t show a sign of it, and glared at the men who dared to lay their eyes on you, only pulling you closer to him to prove that you were with him while Bucky and Sam noticed this as well and positioned themselves where you were blocked from the view of your peers, allowing you to breathe a little better as you approached the bar.

“Hello, gentlemen.” The bartender greeted you all. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

“His plans changed.” Zemo answered for him. “We have business to do with Selby.”

“The usual?”

Sam nodded his head.

“And for the lady?”

“Um Something fruity.” You answered with a flirtatious smile, silently hoping they had something like that on the menu and that you hadn’t blown their cover by ordering the wrong drink.

The bartender handed you what looked to be a pineapple martini and you internally thanked the gods for your sheer bit of luck, taking the drink and thanking the bartender with another smile. You watched as he went to work on Sam’s drink, pulling out of a jar what definitely was a snake. You gulped, your stomach feeling nauseous as you saw the bartender cut open the dead snake, taking out its guts and throwing it in the shot glass. You were mortified to say the least, snakes were one of your symbols and you had owned plenty of the gentle little creatures. You shot Sam a sympathetic look once you saw his expression.

“Cheers.” Zemo held up his glass while Sam stared at his before gathering the courage to drink it all in one go. If Sam wasn’t going to throw up, you were going to do it for him.

While your eyes were trained on Sam’s expression, you felt someone breathe over your neck before feeling a clammy hand graze across your ass.

“Hey baby-“

Your eyes widened before you grabbed the wrist of the man behind you in one quick motion, twisting his arm to an unnatural position as you yanked it away from your body, causing the sleazy looking individual let out a yelp of pain. You would’ve crushed his wrist like crumpled paper if Zemo hadn’t put a cautionary hand on your arm as he whispered to you. “Careful now.”

You let go of the man’s wrist before shoving him aside like a pile of garbage. If their identity wasn’t at risk of being revealed, Zemo, Sam, and Bucky would have gone over there and beat the guy up after you were done with him.

“I got word from high. You ain’t welcome here.” You watched from behind Zemo as a bearded man approached him.

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo gestured towards Bucky.

“New haircut?”

“Or bring Selby for a chat.”

The man glanced between Zemo and Bucky before leaving.

“A power broker? Really?” Sam turned to Zemo.

“Every kingdom needs its king. Let’s just pray we stay under his radar.”

“Do you know him?” You asked.

“Only by reputation. In Madripoor he is judge, jury, and executioner.”

Another man was approaching in your direction, most likely to kick you all out or worse, and after following your gaze, Zemo turned to Bucky, speaking to him in Russian just as the man laid a hand on his shoulder. “Winter Soldier. Attack.”

You stood back, watching as Bucky grabbed the dude’s arm and twisted it back. You refrained yourself from intervening as Bucky took down the men that fought against him.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.” Zemo commented to you and Sam.

Bucky slammed one of the men down on the counter. And as you heard the clicking of guns being loaded, your defensive mode nearly kicked in as you almost reached for your sword before Zemo stopped you.

“Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.” Zemo whispered to you both before turning to Bucky and speaking in Russian again. “Well done soldier.”

You let your arm drop back down to your side, not a single change in your expression as you eyed everyone around you.

“Selby will see you now.” The bartender spoke up after getting off the phone.

Zemo gave him a thanks, nodding you over and holding out his hand for you to take as you went to his side again, Bucky and Sam following after you. You went through a back door, going down a dark corridor with Zemo’s hand on your back as he guided you through.

“You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.” You heard a woman’s voice speak, turning your head to see an older woman in a suit with short white hair lounging back on the coach with her security around her.

“Not a demand. An offer.” Zemo sat down on the couch before waving you over when he saw you standing near Sam. “Come sit schatzi.”

You straightened up, plastering a smile on your face as you went over to him. Selby’s eyes followed you curiously as you placed your hand in his, your eyes rapidly moving in nervousness for what area would be the most appropriate area to sit. Were you......were you supposed to sit on his lap? Is that how couples work? No, that would be inappropriate. Before things got awkward, you quickly plopped down on the empty spot next to him, crossing over your leg in a way so that it draped over his, leaving your thigh completely exposed from the slit in your dress, save for the dagger that still remained hidden. Sam and Bucky widened their eyes at what you just did, while Zemo stiffened at this sudden movement from you as you also draped one arm around his shoulders, bringing yourself closer to him. Were you even doing this right?

“A lot has changed since you were here last.” Selby observed the two of you before her eyes landed on your ring. “Who’s this pretty little thing?”

“This.” Zemo looked at you with a loving look, throwing an arm around your waist to draw circles on your bare back, while his other hand rested on your thigh, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps on your skin as you felt shivers go down your spine. “Is my fiancé. Gorgeous isn’t she?”

How long has it been since you were this close and personal to someone? The last you could remember, women still wore corsets and people still rode carriages. You felt your body heat up from being this close to him, and from the way he stroked your back. How was a mortal man able to leave you feeling like this? If he was able to send shivers down your spine with the mere touch on your back with his gloved hand, you wondered how it would feel to have his bare hands on you, just skin to skin. And if you were being honest, you never really were a fan of cologne but his smelled of a deeper earthy tones with hints of musk, and you were surprised and almost ashamed to say you liked how he smelled. You returned the same loving look to Zemo, trying to make it as believable as possible as you ran your fingers through the hair on the back of his head before placing a kiss on his jaw close to his ear. Sam and Bucky couldn’t believe their eyes at the scene before them, the same you who preferred to be a hermit and didn’t go on dates because it involved human interaction, was cuddling up to none other than Helmut Zemo himself. Zemo’s breath faltered a bit from from your touch as he swallowed the lump in his throat, struggling not to break character. Being this close to you, he was able to get a whiff of your perfume and my goodness, Zemo felt as if he could drown in your scent, you smelled like the heavens, not overbearingly sweet, but dark and luxurious and even seductive. Is this what vampires and sirens smelled like when they lured people to their deaths? You raised a brow at Zemo, your heightened senses were picking up on his breathing patterns and heartbeat. Was he getting nervous?

“Extremely.” Selby commented, smirking at the two of you before roaming her eyes over your body. You could feel her taking you in but you kept your eyes trained on the side of Zemo’s face. “Where did you pick this one up? She looks like a fighter.”

“As they say, why not get a woman who can do both. She was part of the Sokovian armed forces, I met her through there.”

“By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?” Selby added after finally taking her eyes off you.

“People like us always find a way, don’t we? I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.”

“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.” Selby turned to Sam with a flirtatious grin, using her hand in a claw like manner as she let out a purr. “What’s the offer?”

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum.” Zemo got up off the couch, going over to Bucky and holding his chin between his fingers. “And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.”

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately. Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right. The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or… condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but… things didn’t go as planned.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?”

“Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me. But.....” She turned you with a sly smile which made your insides turn. “Throw her in with the package and you have yourself a deal.”

Zemo, Sam, and Bucky turned to look at you with dread upon hearing her words. This wasn’t at all part of the plan.

“No, no no. That wasn’t the deal.” Zemo stepped over to where you sat, blocking you from her. “She’s not for sale.”

“Why not?” Selby raised her brow at Zemo. “I’m pretty sure a man like you could pick up someone else to be your plaything or fiancé or whatever. I like this one in particular.” She turned to you again.

“That’s not-“ Zemo started before he was cut off by Sam’s cellphone vibrating.

You breath was caught in your throat and it felt as if the room had dropped in temperature. You could feel the tension floating around the air as everyone’s eyes were trained on Sam now, making you sit up straight and uncross your legs so that they were planted firmly on the ground. Your hand rested on your thigh just above where the hilt of your dagger was as your eyes darted around the room, watching each and every person like a hawk about to swoop down on its prey. You had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well.

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handwrittenhello · 3 years

Text

sweet little lies

Rating: M Warnings: Assassination attempts, poisoning, bombing Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer Word Count: 6.2k Summary: “He’s very…” Geralt trailed off, arms crossed. "Pretty?” Yennefer finished for him, appraising the man in front of her. He seemed entirely unconcerned about his state of near-nudity, and even less concerned about the fact that the entire court was ogling him, including the Warlord of the North and her right-hand man. “Thank you,” the man said, bowing deeply. “I do try.” -- When Yennefer of Vengerberg, Warlord of the North, receives Jaskier as tribute, she doesn't trust him—the rumor is that assassins and spies are trying to infiltrate her court. And despite being sent unwillingly, Jaskier seems perfectly happy—too happy—to be there. As tensions with the bordering country of Rivia grow stronger, she must beware, and figure out who she can truly trust.

or, yet another warlord au (but with warlord yennefer this time), inspired by @inexplicifics! read here on ao3.

“He’s very…” Geralt trailed off, arms crossed.

“Pretty?” Yennefer finished for him, appraising the man in front of her. He seemed entirely unconcerned about his state of near-nudity, and even less concerned about the fact that the entire court was ogling him, including the Warlord of the North and her right-hand man.

“Thank you,” the man said, bowing deeply. “I do try.”

He did indeed try, judging by how heavily his face was made up and by the numerous precious metals and jewels that adorned his ears and fingers and even one nostril. Yennefer didn’t think she’d ever seen more piercings in her life. The wealth the stranger wore on his body was simply astounding. Besides the more conventional jewelry, he also wore a shirt—if one could call it that—of fine gold chains interlaced, studded intermittently with shimmering gems. He wore no trousers, only a sheer wrap accentuated by a belt, made of yet more fine chains entwined. Finishing the ensemble were golden cuffs around his wrists—the entire outfit seemed to subtly shout prisoner, in fact, when she looked for it.

“And who sent you?” she asked, her voice ringing clear through the hall.

“I come to you as a gift, courtesy of King Vizimir of Redania,” the man replied, sinking into another low bow. “Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, Master Bard, and Esteemed Courtesan, at your service, my lady.” He made no mention of his own involvement in the matter, Yennefer noted darkly. She would not take slaves, expensive tribute or not.

But to publicly refuse such a gift would show blatant disfavor, and may spark an unwanted war. “You may tell King Vizimir I accept his gift,” she told the messenger who had accompanied Master Pankratz. “And you,” she turned to Pankratz, “may come with me.” She turned and left the hall, trusting him and Geralt both to follow her.

Whispers rose up in her wake, titters at what she might do with the new esteemed courtesan, but she ignored them. One did not become Warlord of the North by caring what courtly gossip featured oneself.

She pushed open the doors to her room, Pankratz just behind her, and Geralt, silent, bringing up the rear. He was good at that sort of thing—protecting her, always, and always with the taciturn seriousness most knew him for.

Only few knew what truly lurked beneath the surface. She was privy to more than most—as her right-hand man, bodyguard, and occasional lover, he let her see more than most. She could see a hint of it peeking out through his stony exterior now—he was disturbed, unsettled, though she couldn’t tell the cause.

She sat herself in her customary armchair by the hearth, Geralt taking a place looming behind her, and after Pankratz hesitated, she directed him to the armchair across from her. He sank into it quickly, giving the ridiculous impression of a puppy aiming to please its master. She rolled her eyes.

“We can drop the bullshit,” she stated plainly, and his eyes widened. “Do you truly wish to be here? Speak truly.”

He swallowed. “My lady, it is truly the greatest honor to be in your presence—” he began, but Yennefer cut him off with a look.

“I said no more pretty lies. I have enough of those in my court—I don’t need you adding to that pile of shit.” There was little more she despised than venomous intentions disguised. The best attack was one that could be anticipated.

“Very well, my lady. Though it is true I did not come here willingly—” Geralt stiffened at that, his hand going reflexively to the hilt of his sword, though Yennefer gave no outward indication of her disgust. “—I did not come here willingly, but, having found myself in your court, I find that there is little else I could wish for. In truth, I would much prefer here to whence I came.” He said the last bit in a black tone, hinting at some strife Yennefer knew not of.

“Well, I would give you the option, then,” Yennefer replied. “You may leave, if you so wish—I will supply you with enough to get by until you can establish yourself, wherever you may choose to go. I hear Toussaint is nice this time of year.” Pankratz smiled. “Or you may remain in my court, but know this—I tolerate no treachery, no spies, of any sort.” She leaned in close; the smile dropped from his face. “If I discover that you’ve been sent as some foreign agent to engineer my demise—” she locked eyes with him “—your demise will not be swift.” She spoke the last words softly, so softly, but plenty intelligible in the absolute silence of the room. “But you’ll wish it would be.”

Pankratz gulped.

“Have I made myself clear?” she asked, leaning back, releasing him from the uncomfortable closeness.

“Crystal, my lady,” he answered, smiling shakily. “And, if it’s all the same to you, I would rather not try my luck out there. Much easier to earn my keep at the luxury of the court.”

Yennefer wasn’t surprised by the attitude; clearly this was a man well accustomed to luxury. “Very well. And how do you plan to earn your keep?”

“Well, my lady,” he began, voice dropping into a sultry register. “You’ll find that I’m quite good with my fingers and tongue, as it were.” He slid from his chair, somehow managing to make it look effortlessly elegant, and shuffled closer to her on his knees. Geralt stiffened; Yennefer waited for Pankratz to dare touch her. But no touch was forthcoming, despite the strange flutter of arousal in her stomach that spoke to how she almost wanted him to try.

“Presumptuous of King Vizimir,” was all she replied. “And what if I have no need of a bedwarmer?”

Pankratz sat back on his heels. “Well, I have other talents. I studied at Oxenfurt—you may also hear me called Jaskier the Bard, at your service,” he said, giving a little half-bow, all he could manage in a kneeling position. “I would sing of your victories for all to hear and be warned, lest the—the Raven Storm come to batter down their doors!” He punctuated his sentence with a grand gesture, one that nearly knocked him off balance.

“No.”

“N-no, my lady?” Jaskier questioned, his arms dropping. “I can come up with something else, if you don’t like the name—"

“It’s not the name,” Yennefer said dismissively. “It’s the exaggeration. I’ve already told you, I value honesty alone. I won’t have any pretty ballads hiding bastard truths.”

Jaskier looked as though he wanted to argue, but wisely held his tongue. To soften the disappointment, Geralt came around and offered him a hand up. Jaskier took it, and also took a moment to stare appreciatively at Geralt. He was lucky she wasn’t the jealous type—she could have his head for it.

“You may stay,” she declared. “You need not pay for it in my bed, though if you do truly mean what you say, then we can discuss your… talents, as it were. For now, Geralt will find you rooms of your own and show you around the palace. You may have the rest of the day to acclimate, though I expect you in the dining hall tonight at sundown.”

It was a clear dismissal. “Thank you, my lady, you’re too kind,” Jaskier said as Geralt led him out of the room.

“No flattery,” she reminded him, but they were already gone.

Jaskier settled into life at her court like a duck to water. He did indeed have a talented tongue and fingers—which he proved the first time he sang for them, with a lute to accompany it. He bounced around the room, capturing the attention of all he met—he was impossible to ignore, loud and bright as he was, bedecked in jewelry.

Geralt had tried to offer him clothes when he first settled into his rooms, but Jaskier seemed more than content to prance around nearly naked. Geralt hated it—he complained to her, one night, that Jaskier was too distracting, pulling Geralt’s attention away. He took his duties very seriously—formerly a knight of Rivia, he now devoted himself to her with the same near-religious fervor, taking her protection upon himself.

It was sweet, if a little misguided. She could protect herself just as well, but it was nice knowing that he was there behind her, always ready to support her if she faltered.

“I don’t like it, Yen,” he said to her, late one night, as the fire burned down to embers in the hearth. They were curled side by side in her bed, sweat cooling on their damp bodies, Geralt occupying himself by playing with strands of her hair. “Unrest in Rivia is growing stronger—we could have a revolt on our hands before the harvest.”

“I’m not worried about Rivia,” Yennefer replied, waving a hand lazily. “Little more than whispers on the wind. King Reginald, gods spit on his soul, has too few supporters left to be any real threat. The rest either died with him in the coup or fled like the cowards they were.”

“I’m serious, Yen. Word on the street is that there’ll be an attempt on your life before the year is out.” A furrow creased his brow, his fingers growing tense in her hair. Gently, she disentangled them before lacing their fingers together.

“Is that not what I have you for?” she asked, a smile quirking her lips. He worried too much—his consternation was almost cute. “Relax. If any assault comes, we’ll be well prepared for it.”

