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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 3 years

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Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Tamara Fox, Some OC for cuteness Additional Tags: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Sickfic, Tim Drake is Not Robin, Tim Drake is Not Red Robin, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Crying, so much crying, Love Confessions, Cheesy, God it's so cheesy, Cringe, So sweet so cheesy so angsty that you'll cringe, Tim Drake-centric, some Jason POV tho, A wild X-men appereance, I know they're not the same universe but I'm running out of character and running out of creativity, So yeah X-men characters and vaugly their mansion/orphanage too, Bruce Wayne Bashing, Some things that I don't put down bcs it'll be a spoiler, Smoking, Implied/Referenced Sex, POV from a cat????, The Clichést Cliché that ever Cliché, Cliche Summary:

They meet again on a rooftop after ten years. They're different now, and things are not the same. It's all too late. Chapter 1 sneakpeek

“Don’t jump.”

Sighing exasperatedly, Tim puts down his cigarette-clutching fingers and drags his eyes to the source of the voice. His gelled-back hair loses its hold and a strand of ear-length bangs falls to his vision.

Sadly, without seeing him and just from the voice, Tim knows exactly who this person is. One of the Bat franchise, and it just had to be the Red Hood variation, fucking great. Out of all time, it has to be tonight. The world is playing a joke on him.

Tim is sitting hunched on the rooftop’s edge, wishing he’d have some peace and quiet for once, and of course one of these pestering bats just has to bug him at the worst time. Yet, it’s actually pretty rare for Red Hood to patrol Gotham lately, and Tim curses up a storm in his mind. Out of all the days, it just has to be fucking tonight.

No, Tim is not having it.

“This man has too much to do tomorrow to jump.” Tim looks away, getting a light from his suit.

One hand lighting another one of his death stick, and the other unbuttoning his suit and loosens his tie. After a puff and two, Tim drags in and keeps the smoke in, letting his nerves uncoil. Seems like it doesn’t work that well when the big bad shadow of a vigilante doesn’t move from the corner of his eyes.

“I’m not jumping, go away, I can’t deal with you tonight,” Tim says as he sighs the smoke away to the red polluted sky, thinking the man must be deaf or just not convinced. Maybe the latter, the bats are famous for their tact after all. People say they’re purely human. Seeing Red hood’s physique, maybe this one becomes meta-human at some point.

Tim looks the other way so the vigilante is completely out of his vision, to make a point that he’s not having this conversation. He looks to the city, engulfed by the red sky. It’s bright since this building is at the heart of the city, where the higher caste of Gothamites live and prosper. You can see the border around the bright side of the city where the lights stop dead and darkness begins. The poor side of the city. The gap is ghastly, it’s what makes Gotham what it is.

Tim is not surprised but highly disappointed when he hears shuffling instead, and when he looks at where the tall brick wall of a man, he already sits down next to him. Red Hood keeps a respectable distance though, at least he has that much of a tact.

Red Hood hooks his fingers inside his helmet, does some finger shimmy, and the red shiny mask helmet is off. His face is still covered by a domino mask, his hair looks damp, and his gloved hands rake his jet black hair back. Curls bounce to his forehead, sighing a fog, the only indication that the weather is reaching the end of the year. In turn, Tim felt his cleanly shaved nape chilled.

From inside the leather jacket, the vigilante digs to look for something, and that’s when Tim realized he’s been looking at the cuts on Red Hood’s exposed forearms from the folded sleeves. Very thick and muscled forearms. This guy either lifts all day or a meta-human, not that Tim cares anymore.

“Got a light?” Red says, plush lips smirking.

Tim sighs, guess he has company today. He digs into his suit and throws him his lighter. The masked man inspects it and Tim rolls his eyes. The lighter is a metal one that you flip, and on it engraved ‘From my heart with love, that this one lasts longer, Tam.’

“A sweetheart of yours?” Says the man, the second sentence he speaks, and Tim doesn’t recognize the voice. Deep, gravely, the typical voice of someone that smokes.

Red Hood extends his hand to give back the lighter to Tim instead of throwing it, must’ve thought it’s special.

“Kind of,” Tim says, receiving the lighter.

Red Hood drags in, keeps the smoke in, “Why kind of?” and sighs.

“Never established the relationship.”

“Commitment issues?”

Tim quirks an eyebrow at the man, sitting just as hunched as him. There’s a pillar beside Tim, and he lays his back there, thinking whether or not he should engage in this conversation. Eh, why not right? It’s not like it’s confidential information, and Tim is just so tired of caring about social politics.

“I was too late,” Tim says. It’s not as painful to say now, but lately, Tim has been numb. He’s been numb for years. Tim’s gay, or so he thought. When he began to really love her, she’s gone from him.

“Girl got another guy?” Red Hood teases.

“Girl got dead,” Tim deadpans. The smile dropped from the vigilante’s mouth, and if only he can see his eyes, panic would look funny on the all-powerful Bat. But, no, Tim can see his tell by the tapping hands.

“Ah fuck, sorry.”

Tim chuckles at the spectacle of an awkward vigilante. Maybe this night won’t be so bad after all.

“Relax, I’m not too sad about it now, it was years ago.”

It’s hard to predict Red’s expression with that domino mask that takes his cheekbones and half his forehead, but Tim’s pretty sure the twist on that mouth means his opinion of Tim isn’t good. Well, not that Tim cares.

“How did she die?”

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Tim put the filter on his lips and drags in as deep as he can. Too deep, and Tim coughs hard, once and twice that his vision blurs. Her face comes to vision, the morbidity of her expression tips Tim’s nerves off balance. Tim quickly takes another deep drag, “She was in the Joker’s way.”

At the name, Red Hood snaps his face at Tim. Slowly, languidly, Tim looks back. The vigilante clenched jaw and balled fists look like he’s about to kill somebody. Tim knows that a few years ago Red Hood kidnapped Joker, didn’t kill him, and just vanished before popping up again to have a vendetta against Batman. What a load of drama those bunch.

This also means that Tim knows exactly who this person is. Suddenly the voice registers, the familiar jaw, the soft fucking tone.

He blames it on the nicotine that his heart is calmer than he’d like, his mind still not on overdrive, still plagued with Tam’s face as she died in front of him. He’d breathe smoke instead of oxygen if he could. God he wished he’d breathe smoke from now on. Why does it have to be today? One grace from the universe is that Tim -for some reason- feels amused instead of dread.

“You look like you’re about to kill somebody, Red,” Tim says, can’t help the ease and sass in his voice. Tim lays back hunched, crosses his legs. “I thought you let go of your vendetta against the Joker.”

“Where do you hear that bullshit?” Redhood snaps and Tim can’t help but let go another chuckle.

“People talk, words get around,” Tim says.

“Then they’re far off the truth,” Red hisses before dragging in his cig.

“Yet the Joker still roams.”

“Ain’t my call.”

“Is it the big bat daddy calls?”

Red Hood splutters at the name and Tim smirks evilly at the reaction. “Ew, don’t call him that!”

“I can call that higher-than-thou furry hero wannabe anything I want,” Tim spits bitterly, looking out to the city. Sometimes when he’s really lucky, he’ll catch one of the bats twirling in the sky, and now one of ‘em is sitting beside him, but sadly it’s not the most shocking knowledge he has today. “One of these days it’s going to be my turn.”

“What?”

“Dying in the collision of mad men’s evil master plan you refuse to get rid of.”

“Ck, I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

“Sorry then, I don’t mean to insinuate anything. This is me telling you loud and clear that you’re all cowards for not killing these maniacs that kill us like ants when you have the power to stop them.” Tim’s voice is even and chill, it did not raise a tone, but it reduces the bulk of a man beside him to still. “Some of us rooted for you when you caught the Joker, and your reputation gives us high hopes that it’ll be the last of him. Then he showed up again.” Tim feels the lighter in his pocket burn, “Then Tam died.”

Tim pumps his lung full of smokes, keeping it in there so that the clawing gloom will die before it takes roots.

“I almost did kill him, Batman stopped me,” the gravel voice says lowly.

Tim feels himself stiffens, now that’s something he doesn’t know. His eyes scan the hunched vigilante, trying to find any sign of a lie, there’s none.

“Shit,” Tim curses, sighing up smoke and quickly takes a deep drag in. “Fuck Batman.”

For the first time, Tim hears Red chuckle, “Yeah, fuck him.”

“Still your family though, right?” Tim says, earning what he thinks is a glare, who would fucking know with that mask. “Why else would you stay in his line?”

Red Hood looks away, not answering.

“Guess I understand. Proving something to someone.”

Red scoffs, “Would you?”

“You know who I am.”

“Yeah, not your story.”

Tim scoffs at the obvious lie, “Look it up. I have better things to do than telling you my backstory that’s a google search away.”

Tim Drake. Son of the CEOs of Drake Industries. Running smoothly since ever he becomes the COO. Yada yada, young and successful, yada yada, has the reputation to chew out the reporters and a resting bitch face, all that shit. Tim doesn’t have the best bedside manners, but when it comes to business, Tim gets things done, and his business partners know to swallow their pride for a potential too stupid to missed just because Tim has fangs.

“I dunno, you’re pretty mysterious in the eye of the media,” Red says.

“Because they’re nosy pricks and not worth my time when they’re asking me about rumors of my flings.”

“They’re not true?”

“What the fuck are you? Does TMZ sent you?”

“Good point, never mind.”

They let the quiet settle in, and Tim isn’t too bothered by the company so much. The red amber eats to his filter. Tim puts out the light and puts the bud back inside the pack while he gets another one. He looks down at his light, which reminded him of Tam. Damn, she was such a good assistant, she’s also his best friend but a damn better assistant. Tim doesn’t let himself think about it.

He lights another, and puffs.

“Shouldn’t you be patroling?” Tim says before he can stop himself.

“Nah, not here to patrol, just some errands.”

“Don’t mind me. I’m not jumping.”

“No, I know that,” Red says, tone softer that Tim narrows his eyes at him.

“Lonely?” Tim teases, putting the filter in his lips while locking eyes to the pair of white lenses.

Red shrugs, “Just wanna kill time with someone that doesn’t wear one of these,” he says, tapping to his domino mask.

Tim hums imagining himself with his family, “Yeah, me too, I’d take a vigilante franchise over family dinner anytime.”

“Aww,” Red surprisingly coos, making Tim flustered.

“Don’t get it twisted, my family sets a pretty low bar for good company.”

“I can say the same, Timmy.”

Tim flinches, “I didn’t say you can call me Timmy.”

“What about friends then?” Red follows up, ignoring him.

“Joker killed my only best friend. Oh god, stop making that face, everyone I know got someone they know killed by the Joker, or Bane, or.... shit just those freaks.”

“Doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I don’t care what you feel.”

“I’m wounded,” Red says in that joking ‘boo-hoo’ voice but it was the last thing to snap Tim’s patience completely. He hates this casual conversation as if nothing happened.

“I’m not jumping, and I know you’re not here just to talk to some random civilian. You know who I am, so say what you wanna say and go,” Tim inhales deeply after the low-toned rant, only to be met with another silence.

They stay quiet for a few whiles again. Smoking the tension away. After Tim’s cig burns halfway, his nerves calmed down. Then he realizes that Red is looking at him. Staring.

“What?” Tim says, sighing smoke.

“Would you kill Joker if you could?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Killing someone isn’t as easy as it sounds, especially if you did it before.”

“You underestimate my anger then.”

Red Hood goes still for what Tim is insinuating. His phone vibrates in his pocket. Tim gets it and his new assistant reminds him of a flight in an hour and he needs to be ready in half. Tim puts out his cig and pockets it.

As he stands up, he looks down at Red Hood, really looks at him. It reminded Tim of the time has passed. It’s been so long.

“Nothing to say?” Tim asks, he has an underlying tone of ‘last chance.’

“Thanks for the light.”

Tim clenches his jaw and breaths slowly. What did he expect? “You caught me at a bad time but it’s good to meet you again, Jason.”

When Tim walks away, his elbow is grabbed and he’s spun to face Jason in all his bulk. Looming over him with his height.

“You know who I am?” Red says with a threat in his voice that makes Tim wants to laugh.

“Are you really that surprised? Or did you forget me when you fucking died?” Tim smiles bitterly.

Moments passed, eyes on each other, chest to chest. The last time he sees Jason, Tim was staring at these white lenses too, and Jason was still as tall as him. At this close, Tim sees tiny tears that heal pale than the rest of his tan skin, bulked up body looming over him that used to be similar to his. For anyone, Tim had two best friends, Robin and Jason Wayne-Todd, he had known the two are the same. Seems like Jason doesn’t.

Doesn’t matter now. Everything said and done. Too late.

“Say your goodbyes now,” Tim says, because why else would his childhood friend pops back again after a decade of not saying anything after he returned to life. Tim doesn’t realize it’ll hurt this bad though. Missing Tam doesn’t hurt this bad.

Perhaps it was because the scar never healed right, but he still thinks of Jason like a big chunk of him that’s been torn away forcefully, even now.

“I’m sorry,” Jason finally says, low and guilty, as he should be, but it irks Tim to no end.

“I lost you, and when you’re back you didn’t tell me,” Tim says, his voice cracks and he curses it to hell. Red Hood’s been around for years, and Jason never came to Tim to say he’s alive. “If you have nothing else to say, let go of me.”

“I didn’t know that you knew.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know you know I was Robin... Did you know... everyone?”

Tim rolls his eyes, “Yes.” Gloved hands still on his elbow, and white lenses not letting him go. The non-challant face he wears slips off as if oil just slicked between the mask and his skin. His heart picks up a beat. There are layers between their skin, Jason’s thick gloves and Tim’s three-piece suit, but it feels warmer. Burning.

“Damn,” Jason curses under his breath.

It’s just a little thing, but Jason’s silence following that is a nother prick to Tim’s skin.

“Is that all?” Tim dismissed, pulling his arm away, but Jason only holds tighter.

“I didn’t know, okay?” Jason pushes, “And you’re a civilian, you’re not supposed to know Jason Todd is back to the land of the living.”

“A civilian,” Tim mutters under his breath. That’s all he is to Jason? All this time. His chest hurts, Tim knows this is because of Jason’s words instead of anything else. “Get away from me.”

“I’ll see you again,” Jason says before letting go.

Before Tim can say don’t bother, the man puts on his red helmet and grapples away. For a moment Tim can see the shadow of red yellow green flying away.

#jaytim #jaytim fanfic #jaytim fanfiction #tim drake fanfiction #jason todd fanfiction #Tim drake fanfic #Jason todd fanfic #Back on that dc angst train baby #emocel's

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hurting-fictional-people · 4 years

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Cry for me

CW: restraints, vomit mention, electrocution, implied noncon, knife cut (?)

Before | After

“Do you know what day is today, precious?”

Kiara glared at Blake, willing all her hatred to show through her eyes since she wouldn’t dare to voice it. She knew if she did, it would only buy her more pain.

They both knew the answer to the question. She had been asking him what day it was for the past… she didn’t know. The days started to blur together soon after she was kidnapped. And ever since they did, Kiara had been tormented by the helplessness of losing everything she ever had, even something as simple as knowing which day it was. Blake had taken so much from her already – her freedom, her house, her life. But it all only truly hit her when time was taken from her too.

Blake had watched her collapse to the floor and curl into herself as Kiara realized she was so completely in his mercy, she depended on him to know something as simple as the days. And he, always the bastard, rejoiced in her despair. Refused to tell her.

If she had to, Kiara would guess she was with him for a month now. Maybe two. Or something in between.

Blake patiently waited for her to answer, never looking away from her blazing gaze. Kiara sighed and hissed through gritted teeth “No, Blake, I don’t.”

“Better yet. Do you know what day is tomorrow?”

Kiara seethed. Oh, how did she want to spit in his face and tell him to fuck off. How did she want to scream and punch him senseless. If the threat of being pinned down and tortured mercilessly wasn’t constantly hovering over her head, she would’ve seriously considered it.

“Come on, don’t be like this, I’m only teasing you.” Blake crooned, brushing a finger under her chin and lifting it slightly. “Tomorrow is your birthday, sunshine.”

With only one sentence, a few well-chosen words, he knocked out all the air from her lungs. Tears welled up in her eyes, but Kiara made sure to squeeze them shut before Blake could see them.

Kiara would be 25 years old when midnight came. She had planned to throw a big party to celebrate it. Had been talking about it since she turned 24. Now, she would spend it with the man who was breaking her piece by piece, probably lost in a daze of hurt and despair. What a birthday.

“Don’t make this face,” he pouted, “you’re turning 25, it’s a beautiful age.”

“How do you know my age?” she asked, turning her face to the side, hoping he would let go of her chin. Thankfully, it worked.

“I know everything about you,” he grinned. A chill ran down her spine, even though she already knew that. She would’ve probably told him whatever he wanted to know either way – when he decided to take something from her, there was no holding it in. “What do you think about a birthday gift?”

She peered suspiciously at him. “A gift is only a gift if there are no strings attached to it. You never give me anything without expecting something in return.”

“You wound me like that, Kiara” Blake breathed, placing a mocking hand over his heart. “Now, seriously, I mean it this time. You’ve been good to me and I think you deserve a treat. So, what do you want?”

“For you to let me go.” His smirk vanished instantly at the response, and something dark replaced it, making her heart skip a beat. She was quick to correct the mistake. “I want a book.”

Tilting his head to the side, Blake narrowed his eyes and unclenched his fists. “Which book?”

“Any book. You can choose.”

She only started breathing again when Blake sighed and smiled, the immediate danger leaving his eyes as she gave him a wobbly smile of her own. He muttered an all right then before taking a handcuff from the nightstand and closing it around Kiara’s wrists. She shuddered, but let herself go limp under him and tried to think about which book he’d choose as he pulled her into the already well-known world of pain and fear.