“It won’t be anything as obvious as an attack on the city. Rivian forces are smart—they’ll send spies, or assassins, or both. You wouldn’t even see it coming.”

“If it will make you feel better, then you may begin vetting those in the court you find suspicious,” Yennefer relented.

Geralt hummed, his eyes slipping closed in satisfaction. She too closed her eyes, but the thought nagged at her—did she trust everyone in the palace? Most of them she’d known for decades—they’d worked under King Demavend with her, and had helped her overthrow him when he became too cruel to stand. She’d rewarded their loyalty with a place at her side, and they’d remained trustworthy through the years.

There had been few new arrivals since then—Geralt himself was among them, having joined her during the Coup of Rivia. And of course there was their newest arrival, Jaskier.

He seemed perfectly content in his new role. She had to admit it suited him well—he loved attention, and got it in spades when singing or when draped seductively next to her throne. He made good decoration, though she had yet to negotiate a more intimate role with him. She never held back from staring, though—and though he often caught her, he seemed pleased more than anything else.

Was he too comfortable here? It was true, he had settled in remarkably quickly—did he have a hidden purpose? But what use would King Vizimir have for a spy in her court, especially one as useless as Jaskier? He wasn’t present at any strategy meetings, or even privy to her company more than most. Perhaps he was an assassin biding his time?

Yennefer huffed. This was how paranoia set in—whispers and rumors crept in and set the mind aflame with possibilities until it drove itself mad. She resolutely cleared all thoughts of betrayal from her mind and tried to sleep.

Geralt commenced his investigation as soon as he was able, but Yennefer heard little else from him about it. She assumed that meant the search for traitors was proving unfruitful.

She interrupted him one day with a task at the southern border—there were reports of skirmishes breaking out, most likely bandit attacks. He departed with a promise to return by the month’s end, and she watched him leave with a pit in her stomach.

It wasn’t the first time they’d parted—so why was her stomach twisting so? Why were her instincts screaming that it would all go wrong?

There was nothing to worry about. She needed to take her mind off it, that was all. She went back into the palace and headed for the southern wing—where Jaskier’s rooms were.

“My lady Yennefer!” he greeted her happily, springing from his writing desk upon her entrance. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Then he paused, frowned. “Where’s your shadow? I can’t hardly think of a time I haven’t seen him hovering menacingly over your shoulder.”

“He’s away for the time being.” She motioned him closer, and he went as if reeled in by a fishing line.

“Luckily you still have me,” he replied, biting his lip. He was yet unsure of his advances—good. She would keep him on his toes.

“And would you give yourself to me?” she asked, stepping even closer, until there were scant few inches between them. “Let me have you?”

“In a heartbeat, if my lady so wished,” he breathed, leaning in. She didn’t wait for his lips to brush hers; she surged forward at once, attacking with brutal efficiency. The kiss was more a clash of wills than anything tender. To her delight, he didn’t simply let her plunder his mouth, but gave as good as he got, hands coming up to clutch at her dress. She pushed him away, and his face split with confusion until she pushed him again, back onto the bed. His hands fisted in the covers as she climbed on top of him, finding the clasps that would free him from the confines of the chains that draped over his body.

Soon she had stripped the gold and gems from his body, and at some point her own clothes had disappeared as well, and finally she was free to take him how she wished. He was a good lover, enthusiastic and skilled—his talents truly were as good as he’d made them out to be.

Her only point of contention came near the end, when he began to murmur sweet nothings into her hair, praising her and begging in turn. Even after, when they lay panting atop the sheets, he continued to weave pretty lies, complimenting her prowess and beauty until she rolled over and pinned him down.

“What have I said about lying?” she bit, but there was no real heat to it.

“And as I’ve told you a dozen times, I speak nothing but the truth,” he replied, “but if you wish my silence, well—I suppose you’ll have to find a way to shut me up.” He grinned.

She was gratified to see that he was no longer the deferential pretty thing that had been gifted to her, but had instead grown into his role here and thus felt comfortable enough to tease and prod.

In fact, as the days passed and they spent more time together, he turned downright annoying, at times, whining about how cruel silver was to his skin—did she know that he was one sixty-fourth fae? How it itched so—but gold didn’t go as well with his complexion, and really, he should be wearing sapphires, not rubies, since they brought out the blue of his eyes better…

Yennefer tolerated it with confused amusement for all of one day before she took his suggestion and found ways to occupy his mouth, just so that the inane chatter would stop.

She was almost disappointed when the day that Geralt would return drew near. She looked forward to his triumphant return, of course, but she was apprehensive of how he would react to her getting so close to Jaskier in his absence. She was lucky that she didn’t have to contend with jealousy from him—he simply wasn’t the type—but nor did she want him to distance himself from her, afraid of intruding on something new.

And though she’d succeeded, for the most part, at distracting herself from his absence, she couldn’t shake the sense of dread that still came over her at odd times when she thought of him. He was plenty capable; there was nothing to worry about, she knew, and yet that didn’t stop her traitorous heart.

As the days passed, however, with no sign of his imminent return—not even a letter—she knew her worry was well-founded. On the second day of the new month—two weeks since she’d last seen him—she resolved to ride to the border with all the forces she could gather.

Jaskier worried at her departure—“My lady, you would leave the palace so defenseless?”—but she would not be swayed.

“You’ll be fine. The city can protect itself; you need not worry about a thing.”

“It’s not myself I worry for,” he replied flatly, a moue of displeasure overtaking his face. He didn’t grace her bed that night, and she resolutely told herself she wasn’t bothered.

The sun rose early, and she with it, saddling her horse and donning her armor. The air held a chill, heralding the coming of autumn, though it was unusual so early in the season. As the morning mists in the fields began to burn off, she and her forces rode out, heading south.

They were scarcely a mile away from the palace when she spotted something on the horizon. She called them to a halt, sending ahead scouts to report on what the disturbance was. They returned in short order, shouting joyously—Knight Geralt was returned, unharmed, though he’d lost his men in the interim.

“Yen,” he greeted her warmly, pulling short his ill-tempered mare as he approached. She seemed especially ornery today, hardly responding to his commands, but Yennefer supposed that after weeks on the road, she would be ornery too. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You should be,” she answered, but couldn’t maintain her anger for long, not upon seeing him safe and whole. “What took so long? And where are the men who accompanied you?”

He frowned. “They’re not back yet? I’d thought they’d arrive first.”

“No, we’ve heard nothing since you left. What happened?” It was unlike Geralt to leave his men behind—his sense of chivalry demanded otherwise.

“It wasn’t bandits at the border—it was Rivian insurgents making trouble. Easy enough to mop up, but in the fight, I got separated. Ended up having to lay low for a few days in Spalla. I gave the men instructions to return to Vengerberg if anything went wrong.”

“Do you think they’re still out looking for you?” Damned loyalty. While she valued it, it often proved to be quite the pain in difficult situations.

“Could be. We ought to send another team out, round them up.” She was grateful that he didn’t suggest going back to look for them himself—she would have expected that from him, stubborn as he was, but she wasn’t ready to lose him again so soon.

She motioned over the captain of her guard, Ivenka. “Take your best fighters and track down our poor wayward soldiers.”

“Yes, my lady,” Ivenka replied. The party split; Yennefer and Geralt led the rest of the forces back to Vengerberg.

Upon their return, Jaskier launched into a rousing song of victory—if he was surprised to see them back so soon, he didn’t show it. Geralt bore the attention as he always did, with an uncomfortable grimace. Once the commotion settled, Yennefer pulled Geralt into her rooms for a full report on what he’d found at the Rivian border.

“The talk of insurgence was right. A resistance has formed, with more support than we thought. King Reginald had more friends than we knew.” Geralt delivered the bad news with no inflection, which was how Yennefer knew it was a grave matter indeed.

“A resistance? How strong would you say? Have they any support from the commonfolk?” That was how battles were won, Yennefer knew—it all depended on the attitude of the peasantry. If their favor had shifted against her, they could expect full-blown war within the year.

“Not yet, though they’ve changed the minds of a few. More than anything they’ve sown dissent—talk of crop shortages, of trade disturbed. Trying to make you out to be just as bad as Reginald.”

Yennefer cursed. “We need to head this off before it grows any worse.”

“Parley? They might be open to discussion—this incursion may have been a way to get our attention.”

Yennefer nodded. “Send a messenger at once,” she instructed.

Geralt inclined his head in acquiescence and left her to her thoughts.

He had been right about the coming rebellion—was he also to be believed about the rumored attempts on her life? She would have to keep her guard up.

They received the Rivians a few nights hence at a banquet, meant as both a display of wealth and numbers. The entire court was assembled, and the visiting party arrived wide-eyed and trying to hide it.

Yennefer herself was seated upon her throne in full gilded plate armor—everything but a helmet. Geralt stood beside her, arms crossed, a scowl writ upon his face, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. And on her other side, draped across the arm of the throne, was Jaskier, in his finest jewels and with a full face of makeup, not looking even a bit vulnerable though he wore almost nothing.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg,” the man leading the visiting party said, inclining his head in lieu of a bow. Beside her, Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “I am Gudros of Scala, and accompanying me are Velah of Hawksburne and Ozrias of Scala.” He gestured to the two behind him, who had so far stood silent and still, their expressions unreadable beneath their helmets.

“Vengerberg welcomes you,” Yennefer announced. “You may partake of food and rest from your journey. Once you’ve had your fill we may retire for more formal talk.” Gudros bowed his head again, and the feast resumed.

“I don’t like this,” Geralt murmured, barely audible over the voices and instruments overlapping in the hall. Yennefer glanced up at him—he looked torn, lips pursed and hands clenching and unclenching into fists.

“Keep an eye on them for me?” she replied. He nodded and slipped away—Yennefer looked forward to his report on what they were saying.

She was so intent on watching the Rivians that she hardly noticed it when an attendant approached with a tray carrying goblets of wine. “Milady,” he greeted, offering her a glass. She reached out to take it, but was beaten there by Jaskier, who snatched it out of the attendant’s hands before she could.

He grinned cheekily at her—this was almost too bold. She’d have to put him in his place later tonight. But she let him have it and reached for her own goblet, just as Jaskier took a sip of the wine.

The smell hit her nose as soon as she raised the glass to her lips. It was hardly detectable, but she’d learned a thousand and one ways under King Demavend’s reign to brew poisons—she recognized instantly the characteristic sour odor it held, the way it slid, oily, down one’s throat, the way it burned from the inside out.

She threw the goblet to the floor, heedless of the way that it shattered into a million pieces. “Geralt!” she screamed, wrenching Jaskier’s goblet from him—though it was already falling from his stiff fingers, his eyes bulging and his face reddening in mere moments.

Geralt appeared at her side instantly, as if he’d never left. Seeing Jaskier in trouble, he threw the consort over his broad shoulders and followed Yennefer as she fled to her old workshop—Goddess willing, she would still have enough ingredients to prepare an antidote, though it had been years since she’d set foot there.

The doors flew open under her hands, dust swirling about the room and cobwebs shuddering in the sudden breeze. Yennefer drew on the spark of chaos buried deep inside her, hardly used, but called forth in full force now. The torches flared to life at once, jars and pots flying off the shelves into her hands.

Geralt laid Jaskier down on the worktable in the middle of the room, now wheezing and coughing, spittle flecking his lips. “Yen,” he tried to wheeze, but she paid him no mind. She needed every ounce of concentration to prepare the antidote, something she hadn’t done in years.

“Mistletoe… wartweed… ground lichen…” she muttered, adding each ingredient in turn. The potion began to bubble, a haze descending on the workshop as it released puffs of smoke.

“Yen, he's not breathing,” Geralt called, and she cursed, stirring faster. Finally, finally, the sickly shade of green gave way to a deep turquoise, and then a solid blue. She rushed to Jaskier’s side, forcing his mouth open with one hand and pouring the antidote down his throat.

He convulsed, and, sensing that he was about to spit it up, she clamped his mouth and nose shut, putting her full weight into holding him down as his limbs juddered and jerked. But with no other choice, he eventually swallowed, his throat spasming under her harsh grip, and then he went abruptly lax.

She took her hands away, letting him breathe—it was a long, tense moment of waiting before he took an easy breath, no wheeze present. Yennefer breathed too, the tension lifting from her shoulders.

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open. His gaze flitted around the room for a moment, landing first on Geralt and then on herself. “Yen,” he said urgently, struggling to sit up. “You’re alright?”

“Of course I am,” she snapped. “I’m not the idiot that drank poison.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” he sighed. “I mean, I had a suspicion, but I didn’t want to die for nothing—”

Yennefer froze. “You had a suspicion?”

“Well, yes,” he answered, frowning. “I highly doubted the Rivians were here under good intentions, and as Geralt has been saying, an attempt on your life was bound to come sooner or later, so—”

“You knew it would be poisoned, and yet you drank anyway? Why the fuck would you do that, Jaskier?” She dug her nails into the tabletop, itching to wring them around his neck.

What sort of fool would knowingly drink poison? Only the braindead or suicidal, and while Yennefer did hold his sanity in question at times, it still didn’t make sense.

He blinked. “Do you really have to ask? It’s as I’ve told you a thousand times in a thousand ways.”

No. No, he couldn’t mean—

“I love you, Yennefer of Vengerberg. I would, in fact, die for you, as we’ve proven.” He grinned. “Don’t say I never live up to my promises.”

While, yes, he’d said as much before, it still stunned Yennefer to hear it said so blatantly, and with such tangible commitment. She’d thought them pretty lies, the fanciful words of a jester that wanted only to flatter his lord.

Unable to come up with a response, she turned and fled. If she stayed in that room, she might end up saying or doing something she would later regret—whether that was wring his fool neck or have him right there on the table, she would never know.

So caught up was she in whirling thoughts of truth and lies, she didn’t notice Geralt was following her until she was nearly to her rooms. “I don’t want company right now, Geralt,” she said tersely, whirling around.

“We need to talk,” Geralt replied, stepping closer. “The Rivians—”

“Leave me alone!” she snarled, which was enough to make him pause, giving her time to dart into her rooms and slam the door behind her. She locked them with a fierce finality, relishing the heavy click that signified she was alone with her thoughts. She pressed her back to the door and her hands to her eyes, seeing the stars that burst behind her eyelids from the pressure.

If she could have but a moment to think, to sort out the mess of thoughts churning in her mind—but no, even now, she could hear raised voices, shouting, the clang of steel on steel. What kind of leader was she, cowering in her rooms like a confused animal, simply because of an ill-timed, unexpected confession of love?

She straightened her armor and drew her swords before opening the door and heading out to face whatever chaos lay in wait. As she grew closer, the voices grew more panicked, and she hurried her steps along until she was nearly running.

Jaskier came stumbling out of her workroom, looking worse for the wear and confused, searching for the source of the commotion the same as she was. “Go lie down,” she snapped. “I just saved your life. I don’t need you undoing all my hard work.”

“But what’s happening? Where’s Geralt?” he asked, craning his head. Then he spotted the swords she carried. “What do you need those for?”

She started to reply, and then—

An explosion. All-consuming, fiery hot, ripping her eardrums apart. She flew backwards and hit the wall, stunned. Through blurry vision, she saw Jaskier tossed like a ragdoll, slumped opposite her, bleeding from the temple.

Her ears were ringing; she blinked. Chunks of stone rained down on her like hailstones, a fine white powder covering everything in a thin layer of dust.

Slowly, slowly, her vision stabilized and her hearing began to return—the first thing she heard were screams.

Her people—she had to help her people. She tried to struggle to her feet, but it was as if her limbs were encased in plaster. She looked down and saw that a large chunk of stone was pinning her legs to the ground—with monumental effort, she lifted it off herself, grunting. She closed her eyes and breathed, in, out, and then staggered upwards.

She checked on Jaskier first—he had a head wound, bleeding profusely, but nothing more serious than that. She clumsily slapped his cheeks a few times until he roused, groaning, eyes squinting shut.

“Are you alright?” she shouted, her own voice hardly reaching her ears. He nodded, eyes still closed, and she left him to recover. Staggering into the hall, she took in the sight before her—it was as if a bomb had gone off, and maybe it had.