The book was covered in ugly orange and blue wrapping paper. Blake sat across from her in the living room as she opened it, watching her intently. As soon as she set her eyes on the book, Kiara had to bite her lip to hold back the tears.

Heartless, from Marissa Meyer. The same book her brother had given her the Christmas before, and she had never read.

“Do you like it?” Blake asked, drinking in each emotion that passed through her eyes. “You had a lot of fantasy at your place, and the girl at the bookstore recommended it. It’s an imagined backstory to the Queen of Hearts.”

She didn’t know what was worse, for him to actually know which books she’d like, or that she actually felt a hint of gratitude sparking in her chest. It was twisted and painful, but he had given her a piece of her brother, even if he didn’t know it. A piece of the life she used to have, the person she used to be. Kiara nodded and thanked him, sincerely for once.

“I have a job to do, so I’ll leave you to it,” he said, seeming vaguely disappointed by her lack of enthusiasm. Little did he how fast her heart was pounding, or how hard it was to draw breath through the tightness in her throat.

Kiara missed a lot of things. Everything. But having a distraction, losing herself in a good story, was what she wished for the most after she’d accepted she wasn’t getting out of there anytime soon. Alone in the penthouse – aside from Blake’s employees, who never came too close to her –, she dived into the book until the story took her away from all the hurt, fear, and sadness.

The hours ticked by, but she only stopped reading to go to the bathroom once before returning to the book. As it was, she would be happy to be lost in just about any story, well written or not, but that was one of the good ones.

Pages flew by until she came to the end with tears streaming down her cheeks. It had been good, but so, so sad. Kiara sniffed as she closed it, a familiar peace enveloping her. That wonderful feeling of finishing a great book.

It didn’t last long, though. As soon as she looked up, green eyes pierced into her soul with a seriousness that made her quiver.

“You’re crying,” Blake stated.

“It was a good book,” she said, slowly. “Really good, but also really sad.”

“You never cry because of me.”

Kiara held the book to her heart as if it could protect her from the danger dancing inside of Blake’s eyes, around the edges of his words.

“You scream, and beg and comply, and yet you never once cried,” he said, taking a step closer. “But I leave you alone with a book for a day, and find you crying over a piece of paper.”

His voice was low, but there was something in the way he said it, the way his eyes swept over her, that had Kiara ready to go down on her knees and plead him for mercy.

“It suits you, the tears. It’s cute. But I want you to cry for me.”

Her stomach churned as Kiara brought her knees to her chest, uselessly hoping that if she made herself small enough, he might forget she was there. She knew it was an empty hope even before she did it. It always was, when he was staring at her like that, taking slow steps in her direction, just to watch the fear blossoming in her eyes.

He was right. He had done a lot to her, hurt her in more ways she could ever dream existed, more than she could remember by now, and yet she hadn’t cried once. Refused to. It was the last thing she had control over. The only thing.

“Cry for me, Kiara,” Blake ordered, crouching in front of her. “Cry for me and I won’t hurt you.”

The part of her that had learned to bend and obey shuddered, ready to do it. It wouldn’t be hard. She was always on the verge of tears nowadays. But even though part of her begged her to comply, Kiara gritted her teeth, raised her chin, and stared straight into his eyes.

“The fun way it is, then,” Blake crooned.

Before she could do as much as take a breath, he yanked her out of the couch, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her away, yelling and clawing at his back.

She knew it would only make things worse if she fought, but she also knew she would only cry if he did his worse anyway, so why not throw everything to shit? Her nails found skin under his shirt, and then blood. She was thrown on a table before any real damage could be done, though. Pity.

Kiara thrashed and cursed as Blake closed restraint after restraint around her until she could no longer move. Ankles, wrists, stomach, chest. She could only pant when he finished and towered over her defenseless figure.

“It really is a shame that you decided to behave like this on your birthday, of all days,” he sighed, holding up a knife where she could see it. Kiara’s entire body went rigid as its sharp point touched her temple. “This is for scratching me,” Blake whispered as he pressed the knife until it broke the skin in a shallow cut. And then dragged it down, all the way from her temple to her chin.

Kiara yelped, too stunned to even scream. It burned. Blood soaked her hair, slipped down her neck, warm on her already sweaty skin.

“I hate you,” she choked out, “you can say what you want to, but scaring me not to tell you how much I despise you doesn’t make it go away. I’ll always despise you. I’ll never be yours, no matter how many times you force me to repeat it.”

Blake snickered.

“We’ll see about that, sunshine.”

She continued to spit each hateful, panicked thought her mind could conjure. In the end, she knew all those words would render her was more pain, but at the moment the anger was something to hold on to other than fear. It almost muffled the hurt, too, so she grabbed the rage desperately and used it to try and shield her heart.

Something was stuck to her arms, her legs, her collarbones, but she didn’t give herself time to fear or wonder and just kept jerking against the harsh restraints and shouting her hatred.

Blake worked in silence, watching her resistance with a furrow in his brows.

“You are a fucking psycho, and you never–“ she grunted, cut off by a thick cloth being shoved into her mouth, making her gag. Kiara glared at Blake with wide, furious eyes, hoping he would read her contempt there. He only licked his lips, as if he could already taste her pain.

And then, in the blink of an eye, the entire world shattered around her and was replaced by pure agony.

Electricity coursed through her body, making her muscles constrict, her breath hitch, and a high-pitched screech fill the room. She was beyond any form of rational thought or normal sensation. The pain swallowed her whole until Kiara was nothing more than anguish and despair.

It stopped as suddenly as it started. In a moment she was enveloped in pain, and in the other she was trying and failing to curl into herself, begging muffled pleas.

When the last bolts of pain started to subside and her muscles slowly tried to relax from the painfully constricted position they were in, Kiara found Blake staring at her, looking amused. “The pain suites you, precious. The blood does too. At least you look pretty for your birthday.”

A sob tore through her throat and she closed her eyes fiercely to stop the tears from falling. As soon as she closed them, a pain unbelievably bigger took her away from any rational thought once more.

Pain was too small of a word to describe the unbearable shock that stole away anything she ever was, felt or thought, and left in her place a puddle of hurt.

It lasted forever. A life. Eternity.

When it ended, she felt bile in the back of her mouth, but couldn’t even vomit with the cloth pressed against her teeth. She sagged on the metal table, sleek with sweat, and choked on the gag and the dread.

Her throat felt raw from screams she didn’t remember screaming and her entire body shook and ached. The electricity might have stopped, but the pain didn’t, not in the slightest.

A chuckle filled her ears, accompanied by a gentle hand caressing her cheek. “If I take the gag out, will you be rude to me again?”

She didn’t have the energy to do anything. Not to nod or spit or even open her eyes, really. So Kiara kept them closed and tried to breathe through her nose as Blake pulled the cloth out of her mouth.

“I’m so very pleased with you, Kiara” Blake crooned, slowly unbuckling each restraint. She just laid there on a puddle of her own blood, too drained to move or think or talk. “It’s over now, my precious. You can rest.”

He sounded utterly amused. It was only when he opened the last restraint that her heart stopped for a moment.

Blake was pleased. But she hadn’t…

With shaky fingers, Kiara reached toward her eyes. She felt the wetness there, knew what it meant, but didn’t believe it until her fingertips stood right in front of her eyes, gleaming with tears.

“You didn’t even realize you cried, did you?” Blake murmured, running his fingers through her bloody hair. “Do you realize you’re crying right now?”

This time, when the sob came, there was nothing she could do to stop it. As well as the tears she suddenly felt as burning paths on her skin.

He had truly done it. He had taken everything from her. Every last thing.

Kiara sobbed as Blake picked her up and carried her to the room. She wept throughout the bath he gave her. As he tucked her in and shackled her hands to the bed, there was a steady stream of tears trailing down her cheek, even when the whimpers and sobs stopped.

She thought the tears were stopping when sleep made her eyelids heavy. She would be dehydrated if it went on for much longer.

But then, when Blake leaned in to kiss her cheek and murmured “happy birthday, sunshine,” the sobs started all over again.

#whump #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #defiant whumpee #implied noncon #electrocution #torture #lady whumpee #lady whump #blood cw #vomit mention #knife #birthday whump

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polar534 · 3 years

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Diet Drabble #6: Saying Goodbye

And so, you have finally made it to the end of my week of drabbles. Congratulations! Or at least you've skipped to the very end in which I need to tell you right now, You've come to the right place. If there was ever a time to jump in, it would #6.

What happens when Lucia is confronted with the fact that her baby sister has been turned to stone?

Now the precursor to this one is going to take a bit of backstory. Firstly before you go any farther I would please ask, no beg of you, to please go check out this fic exploring this concept in the first place. It was written by the incredible @yellowpie and deserves much more attention.

Have you properly shown them and their heartbreaking fic the love they deserve? Good. Now for the reason I tackled this. I was challenged by legendary archive master EarthControl who runs the TOH Recommended Fanfic List on reddit to make something that would elicit tears and at the time the pain from YellowPie's fic was the only thing living rent free in my mind. I wanted to try my hand at it and felt it was my best chance at causing some real damage. What we were all left with was this.

Enjoy~

(And stick around for tomorrow's post to round out this week of writing. It's something I know quite a few of you have been waiting for. ;D)

"…Sis?" "Yeah?"

"I'm scared." "Yeah that's what nightmares do silly. No need to be scared though. It was just a dream."

Promise me." "What?" "Promise me. Promise we won't ever leave each other." "Ok. I promise squirt. You're never getting away from me."

...

Lucia's hand fell flat against the cold stone in front of her. It didn't take long before it slipped off, the smooth stone quickly becoming slick with tears. Her eyes stared straight ahead, completely unable to see, her brain refusing the sight that was before her.

"It's going to be ok."

A hand touched her back. The contact physically burned as the older girl recoiled sharply from whatever comforting gesture had been attempted. A hiss escaped her as she whipped around. Eyes were everywhere. They were everywhere. Surrounding her. Closing in.

Her pain was reflected in all of them. Her form, it's baggy green jacket and red hat, it was all so colorful. So colorful in comparison to the grey stone she was standing beside.

That wasn't right.

This. Wasn't. Right.

It had always been the opposite.

She wasn't meant to be the colorful one.

Lucia backed up fearfully, unable to continue facing those eyes. Her back hit the cold stone she had just been facing and she froze. A shiver traveled through her body like ice, freezing her chest mid panic attack.

"I'll see you after camp."

Her voice was so clear. The memory so vivid.

"I'm sorry kid. I… really am. She was the brightest light I have ever met."

Lucia began to shake. Her knees were weak, weaker then they had ever been before. They were ready to collapse.

This couldn't be happening. This had to be a dream.

She whipped around, confident in her fleeting thought that when she did, the face on the statue would have changed, the truth that was impossible would become just that: impossible.

Her sister's face stared back. Lifeless and cold.

Luz Noceda.

Stone.

Dead.

"We should probably get you inside…" The voice kindly suggested as once more her skin burned with another 'kind' gesture.

Lucia let the pain sear her skin. It didn't even feel real. She continued staring into eyes that no longer could see back, her breath and body freezing too.

It should have been her. She was the useless one.

Someone was speaking to her, but she couldn't hear anything outside of the dull roar that sounded in her ears.

It should have been her. She never saw the world the way Luz did. With the hope and life and spark that her sister looked at everything.

The way she looked at her, like Lucia could do anything.

'I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye...'

"Kid?"

The hand from earlier was back, it moved to her shoulder to gently turn the teen around. Lucia slapped it away with a growl, her other hand forming a fist and smacking it down onto the statue in front of her.

The dull sound of her flesh hitting the stone echoed around the space they were in, the action causing a hush among the crowd that had now gathered.

THUD

Her hand buzzed in pain but Lucia still couldn't feel anything outside of the aching in her chest.

"It should have been me!" Lucia growled, raising her fist once again. THUD.

Dust flew from the stone as it shook ever so slightly.

"She didn't deserve this." THUD.

"I shouldn't have let her go. I should have BEEN there with her." THUD.

Blood splattered the ground as Lucia picked up her fist once again, her hand a torn and shredded mess. Still the statue didn't budge, it didn't answer her screams choosing instead to remain quiet.

"Why wasn't I there?! DAMMIT!" THUD.

THUD.

"WHY DIDN'T I GET TO SAY GOODBYE TO MY SISTER?!"

CRACK!

Lucia slowly peeled her fist off of the statue in front of her. Where it had hit last was a large and noticeable crack. On the once-metal sigil that connected the cape her sister wore, her fist had broken through the stone. The design, a circle with a triangle on top of it, with a line running through the center, had permanently been separated in two by a jagged scar.

There was a growl behind her. In an instant Lucia was yanked backwards by her jacket, a clawed and furious hand separating her from her sister.

"ENOUGH. Heartbroken or not if you think I'm just going to stand there and let you ruin my kid's rest you have another thing coming!" The older lady snarled at her as Lucia was forced to face her.

The teen's eyes hardened, her glare sharpening to a point as the words the lady spoke physically burned in her ears.

Her kid? "You have no right to call her your kid. You weren't there when she was younger. You didn't work long hours to provide for her. You didn't hold her at night when she woke up terrified from a nightmare. You barely knew my sister." "Luz changed my life. Everyone she came in contact with here, she changed for the better! It was because of her that this place is free. That it's flourishing!" The lady argued back fiercely. "Don't lecture me about what she did for you." Lucia snarled.

"Look kid, I know you're hurting but-" "But nothing! It's because of you that she ended up here in the first place! It's because of you that she was trapped here! It's because of you, because of this damned place, that's SHE'S GONE!"

The woman who had introduced herself as Eda looked as if she had been slapped. Her entire body seemed to deflate as she looked at the ground. Lucia could hardly see through her tears and her fists clenched tightly at her side.

"That’s… that's not entirely untrue. I admit it." Lucia spun on her heel, too disgusted to face the woman in front of her, but the only other face that greeted her was her sister's. Luz's hopeful smile hurt more then the hand that lay shredded, bruised and bloodied at her side. Lucia's eyes quickly fell, unable to continue facing it. They landed on the stone clasp she had broken as a breath caught in her chest.

The crack was obvious.

It was all she could see.

"I know you didn't mean it kid." Eda spoke quietly from behind her.

Lucia, I know you didn't mean it. Those things you said. You're stressed. You know you can always talk to me, right? Lucia's legs were moving before she knew it. Her feet pounded the unfamiliar terrain as she ran, Eda's voice calling out for her past the thundering heartbeat in her aching and painful chest. The only thing Lucia could hear however was her sister's voice.

Just like you promised me, I promise that I'm always going to be right here.

#toh #the owl house #sibling au #lucia noceda #beta luz #canon luz #eda clawthorne #angst #i wrote this literally as a challenge to make someone cry #luz noceda #lucia probably needs a hug #but also don't touch her because that's only going to hurt more #mentions of death #mentions of blood #please go check out yellowpie's fic #or i'm going to disown all of you

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arcane-cosmetics · 4 years

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Rating: T (liable to change)

Fandom: Critical Role (Campaign 2)

Relationship: Nott | Veth Brenatto/Caleb Widogast

Additional Tags: Mutual Pining, Minor Yeza Brenatto/Nott | Veth Brenatto, Luc Brenatto mentions, chapter 1 Veth character study, character death mention, spoilers for Nott backstory, Canon Divergent, spoilers up to 2x97

Summary:

Caleb had imagined every way this interaction could logically go, calculated every move and every word in the overly practiced speech he had prepared, planned for any and every reaction Veth could have. Now, finally standing here with her, as Veth stared up at him—his mind drew a blank.

Read it on AO3

“Oh.” Caleb’s voice hung suspended in air for a moment. Time seemed to stop. He felt as if all the breath in his lungs had been punched out of him when the door swung open—the door he had been standing in front of for exactly 1 hour 28 minutes and 42 seconds.

Caleb rubbed his forearms and ran his hands through his hair, stalling, before finally breaking the awkward silence that would understandably follow finding a man standing outside a woman’s room unwarranted at 3:14 in the morning.

“Ah, Veth, I am—I am sorry to disturb you. May—may I come in?”

“Oh! Oh, of course! I’m sorry, please come in!” Veth’s eyes were wide and ringed in dark circles, making the yellow of her irises all the more stark. She stood unmoving a second longer before suddenly realizing her inactivity and quickly opening the door wider to allow her visitor access.

Caleb nodded solemnly before briskly stepping into the room, eyes forward as if walking into battle. The door made a soft click behind him and the barely audible sound of small feet padded up beside him. Caleb had imagined every way this interaction could logically go, calculated every move and every word in the overly practiced speech he had prepared, planned for any and every reaction Veth could have. Now, finally standing here with her, as Veth stared up at him with concern and confusion written across her brow, clad in a delicate nightgown he had never seen her in and—scheisse, the room even smelled like her—his mind drew a blank.

Veth’s raspy voice broke through the white noise that had overtaken his brain. “Caleb? Is something wrong? You don’t look so good. Do you need some water? Do you need to lay down?”

She reached for a pitcher of water and a glass from her bedside table. Caleb interrupted, much louder and harsher than he meant to.

“Nein. Nein, I am okay. I just—” He took a deep breath. “Never mind that. I came to speak with you, Veth.”

Every muscle in his body was tense in expectation of her telling him to go, saying how inappropriate it was to be in her room so late at night, especially with her husband right down the hall. Caleb could not look at her. His eyes were instead fixed on the nightstand at her side. He was afraid if he saw her he would lose his nerve, that all of this would become real, that—that tonight was the last night he would see his best friend, that when morning came he would never be able to call her name again. That tomorrow he would finally reunite her with her family, and for the second time in his life, destroy his own.

“Oh.”

Caleb’s vision shot to Nott—Veth’s—face. He had barely heard her speak, her voice was so quiet, with a softness tempered only by her surprise.

“Well, alright Caleb. What’s up?”