The entire hall was bathed in sepia-toned light, the torches guttering in and out in the wake of the blast. Chunks of stone and broken pieces of furniture littered the floor, which had fallen through to the dungeons below. To her surprise and immense thankfulness, there were few bodies—perhaps they’d had advance warning and had fled, screaming.

Four people stood in the middle of it all—she recognized Gudros, flanked by Ozrias and Velah. The fourth had hair as white as bone—“Geralt?” she called, and he slowly turned around. Wrong, wrong, wrong, all her senses screamed.

“Not quite.” He laughed, a chilling sound, unlike Geralt’s own rare laugh in every way. She knew then—this wasn’t Geralt. This hadn’t been Geralt for a good while.

“When?” she asked, though she knew exactly when. It had been that damned trip to the border. “Who are you? Really?”

“We are the rightful leaders of a free Rivia, and we would see her prosper once more, no longer under your bloody banner!” Gudros cried. “You have bewitched Rivia’s citizens. We’ll not see you reign any longer!”

“I’ve bewitched no one,” Yennefer snapped. “If you speak of your loyal knights turning against you—that was your king’s own doing, with his wicked deeds and cruel heart.”

“No! Geralt of Rivia was a good man—we’ll break whatever spell you’ve placed on him, right after we parade your desecrated body through the streets!”

Not-Geralt smiled, all teeth, and dropped the illusion—suddenly, he had changed forms, and now appeared as Yennefer herself. “You’re a doppler,” she said, teeth gritted. “What stake have you in this fight?”

“I’ve lived a long life, you know. To tell you the truth, I’ve grown rather bored with it—and what better game to play than this?”

“You’re sick,” Yennefer spat. “You’ve aligned yourself with murderers and oathbreakers.”

“Would you have me align myself with you, Kingslayer?” the doppler purred. “I see it all, you know—I’m in your head. I see how you kill, and lie, even to yourself.”

With a wordless yell of rage, Yennefer threw herself at the doppler, who met her swords with a sword of its own. It was an even match—perfectly even, with all her skill as a fighter reflected back at her. And with the other three Rivians advancing, it looked to be a quick end for her.

Her people would die, and Jaskier would be captured and most likely enslaved, and Geralt would remain captive to those who believed him brainwashed, subject to tortures as they attempted to break whatever enchantment they believed lay over him. And she would be brought up as an example, her dead body held up to the world to say: this is what happens to those who fight back.

She dodged the first swipe of Gudros’ sword, but it left her open for the doppler to press her back, putting her off-balance. Her foot caught on a chunk of rubble and she teetered backwards, falling to the ground, the doppler pouncing on her at once.

“Here lies the Raven Storm; blustered herself out, little stronger than a gust of wind at the end,” the doppler cackled. Yennefer looked into its eyes—her eyes—and braced herself for the end.

And then a chain looped around the doppler’s neck, choking, burning. The skin beneath the silver links smoked and cracked, blackening, the doppler’s hands scrabbling uselessly at the chain and burning too.

Yennefer looked up to see Jaskier standing tall behind the doppler, one of his many decorative body chains in his hands, his face creased in furious fierceness. Yennefer pushed the doppler off of her, rolling to the side just in time to avoid yet another blow from Gudros. She yelled inarticulately and stabbed upwards, piercing his gut through. Without bothering to check if he was dead, Yennefer turned to Velah and Ozrias, both of whom were advancing on Jaskier, swords drawn.

“Behind you,” she shouted, and he ducked a swipe meant to behead him. She darted over and shoved Velah away with a kick to the side, and in the same motion brought her sword up to parry Ozrias’ next strike. Behind her, she heard the doppler let out a guttural noise and collapse—hopefully dead—and out of the corner of her eye she spotted Jaskier trying to avoid Velah’s wildly swinging sword. He barely dodged the last one, and earned himself a neat score along his cheek, blood pouring forth from the small wound.

Luckily, Ozrias proved to be a rather weak swordfighter, and she killed him with a swift dodge and counterattack, cutting off his head in one swift motion. She threw herself in between Jaskier and Velah just in time, handily disarming her while Jaskier cowered and yelped behind her.

Pointing her sword straight at Velah’s throat, Yennefer demanded, “Where is he?”

Velah threw her hands up. “He’s in Spalla. Please, don’t kill me.”

Yennefer narrowed her eyes. “You hurt what’s mine.”

“Please, mercy—” She didn’t finish; she was dead before her body hit the floor. Mercy granted her a quick death, but nothing more. Not after kidnapping her right-hand man, her lover, not after bombing her palace and killing her people, not after hurting Jaskier.

Jaskier took in a deep breath, letting it out shakily. “Whoo. That’s enough excitement for me, I think. I need to sit down,” he said, and sat down right there in the middle of the wreckage.

Yennefer busied herself with cleaning her sword. “So you don’t want to come to Spalla with me?” she asked casually, and he sprang back up to his feet—albeit shakily.

“No, no, I’m in! Someone has to write sweeping songs of your victories there.” He paused. “Just, maybe, a moment to catch my breath? I’ve never really—ah—never had to fight for my life before. Never killed anyone, either. I think my body might be shutting down?” he squeaked, sinking to his knees. “My—my heart is beating so fast, gods, and my hands feel all tingly, and I’m shaking—”

“That’s the adrenaline,” Yennefer answered, kneeling down as well. “It will pass.”

“Good. Because this—well, is this what you feel all the time?” He looked up at her, a dawning sort of respect in his gaze.

She shrugged. “You get used to it eventually. But yes, more or less.”

“Color me impressed, then.” As they spoke, the color began to return to his cheeks, and his frantic breathing slowed, and his shaking died down. “Alright. I’m feeling better, I think.”

“Good,” she echoed, sheathing her sword and helping him up. “Because now we ride for Rivia.”

“To Rivia,” he repeated. “Hey, do you think Geralt will be impressed? Bet he’s never killed a doppler before.”

“Shut up, Jaskier,” she replied, but couldn’t hide the small smile that graced her face.

Her palace was in ruins, and Geralt had been kidnapped, and they were about to go to war with Rivia for the second time, but somehow she knew—it would be alright.

#the witcher #geraskefer #yenskier #yennskier #yenralt #geralt #jaskier #yennefer #warlord au #accidental warlord au #hurt jaskier #jaskier whump #in the rare event that i write more ask to be tagged

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cabinofimagines · 3 years

Text

think of me

a/n ; this is one of my favorite songs to sing ngl but i also am really bad at songfics so i figured i should practice. and also i was feeling really gay all of a sudden and yeah it’s apparent. lmk what y’all think lmao

song ; think of me by sorry, peach

pairing ; piper x mortal!reader

warning ; hella feelings, hella angst, some gay yearning if you read it that way.

“You cuff the sleeves of your t-shirts

You were never the type not to chat

You bit your nails every time you were nervous

I was so in love with that”

“I thought you told me you stopped this, Piper?” you whisper worriedly, examining her surprisingly soft hands in your own, ignoring the heat that ran to your face. She had a horrible habit of picking and biting at her nails whenever she got stressed or nervous. You’ve tried nearly everything to help her stop before she bit away the nail completely, but nothing stuck.

She sighed heavily, cutting her ever-changing eyes at you. You couldn’t tell what she was thinking, as per usual, but that didn’t stop you from clutching her hand in your own.

She smiled softly and moved to brush a stray hair from your eyes, “Don’t worry, I’m working on it!” With one swift glance at your intertwined hands beneath the lunch table, she continued to shovel food into her mouth.

You wish you had pressed her more about it after that, you really should’ve. But the warmth her hand gave, her slim fingers slowly falling between your own and resting there comfortably until the bell rang. The feeling was so intoxicating that you didn’t push the subject, choosing to just bask at the moment at present.

“You like to turn up your music

You regretted your stick poke tattoo

You held my hand every chance that you got

I was so in love with you”

You moved slowly, trying not to jerk her around or move too abruptly and drop her hand. She’d been adamant about holding onto you. She always joked it was because you’d get lost otherwise and she didn’t know how you’d survive on your own, but you kinda figured out that that wasn’t entirely true.

She wouldn’t admit it, but you knew she had abandonment anxiety. As much as she loves her dad, she was desperate for his attention, and she would do anything to get it. Though it seemed everything she did, every outrageous stunt she had pulled hadn’t done the trick. Mr. McLean was always too busy to deal with her.

From here you could see the wrinkle in her brow, way too in her head to notice what she was missing at the moment. You could hear every lyric her earbuds spat out, once again way too loud to be safe. You shook your head and stared at your hands, thumb smoothing over the small heart tattoo on her index finger.

She swore she didn’t care what Ed tatted on her, but when she saw the shitty outline of a heart, the sigh of disappointment she let out was enough to show that she regretted it. It was cute if you squinted at a distance, but she’d never believe you.

Even though I want to let you go

I want you never to leave me behind

Let me be there in your memory

I will reside in the back of your mind

Where you’ll...

Of all the places you could’ve had your first kiss, you never thought you’d be kissed on the slide at the elementary school playground. But honestly? You can’t imagine it anywhere else

She met you at the end of the slide, watching you slide down the bright yellow plastic with a huge grin plastered on her face. You thought it was an accident at first, assuming she was leaning down to help you up and maybe lost her balance, but she pushed you back instead.

Her choppy brown hair hung freely around her face and the sunset’s golden hues washed over her features, making her skin almost shimmery. Her eyes resembled kaleidoscopes and her lips were pretty and full. You could never forget the feeling of overwhelming love that washed over you that day, at that moment.

And when she closed the gap, locking her lips with yours, you froze. You were so captured by everything that is Piper McLean. From the tickle of her hair across your cheek, her nose brushing against your own as you kissed, and the sweet citrus scent that lingered around her.

In that moment, pressed against the burning plastic of an elementary slide, you knew that Piper had captured your very being. And you weren’t going to fight back.

Think of me, think of me, think of me

Think of me, think of me

Just

Think of me, think of me, think of me

Think of me, think me

You love my hair when I cut it

You patched up my skin when it cracked

You told me you’d always be my biggest fan

I was so in love with that

You watched her carefully as she placed to bandaid over your knee and smoothed out any creases. She looked up with a grin and moved to peck your forehead gently, calling you clumsy and helping you up off the concrete. The skateboard you’d fallen off of rolled off to the side, almost forgotten the moment you hit a rock and fell off.

It was embarrassing. You just wanted to show her how hard you’d been practicing and you managed to find the only rock at the skate park and eat shit. You scratched the back of your head, fiddling with the strands that were now shorter than before.

Piper let out an amused hum and moved a hand to your hair and brushing it softly so she wouldn’t mess it up, “I like this,” she mumbled, trailing her lips up to your ear and kissing the corner of your cheekbone lightly, “it makes you look more grown-up.”

You inhaled sharply, too sharply. You choked suddenly, eliciting a hearty laugh from the girl in front of you. You playfully glared as you collected yourself, clearing your throat and moving away to collect your board.

“Jeez, i’m a whole ass clown today.”

“Just today?”

You groan and she chuckles, wrapping her arms around you from behind, resting her head on your shoulder.

“Why don’t you try it again?”

You shook your head, “No I’m gonna fall again and then you’ll just laugh at me again!”

She gave you a firm squeeze, “Promise that I won’t. C’mon, I’ll be cheering you on the whole time!”

“You dream like nobody’s judging

And do everything that you want to

You always wanted the most out of life

I was so in love with you”

Nobody would think it with how much trouble she puts herself in, but she’s actually very thoughtful. You could spend hours on end listening to her plan out the future, trying to push away the butterflies that appear each time she mentioned you as apart of it.

She had everything planned out in this perfect little scenario and it was so sweet... and a little sad. She spoke about how she would convince her dad to leave the fame behind so they could do things like they used to. She wanted you to meet him and have him tease you about your relationship with her.

“Like a normal dad, y’know?”

You’d hum and scooch over to snuggle into her side, wrapping an arm around her middle and burying your face in her neck. Her sweet scent filled your nose, intoxicating you and coaxing you into a peaceful sleep.

“You’ll see, Y/n. It’s all gonna work out.”

“Say that I happen to make you cry

when I told you you were being unkind

Honestly, I tried to leave you be

But you reside in the back of my mind

So I want you to...”

You didn’t argue often, but when you did it was never easy. Piper has always been a really sweet girl, but she has a tendency to lash out when cornered, you knew that all too well. You tried leaving her alone to calm down but then she brought up the one thing you never expected to hear.

You turned with an icy glare, “Did you just...?”

Piper’s expression faded into a one of shock, not believing the words that came out her mouth. She stuttered, reaching out for you and flinching when you brush her off.

“Y/n I’m sorry--”

“That was really uncalled for, that’s not okay.”

A tear fell from her eyes, “I shouldn’t have said that, I wasn’t thinking. Please don’t walk away!”

You huffed and glared down at the floor, trying to stop your hands from shaking, “You never think, Piper. Whenever you get angry you just say whatever you’re thinking!”

“Y/n I--”

You gave her one more glare before turning on your heel and marching away, ignoring the ache in your heart when you heard her breakdown behind you.

“Think of me, think of me, think of me

Think of me, think of me

Just

Think of me, think of me, think of me

Think of me, think me”

“I want it to hurt

I want it to ache

I want you to know how it feels

To have your heartbreak

To feel all the things that you do

And everything I go through

When i”

You stared across the street, frozen in place as if you’d seen a ghost. Your eyes welled with tears, watching the girl who never left your thoughts carry on as if you never existed. She looked nearly the same, hair still choppy and braided, that mischievous glint in her kaleidoscope eyes. She looked happier.

Beside her stood two boys, one stood taller with short blonde hair and furrowed brows, the other stood shorter with a mess of curly black hair and an impish smirk on his face. By the looks of it, they were waiting for the bus to arrive, Piper and the shorter boy sharing stories and jokes while the taller one sat deep in his thoughts.

You sniffled, your heart racing and aching and you tried so hard to ignore it all. You urged your feet to move forward, begging your legs to take over and continue walking home. But you were stuck.

Funny how you were the first to walk away when you had her and now, now you were stuck in place; longing for the girl who sat a street length away.

The blonde boy looked up suddenly, tensing as he probably felt your heavy stare. He stared back with a stony look, tilting his head in confusion when you didn’t react.

It was only when he brought it to the attention of Piper and her friend that your body began moving again. You shuffled down the street at an awkward pace, never looking back despite the gaze on your back.

Piper McLean may never see you again, but you sure do hope she thinks of you. A least a little bit.

“Think of you think of you think of you

Think of you think of you

Just

Think of me think of me think of me

Think of me think of me too”

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

taglist ; @smileitsisa , @beneaththeiceandsnow , @hermionessimp , @fangirlofanythingrickriordan , @a-taken-url , @noisyalmonddreamer , @mmmelanie ,

#Piper McLean #piperxreader #piper mclean imagine #pipermclean #hoo x reader #pjo imagine #percy jackson #annabeth chase #x reader #Leo Valdez #frank zhang #Hazel Levesque #nico di angelo imagines #Nico di Angelo #Will solace #reyna x reader #jason grace imagine #jason grace

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calzona-ga · 3 years

Link

Since 2005, Shondaland has produced groundbreaking television. And over the course of 17 seasons, Grey’s Anatomy has made more than its fair share of bold choices. From the killing off of Patrick Dempsey’s beloved McDreamy to the still-controversial ghost-sex story line, the ABC series has seen, and done, it all. But perhaps no episode was riskier than turning the popular medical drama into a musical for “Song Beneath the Song,” the infamous season-7 hour in which a pregnant Callie (Sara Ramirez) gets badly injured in a car accident and, while her fellow doctors work to save her life, sees her hallucinatory self burst into song — with the rest of the characters quickly following suit.

Coming from the mind of series creator Shonda Rhimes, a vocal fan of both Broadway shows and TV musicals like Buffy’s “Once More, With Feeling,” the Grey’s musical episode was a monumental moment for the show and for television. Many viewers praised its audacity and swooned over the vocal chops of stars like Ramirez and Chandra Wilson.

“Song Beneath the Song” made for one of the most memorable hours of television, earning strong ratings and leading the soundtrack, particularly Ramirez’s show-stopping rendition of Brandi Carlile’s “The Story,” to Billboard success. A decade later, its impact is still growing, thanks in part to the countless teenage Grey’s fans who’ve only recently discovered the series via Netflix. Like the show itself, the musical has become an indelible part of TV history — and so, 10 years after its premiere in March 2011, we spoke to the episode’s cast and crew to get the story of how it came to be.