She sat on the edge of the bed, her gentle surprise hardened once again into concern. Something else, a different emotion, played along the edges of her mouth which pressed into a thin line. Was it fear Caleb saw there? Was she scared of him? Of being alone with him? He should not have looked at her so directly. His thoughts were swirling—an unfathomable cacophony of self-doubt and loathing.

Again, Veth’s voice is able to cut through the tumult of his mind.

“Caleb, are you sure you’re alright? Why don’t you come sit down?”

Caleb took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. He marched over to the bed, a foot or so away from where Veth sat. His posture was rigid as he sank into the soft down mattress. He was starting to get a headache.

“I—I have been meaning to have this conversation with you for a long time now. The timing never seemed right; there were always more pressing business to attend to, it seemed. Or so I told myself. Now, though,” He gave a half hearted chuckle. “it is the eleventh hour, so to speak.”

Veth’s eyes fervently searched his face. Caleb had been looking at his hands while he spoke, clamping them together so as not to pick at his scars. He didn’t need to look up, though, to feel her penetrating gaze burning into his skin.

“I have been scared of this conversation, of even acknowledging the need for it.” Caleb was well aware he had not stated what this conversation was about yet. He wasn’t purposefully trying to stall, but the words stuck in his throat, on the verge of choking him. “I was afraid if—if I told you my feelings, everything would change and it did not seem fair of me to push my feelings onto you. It would seem that change is coming whether I like it or not. And I do not want to have been dishonest with my very best friend.” Caleb takes one of her hands in both of his own. His long, pale hands were such a contrast to her small green claws. Veth’s hands had a comforting warmth against his cold palms.

“Everyday since I have met you has been better for it. More full of joy and laughter and—and life than I ever thought would be possible for someone like me.”

Veth opened her mouth to protest what he had just said, probably to say he deserved all those things or that he should not be so self-deprecating. But he could not stop, it was all spilling forth now, like a dam had broken inside him and he could not halt the rushing of the oncoming tide, even if he tried.

“Please, Veth, I—I need to get this out before I no longer can. Please. I cannot imagine who I would be without you. You have very literally kept me sane. You have encouraged me and believed in me when I was a broken shell of a man who did not have a penny to his name. Who was so racked with trauma he could barely speak. I could not have made a good traveling companion and yet—you stayed. We slept on the side of the road huddled together for warmth, and then slowly that convenience changed to comfort and routine. You showed an interest in what little magic I could do, and it lit something in me that had been dormant for so long. A passion and an excitement. To me it was obvious how smart you were, even then. How capable and how much potential you had. Your hunger for knowledge was something I could relate to.

“So much has happened since those days. When I saw you die while we were in The Folding Halls of Halas, my world shattered. I held your lifeless body in my arms. A million thoughts ran through my mind in that instant of how I could get you out of there, how I could bring you back to me. I could not do anything to save you! If Jester had not been able to bring you back, I—ah scheisse—”

Caleb took in a shuddering breath to calm himself. He could feel Veth rubbing comforting circles into the back of his hand.

“I would have been completely lost. I am a selfish man, Veth. I have no right to say any of this to you. You have a husband and a son that love you very much. Who I will return you to no matter what the personal cost. I will not ask you to feel as I do, but please know, I would not be Caleb Widowgast without you. You have stoked the fire inside me that I had long thought burnt to ash and blown away in the wind. I am forever grateful to you. Everyday we are together I am closer to the man I want to be. For myself and—and also for you.”

Caleb’s eyes connected with Veth. Electricity instantly flowed between them. The room felt as if a single stray spark would set everything ablaze sending the Chateau burning down around them.

“I love you, Veth the Brave.”

#widobrave #caleb widogast #veth brenatto #nott the brave #critical role #pining #fan fiction #ao3

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taiblogcomics · 3 years

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All Out of Outlaws

Hey there, that live service you paid for but only used once. I hope you liked last week's anniversary review as much as I liked writing it. Now we're back to the usual stack. We're on a streak with Red Hood junk, so let's get back into it~

Here's the cover:

Since it's an anniversary issue of its own, the cover is way glossier and higher quality than usual. I don't object to homaging most of Jason's old teammates in the sky, but why the fuck is Crux there? Like, why would you remind us of Crux? Nobody liked Crux, nobody even remembers Crux. At least he's partially covered by the logo, but not nearly enough. Like, Isabel's worth way more of a cover appearance than Crux. Anyway, other than Crux, this cover's pretty good. Very movie poster-esque.

So this book takes place "one month ago". That somehow means it takes place after issue 48, AKA the unnecessary tie-in issue, and that other story arc that ended last issue. You got that? One month ago is after the tie-in story, but before the story that just ended. You can tell all this because Bizarro is still here instead of trapped in hell, and Jason Todd's narrating to himself about how Punchline tricked him regarding Duela Dent. Yeah, there's no moment showing how he realised this, even though that'd make good story in itself. No, he's just here because he's already pissed at the Duela deception.

After the flashback, we return to the present. This is after issue 49, just so you know where we stand. It's pretty clear Artemis and Jason have just slept together. That... seems odd to me. It's odd to them as well, so that's forgivable. Jason acknowledges that really he just needed some human contact. Because, like, Roy is dead, Bizarro is in hell, and Starfire is in space. Thankfully, he mentions Crux not at all. Jason thinking Crux is a friend worth missing would be more disbelief than I can willingly suspend. Anyways, they're interrupted by a welcome sight.

The loud yelling returns us to seeing Monsieur Mallah yell like a drill sergeant at the Outlaws of Tomorrow, or whatever those kids were called. You remember them: Devour, Doomed, Cloud 9, DNA, Babe in Arms and Mombie (which I swear I came up with before it was ever written in an issue), and Vessel. Anyways, they were my favourite part of the last dozen issues or whenever they first appeared. Jason points a gun at Mallah to try and get him to stop yelling at the kids, and Ma Gunn calls him out on it. Basically, she's hired Mallah and the Brain to train these kids, since Jason keeps skipping out on it. If he disapproves of her methods, then he should train them himself. He concedes the point, and opts to leave the kids in her care.

Jason leaves, heading up to Dr. Veritas' lab. This is where Duela's ended up after they rescued her from the flashback. She's alive, but part of her recovery has been reconstructive surgery. Her repaired face has basically left her non-verbal and mostly unresponsive. Jason has a plan, though. It's probably supposed to be his pocket, but I swear it looks like he's taking this out of the fly of his jeans. That's extremely worrying, almost as worrying as what actually happens: Jason hands her a rubber Joker mask, and she puts it on. With her "face" restored, she starts laughing--and doesn't stop. Jason wonders if this was a good idea after all. I'm gonna go ahead and venture "no"~

Following that, we advance three weeks, where Duela has been doing physical therapy in Suzie Su's private gym. She's been struggling, and is still mostly non-verbal, but at least communicates in laughs and animal noises. Jason decides the best way to get her to improve is to taunt her. Surprisingly, it works: when he dumps enough insults, she's able to stagger to her feet well enough to attack him. He says he knew she could do it with the right motivation, and she's pleased with herself. Pleased enough that when the time skips ahead again, she's perfectly verbal once more.

This scene takes place in a graveyard. Not just any, but the very grave that Jason once upon a time clawed his way out of. Naturally, she thinks that's cool. This is Jason's "don't make the same mistakes I did" lecture, but Duela doesn't want to hear it. She's too mad at Punchline and Joker for treating her like shit. Jason understands, but he says he'll be there for her when she decides to change her mind about being a crazy psychopath. They both return home to Ma Gunn's, but while Jason laments some thoughts to Artemis, Duela decides to escape. Just like the teen she is.

Partway off the grounds, she actually encounters Pup-Pup. Yeah, the talking Superman plush doll is still somehow hanging around. I might pick on this series a bit, and rightly so sometimes, but how many other comics do you know where a sapient talking plush toy of one of the world's greatest heroes is a recurring character? That's fantastic. That's exactly why I read comic books. Anyway, she stops to chat with Pup-Pup, because when life throws that much weirdness at you, you stop and interact. She relays an exaggerated version of her backstory to him, talking about how her father beat her while her mother laughed, and she killed them both in the end. Pup-Pup sees right through it, and the pair of them end up hanging out all night until Jason finds them both asleep in the yard the next morning.

So it's a bit later, and they're in New York. A bank's been broken into by... Agent Smith from The Matrix?? It's a group of guys in shades and suits who are all identical and refer to themselves as sharing a single collective mind. I don't care that they call themselves "The Chairmen", that sounds like Agent Smith to me. Fortunately, the Outlaws are here to beat them up. Joker's Daughter and her pal Pup-Pup have joined as the pre-requisite third member(s), but partway through the fight, the strain of the fight causes Duela to have some sort of mental break.

Very suddenly, it's no longer funny for Duela. She's not into the violence or death. She is just a teen, after all, and I guess it built up over time. The rest of the Agent Smiths are dealt with while Jason comforts Duela and removes the Joker mask from her. No doubt he's going to store it back in his trousers. And so, after the fight, Duela gets cleaned up, dresses like a normal person, and returns home to her parents. Artemis imparts the wisdom that it doesn't matter how you live, as long as you're living the way you want, it's the greatest act of defiance there is. Jason also allows Pup-Pup to stow away in her backpack, just to keep an eye on her.