Featuring thoughts from Rhimes; writers, producers, and co-showrunners Tony Phelan and Joan Rater; and actors Wilson, Kevin McKidd, Jessica Capshaw, Kim Raver, and Eric Dane, this is the oral history of “Song Beneath the Song.”

Finding the Inspiration

Inspired by a 2008 benefit concert in which several stars of Grey’s and its spinoff show Private Practice performed songs to support out-of-work Hollywood workers during the 2007-2008 writers’ strike, Rhimes decided to turn her long-held desire to make a Grey’s musical episode into a reality.

Rhimes (series creator and writer): I remember thinking to myself at a certain point, I have this sort of murderers’ row of Broadway people. Like, Chandra had been on Broadway and singing; obviously, Sara Ramirez had won a Tony on Broadway [for Best Featured Actress in a Musical, in 2005], which is how I first met her; and then I knew that Kevin could sing. There were so many people in the show with beautiful voices. ... It felt like it was leaning in that direction in a good way.

Rater (writer, producer, and co-showrunner): The first iteration for, like, two days when we first started batting around the idea was that we would write original music. It was all gonna be original music. And then we quickly realized that a) who’s gonna write that music?, and b) no, it doesn’t feel like the right thing. And then Shonda, I think a day or two later, came in with the idea that we would use these iconic songs.

Wilson (Dr. Miranda Bailey): But the studio wasn’t quite on board with this whole idea.

Convincing a Skeptical Network

After coming up with the episode’s plot and deciding that the characters would sing classic songs from the Grey’s soundtrack, like Snow Patrol’s “Chasing Cars” and the Fray’s “How to Save a Life,” Rhimes pitched the idea to the network — but, in a surprising first, she was told that they were going to pass.

Rhimes: By that point, I wasn’t getting notes on anything; nobody was saying no to me about anything. So it was really bizarre to me that there was all this resistance to doing a musical episode. And I remember somebody at the network saying, “Can’t you just do one of your love-triangle thingies again?” And I thought, my head’s gonna explode, because the show is not a bunch of “love-triangle thingies.” You guys have missed the point entirely. I felt like, no, every year of the show is a completely different show, and this year the show has a musical episode. And that’s the story.

McKidd (Dr. Owen Hunt): Tony, Joan, and Shonda basically said to us, “We are trying to convince Disney to give us actual money to do this musical episode, and we feel like we want to do a show-and-tell to show them what this musical episode could be. Are you guys willing to give your time to help us create this show-and-tell?” And we were like, “Yeah, of course.”

Wilson: So we gave them a concert. Sara, Kevin McKidd, and I, along with musicians, got together, and we performed this script that Shonda and Tony Phelan put together. Shonda did the narrating. And we went through what the entire episode would be, based on those iconic songs.

McKidd: I remember Sandra Oh came to the concert for the execs just to be moral support for us. And she became like our groupie — she would stand and cheer and whoop and holler in between all the songs.

Phelan (writer, producer, director, and co-showrunner): Once [the executives] saw it, and saw it could work, then they gave us the okay to do it.

Rhimes: I still feel like they thought we were crazy. But you couldn’t deny the talent in the room.

Getting the Cast on Board

Once the episode was greenlit, the team began the task of persuading a cast full of non-singers to simultaneously sing, act, and — in some cases — dance on screen.

Wilson: The offer was put out on the table from the beginning from Shonda — anybody that’s not interested in singing, you’re not required; you don’t have to do it.

Rater: I think Sandra from the beginning was like, nope.

Rhimes: She looked at me — it was her very deadpan face — and she was like, “I’m not singing.” And I was like, okay! If that’s not your thing, that is not your thing — that’s completely okay. And it didn’t feel like she was afraid to sing or push past this barrier. It felt like Cristina Yang doesn’t sing. And that made sense to me.

Rater: Ellen [Pompeo] has a great voice. She could’ve done more. ... Ellen was very gracious about, like, “I’ll doo-wop in the back; don’t worry about me. Let’s hear Chandra, let’s hear Sara, this is theirs.”

Capshaw (Dr. Arizona Robbins): In addition to Sara having this powerhouse voice, she was always very generous about others and never made anyone feel smaller because of her giant power. But singing with her was like, “Aw, man [laughs], how about you get this one? You got this leg of the race.”

Wilson: Probably the most frightened person was Kim Raver, bless her heart.

Raver (Dr. Teddy Altman): It was super-exciting and terrifying at the same time. We all love singing, but unless you’re Sara Ramirez or Chandra Wilson.

Dane (Dr. Mark Sloan): I don’t fancy myself a singer, so I said, “Shonda, in this particular episode, I want the least amount of lines.”

Rhimes: Eric Dane surprised me, because his voice had this lovely quality to it that was really nice.

Dane: I set her up for a catastrophe, so she had very low expectations.

Starting Rehearsals

For months leading up to the episode, the cast embarked on a grueling series of rehearsals and voice lessons, adding hours onto their already long daily schedules.

Capshaw: I had just had a baby, and I was really taking my life one day at a time. I knew it was going to be a big episode, but, timeliness-wise, it was a tough time. I think I was still breast-feeding.

Phelan: Usually in the writers’ room, you’ve got maybe six-to-eight weeks from the time you come up with an idea to the time that it’s shot. This we needed almost the entire season to plan for.

Raver: It was like riding a bike but then adding, like, six more wheels to it, and you had to kind of figure it out.

Capshaw: We were all bringing our A games. In normal days, it feels like there’s a familiarity, you can feel a little more casual, a little more off-the-cuff, but there was nothing off-the-cuff about this. It was all very high stakes because it was life or death, literally.

There were some silver linings, though.

Dane: We had these little earbuds in our ears, I guess like how you film musicals, so you can sync what you’re mouthing with the music in your ear. And so I went to the sound operator and said, “I can buy one of these earbuds, right? And I can create a content-receiver pack and connect it to an iPod and pipe music into this too theoretically, yes?” And he said, “Yeah, you could do that if you want to.” So I said, “So when I’m performing surgery in later episodes on this show, and I don’t have very many lines, theoretically I could be listening to music, and nobody would know?” And he said, “Yeah, theoretically, that would work.” So I had one made, and I shot many episodes in the surgical theater, sometimes with lines, listening to music, many times.

Filming the Episode

“Song Beneath the Song” revolved largely around the seriousness of Callie’s condition, but there were also some light moments, including a sexy, dance-filled take on “Running on Sunshine” featuring several of the show’s couples.

Capshaw: When Sara and I are in the car in the clouds — oh my god, I’ve never felt so goofy in my life [laughs].

Raver: Scott Foley [who played Teddy’s love interest Henry] and I had so much fun working together. He’s so funny, and so choreographing that dance singing number was really fun.

Wilson: Debbie Allen sent in Eartha Robinson, one of her choreographers from the Debbie Allen Dance Academy, who I knew from Fame, the television series. So this is who was coming in, teaching us how to twirl. And I was like, oh my god, I’m on Fame!

Early in the episode, McKidd’s Owen sing-shouts at his crew of doctors to “calm down” — a moment that, years later, became a widely shared meme for its over-the-top nature.

McKidd: In the scene, I think it was Kate Walsh — she’s brilliant; she’s a prankster — and Patrick and Eric Dane. And they were all arguing. And I’m sitting there and [the cameras] push in on me and I go, “Calm down.” And they couldn’t keep a straight face. Every time we did a take, they just would fall over laughing. And they were on camera giving me the eye line, and I had to sing this song seriously with those two actors just doubled over, like sidesplitting. It just tickled their funny bones so much. That was one of the hardest acting days of my life [laughs].

Capshaw: For sure, many, many, many shots were taken at Kevin McKidd for his “calm down” [laughs]. ... He really took on the rock-&-roll part of it.

McKidd: My daughter, who’s big on Twitter, she said that “calm down” thing’s like a serious meme thing now, which I guess is an honor. I don’t know.

The biggest moment of the hour came at the end, when Ramirez, a Tony winner for Spamalot, sang “The Story” as Callie fought for her life.

Phelan: When Sara came to Grey’s, she had this idea that she absolutely wanted to be known as an actress not a singer. And so for her first couple seasons on the show, she kind of left that side of her behind. Then, here was Shonda and I coming to her and saying, “No, we want to re-engage that part of you and put it on the show.” And so I think that she got nervous about that ... but to hear that amazing, magical voice come out of her ... that was the moment that was going to be able to sustain the music [of the whole episode].

Rhimes: When she sings “The Story,” I mean — I wrote the episode; I know what’s gonna happen. I’ve seen it a thousand times. It has nothing to do with me. But I always tear up a little bit because of her extraordinary voice and extraordinary performance.

Wilson: What a showcase it was for Sara Ramirez. I’m so glad that she got to share that part of herself with our audiences.

Reading Those Reviews

On March 31, 2011, the episode aired. While it garnered strong ratings, viewers’ reactions to “Song Beneath the Song” were mixed.

McKidd: I think we all went into it with our eyes open, and we knew there was gonna be mixed reviews. Because some people are gonna love it, and some people aren’t. But that shouldn’t stop people from taking a few risks in what we do, you know?

Rater: I remember being shocked that there were people who didn’t like it. I was like, come on!

Capshaw: It didn’t feel like [the reviews] were gonna affect anything either way. It wasn’t gonna be like, “Oh my gosh, that was too silly, and I’m never watching Grey’s again.” It had already found its place in people’s hearts.

Rhimes: I learned very quickly [on Grey’s] that if you’re gonna believe the good things people say about you, you have to believe the bad things people say. So there’s no point in paying attention to any of it. ... Nobody’s gonna like everything that you do.

Phelan: I know there are a lot of people who don’t like it, who felt like it bent the show too much, but it’s season 7 of a show, and if you’re not taking big swings when you’re on season 7 on a show, something’s wrong.

Creating a Legacy

Despite the critical reactions, the episode has developed something of a cult following over the years, thanks to live benefits and TikTok memes. A decade later, its creators all look back fondly on the hour and its impact.

Wilson: [The cast] watched it together, and I remember feeling like, wow, look at what we did!

Capshaw: When we showed up to do that benefit concert, I remember coming out onstage ... and being completely, completely overwhelmed with the people that responded to Arizona in that episode, and to the love story between Callie and Arizona.

Phelan: As a director, it was the biggest challenge of my career to do that, and it’s one of the things that I’m most proud of.

Raver: I’ll be in my car singing along, or at work if we’re in the hair-and-makeup trailer and we’re listening to [the soundtrack], it’s just an immediate flashback. It kind of feels like yesterday.

Wilson: The soundtrack is on my playlist on my phone [laughs]. So I will pop that thing out in a minute, because it’s just absolute happy memories.

Rater: If I’m cooking, that is what I put on. That’s what I tell Alexa to play for me.

Rhimes: I feel like that episode just always reminds me of having so much fun. That was what was really great. We had so much fun. And how much do you get to say that about just being at work?

Dane: As a cast, contrary to what some of the entertainment media might have speculated, we were all very close. We all spent a lot of time together, and a lot of that stuff felt really real to us. It was easy to access because of how we felt about each other off screen.

Raver: I just remember it being such an incredible experience, being able to work with all these incredibly talented actors and creators.

Rhimes: It’s right in my top 10 of episodes we’ve ever done.

Dane: I don’t particularly want to do it again, but I’m glad I did it.

#grey's anatomy #7x18 #jessica capshaw #eric dane #chandra wilson #shonda rhimes #kevin mckidd #kim raver #tony phelan #Joan Rater

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nicolewoo · 4 years

Text

Please Daddy Part 5

Pairing: Joe Anaoi X Reader (Roman Reigns X Reader)

Warning: Smut including fingering of a girl.

We were on our way to the club when I got a phone call from Ann. “This can’t be good.” I say as I press call button. “Is everything ok?”

Ann’s voice came through the car speakers. “Yes, but I need you to help liaison tonight.” Club meetings were very involved. First the doms and subs met separately to discuss any issues with the other group. The liaisons of the doms and subs met together before the entire club joined for a group meeting. “What’s going on? Why do you need me?” I asked.

Her timid voice answered. “I’d do it myself, but we are voting on a new member that I think is going to interest all the single subs. I’m hoping you can remind the subs of proper behavior with famous members.”

“Really?” My mind flashed back to when I met Henry. There were so many things to remember about protocol. How we had to handle being out in public. “Who are they voting in?”

Ann paused before answering. “Chris Evans.”

“You THINK every sub will be interested?” I said sarcastically.

Ann laughed at the joke, but the grunt that came from Joe wasn’t a laugh. He was displeased. Jealous maybe. I reached my hand over to rest it on his leg reassuringly. I’d have to be careful to let him know he’s the only man I want tonight.

“Since you’re not interested in him, you should be the one who goes over the behavior standards.” Joe perked up after hearing Ann as I breathed a sigh of relief. Ann had easily picked up on Joe’s jealousy and was able to defuse the situation by saying I wasn’t interested. Thank you Ann!!!

“Oh. Sure. I’ll do it.” I volunteered.

___________________________________________________________________

Ann and I stood in front of the subs. Most were female, but we did have a smattering of male subs too. There was a buzz in the air as word of Chris Evans permeated the meeting room. “Calm down everyone.” Ann yelled above the din.

“Is it true?” Kelly yelled above the noise and captured everyone’s attention, the crowd prodding us along to try and get the truth.

I motioned for Ann to sit. I knew she didn’t like public speaking, and I knew that was why she wanted me here. “Everyone sit please.” I said as I took my spot at the podium. The room quieted quickly. “Yes. Chris Evans is here and has asked to join our club. Yes. He looks better in person than he does on the big screen.” I hadn’t even finished my sentences before the whole room broke out into chaos again. Words like “mine” and “dibs” were volleyed about the room. There was also a commotion about if he was straight, gay or bi or something else. “Subs, the faster we get through this, the faster you all can meet him, but first…..” The subs began to compose themselves again. “First we need to go over some standards for our behaviors.”

Now that I had everyone’s attention, it was time. “It’s been a long while since we’ve had a star of Chris’ magnitude join.” I heard someone mention Henry. “Here’s what you’ll need to remember. First and foremost, he is human. He has wants and desires like the rest of us, but don’t confuse him with the characters he plays in movies. Chris has a reputation for being an upstanding, kind and generous man. This is his PUBLIC persona. In truth, we know nothing about his preferences yet. I’m sure at least one of you will get to find out soon. For all we know, he could be the cruelest dom in the building, so tread lightly. Get to know him before jumping into signing a contract with him.

Second, give him room! I’m certain a lot of you want an opportunity to play with him, but desperation doesn’t look good on anyone. Let Chris approach you. Those of us who are in relationships will assist with introductions where possible.”

The room erupted again. “Attention!” I yelled over the noise, and the room quieted again. “Next, if you and Chris do end up together, there are complications you need to be aware of. He may or may not want your relationship to be public. If so, you’ll be criticized by his fans, and it will be relentless.” I looked to Ann who cringed at the thought of some of the press she got.

“Everyone needs to remember our #1 rule. Discretion! Just as this club is a safe haven for each of us, it needs to be Mr. Evan’s safe haven too.” There were verbal agreements all through the room. As the meeting went on, I was able to get the subs subdued a bit, but there was a palpable energy about the club for sure.

We arrived at the dom meeting room just as their meeting was breaking up. Henry quickly found Ann and glued himself to her side, but Joe was deep in conversation across the room.

“Have the subs seen Chris yet?” Henry asked.

I chortled, “I think it’s safe to say he’s going to have his choice of the available subs.”

Ann laughed, “We had trouble keeping them calm enough to have the meeting.”

“That’s good to hear.” I turned to find Mr. Evans walking up to us. To me actually. His eyes raked over me like I was prey and he was stalking. “So, when you say I can have my pick of ANY sub...” he sidled up next to me.

Something about his body language must have alerted Joe because he quickly ended his conversation and was storming to me. “You’re very sweet, but I meant the single subs.” Seeing Joe approaching me angry, Henry turned to see why, and I watched as Henry read Chris’ body language too.

Realizing his mistake, Chris started apologizing immediately. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see a cuff...”

Hen interjected. “My bad. I forgot to tell him.” He said it as much to the approaching Joe as to me. “No cuffs here, mate.” He patted Chris’ shoulder. “We don’t use cuffs here. We use necklaces instead.” My hand shot to my necklace a beautiful ruby surrounded by diamonds.

Joe arrived now, pushing between Chris and I and wrapping his arms around me. I could tell by the look on his face that he was irate. “Daddy,” I whispered to try to sooth him.

“I’m so sorry,” Chris held his hands up. “My apologies.”

Joe grumbled and looked down at me. “Are you ok, baby girl?

“I’m perfectly fine.” I said as I leaned into Joe. “Just a misunderstanding.” I was still trying to sooth Joe’s anger.

“I’m so sorry.” Chris dropped his head in a perfectly rehearsed beg for forgiveness. “I didn’t know.”

“Really, it was my fault.” Henry interrupted Chris.

I needed to defuse the situation quickly, but I wasn’t sure how. My brain raced as I tried to figure what might sooth Joe. Blow job face? Yeah… that should do it. I kept my head down and peered my eyes up at Joe with the same look I always gave him when I blew him. In theory, that should distract him. He paused a moment looking at me. He couldn’t help but smile at my obvious ploy to calm him. “No worries.” He extended a hand to Chris. “Just a misunderstanding.” He grabbed my chin and kissed me, like he was marking his territory.

“I want to thank you.” I told Ann as we relaxed with our friends.

She looked puzzled. “What did I do?”

“Earlier… in the car…” I prodded.

She reached her hand out to pat my hand and smiled big. “I figured Joe was the jealous type.” She winked at me. “Plus, I didn’t say anything that isn’t true. You really don’t like Mr. Evans.”

“I didn’t say that.” I grinned and the women around me laughed.

Ann turned to see our men sitting across the room playing cards. Following her gaze, I turned to see them too. My eyes locked with Joe’s, and a sinful grin lit up his face. “There’s only 1 man for you right now, and even Chris Evans can’t mess that up.” Everyone laughed. Everyone except me. Joe’s gaze burned through me and my body reacted.

“Do you need to go?” Stephanie asked me, turning my attention back to our friends.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure what Joe wanted, but just as I began to wonder, he nodded at me as if to say Go on. Have fun, and he focused his attention back on his friends. “No. I’ve got time.” I said with my eyes still locked on Joe.

We stayed for a couple of hours catching up. It wasn’t uncommon after meetings for the doms to keep to themselves and the subs keep to ourselves, but before too long, Henry and Chris made their way over to our group. It didn’t escape my notice that Joe immediately headed my way, almost catching up to Henry and Chris.

As the gentlemen neared, Ben, one of the subs, let out a low grumble of approval followed by “I hope he’s bi.”

As the group of doms approached us, I mused at how ALL of the subs quieted down as if we were all under their spell. Joe’s arm quickly wrapped around my waist as he approached me….. claimed me… marked his territory, and in truth, I was thrilled at his possessiveness. More than a few of the subs looked jealously at me with the giant Samoan. He placed a gentle kiss to my forehead and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Are you having fun?” The sultry tone of his voice immediately turned me on. I took a deep breath in before answering yes. “Do you want to stay here or go home?”

Dammit! He knew what his soft whisper in my ear was doing to me. He’d already begun the scene and we weren’t even alone, but as he towered over me possessively and protectively, I relaxed into his presence and realized it was time to go home even though it was early.

“Henry, Chris.” Joe shook their hands. “It’s time for us to go home.” He kissed my temple as if he was rubbing it in that we were together. Rubbing it in to who though? The dozen or so subs that sat around us? To Henry or Chris? It honestly didn’t matter. If daddy said it’s time then it’s time.

We made our excuses and went to Joe’s car in the parking garage attached to the club. I neared the passenger side door waiting for him to open it as usual. Instead, he reached out putting his hands on the car trapping me between them. “Mine!” he growled as he buried his face in my neck, trailing soft kisses over the hot skin. “Mine.”

“Yours!” I sighed as he continued his seduction on me. He moved an arm long enough to brush my hair off my shoulder to get better access to my neck. My hands clawed at his back as he drove me mad with his teasing.

“Mine!” He looked down at me, locking my stare with his. “Remember that.” His tone was half desperation.

“Yours.” I said sweetly now. “Only yours.” The words seemed to calm him a bit, and he opened the car door allowing me to climb inside before closing the door behind me and coming around the car to the driver’s side.

Once we were on the road, Joe placed his huge, warm hand on my knee, his thumb lazily drawing circles for a minute before he slid his hand up to the hem of my dress. “Pull it up,” he commanded and I quickly did. “Underwear off,” was his next command.

Sliding the silky material down, I held the scant cloth up for him to see. He quickly grabbed it from my hands and tucked it into his pocket. “Mine!” He joked.

I intended to laugh, but his hand shot straight to my pussy, gently running a finger over my slit. When the skin parted and his finger found my moisture, he smiled wide. “Ready for me already?” I felt a little embarrassed at how quickly my body responded to him, so I kept quiet. “Good girl.” He said as he slid his finger up to my clit.

Instantly, he started circling it gently. Damn! He knew exactly how to touch me. In seconds I was already moaning in pleasure. Just when I thought I’d explode from his attention on my clit, he slid a finger inside.

This couldn’t have been safe. He split his attention between driving and getting me off, and as he leaned forward to get a better position to slide 2 fingers deep inside me, I fretted for a second but the pleasure his fingers gave me quelled my fears. Trust him… the first rule.

Closing my eyes and leaning my head against the seat, I surrendered to him. The bite of the cold winter night nipped at the edges of my consciousness, but the only thing I could focus on was his fingers. They slid in, filling me, out and slid over my clit. In filling me, out sliding over my clit…. It was a beautiful torture.

He built me up until I begged him to stop. “Daddy, please.”

“Please what?” He tried to sound innocent.

I growled in frustration. “Daddy, Stop the car. Pull over… do something. I need to cum.” I whined needily next to him as my hips bucked up to meet his hand.

“Soon baby girl. We’re just a couple of blocks away.” He chuckled. “You can make it.” He teased as he turned onto his street.

I rolled my head back and forth as my hips greedily bucked up toward his hand again. “No. Now, daddy. Please now!”

He quickly removed his fingers, resting them on my leg. Without even taking his eyes off the road he growled out, “Don’t you DARE tell daddy what to do and when to do it.” He acted mad, but when I peeked over at him, he had a devilish smirk on his face.

“I’m sorry daddy.” I hadn’t realized how bratty I was being, but seeing his smirk, I realized he was thoroughly amused. Ok. I can play brat tonight. “I just need to cum.” I sulked in my seat.

He laughed low. “You NEED what I say you need.” His amused tone of voice calmed my overheated body a bit. He pulled into his garage now, coming around to open my door as I pulled my skirt down to cover myself.

Opening the car door, he offered me his hand, and when I stood, I was wedged between the car and him. His presence was overpowering. “Come. Let me show you what you need.” He said.

@mindofasagitarius @lclb13 @serenityfiretrash @lustyromantic @reigns-5sos @bigpsychicbagelauthor @omg-im-such-a-masochist

#roman reigns #joe anaoi

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internalsealpanic · 4 years

Text

Fabulous Friday Evenings

Summary: You were having a really bad day. Conner decides to help cheer you up and make sure your drunk ass doesn’t face plant on the side walk.

masterlist

word count: 2,652

a/n: Special thanks to @anothertimdrakestan for helping with the ending and helping with editing! Love you, Elle!

warnings: alcohol and swearing and author does not know how alcohol works. No one is under the drinking age. This may benefit from more editing.

"Mosht people are jusht the careful scaffolding of complexshesh," you slurred, your face red, head half buried in your arms, and golden ear cuffs winking under the dim bar lights.

"You somehow still sound like a fucking nerd even you're when drunk," Conner laughed throwing his head back, handsome face stretched with a cheeky smile. "You look like a mess," he said softly, reaching out for your cheek.

"Fuhk you! Not eberyone can be born too pretty for their own guhd- how did yah evehn know I was here? It was Tim wasn't it! "

"Good guess buuuut it was actually Bart" Conner explained casually taking a seat next to you as you lifted your head momentarily before plopping it back down to stare at the amber gloss of the drink. The light from the ceiling seemed to dance so elegantly in your eyes even as you wrinkled your brows. "That rat," you cursed miserably into your arm.

Across from you, a pretty brunette shot you two a wink and without looking you could tell Conner flirted in kind. Normally, you'd have the audacity to steal the girl's attention away before Conner could even make a proper move but tonight you were in absolutely no mood to be charming. In fact, you were sloshed. You didn't know whether it was the fourth or fifth drink that did it but there you were sitting next to one of the most attractive people he knew with your makeup smeared and eyes still swollen and puffy. You kind of just want a portal to open up and swallow you.

The brunette made a motion to her friends which indicated that she was gonna try her luck and you wished her the best of luck. You bit your soft lips before pressing them into a pout. It took everything in Conner not to kiss you on the spot. Be the responsible one they said. It would be fun, they said.

"We should go. You're-"

"Have fun," you said, patting him on the shoulder, cutting him off curtly; placing some cash on the bar before leaving. The buxom brunette approached Conner placing a hand on the shoulder you’d just touched moments before. He didn’t seem to notice her, his mind still lingering on the warmth of your hand. Before she can say anything, he pivots and runs towards you .

The casual slump in your shoulders in place of your usual elegance was a pretty good indication that you would probably fall in a gutter before you got home. Conner highly doubted you could see straight.

"I can’t believe Roz let you get this sloshed without checking on you," He joked bringing one of your arms over his shoulder and slinging his own arm around you for balance. You walked like a newborn horse. It was incredibly embarrassing and you wanted to die. Conner, on the other hand, just found it incredibly hilarious.

"She's out getting into her own brand of sloshed at a bachelorette party,"

"Huh. Didn't know she was the wedding type. Thought she hated going to those,"

"She's the stripper," You deadpanned, sounding abnormally sober. With that Conner let out a genuinely hearty laugh. You would trade all the martinis, dackories, and margaritas in the world just to get drunk on that laugh.

"That reminds me," Conner drawled, adjusting his hold feeling just how shaky you were from the late October Metropolis weather pressing you closer to his warm body. You kind of wanted to melt into his side but you had too much pride. "Bart never said why you were out here getting shit faced," You frowned at him but couldn't really muster any sharpness into your expression.

There were lots of reasons to get 'shit faced' even in shiny Metropolis. You twitched your nose and mouth side to side gathering the makings of a sentence. Where do you even start? Your little sister got suspended, your mother (who somehow found out you were in Metropolis) is either demanding money or for you to drop everything to go back home to help around the house (translation: help out with the bills while babysitting your siblings), Bats and some other league members were on your ass for the last mission (probably the only thing on this list you found reasonable), this morning, you got fired from your library job so they could hire Marco's girlfriend (who is in fact a perfectly nice person which means you can't really hate her), or the dozens of little annoyances such as Bart not being able to keep his trap shut.

"This week was just a little much,"

A long moment of silence passes between you. Uncharacteristic for Conner but it was cute that he thought silence would make you fess up.

"You know I could have gone home on my own. That brunette looked like she was up for a good time,"

"Yeah right. Also you're welcome."

"You're right. Thank you for getting blue balled this fine evening to escort me" you didn't want to be prickly but Conner was being too nice and that made your skin crawl. Why couldn’t he be mean to you right now like a normal person?

"First off, she wasn't even my type-" You raised a brow.

"Kon, her tits were the size of Jupiter-"

"Did you really just say 'tits'?"

You threw him a scowl clearly sobering up from irritation.

"Shut up. Point iiiis, you didn't have to-"

"You just said-"

"Oh for the love of- yes, I said tits. Speaking of which you should be staring at some instead of having to lug my sorry ass around on this fabulous Friday evening." Your hand fluttering, gesturing vaguely in the air.

"Eh. There'll be other Fridays" Kon shrugged. Pulling you closer and some selfish part of you felt relieved.

----------

Much to your surprise (you really ought not to be), Roz wasn't home yet which meant you had to dig out the keys from the secret hiding spot- another hassle. You reached out peeling a hilariously well concealed hole in the wall and fished out the set of jingling keys. Conner looked like he was between amusement and bewilderment. Good enough. At least, this stopped Conner's 30 minute TED Talk about the new 70s sitcom he'd found.

You two entered the shoe box apartment clumsily thanks to your disastrous limbs.

You blew out a breath and muttered a thanks as Conner helped you plop onto the couch. Though, it was more like gravity decided to magnetize your body to the couch and Conner just let it happen.

You shut his eyes for a moment wrapping a ragged blanket around you. You made a mental note to raid the thrift store for a new one. Preferably one void of holes.

"So what's up and don't you dare say it was nothing. I've never seen you this hammered before," He said handing you a mug of steaming hot chocolate.

"Does it occur to you that I might get hammered like this often and you might just not see it? Who knows maybe I'm actually a functional alcoholic?"

"Ok, first off, you are barely functional. Second, that might be your weakest deflection yet. Try again,"

"Ok... did it occur-"

"I didn't mean it lite- just tell me what happened. Everyone's worried,"

You stared at the steam rising from the fresh cup of cocoa. It was none of Conner's business. It was no one’s business. Your friends were too goddamn nice. Blowing out another breath, you said "You might wanna sit down too,"

Conner takes his own mug of hot cocoa and sits next to you because for some reason eye contact made you a better liar and Conner for all his dumb decisions wasn't gonna let you off the hook that easily. You shifted uncomfortably and muttered about either Cassie or Roz ratting you out. He assumed it was the eye contact thing. Conner felt a little offended. He might not be Tim but he’s smart enough to figure it out on his own. Despite his hurt feelings and bruised ego, he decided to table that and focus on the current issue or, likely, issues.

"Do you want it in alphabetical order?"

"Please tell me you can actually do that," Conner teased with a wide grin. You couldn’t fight off a smile forming on your face. "Sadly, I am not Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. My brain cells work like a normal person's,"

"Didn't you die?"

"Death only fixes stupid when you stay dead. You've seen Red Hood and whichever other Ex-Robin has been to the pearly gates,"

"You say that as if Jason wouldn't tell the big man to fuck off,"

You blinked and turned your head up to the ceiling. "Ok that's true," You conceded, your mouth twitching rapidly from side to side making you look like an exasperated rabbit. Cute.

"So what's up?"

All the good mood from the past few minutes dissipated in an instant. You looked down solemnly at the still steaming mug. You were silent for what felt like an eternity.

"It's family- Immediate. And the source of all evil-"

"Lex Corp?"

You snorted a shy tired smile cracked across your face. You shook your head. Those little gestures just make Conner feel a little warmer. You, on the other hand, cursed at how easily Conner could make you laugh. You were supposed to be sad damn it.

"Money," Conner knew immediate family was always a sore spot for you. No one knew the specifics except Roz but that was inevitable when you're cousins. Money was also a sore spot and based on your near dead tone. You’ve either lost a lot of it or you’re in a tight spot but not ready to elaborate.

"Wanna try buying a lottery ticket?"

"What?"

"Who knows you might get lucky?"

"You could have gotten lucky you if you-"

"Are you seriously gonna keep bringing that up?"

"Yes, most likely. Depends,"

"On what?!"

"On whether I can think of something funnier to give you shit about or if you can convince me-whatever the fuck you're thinking of doing stop!"Conner's cheeky grin did not disappear nor did the faint flush on your cheeks.

"I wasn't thinking of anything, you sick pervert" he laughed. You really should have been exasperated with Conner. You tried damn it. You looked at him skeptically before violently letting his head rest on Conner’s shoulder causing the other boy to fall over.

"Aaaaaaawwwww babe , if you wanted to cuddle you could have just said so,"

You wanted to. In fact, both of you wanted to. But unfortunately neither of you were martian and neither of you was willing to say jack. You closed your eyes trying to pretend Conner wasn't a little shit. Conner radiated too much smug for that though.

"Shut up," You mumbled into Conner's shoulder already feeling sleep pull him under. You clung to him. Maybe just for tonight you can indulge in this. Just for a little while you can cling to Conner's warmth. Maybe in the morning your head will ache too much to remember this. Waking up alone wouldn't be too painful then. Hopefully.

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

You woke up feeling like a troop of Can Caning hippos decided to host a live performance all over your head. You sighed remembering that you had in fact run out of Aspirin just days before so you decided on just lying there and praying that Roz also needed Aspirin and had more energy to run to the store.