After returning Duela to her home, Jason and Artemis ride on for a while. Then, abruptly, Artemis pulls over. It's as far as she's going, at least with Jason. But they both agree: he doesn't need her around anymore. He's a capable guy who can stand on his own two feet. And so Artemis also departs, she taking one road, and Jason driving down the other. And that road Jason's on? Why, it's the road home. The road back to Gotham. Jason muses that he was an okay sidekick, a crap supervillain, and a great outlaw. But what he was most of all... was a good friend.

I’m gonna say to start out with that I think this is a good issue. Heck, I think this is a great issue. It’s very character-driven, which is kind of what I always want in these things. Would much rather read something that develops the characters than just another fight scene.

I guess the issue, then, is A) does the character development make sense, and 2) do we care? And honestly... I don’t really care that Joker’s Daughter got a happy ending. Nor do I really feel it was earned. We’ve followed the character’s entire history on this blog, after all. Honestly, it probably would have made a lot more sense if she’d stayed on as part of Generation Outlaw. I just don’t think there was any build-up to her sudden realisation that “oh crap, everything I do sucks”, and thus her sudden retirement/redemption doesn’t feel earned.

But hey, at least Crux wasn’t in it~

Next issue, Jason finally goes solo!

#comics #reviews #red hood and the outlaws #red hood: outlaw #Taiblog #Joker's Daughter

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spookyhalloweennights · 4 years

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A Story of Origins (Sam: SFW) Pt.1

Revisiting my first post/first monster I ever wrote about... Sam the demon, we’ll be exploring his backstory a little more in this series! To read the first post about Sam, click here. If you like this work and want to read more, check out my Masterlist!

The bookshop was usually quiet this time of night, the only thing I really had to do yet was to reshelve the books that customers no longer wanted. I sighed softly after finishing up the last transaction of the night, there was little to do until the store officially closed for the night. Glancing outside, I took note of the raindrops that raced along the windows from the storm earlier and I could only hope that it had stopped raining as I had forgotten my umbrella at home.

The owner of the bookshop, a sweet old lady who went by June, had made the final announcements over the intercom that the store was closing in five minutes at 8 ‘o’ clock. It took a moment before she had appeared beside the register, the mix of brown and gray hair giving her hair the coloring of rust. For as old as what she was, she didn’t seem to have aged past the age of fifty. She sighed softly before glancing up at me, patting my arm she moved towards the door.

“I’m going to go check the air. Chase the remaining people in here out. I’d like to leave a little early tonight. Let’s hope that café has their shit together tonight and gets done on time at least.” She grumbled, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from her shirt pocket and her lighter. She walked towards the door and pushed through it while I giggled quietly at her antics.

I waited a few more moments, hearing the blender going at the café. When it stopped and a couple walked out the front doors, only then did I begin to make my rounds around the store. Hearing a couple of girls giggling, I walked back towards the board games section. Spotting the group sitting crossed-legged on the floor around one of the games we had, I walked over to them and gave them a look that got most customers out of the store.

“The store is closed, please leave.” I said in as best of a firm voice as I could manage, the girls merely scoffed in response.

“It’s not even eight yet!” One responded while the others nodded in agreement. “We’re not leaving until it’s actually closing time.”

“Alright listen, this can go one of two ways, you can get up with your friends here and leave peacefully. Or I can get the cops across the street and have them escort you out while writing you up for theft considering I saw little miss art theft earlier taking one of our artist pencil packs.” I crossed my arms while the girls grumbled in response.

“Fine.” The leader of the group spat at me, making a very big dramatics show with the rest of her group getting up and leaving. I paused the one and held out my hand expectantly, the girl rolled her eyes and placed the pencil pack in my open palm. I merely nodded in thanks and watched as they left before checking the other areas of the store before even acknowledging the mess they had made.

Luckily there were no other customers, I poked my head out the doors and informed June that the store was empty. Watching as the smoke rose from the burning end of her cigarette. She sighed, breathing out a cloud of smoke and nodded in acknowledgement.

“Just do the reshelves, Lorenzo wasn’t feeling well today so I wanna get done as soon as possible. I’ll have Rose deal with straightening up tomorrow. Besides, you’ve done well tonight.” June said simply, I could see the worry etched into her features. Lorenzo was her husband, a sweet old Italian man that oftentimes still struggled with speaking English.

“Sure thing, there’s only one area I’m going to straighten. Those girls were messing with the board games and I’d really hate to have a big mess like that lying around.” I responded as I ducked back into the shop.

As I walked back to the board games again, I paused at the café to see how they were doing and if they were going to need any help tonight. Haley, the café barista, had told me they didn’t so I left them be. I sighed softly as I noticed several other messes in the store that I had wanted to pick up, but knew that if I messed around for too long June wouldn’t be too happy with me.

Spotting the game that they had left on the floor, I quickly made my way over to it but then froze. Of course a bunch of teenage girls had to mess with a Ouija board… I sighed, kneeling down to gather the contents, but just as I was about to clean it up, the planchette had begun to move on its own. The small heart shaped piece of wood dragging across the board from where it had been resting in the corner. I watched in a strange sense of fear and interest as it had dragged itself over to the ‘M’ on the board. The piece then moved to ‘O’, and then right over to the ‘R’ before I had finally decided to do anything about it.

“Not today demons, not today.” I whispered as I snatched the piece of the board and put everything back into the box before placing it back on the shelf. “I don’t even know why we sell these things.” I huffed quietly, though it was probably because most people didn’t consider them dangerous.

After having put the Ouija back into the box and on the shelf with the other ones, I finally got to reshelving the pile of books left on our customer service desk. While the store was a small business, it flourished enough for us to give the store occasional upgrades like our own search system while retaining that locally-run charm. Besides, being the only bookstore in town tended to draw people when they needed something in a pinch.

I caught sight of movement out of the corner of my eye and sighed in irritation, thinking that it must’ve been a customer that had managed to avoid me until now. But when I looked around the corner of the bookcase, there was no one there. Chills had run along my spine and caused goosebumps to rise the length of my arms. A feeling of unexplained fear had begun to bubble in the pit of my stomach.

I finished reshelving the unwanted books as quick as possible before informing June, the café was still working so she had to stay longer but she had let me go for the night. After I had grabbed my bag from the break room, I left the building with the sense of fear still raging on in the back of my mind. The only saving grace I had from it was when I spotted the police car pulled up in front of the building, a smile spread across my face as I spotted the orc leaning against the side of it.

“Ya’ need a ride?” Nash asked, his long black hair that reached his knees was braided back so it only reached the middle of his back now. His smile welcoming as he eyed me from the tops of his glasses.

“Yes please. I don’t feel comfortable walking home alone tonight. There’s something going on.” I responded as he opened the passenger side door, sliding into the car I placed my bag on my lap.

Nash had slid into the driver’s seat and started the car up before slowly driving along the roads. I had met him when I had first started working at the library several years ago, and we had become fast friends. He worked in the neighborhood and made sure to check on all the local businesses at their closing times, offering rides to employees who needed them. His hazel gaze met mine as he glanced over at me.

“What made ya’ uncomfortable?” His voice was deep, deeper than what was considered the norm for his kind paired with a heart of gold he could have anyone falling for him in an instant.

“Ouija board, some girls were messing with it and then when I had gone to clean it up, the piece that spelled out the words began to move on its own. I didn’t let it spell anything coherent but there was just… I don’t know, it was just weird.” I sighed, half expecting him to laugh at me for being ridiculous.

“I’m surprised they still sell those things.” He grumbled to himself before sighing. “Well, it’s done now, if anything happens that you can’t handle just let me know? I’ll put you in contact with an old friend of mine.” He said as he pulled into the driveway of my house.

“Of course, thanks for the lift Nash. I appreciate it.” I said as I leaned over to give the orc an awkward hug. “Tell the missus I said hi!” I called out after climbing out of the car and onto my porch.

“Sure thing!” He responded as he backed out of the driveway and drove back down the street, I watched him leave for a moment before turning to unlock the door to my house.

Once inside, I tossed my bag onto the couch before making my way into my bedroom. I grabbed a pair of fuzzy pants and a plain t-shirt out of my pajamas drawer and slipped into them. I sighed in content as I climbed underneath the weighted blanket I owned, once my head hit the pillow it didn’t take too long for me to fall asleep.

It was well after midnight when I blinked awake, a looming sense of fear clutching me and making it hard to fight off the feeling of dread that was beginning to boil. I glanced around my room before my gaze landed on a figure hunched over in the corner, there were no distinct features on it’s paper white skin. The veins that ran along its body were midnight black, its hands were elongated and its fingers were more like claws as they were so long. It’s skin turned to an ash grey color right as each finger started. There was nothing on its face, no eyes, no mouth or anything. It was simply just a vague humanoid shape. I tucked myself back under the covers, pinching my arms in hope that it was all a dream.