You settled in nuzzling in to the warm-

Wait. It was October.

Nothing in the apartment should be warm.

NOTHING.

Then, you heard it. A LOUD snore. It honestly sounded more like the roar of an engine than anything. Everything else followed. The slow rising and falling of the chest beneath you, the press of stubble against your forehead, and the strong arms loosely wrapped around you.

Yeah. You died again. Yeah. You finally went to heaven. Yup. You were ok with that. You were definitely 100% A Ok with this if this was heaven. Being held tenderly by the guy you liked while you got a good night’s sleep was definitely heaven. God, you were such a sap.

How the hell you missed all of that baffled you.

Oh wait. Dancing hippos. Fuck.

Your head felt like it was threatening to crack open but somehow you honestly could not mind even if you tried. You were laying on top of a hot (literally and metaphorically) guy mutually cuddling. You nuzzled into the junction between Conner’s neck and shoulder in an attempt to steal more warmth. Sure, you were probably gonna go deaf from the snoring. Sure, you were definitely irritated by the stubble pressed against your face. And sure, you would probably die of embarrassment once Conner woke up. You could worry about all that later. All you could think about was how nicely your arms fit around Conner’s neck and how Conner’s arms wrap around you a little tighter in return.

Click.

You could hear the distinct sound of your own camera shutter. Each sound chipped away at your peace of mind. You lifted your head only to see Roz holding your camera.

TAKING PICTURES.

Your cousin was nothing if not a petty opportunist.

“I would tell you to get a room buuuut the only bedroom iiiiis preeeeeeetty occupied,” Roz drawled smugly way too pleased with herself. You opened his mouth to ask but you’d already made the mistake of walking in on Roz and a guest once and you were pretty sure you needed more therapy for that than you did for your murder. You just sighed as Roz took another picture.

“Come on, (y/n), smile a little,”

“I’m not smiling for your blackmail material,”

Roz gasped trying to sound scandalized. She failed, only sounding amused beyond belief. “It’s only blackmail if you’re ashamed of it. Personally, I think you’re scoring big time,”

“Roz please just fuck off before you wake him up,”

“Too fuckin’ late for that. He’s been awake for awhile,”

You could feel Conner smiling into your hair and his arms wrap around you a little tighter. You tried to straighten up. To tower over him. To look intimidating.

But…. you couldn’t. You were kind of trapped because, yanno, super strength.

You were seething and threw a scowl at Conner who only chuckled at you in response.

“You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?” You snarled, clearly exasperated and feeling the hippos start their encore performance.

“ Mmmmmm, it depends,” Nope. The hippos did not only come back for an encore. They brought friends. Based on the absolutely smug look on Conner’s face, you were in for an entire parade.

You let out a breath not sure if you wanted to play this game but not really seeing any other options. “On what?“

Conner paused and hummed and hummed and hummed some more as if he was actually thinking but you knew from the crook of his lips that he had this planned out. Maybe not this exact scenario but something close“Go out on a date with me,”

You blinked then rolled your eyes theatrically enough that your head rolled along with it. “And be seen with you in public?” You teased, an almost sheepish smile tugging at your features.

Yeah, Conner wasn’t exactly expecting you to say yes.

“Yeah. Sure. Why not?” You said playing it off as casually as possible but you couldn’t help but mirror the absolutely goofy grin plastered on Conner’s face. His happiness was infectious. You felt weightless. It was probably the fact that you were floating with him but you were pretty sure you were just on cloud nine. You were doomed. Definitely, inevitable, indubitably doomed. Even though everything has been shit up to now. The happiness radiating off of Conner was enough to make everything feel a little better.

Thank you so much for reading!

tag list:

@idkmanicantenglish

@batarella (I thought you might like it?)

#conner kent x reader #conner kent #conner kent imagine #My writing #dc fanfiction #DC comics #kon el x reader #kon el imagine

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amariaamaris · 3 years

Text

Of changes and Revelations Part 2

Here’s the second part! It took me awhile because well... life. Anyway I hope you enjoy and comments and constructive criticism is always welcome!

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

For the past two weeks, Bonnie has been getting to know the group from Wakanda. All of them came to the collective agreement to give her a crash course on, well... everything. Then they would all help her set up to move to Wakanda while allowing her to keep her Grams house for as long as she wants it.

The first thing T’Challa told her about Wakanda and their royalty... don’t bow, they don’t do that in Wakanda. They have very different ways of giving and showing respect. For the most part, if you give respect you will receive respect. Everyone in Wakanda is essential to it’s strength and continued growth. Ayo and Okoye taught her how to tell what rank and clearance one person has and they have started teaching her how to fight. Apparently she made a good impression because they want her as an honorary Dora Milaje.

James Barnes or rather Bucky has started teaching her self defense and certain spy things. Why she would ever need to know that is beyond her, but Bonnie just goes with it. He’s also been teaching her how to spot someone trailing you and to know friend from foe in a split second.

Meanwhile, N’Jadaka - or Erik as he insists on her calling him, she chooses to ‘forget’ that just to annoy him (don’t tell him that) - has started teaching her their language and other nuances of their culture that the others may glaze over. She may of may not have had a miniature panic attack when N’Jadaka had her look at the inside of her lower lip... he didn’t stop laughing for a good 15 minutes after.

When she started to cry again, he immediately got serious and once again helped to piece her back together. After every truth bomb he gave her and Bonnie’s shattering... she felt completely raw and much like an empty husk. Everything started making sense; her strange dreams of panthers and a language that she couldn’t seem to find no matter how hard she looked, lost memories, her father seeming to hate her for more that just who and what her mother and grandmother were. Her parents constant arguing and why she was never allowed to truly be by herself and with herself. Of course that changed when her mother left, but by then her memories were deeply buried.

Bonnie allows herself to close her eyes and let out a deep cleansing sigh into her mug of tea as she settles more into the bench swing, underneath a very cozy blanket. Her eyes flicker open to look down at the grimoire she has on her lap. Before she can start reading again, she feels eyes on her. Bonnie allows herself to slowly look up and promptly blinks in surprise at who she sees standing at the steps of the porch. Then she blinks again wondering if she is seeing things in the late evening with the fairy lights lining the porch. Upon seeing that the person is really there... well it takes all of Bonnie’s will to not groan in annoyance.

“What do you want Elijah Mikaelson? Are you here to demand my services? It didn’t go over very well for the oh so powerful hybrid.” Discretely Bonnie reaches to her wrist and lightly touches one of her kimoyo beads to let N’Jadaka know that she had a visitor (since he is in her grams house doing something). When all he does is stare at her in response, Bonnie lets out an aggravated breath. She starts to move to get up and go inside, Elijah quickly moves to step forward. The barrier quickly stops him in his steps.

“Miss Bennett please, I’m not here to upset you and not here to ask you to do something. Please, just stay there... I would like to apologize.” Bonnie just barely stops her jaw from dropping in shock, the only thing that stops her is feeling the kimoyo bead warming up. She quickly brushes over it to let N’Jadaka know that he didn’t need to interfere (yet). Bonnie gives Elijah a slight nod and settles back in her spot.

She watches as he shifts briefly then adjusts his cuffs while quietly clearing his throat.

“I would like to apologize for all of the pain I have caused you. I knew some of your ancestors and I respected every single one of them. I loved and respected Ayana, She was like a second mother to my siblings and myself. I regret that I have ever done any of the things that I did to you. I don’t expect your forgiveness and am not worthy of it. I would like to offer you perhaps some sort of closure. I would have written a letter to you to apologize, but you deserve more than just written word.” Bonnie can feel her buried emotions from all of the shit she was put through for Elena Gilbert come up and quickly started to blink her tears away.

“You’re right, you don’t deserve my forgiveness, but I do. Elijah, I do forgive you. Out of everyone in my life even my friends and family... especially them. None of them ever apologized to me. As much as I hate to say this... Thank you, thank you for apologizing and actually meaning it. Thank you for doing what you did because your actions may have caused me pain, but it also helped to open my eyes. So, thank you. Although, if you ever and I mean ever try anything like that with me again... I will finish what your mother started.” She let herself watch as the different emotions flickered across Elijah’s face, which finally settled on a small, soft smile. Which evidently made him look extremely genuine and attractive.

“You Miss Bennett are an enigma, you deserve more than anyone has ever given you. I see now where they they get their compassion from. I hope you can live a life worthy of who you are.” A real joy filled smile covers Bonnie’s face and lights it up, causing Elijah’s breath to slightly hitch.

“Elijah, you are a good man. I can see why my ancestors like you. You deserve better too, get yourself out of here. Your siblings eventually have to figure it out for themselves. You are not accountable for their actions. You have the right to live your life for yourself.” Elijah briefly looks down, and lets out a slow shuddering breath, feeling all the history and buried emotions come off his chest and shoulders. He carefully reaches behind him and picks up a bag and carefully sets it down on the first step.

“These are all your ancestors grimoire's that were in our possession. Including Ayana’s, they belong with the Bennett line... we never should have had them with us in the first place. Thank you Miss Bennett, you have shown me more kindness and compassion than I deserve, goodnight.” Bonnie tilts her head, listening to the whispers upon the slight breeze as a soft smile comes upon her face.

“Goodnight, my ancestors say that you have been fully forgiven. They offer you and only you protection from other witches, do not do anything to make them pull that protection. They will not be as forgiving if you do.” It is silent for a bit as they both allow that promise echo in the air backed up by the layered whispers. Then with a slight smile on her face, Bonnie decides to add one more thing, as an olive branch for Elijah from her directly. “Oh, one more thing... Ahnika, my name, it’s Ahnika.”

If the name confused Elijah he didn’t show it and he took the olive branch for what it was. “Ahnika... Goodnight.” As he slowly walks his way down the path to the sidewalk, Elijah hears Bonnie quietly return his farewell. “Goodnight Elijah.”

After waiting for a bit, Bonnie gets up and walks to pick up the bag full of grimoires. Before she could touch the straps, N’Jadaka is there; wrapping an arm around her waist and with his other, picking up the bag with ease. “Kitten, care to tell me who that white suited man was?” Bonnie just barely held back the shiver that wants to make its way through her body. His lips are right at her ear and his front is flush with her back.

Bonnie just continues to stare at the bag in his hands and mutely shakes her head. N’jadaka lets out a huff, as he easily moves both of them back to the bench swing. He carefully sets the bag down next to the swing as he sits himself in her spot and Bonnie on his lap. Of course throughout this time he has had no care for her personal space. Bonnie is positive that he just enjoys watching her reactions.

“Kitten you better start talking, you were the one that brought my attention to an unwanted visitor. If you force me to make you talk, you won’t like how I am.” Bonnie turns on his lap to face him as his arms wrap around her to keep her steady.

“Don’t worry about him N’Jadaka, I thought that he came here to cause problems. He just came her to apologize for his actions. That’s all”

“I’m really supposed to believe that? Was he trying to bribe you to forgive him?” Bonnie can’t help but watch in fascination as what James had dubbed the Killmonger look filled his eyes and face. Causing his eyes to darken, his jaw to clench tightly, and tension seemed to cover his entire body. Even as she finds the look fascinating, she knows that if she doesn’t calm him down before he tries to go after Elijah... He would end up dead within the night. So, with careful fingers she starts tracing the raised markings that always peek slightly out of his shirt. Marking him as an experienced killer.

“He didn’t bribe me, I’m ready to move on from this life. I was willing to forgive him because he was honest in his regret, I want to move on from my hate. What goes on in this town with my friends and the others in none of my business nor is it my problem. Those are the grimoires that my ancestors had, they rightfully belong with the Bennett’s. He was just returning them to the correct hands.”

N’Jadaka’s eyes seem to switch and darken in a different way, a way that Bonnie couldn’t read. Though, the shiver that danced down her spine felt particularly pleasurable. Without either of them realizing it, her fingers had danced their way under his shirt following the markings. Feeling the ripple of muscles following her fingers movements caused a small smile to twitch at her lips.

“Kitten, don’t start something your not ready to finish.” N’Jadaka’s tense voice broke the peace and silence of the night. Causing Bonnie to freeze and slowly meet his eyes. She takes notice of the fire blazing in his eyes and his clenched jaw and how his hands are white knuckled from the effort of not moving. Bonnie studies his eyes a little longer and bites her lip. Feeling a flare of playfulness, determination, and something else she really didn’t want to focus on right now; made her choice.

She allowed her figures to move across his markings again and within a few seconds a snarl escapes him (sounding much like the big cats that they have in their history). Before she can react, N’Jadaka is on the move; throwing her over his shoulder, opening the door, stalking inside, allowing the door to close with a definitive click. Bonnie’s shocked laughter seems to stay ringing in the air as the bag of grimoires are left out on the porch. Where her ancestors stay outside to watch over the land. After all, none of them particularly want to watch their descendant in that way.

----

Early the next morning Bonnie or rather Ahnika quietly slips out of bed and throws on N’Jadaka’s shirt. She slips down the stairs and quietly out the front door to grab the grimoires. Once she gets them inside, she carefully starts to put them in the box with the other grimoires. Right as Ahnika finishes she feels N’Jadaka’s presence behind her.

“It’s way to early in the morning for this kitten. The day can wait.” It was, being only 3 o’clock it was definitely way to early. Though before she can say anything, N’Jadaka latches onto the side of her neck. Then, quick enough to give Ahnika whiplash; picks her up and carries her back to bed. Yes, the day definitely could wait.

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

Thank you for reading! Peace, love, and joy!

#the vampire diaries #black panther #bonnie bennett #t'challa #n'jadaka #dora milaje #crossover #james buchanan bucky barnes #white wolf #non canon #bonnie bennet/n'jadaka

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lesetoilesfous · 3 years

Note

i dunno if they're open, but can i request from the kiss prompts, 30) kiss in the full moon, with NB!Handers? basically a Hawke who uses they/them pronouns, only goes by Hawke, and no specific descriptors or mentions of their sex? =)

Hey anon! I had way too much fun with this, thank you so much for the request!!! I really hope you like it. I am also going to be adding NB!Handers to my preferred pairings list specifically because of you :D <3

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting Pairing: NB!Handers

Characters: NB!Hawke, Anders

Tags: modern AU, post All that Remains, reference to mental illness, reference to police violence, reference to abusive institutions (the Circle is really, really awful y'all), reference to gun violence, smoking, strong language, everyone's an adult here Anders is just broke (hence the bike)

Rating: Mature

“I knew I’d find you here.”

The Kirkwall marina is quiet and mostly empty - boatowners have retired below decks with the rise of the moon and stars, and the place is mostly closed to the public otherwise. Anders had seen Hawke’s jeep, first, when he’d padlocked his bike to the iron fence. Now, as the wind pulls ripples across the ink-black bay, he finds the person in question.

Hawke is wearing a heavy brown leather jacket covered in patches, their long brown hair wavy with the humidity and blown about in the wind. They’re sitting on a stone pillar near the pier, staring up at the wide full moon. It’s such a clear night that Anders can make out the craters on it, and it’s harder to see the stars in the immediate radius of the moon, which diffuses into silver rainbows in the dark. The ocean falls in soft sighs against the thin beach, and ahead of them the bay closes between two promontories, which are darker black against the deep blue night.

Hawke looks back at Anders at the same time as their mabari, Dog, lifts her great head, sandy ears pricking in his direction. Anders waves at them both, trying to rearrange his features into an expression that doesn’t show exactly how worried he is. Instead, he folds himself awkwardly to sit on a pillar beside Hawke. The stone is cold even through his jeans, and Anders can feel a hole working its way through his battered converse. He’ll worry about that tomorrow.

For a long moment, Hawke is quiet, and the two of them sit there in the dark, listening to the eerie rattle and creak of the boats in the Kirkwall marina. Then Hawke says, softly, “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Anders looks at them, but they’re still staring ahead at the bay, and the moonlight skidding silver over the water. Their nose is smooth and bumped a little with the scar of an old break. Their eyebrows are thick and dark, as are their eyelashes. Their brown eyes glitter in the starlight. They tuck a clump of wavy hair back behind their ear, which is braced by silver cuffs over the shell and a row of hoops along their earlobe. Anders breathes, and the air is so cold that it tastes sweet.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to be here.” He’s trying for a joke, but even Anders can hear the way it falls flat as he feels the smile plastered onto his lips slip a little.

Hawke looks at him, and their eyes are rich and dark and brown and beautiful. There are thumbnail bruises of purple sleeplessness beneath them, too. They speak again, hushed as if the pair of them were in a cathedral and not a car-park outside a half empty marina. “Still.”

Something in Anders’ chest lurches as the wind makes the trees and grass behind them hush a sighing chorus to the sea. He shrugs, and feels the awkwardness of it across his shoulders. He’d never eaten well, in the Circle, and his body as a result felt stretched out and distended: he wasn’t fat or muscular enough to pull off the broadness of his proportions, but ever since he’d hit puberty what food he could get just didn’t seem to stick. He pushes away the memories of old hunger and focuses on the present, instead. “Yeah, well, you’re an idiot.”

Hawke huffs a laugh then, one of their canines hooked a little in front of their other teeth. They look down at their hands, where their nails are chopped short and painted with haphazard, chipped black polish. “Maybe.” They bite the inside of their cheek, and swallow twice before they speak. “I just. Keep thinking that if I dream it hard enough I’ll be able to go back and save her. You know? Like I’ll figure it out, somehow. And this time I won’t be too late and -”

Hawke cuts themself off, blinking rapidly, their dark eyes brighter in the moonlight. Anders swallows the lump in his own throat, and the urge to lean across and squeeze their arm or something similarly saccharine. With a feeling like chewing on breaking glass, he forces himself to pull up his memories of the months following Karl. It’s difficult - most of that time is a blur spent flinching every time he saw a templar in kevlar. Too many nights spent waking up with the sound of a bullet in his head. Anders winds his fingers together, squeezing them tight enough to hurt to ground himself back in the present. He can feel Hawke’s dark eyes on him, their gaze questioning. Anders looks up instead at the moon, and calls himself a coward.

“After...After Karl I, couldn’t really think straight. For a while. I mean, not that I ever thought straight.” Anders tosses half a grin in Hawke’s direction, but they don’t smile back, just watch him, quietly. Listening. Anders always feels as if he doesn’t know what to do with all that attention. He isn’t really used to people respecting him when he speaks. He doesn’t want to waste it. He clenches his teeth, and the wind whispers over the back of his neck, pulling at the hair in his ponytail. “But, um. I didn’t really feel like I woke up until I... Let myself accept that this is just. What the world looks like now. Without him in it.” Anders’ eyes burn, and he blinks rapidly and hopes that Hawke doesn’t notice the way his breath hitches.

If they do, they don’t say anything, instead fishing a packet of cigarettes from their pocket, lighting one before offering him the pack. Anders takes it gratefully, slipping a cigarette between his lips and leaning forward for Hawke to light it. Their lighter has a bright, chipped progress flag on the casing, and Anders can’t help but find it reassuring, for all the cliche. The cigarette lights, and Anders breathes in deeply, savouring the warm ache of it and breathing out a long gust before he speaks again.

“It’s like. They were part of another chapter. And you’re already onto the next one. And you kind of, have to stop trying to go back to those pages, otherwise you’ll miss what’s happening in these ones.” Anders laughs, and scrubs at his cheeks, feeling the graze of his stubble and wishing he’d remembered to shave. “Sorry, that’s stupid.”

“No,” Hawke says, firmly, taking a drag of their own cigarette and breathing it out in a gust of smoke before they speak. “No, that makes sense.” They look at him sidelong, then, and when they blink a tear runs rapidly, silently down their tanned cheek. “I don’t know how to keep reading.”

Anders rests his hand against the stone he’s sitting on. It’s rough and cool. His eyes move from the great belly of the moon to the dusting of stars over the horizon, trying to trace the shapes of the constellations. “I think…” He says, slowly, sounding the words out as he says them, “It starts with this. With people you care about. Quiet places. Places where you feel like you can be everything you are and feel everything you’re feeling without holding it in. Places where you feel safe.”

Hawke shakes their head, and their hair falls over the shoulder of their jacket, catching on the ridges of their patches. “I don’t feel safe.”

Anders ignores the wrench in his chest at that, and takes another drag of his cigarette before he looks down to meet Hawke’s eyes. “You will.” Hawke holds his gaze for a long minute after he says it. Then they nod, once, and glance away, bringing the cigarette back up to their lips.

For a while they sit there in the quiet, smoking, peaceful. Dog has rested her head on her thick paws, and Hawke is careful to tap their ash far away from her. Eventually, the ever-present blur of memory and feeling at the back of Anders’ head threatens to overwhelm the silence, and he tugs his phone out of the pocket of his coat. It’s an old suede thing with feather detailing he’d got second hand. Isabela teases him about it, but it always makes him feel safer than anything else does. He figures that’s enough. Anders taps the cracked screen of his phone, blinking at the blue light. Hawke glances at him, their brown eyes almost black in the dark.

Anders tilts his phone screen at them. “Mind if I play some music?”

They blink, once, then nod, and take another drag on their cigarette. “Sure.”

Anders hits play with a sense of near physical relief, and the tinny, soft sound of some alt rock eases into the air between them. After three songs Anders has finished his cigarette. After four, Hawke has finished theirs. For a moment, they sit there, unmoving and terribly still. Anders sits forward, feeling the weight of his phone shift in his pocket as he does so. “How are you feeling now?”

They offer him a shadow of a smile, heavy coat and baggy jeans disguising long lines of wiry muscle that Anders couldn’t forget if he tried. “Better. Anders?”

“Yes?” Anders wishes he didn’t feel as much like a heroine in some silent film, but Hawke always seems to have that effect on him. They make him feel like some damsel in need of saving. They make him want to be a hero.

Hawke’s lips curl up into a crooked smile that creases the corners of their eyes. “Thanks. For coming out here.”

Anders shrugs and lies. “It’s nothing.” When Hawke snorts, he goes on, grinning, “No, really. What else was I going to be doing? Now my friend, on the other hand. This poor sap is opening his free clinic at 5am this morning which…” Anders gets out his phone, tapping the home button. “Is in about three hours. Now that idiot, him, yeah, I’d feel sorry for. But luckily neither of us know anyone so masochistic.”

Hawke huffs a laugh, their voice rough and climbing into a giggle as they squeeze their eyes shut, scrubbing at their cheeks. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” They say it with a smile.

Anders tilts his head, and tries to ignore the warmth that flushes through his chest whenever Hawke looks at him like that. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

Hawke shrugs, and pushes their hair back over their shoulders, moving so that they’re facing him, their legs spread wide and their jacket hanging loose over a white t-shirt. They look up at Anders boldly. “You’re my idiot.”

Anders’ flush pushes its way up into his cheeks and on into his ears, the cold of the early morning forgotten in the way that Hawke is staring at him. “Really? I must have missed the memo…”

“Anders,” Hawke’s voice is soft, and as they speak they rest their hand on Anders’ cheek. Their skin is soft and cold with the night air, and Anders leans into it as if he’s lost at sea and their touch is the only thing keeping him from drowning. It takes him too long to unstick his tongue from the roof of his dry mouth.

“Yes?”

Hawke smiles at him, warm and soft and indulgent, and their thumb strokes gently across his cheek as they lean forward. “Stop talking.” Their breath is warm as it blows across his lips, and smells faintly of cigarettes. And then they’re leaning even closer, and they’re kissing him. Their lips are soft and taste like cherry chapstick, and Anders doesn’t care as they tilt their head, the scar on their nose scratching softly against his skin, the warmth of their breath filling his lungs. Hawke licks into his mouth with a hunger that feels like burning, and Anders opens for them, lifting his hands to cradle their head and pull them closer, his fingers tangling in their thick, soft hair. Anders’ heart feels as if it’s going to beat its way out of his chest and that’s meaningless against the way the world is spinning, every inch of him lost except the point where his cheeks brush Hawke’s, where his chin bumps theirs, where their lips move to lock and loosen around his own as they move.

When they pull back, Anders isn’t sure he remembers how breathing works. But they grin at him, and their eyes are silver in the moonlight when they lean forward to bump their foreheads together, cradling the back of his head. Sighing, they shut their eyes. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Anders breathes, and swallows, lips wet and sore with the force of their kiss, wrists resting loosely on Hawke’s strong shoulders. Above them, the moon is bright and full and beautiful. Anders tries to speak past the lump in his throat. “Do it again?”

Hawke looks up at him, and their eyes are almost black in the dark. Then they kiss him.

#nb!handers #dadwc #nb!hawke #anders #my fic #da2 #anon

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faangirl101 · 4 years

Text

Burning Heart: Pt 2

Burning heart masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x reader, Zuko x y/n

Tags: Enemies to lovers, slow burn

Summary: Raised mostly by yourself, you made a living for your youth years as a maid in one of the richest families in Ba sing se, Beifongs. There Toph, a blind young rich girl, taught you earth bending and also became your new family. Not that you would admit that to her. Together you escape Ba sing se on the back of a flying bison with the Avatar, in a mission to take back the world from the fire nation. But on the journey you didn’t plan to team up with the Fire prince himself, and you definitely did not plan to get butterflies around him. But you couldn’t possibly catch feelings for a fire bender right? They ruined your life and took everything of value from you. But you couldn’t lie to your burning heart.

Warnings: swearing

The Western Air temple

The forest was darker than I thought it be. At these hours I assumed that the sun would be swallowing the green moss but the trees prevented most streaks. I didn't even realize I was running until the trees got more scattered, allowing the sun to peek through. I had no real plan how to find him, I hadn't looked for footprints or broken branches. I was like an impulsive idiot. I just rushed into a forest alone. But I had to find him. I had to confront him. I had to kill him. He opposes a threat to the gang, to Toph. I had underestimated him before, I would not do it again. I gave myself a few seconds to take a breath. I had been running for a good while and was out of breath and covered in sweat. Stupid idiot. As I bent forward to allow air into my lungs I detected something. A sting of smoke sipped through my lungs and burned my throat. A fire. He was close. Now more collected and controlled I sneaked forward. With every step i took i made sure to bend the ground under me so moss swallowed any possible noise my shoe could make. The only thing hearable was the chirping of cardinal birds and the drilling of woodpeckers. The scent of burning wood got closer and closer and I quickened my steps in response. Finally it was so strong I suspected it must be in earth bending distance. I peeked behind the tree in front of me to find a camp. The bonfire was put out but still fervor and the ash was still warm. And Zuko.

He looked exactly the same as yesterday but it still made me halt in my steps. The streaks of suns fighting through the thick branches reached across his face glistening in sweat. His hair still had the morning ruff and his scar seemed even more red than yesterday. Every little killing method I imagined in my head on the way here was completely gone. Now when he stood in front of me, it was different. But I had to keep reminding myself of the image of Toph's scorched feet. “Zuko”, I growled and he turned abruptly. He was startled by my presence, but scared of the look in my eyes. In a second of boiling blood and red vision I bend the earth around him to drag him towards me so we’re face to face. This close the details of his sharp features were prettier. He was pretty this close. The two or three freckles across the bridge of his nose. The pink tint of his lip. The softness of his hair. I shook the thought away as I lifted my hand to grasp his throat. Not to stop him breathing, but to make him feel threatened. He didn't seem that threatened by his bored look but I could feel the lump he swallowed vibrate against my palm. “I didn't believe the shit they said about you until what you did to Toph”, I clicked my tongue in denial “burning a little blind girl? that's low, even for you Prince”. He strained against my grip with a scowl “Don't call me that”. I raised an eyebrow “What? Prince? Oh right! I forgot. Banished huh? Why do you think the Avatar would want you when even your own family doesn't”. That seemed to be a soft spot since he somehow with pure body strength broke himself free from the stone cuffs around his feet to push me backwards. I lost my footing but luckily didn't trip all too embarrassing. But the shame made me furious as I attacked him. I was just about to bend the ground under him when he moved like a panther against me. I groaned loudly in pain when my back rasped against the rough bark of a tree. Both my wrists were locked in a hard grip by his much larger hands. His body heat radiated over to mine as he pushed up against me, preventing me from moving. “Calm down”, his voice was in my hair, forcing a shiver down my spine. I swallowed thickly, unsure what to do. “Look”, he leaned back to look into my eyes, which was somehow worse. Against my will I met his honey pool eyes. “It was an accident, she came in the middle of the night and startled me. It was self defense. I had no idea it was her”. I stayed quiet, trying my best to escape his grip. It was too much, his rough palms against my sensitive skin, his hot breath in my face. Just the knowledge that he was so close set my body on fire. If i stayed here any longer i would do something i would surely regret. “Get off me”, my voice came out chapped and raspy. Instead of it sounding like an order it came out like a plea. His thumb swiped across the side of my palm swiftly before letting go. It was a small motion, but I noticed. It made my heart pound furiously, I bet he could feel it. the rumpling deep in my chest. I licked my dry lips, finally taking a step away from his. It felt like the world lifted off my shoulder when I finally got out of his intoxicating aura. I was happy I didn't faint. I pointed at him “If you ever, and i mean ever, touch Toph again. I will hunt you down, Prince”. I spit the last part and happily noticed he scrunched up his face. Then I turned around and left with my heart still beating twice the normal pace.

Returning to the Air temples i was relieved that no one noticed i left. It would be too embarrassing and shameful to explain. Explain how Zuko, The fire prince, pushed me up against a tree and gave me butterflies. Butterflies! Ridiculous. I spent the next hour pounding, trying to understand why Zuko even affected me in the way he did. I mean yes, he was obviously attractive, but… he was a fire bender! A person I've been taught to hate since the moment of my birth. The thought about my childhood made anxiety grow like a rock in the depths of my stomach so I decided to make myself busy. I couldn't keep puzzling about this. My thoughts got cut off by loud rumbling followed by ear crushing noises, so loud the ground vibrated. Someone shot something at the temple, and by the looks of it, it was aiming for the gang. On instinct I sprinted in their direction as I saw Aang and Sokka lifting up Toph from the fountain.”Stop!”,I froze at the familiar voice.

I turned my head so fast it made my neck burn. Up on a cliff a bit away was a huge figure next to…. Zuko. “I don't want you hurting the Avatar anymore!”. Aang groaned as he tried his best to carry Toph away from the scene. “The mission is off. I'm ordering you to stop”, Zuko struck his hands in front of the man. He was crazy, the much larger man could snap him in half. the Combustion Man. The man couldn't care less as he with ease shoved zuko out of the way and charged his eye. Another explosion, now much closer, made the entire place threaten to fall apart. If it wasn't for the small stone wall I bent over my friends, we would have been crushed by stone.

“If you keep attacking, I won't pay you!”,Zuko cupped his hands so fire was aiming against the large man. The combustion man was starting to get annoyed as he easily docked the fire and grabbed onto Zuko’s smaller body. “Okay i'll pay you double to stop!”.

I looked over at Aang “we should move”. He nodded in agreement, peaking over the stone wall. “Okay”, he looked back with frightened eyes. “Zuko seems to be keeping him busy, move now”. My legs almost gave up under me as I stood up with Toph's body over my shoulder. I gasped as I saw Zuko get thrown off the cliff. There were so many feelings in my body it confused me. There is no way he could survive a fall like that. Worry for his life was the feeling finally taking over as I swallowed down the lump rising. But in the last second it seemed, he grasped onto a vine hanging down the cliff. “Go”, Aang yelled and I nodded swiftly. I didn't look back but I could hear the familiar woosh of Aangs air bending behind me. Before I even had time to move Toph we got thrown by a sudden explosion behind us. Lucky us, I bent the ground under us so we didn't fall. “Stay here”, I mumbled to Toph as I placed her behind a wall. She crossed her arms annoyed and nodded to her brunt feet “it's not like I have much of a choice”. As I turned around I saw the rest of our gang run towards me. They had just enough time to jump next to us before the next explosion ruined the temple. “he’s going to blast this whole place right off the cliff side!”, Toph yelled, eyes blown wide exposing her grey glazed irises. Katara took a deep breath before peeking behind the wall only to see another incoming blast. She looked back at us with pursed lips “I can't step out to waterbend at him without being blown up and I can't get a good enough angle on him from down here”. At the world angle Sokka’s entire face brightened up. I swore I could see a lightbulb over his head. “I know how to get an angle on him!”, he shouted. I looked him up and down “really? well do tell”. Sokka fumbles with his belt before taking out his boomerang. After another blast, he sneaks his head out, but has to hide from yet another shot. With his tongue out, clearly in deep concentration, he projects Combustion Man’s angle with his boomerang. He takes a deep breath “all right buddy, don't fail me now”. With a tensed arm he aims the boomerang and then uses his whole upper body strength to send it flying. In surprise the boomerang hits the assassin in the head where his third eye tattoo is, causing him to hit the ground. Sokka’s face is priceless as he catches the boomerang “yeah boomerang!”. But then the silence is broken by the assassin's heavy body getting up, clearly a bit shaken. Sokka's face fell “Awwww, boomerang…”. this is how we die huh? There was no way a few children could take on a trained assassin. But he seemed to take care of that job himself because his next aim is completely off. He misses, his next blast hits the ground around him. The ground shakes a few times under his feet before it gives up under him, causing him to fall. As I help Toph up the best I can Zuko appears. Aang looks hesitant at him “i can't believe i'm saying this, but….thanks, zuko”. Sokka clearly took it personally as he turned to Aang “hey! What about me? I did the boomerang thing.” I rolled my eyes at his child's demeanor.