When the covers were ripped away from me and one of its clawed hands placed over my mouth to keep me from screaming, only then did I realize it definitely was not a dream. The terror taking hold of me as I stared up at it.

“Morsel.” It spoke in several octaves at once, darkness finally creeping into my vision before the world around me went black.

#exophilia #monster lover #monster x reader #monster x oc #demon #demon lover #male demon #demon boyfriend #demon x reader #demon x oc #sfw #Spooky'sWriting #spookyhalloweennights

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death-himself · 4 years

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Four Human-Eating Monsters and An Apathetic Florist

I got this idea late last night and now have a new AU. This time in DLAMP flavor!

Summary: Virgil finished up a busy day at the flower shop and just wants to go home and chill with his four monster boyfriends (aka Virgil saying monster fucker rights) This is a soulmate AU but that doesn’t get mentioned at all in this

Warnings: Severed limb, food mention, Talk of hunting/eating humans, Slight Suffocation (in like a cuddling way if that’s better?), Drider!Roman, Naga!Janus, Vampire!Patton, Ghoul!Logan (this story is fluff i swear)

Word Count: 1,557

It was five o’clock, which meant it was time for Virgil to close up the flower shop. He went around locking the doors and drawing the blinds over the windows, double and triple-checking as he went. He flipped the sign to Closed on the door as he walked out, walking briskly to his car, slamming the door closed and just sitting there for a moment.

It had been a long day; he was more than ready to just curl up in bed with his soulmates and watch some Netflix for the rest of the night. He smiled at the thought, turning his key in the ignition and pulling out of the parking lot. First he’d have to pick Logan up from the university, though.

He mumbled along to Panic! At the Disco songs as he waited in the university parking lot, staring out the window blankly. After only a few seconds of waiting, out from around a corner came a tall man with long black hair tied back in a ponytail, with unnaturally blue eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses.

He saw Virgil waiting and gave him a small smile and nod, opening the passenger’s side door and taking a seat, closing the door and buckling his seat belt. “Good afternoon, Virgil.”

“Hey, L. How’d it go today?” His sigh said it all.

“It’s almost as if they aren’t even interested in biology. I’ve tried everything, and I’m still unsure of how to teach them.” Virgil started driving again, holding back a smirk.

“You know, my candy idea’s still on the table.”

“They are students of an extremely prestigious university. You truly think that they would pay more attention if candy were on the line?”

“I mean I probably would’ve paid more attention in college if it meant free candy. Patton bought some a while ago, you could try with that.” Logan hummed in thought. “Alright, I suppose it’s worth a try.”

They pulled into their driveway, the two entering the house. Virgil was immediately hit with the smell of Patton’s chicken adobo, as well as the sound of the man in question singing cheerily as he cooked.

Virgil took off his shoes, placing them next to the welcome mat before turning around. And all of a sudden Patton was there, welcoming him and Logan home and giving us both a kiss on the lips. The first time he had just appeared behind him it gave Virgil a heart attack, but now it was just expected. It was when Patton didn’t appear there to welcome him home that he became concerned.

Patton pulled Virgil into the kitchen to try out his food, his slit pupils dilating and making almost his entire red iris pure black with excitement. Since Virgil was the only one in the house who actually needed food like this to live, he was always the taste-tester. As always, the food tasted incredible, and Patton soon ran through the house to grab everyone for dinner.

Virgil opened the fridge to pull out some drinks for them, before stopping to stare at the top shelf of the fridge. There staring back at him was a severed arm, wrapped in plastic and still covered in blood. He blinked at it for a moment, before sighing and turning around.

“Roman, did you do this?” He shouted through the house.

“Did I do what?” The sound of eight claws clicking across the wood floor drew closer. The drider peeked into the kitchen, looking into the fridge confused. Then realization seemed to strike him. “Oh...”

“Yeah, these go in the basement fridge, dumbass.” Roman grimaced.

“Welcome home, my love?” He spoke delicately. Virgil was tempted to take the arm and smack him with it, but that was a line that even he wasn’t comfortable crossing.

Roman came over, pulling the arm carefully out of the fridge, before quickly pecking a kiss on Virgil’s cheek and skittering out before the human could come up with a snarky response.

Virgil grabbed the drinks and headed to the dining table, seeing that Logan was calmly standing next to the table, with Janus’s tail wrapped around him up to his chest, just enough so that Logan could still use his arms. Logan had already begun reading a book, one arm rested on Janus’s tail as the naga grumbled to himself about misplacing his bowler hat.

By the looks of it, Logan had already shed his more human disguise, his eyes turning a glowing blue like lightning, black veins showing prominently through his paper-white skin.

Janus noticed Virgil come in and unwrapped himself from around Logan, seeming to consider wrapping around Virgil before choosing to do that later, instead curling his tail up and taking a seat at the table. Logan and Virgil followed soon after, with Patton coming in with the food and Roman coming up from the basement.

They talked about their usual: the shitty people Virgil had to talk to, the gossip around the classroom that Roman and Janus begged to hear from Logan, the kind old lady that came to Patton’s bakery every week, and of course, the hunt they were planning to do tomorrow night.

Virgil typically stayed out of that conversation, mostly because it freaked the other four out when he talked about their hunts so casually. When he had first met them it was disturbing to overhear them talk about killing humans, but at this point he had almost grown apathetic towards it. They generally kept the results of their hunts out of Virgil’s life—aside from the occasional body part—so the only thing that concerned him at this point was them coming back alive from them.

Soon dinner was over, the dishes had been washed, and the five had gone to watch Netflix on the couch. Janus was curled around Virgil—as he was the warmest out of all of them—with his arms draped over his shoulders playing with his hair, and the rest of his tail draped over the rest of their boyfriends. Virgil’s legs were on Patton’s lap, Patton’s head was on Logan’s shoulder, and Roman’s head and arms were draped over Logan’s lap, a hand brushing through Roman’s hair.

To anyone looking in on them, it would look like Virgil was currently being squeezed to death while a vampire, ghoul, and drider watched and waited for their prey to die. So it was a good thing they had closed the blinds. Virgil had chosen a horror movie, and was currently taking note of any time the tail around him constricted suddenly. It was a lot more than he expected.

“I thought you liked horror movies.” He spoke smugly as he felt the grip around him tighten and loosen for the tenth time in two minutes. Janus huffed.

“Well of course I do. It’s just that...this serial killer isn’t realistic at all!” Virgil could tell he was lying, but Logan seemed to take it in stride.

“He is only human, that blow to the head would have snapped his neck back, or at the very least fractured his skull. And why haven’t any of them called the police yet? Quite irresponsible and irrational of them.”

“Isn’t it obvious? That serial killer’s a dark mage in disguise!” Roman spoke as if he had just solved a century-long murder mystery.

“Ooh, that sounds cool!” Patton chirped.

“Were dark mages established in this universe?”

“Of course they were, sweetheart, where have you been?” Janus spoke with a small, confident smirk on his face, turning back to the movie before yelping at a jumpscare and breaking the whole smooth guy facade.

Roman proceeded to spin an entire backstory for the murderer, something the movie had been sorely missing. Did it involve mages and a desire for power? Yes it did, which made it all the more interesting.

By the time he and the movie were finished, they had all begun growing tired. Patton had already fallen asleep cuddling Logan’s arm, and Virgil had begun drifting off a moment before the credits started rolling. Roman flicked off the TV, stretching with a yawn. Logan gently picked up Janus’s tail and moved it off of their laps.

“Virgil, could you move your legs?” Virgil mumbled a bit, but otherwise didn’t move. Whether or not he even could move with Janus wrapped around him was still debatable. Roman smirked, inching closer as quietly as possible, before gently lifting Janus from under his arms. Janus hissed in response, annoyed that his heat source had been taken away. Roman simply pulled his torso up, wrapping his tail around his stomach before carefully picking Virgil up and draping him over his abdomen.

Logan picked Patton up and followed Roman to the bedroom, placing Patton down before taking Virgil off of Roman and laying him next to Patton, then getting in bed himself. Roman got comfortable in his blanket nest next to the bed, kissing Janus goodnight before letting him get comfortable under the blankets. He gently took Logan’s hand and kissed him goodnight as well, laying his head on a pillow and closing his eyes.

Virgil slept, surrounded by four creatures that survived by feeding off of humans like himself, and had a peaceful night’s sleep, knowing that no matter what they did to other humans, they would never harm him. And he was grateful to have them.

#sanders sides #tw severed limb #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #deceit sanders #janus sanders #human!virgil #drider!roman #ghoul!logan #vampire!patton #naga!deceit #naga!janus

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kaleidescope-writes · 5 years

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Heart of Audrilluria -Chapter II; Royal Welcome

Modern Fairytale AU

Prince!Tom Hiddleston x Theif!Reader

“Should we go over it once more, or are we good,” Y/N asked. After hours of going over the plan multiple times over, their flight was coming to an end. “I think we’re good,” Amelie snarked, “I mean, it’s only been an eternity of scheming, but at this point, we may as well have a written manuscript.” Y/N rolled her eyes. They’ve been discussing the plan since their plane took off, but no amount of preparation seemed like enough. They had to be a thousand percent ready to make this happen.