Zuko looked down before meeting Aang's eyes “Listen, I know I didn't explain myself very well yesterday, I've been through a lot in the last few years, and it's been hard. But I'm realizing that I had to go through all those things to learn the truth. I thought I had lost my honor, and that somehow my father could return it to me. But I know now that no one can give you your honor. It's something you earn for yourself, by choosing to do what's right. All I want to do now is play my part in ending this war, and I know my destiny is to help you restore balance to the world”.

No one was ready for his speech, especially not me. This was a needed side of him I hadn't seen. I recognized myself in his words and I had to turn my head to clear my mind.

Zuko turned to Toph with shame in his eyes. “ I'm sorry for what I did to you”, he bows in her direction “It was an accident. Fire can be dangerous and wild, so as a firebender, I need to be more careful and control my bending, so I don't hurt people unintentionally”. I didn't know what to do with myself. Everything he said made sense, felt sincere. But it went against everything I had been taught. Every word, scolding, from my father. Everything he had told me. I rarely agreed with my father but when it came to the fire nation we used to be on the same page. Aang opened his mouth to speak but closed it almost immediately. He looks in thought as if he tries to be careful with his words. He finally collected himself “I think you are supposed to be my firebending teacher. When I first tried to learn firebending, I burned Katara, and after that, I never wanted to firebend again. But now I know you understand how easy it is to hurt the people you love. I'd like you to teach me”. He then slowly bent forward, bowing respectfully to Zuko. I could see how hard he tried to keep that smile back as he bowes back “Thank you. i'm so happy you've accepted me into your group”. Aang stopped him in his words “Not so fast. I still have to ask my friends if it's okay with them.”. He turns to Toph with kind eyes “Toph, you're the one that Zuko burned. What do you think?”. Toph shrugs her shoulders. “Go ahead and let him join”, She pounds her fist into her palm jokingly “it'll give me plenty of time to get back at him for burning my feet”. I meet zuko’s eyes and mumbles under my breath “that makes two of us”. Aang turns to Sokka. Sokka shrugs in response “Hey, all I want is to defeat the fire lord. If you think this is the way to do it, then, I'm all for it”. A part of me was excited to see what Katara would say. She clearly loved Aang and trusted him with her life, but she also hated Zuko with all her spirit. Aang slowly approached Katara. She looked Zuko up and down. Her glare is so hot I could feel Zuko's nervousness. I swore I could see sweat climbing down his forehead. Finally she drops her walls “ I'll go along with whatever you think is right”. Relieved Aang smiles at her. He gives me a look but I understand the question. All my feelings are conflicted, but this was not my place to speak “Fine”. I look up my eyelashes “On one condition?”. Zuko noods with stiff movement. I smirk sideways “If i can joke about your scar”. The expression on Zuko’s face was hard to read. Either he was extremely offended or thought it was amusing. He gave me a sideways nod which I took as a yes.

The gang for some reason gave me the job to show him to his room. Probably because they thought I had the least history with him. Little do they know. The walk towards the room was awkward, both of us trying to keep our distance. “Um here we are”, I nodded towards the door and he walked into the room. I glanced toward him “Um, I think it's lunch soon. So, um unpack. um”. He looks up on me and gives me a weak smile. “And”, i weightened forwards and backwards on my feet “And well, keep an eye out. Either eye works, but for you i guess the choice is pretty obvious”. He snorted “is that the best you can do?”. I was already down the hallway “trust me Prince pretty, i'm only getting started”.

Taglist: @eridanuswave , @Whalerus, @keiko0

#atla zuko #zuko fanfic #zuko x y/n #zuko x reader #zuko x you #zuko #atla #atla fanfiction #avatar fanfiction #avatar the legend of aang #avatar the last airbender #avatar the legend of korra #sokka #toph #katara #aang

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winchesterwords · 4 years

Text

“Keep Your Secrets” Part 1 - Sam Winchester x F!Reader

PART 2 PART 3

Summary: You are a professor at a local university who has been in touch with the younger Winchester brother. When Sam returns from a hunt to find you missing, how will he react when he finds a troubling clue in your office?

Word Count: 2373

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Hold My Girl” by George Ezra

Note: This will be a two-part story! Let me know if you want to be tagged in the second part.

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The Men of Letters Bunker was lit with warm light as the inhabitants sat around a table in the library.

Sam Winchester lounged in his seat, his phone in his hands as a lore book lay open in front of him. “But why are their necks so long?” Jack asked, staring at a photo of a giraffe on Dean’s phone.

“That seems like a question for him,” Dean said, gesturing to the Angel that sat across from him. Castiel tilted his head, thinking over the question. Dean waited patiently as Jack continued to look up photos of the animal he found to be so strange.

“Why are you looking at me?” Cas asked, confused.

“Well you angels are the ones that made everything,” Dean said. “So, tell the kid. Why are giraffe’s neck so damn long, Cas?” The Angel looked between Dean and back to Jack and then leaned slightly forward.

“That was...not my department,” he revealed and Dean had to bite his cheek to keep himself from laughing. Sam had also smiled, but from the way he was looking at his phone, it had nothing to do with animals of the African savanna.

“Why are you smiling?” Jack asked, as curious as ever. Sam didn’t seem to notice him.

“He’s probably looking up facts about the moon,” Dean snorted.

“Very funny,” Sam said, his eyes never leaving the screen in front of him.

“I don’t like the moon,” Cas said.

“Why?” Jack asked and Dean groaned, putting his hand up.

“No, no, don’t get him started,” he begged the Nephilim, “please.” Jack frowned but dropped the subject. Suddenly, Sam stood up, his fingers still flying over his screen.

“I gotta run an errand,” he announced, pushing in his chair. “I’ll be back later.” Dean, Cas, and Jack watched as he headed for the garage. Dean rolled his eyes and took his phone back from the kid.

“Where is he going?” Jack asked, staring after Sam.

“Kid has a girlfriend,” Dean explained. “She’s a lore professor at a local university. He thinks we don’t know about her, but we do.”

“He talks about her in his sleep,” Cas added and Dean looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“Again, Cas? Listening to us sleep? Buddy, we’ve talked about this,” Dean said.

“Wait, is that bad?” Jack asked. Cas tried to hide his smile, but Dean just turned towards the kid and then leaned back in his seat, his hands covering his face.

“Oh my god…”

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Sam paused outside of the door to your office.

The whole drive over he had been nervous. It wasn’t the first time he had visited you at work. In fact, he had never seen you outside of the University at all. He had his concerns about people seeing you with him in public. It wasn’t because he wanted to keep you a secret, but if he could keep you away from the life of hunting to keep you safe, then that is exactly what he was going to do.

Sam could hear you shuffling around inside, most likely preparing for your next lecture. Knocking quickly, Sam heard a muffled, “Come in,” from the other side and he pushed open the door. You looked up from your desk with a big smile.

“Hi,” Sam said, shutting the door behind him.

“You know, you don’t need to come to office hours,” you said, getting up from your seat.

“How else am I supposed to catch you alone?” he asked, his hands going into his pockets.

“Okay, fair enough,” you said with a laugh. Gesturing to the small couch in the center of the room, he joins you, relaxing immediately.

“Oh,” Sam said, grabbing the messenger bag that hung on his shoulder. “I brought you a new one,” he said, handing you a leather-bound book. “It’s mostly on Japanese mythology, but there are other references in there too.” You took the book from him, running your hands over the cover. Reaching behind you, you plucked another old book from the table.

“Then I suppose I can return this one to you,” you said, handing it back to him.

“You finished it already?” he asked, placing the book of runes into his bag.

“The way you talked about it had me very curious,” you said. You placed the new book on your coffee table. “Thank you,” you said and he smiled at you. “So, tell me, how is your family doing? Is your nephew doing better?”

“Yeah, Jack is doing much better, thank you. It just took him a bit to adjust after his mom died.”

“Well, he seems like a tough kid to me,” you said, leaning back into the couch. “And your brother? He’s good?”

“Dean is great, though I think he has finally realized where I have been going all the time.”

“Oh, so I’m not your little secret after all?” you asked, teasing him.

“I wouldn’t say secret…” he said. “However, I do like that I have been able to have you for myself.” You laughed, running a hand through your hair as you looked at him.

“You really are something else, you know that Sam?” you asked, reaching out to play with the cuff on his flannel shirt. He leaned slightly into your touch, savoring the small moment. With everything going on right now with Jack and the different worlds, Sam needed a break and he was grateful for the time he spent with you.

“What about you?” he asked. “How’s your mom doing?”

“Great,” you said, your eyes brightening up at the mention of your mother. “Yeah, whatever was in that tea you gave me has worked like magic. She hasn’t had another migraine in weeks.” Sam smiled, trying to hide the awkwardness that had entered his stomach at the mention of magic.

Little did you know, it was in fact magic tea after all. A simple request from Rowena had her dropping it off with a smile and toss of her red hair. Sam, of course, owed her and she assured him she would make sure to collect when needed. He never minded owing the witch a favor. He would never admit it to Dean, but he actually liked Rowena.

“Well, I’m glad,” Sam said as he looked around your office. The entire room was covered in artifacts from your travels throughout the world. You had statues, art, and books from all over that covered most lore and mythologies. Sam had first met you when he needed a translation on an old scroll he had found in the file room.

He had reached out to the history department of the University and they had directed him to your office and you had decided to meet with him immediately. As soon as he had met you, he knew he had to see you again.

Soon, Sam was making excuses to come and see you. Whether it was because he needed “help” on a translation or just because he wanted to loan you a book from his collection. It was how the whole book exchange had come about.

As for you, you were just happy to see him. Even though he always brought you a new book, scroll, or small token, it was just his company that you craved. Sam Winchester was a mystery to you, but one you were very willing to figure out.

“Sam,” you said, regaining his attention, “when are you going to tell me more about what you do and how you know about all this?” you asked, gesturing the room around you. Sam smiled shyly, trying to come up with an answer that wasn’t technically a lie.

“It’s just a hobby, (Y/N),” Sam settled on. It wasn’t really a lie. Hunting had started out as a hobby of sorts when he was younger. It only really became a job once Dean had shown up at Stanford and they set out to search for John. Thinking about it now, he had never truly realized just how much of a job it had become. You stared at him, your lips pursed slightly.

“Hmm, alright, you. Keep your secrets,” you said. “But I’m still curious,” you said leaning forward to tap the center of his forehead jokingly.

“Aren’t you always?” Sam said as he reached up to smooth some hair off your face. He leaned in slightly, but of course, the universe had other plans. The shrill sound of a phone permeated the moment and you sat back with a light sigh.

“I had a feeling that was going to happen,” you said but urged him to take the call. Sam answered, not bothering to check the ID as he already knew who it would be.

“Dean,” Sam greeted.

“Sammy,” Dean said, “we need you back here. The kid found a case not too far from here and I have a feeling we’re going to need the machetes on this one.”

“You have a feeling? Or are you just hoping we will?”

“Is there a difference?” Dean asked and Sam could hear him throwing weapons into his duffel bag. “Look, would you just get back here? Cas is trying to convince Jack that we don’t need the entire arsenal and he could use the backup.” Sam rolled his eyes. Sometimes he wondered how his brother managed to do anything without him.

“Alright, I’m on my way.” Sam hung up the phone and pocketed it. He looked at you with a frown.

“Duty calls?” you asked.

“Unfortunately,” he said. “I would stay, but…”

“But your mystery job needs your attention,” you said with a shrug. “Don’t worry, I get it.”

“But do you?”

“Well, no, but I get that your brother is very important to you and he needs your help. So,” you stood and pulled him to his feet, “get going soldier before your big brother comes and drags you out by your ear.” Sam laughed, awkwardly pushing his hair away from his face.

“The two of you would get along very well and that honestly terrifies me,” Sam said, grabbing his bag.

“Sounds like my kind of guy,” you joked and Sam rolled his eyes.

“I’ll come to visit when I get back,” he said.

“You better,” you said and then Sam reached forward and pulled you in for a hug. You held him back, memorizing the smell of books, metal, and something else you couldn’t put your finger on. Campfire, maybe?

He pulled out of the hug and headed for the door. Giving you one last look, he waved and left your office, ready to deal with whatever monster Jack had discovered. Sam only hoped that it was something easy enough to make the hunt go quickly and so that Jack could get more experience. That way he could make good on his promise and see you again as soon as possible.

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Two Days Later

“Okay, be honest, kid,” Dean was saying as they headed to the kitchen, “how did it feel to kill your first vamp?” Cas rolled his eyes as he went to the fridge to get their usual post-hunt beers. Jack sat down at the kitchen table, blood still speckled on his shoes.

“I think it felt...odd,” Jack admitted, taking the cold drink from Cas. “Do heads always make that sound when you take them off?” he asked. Dean grinned as he looked at Cas and Sam who were shaking their heads in unison.

“You get used to it,” Dean said, leaning against the kitchen counter. “You know, it’s tradition to take your kid on a vampire hunt. Dad did it with Sammy and me and now we get to do it with you. I like it.”

“I don’t think decapitations should be viewed as a good bonding experience, Dean,” Castiel said with a frown. Dean just shrugged and lifted his beer back to his lips.

“As interesting as this conversation is,” Sam said, grabbing his beer. “I need to make a phone call.”

“Tell the Professor I said hello!” Dean called after Sam and his younger brother sent a certain gesture back over his shoulder causing Dean to laugh.

Sam entered his room and shut the door, pulling out his phone. He dialed your cellphone number and waited, but the call went to voicemail. He tried again and got the same result. Double-checking the time, he made sure he wasn’t calling you in the middle of a lecture, but today was your prep day. It was when you would spend the day in your office grading papers or preparing for the next class.

He then dialed your office phone but was greeted by silence once again. Sam took a deep breath, trying to not let his mind think of the worse possibilities. There could be many reasons why you weren’t answering. However, he needed to see for himself.

Without telling the others, Sam quickly made his way to the garage and grabbed a set of keys. He jumped in the truck Cas usually drove and hit the gas. Halfway to the University, Dean tried calling Sam after noticing his absence, but Sam ignored him. He didn’t want to have to explain unless he was sure about what was going on.

Arriving at the college, he calmly made his way to your department. Nobody batted an eye as he nearly ran towards your office. Your assistant had already gone home which, in itself, was odd. Ducking past his desk, Sam made it to the door of your office and braced himself before quickly picking the lock and pushing it open.

He froze in the doorway as he took in what he saw. Furniture was splayed all over the floor, papers were strewn across your desk, and a broken coffee mug was shattered against the wall.

He closed the door tightly behind him and quickly made his way to your desk when his nose picked up on a familiar scent. It didn’t take long to find the source, a yellowish powder that ran along the edge of the polished wood.

Sulfur.

Sam quickly pulled out his phone and dialed Dean.

“Dude, where did you go?” Dean asked, but Sam couldn’t speak. “Sam? Sammy?”

“Dean, she’s gone.”

#Sam Winchester Imagine #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x reader #sam x you #sam x reader #reader insert #Spn imagine #spn fic #supernatural #supernatural imagine #dean winchester #Jack kline #castiel #sam winchester #winchesterwords #apolloloki97 #sam winchester fic

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