“I just want to make sure we didn’t miss anything, we have a hell of a lot to lose, and if things go wrong--” “If things go wrong we have safety measures and plan A through Z, including the Greek alphabet,” Amelie interrupted, “We’ll be fine! All we have to do is not get attached.” Amelie turns in her seat to look at her anxious sister, a warm, comforting smile greeting Y/N’s troubled gaze.

“We never get attached,” Y/N replied with a sigh. Amelie put a hand over hers, “And that’s why we never get caught.” Y/N looked away for a moment, her mind racing with thoughts of endless ways a slip up could occur. She’s never gotten this nervous before a job. Then again, she’s never had a job this big. So much relied on them succeeding. If one microscopic thing were to go wrong, the whole operation would come crashing down. This was going to be a hell of a trip.

A small gasp from her sister brought her attention back to their current situation. “Turn around,” Amelie instructed. Y/N did so, having to suppress her amazement. The window to the right of Y/N revealed an aerial view of the Audrillore Castle, the home of their target. Both sisters leaned in to get a closer view of the castle in front of them. Its large structure barely fit in the frame of the window. The water surrounding the building reflected its massive presence in the middle of a green field and forest. From their view in the air, they were able to see the guards standing outside the guard quarters and horses just outside their stalls.

“It really is something out of a fairytale,” Amelie said in awe. Y/N silently agreed. Seeing the castle in person only added to her anxiety. Great.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please take this moment to look to your right at the heart and soul of Audrilluria. For those in the first class, this is where you will spend the vast majority of your visit. Please be mindful that we will be landing in a few minutes. Welcome to Audrilluria.” The pilot addressed the one thing that was extremely hard to miss. There was no turning back now. They were in the sheep fields and had to hope that the disguise covering their fangs and claws was convincing enough to hold up for two weeks straight.

An uneasy breath escaped Y/N’s lips for the millionth time. This was going to be a lot harder than her previous jobs. She braced on to the few minutes she had left before the job commenced. The last few minutes could help her ease the slightest bit of tension before the hunt began.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Finally,” Charles exclaimed, “After hours of interviews, pictures, and completely unnecessary arrangements and practice for your big day, we are done.” Thomas chuckled at his cousin’s childishness, a trait acquired by him apparently since birth. “Don’t wave the flag of victory just yet,” Thomas smirked, “We still have to greet the foreign nobility. And we have the first ball tomorrow evening. We are far from done.” Charles looked up at his cousin from his seat in one of the common room chairs, a fatigued look gracing his mature features. “You mean you have to greet the foreign nobility and you have a ball with them tomorrow evening.” Charles sat up and faced Thomas, “I, as your humble Duke and beloved cousin, have done my duty for this week. The rest is up to the king-to-be.”

Thomas laughed, approaching his cousin and putting his hand over the tired man’s shoulder. “Don’t be so sour, Charlie. If Augustus has to participate in today’s activities, being a Baron, you have to as well. As you said, you are the Duke.” Charles groaned, head dropping to his shoulders. “And my beloved cousin with whom I have had many adventures and never once questioned my alliance to.”

Charles looked up at him, “Stop. Don’t do that.” Thomas stepped away, giving him a look of feigned innocence, “Do what, my beloved cousin?” Charles stood from his chair, “Don’t try to guilt me into it. You always try to do it in times like these.” Thomas laughed turning to him once more, “And you always give in. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice--” “I’m an idiot for thinking you’d change,” Charles interrupted. “Exactly,” Thomas gave him a triumphant grin. He knew damn well how to work with his cousin. It was simple, really.

“Prince Thomas, Duke Charles,” a royal attendant interrupted them, “It is almost time. The plane is landing soon.” Thomas turned to the attendant, acknowledging his sudden presence, “Thank you, we will be there shortly.” With that, the attendant left. Thomas looked at Charles once more. “Perhaps we should get ready to greet them.”

Charles pouted, “Very well. But just know that I’m doing this out of my own free will, not because of your insistence.” He turned on his heels and walked out of the room, heading towards the castle’s main entrance to greet the nobility. “Of course,” Thomas said, rolling his eyes and following close behind him. “Your will is stronger than mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N and Amelie entered one of the royal limousines according to their designation. The driver closed the door behind them, leaving them alone with the man waiting inside. “You must be Edmundo,” Amelie spoke up. “Yes, and you must be Amelia de Santiago, daughter of Marquess Antonio Bulevia de Santiago of Puerto Esmeralda.” Y/N shook herself out of the brief surprise trance. “Yes, that is she, and I am--” “Y/N de Santiago. I have been expecting you both for some time now.”

Edmundo silently instructed the driver to lift the divider to give them privacy while the sisters shared a bewildered look. Once it was closed, he addressed them again, less formally. “Sorry about that, we just have to keep up appearances from the very beginning to not raise suspicion.” Amelie shook her head knowingly, “It’s ok, we just weren’t expecting to hear those names so soon.” Edmundo laughed, relaxing into the seat.

“I suppose you are prepared for this?” He asked, taking a glass from the miniature bar and pouring himself some champagne. “As prepared as we can be,” Y/N responded. “As the inside man, is there anything else you can tell us so nothing will catch us by surprise?” Edmundo took a sip of his drink, letting out a sigh of relief as the liquid settled in his stomach. “Everything there is to know was in the briefing folder you both read. I have faith that nothing will catch you off guard. You two are the best in the business. Oh, and your luggage was sent directly to the guest house you will reside in by my men. No need to worry about anyone inspecting your bags.”

“So what’s the deal with the Spanish nobility backstory?” Amelie asked. The question was burning in the back of her head since they were briefed about the job. “The Spanish nobility of Puerto Esmeralda has kept a conservative alliance with the royalty of Audrilluria since its establishment. The Marquess does exist and has two daughters, but the public has no idea what they look like or what their names are. My connections have shared rumors with me that they are both married, but it’s nothing official, so it isn’t crucial to the job. The Marquess did send out a refusal to King James’s invitation, but we were able to intercept it before it arrived and replaced it with a response of our own. That was where you two came in. Given the scarce information shared about Marquess Antonio, we were able to fill in the missing details to accommodate to the two of you.”

“I guess that explains the high profile items we received to go with the job,” Y/N commented. To this, Edmundo only nodded. “Now, are you ready for the show to begin?” Amelie smiled, “Yes, but why do you ask?” Edmundo downed the rest of his drink and set the glass aside. He motioned to the window on their right. “Because we have arrived.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The limousines unloaded the members of the nobility one by one. As the passengers exited the vehicles, they were announced by a member of the royal attendance. They were greeted by Audrillurian nobility and made their way to the foot of the stairs, where King James, Queen Diana, Charles, Thomas, and his best friend Agustus stood to welcome them. One by one, the guests were led to the side and waited for the last of the guests.

“I suppose this will be a while, then,” Charles whispered to Thomas. He shifted in his place, subtly leaning toward his cousin. “Not now, Charles. Pay attention,” Thomas responded. “Oh come on, we will be reintroduced to them before the ball, I doubt--” Thomas shushed his impatient cousin. Charles sighed, shifting once more.

“If the two of you are done bickering, it would please you to know that this next vehicle is the last one,” came a remark from the left of Thomas. Agustus was always one to stop the constant bickering that occurred between the two. “Thank you, Gus,” Thomas smiled.

The last limousine approached the area where they were gathered. Y/N and Amelie stepped out. “So that’s what they look like,” Charles inquired. They walked toward the group and curtsied.

“Y/N and Amelia de Santiago, daughters of Marquess Antonio Bulevia de Santiago of Puerto Esmeralda.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Second chapter done!! Mild disclaimer, I added a few more characters in there that are fictional. The Castle in the picture is a real place. It’s the Borrekens Castle in Belgium. It’s a beautiful castle if you wanna check it out. Anyway, thank you so much for reading, feel free to give me feedback and ask me questions!! Let me know if I missed anyone in the taglist. Have a Wonderful Day!! Also, Please excuse my less than professional photoshopping job on the airplane window picture.

Taglist is OPEN

@ladyblablabla @tvdplusriverdale @pipolaki @myraiswack @shockwavee @harringtonb-blog @cynic-spirit @little-moonbeam-666 @ochizokulevy

#marvel #tom hiddleston #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddelston x reader #tom hiddelson #thomas william hiddleston #thomas hiddleston #loki #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#loki x y/n #loki x reader #loki imagine #tom hiddles #loki layfeyson x reader #marvel imagine

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maatryoshkaa · 5 years

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[ YOUNG GOD ] missingfootage.mpeg-4

file name: birthday nightmares

warnings: descriptions of abuse, violence, and alcohol

ryu says: this is not a chapter. the events in this file are meant only to provide backstory and bonus context for the chapters to come. what happens between jisung and you in this excerpt can be seen as characterisation and character development, but will not be referenced in the chapters.

enjoy.

SEP. 14 2005

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!”

His mother’s arms were wrapped around him in a warm hug, swaying him gently as he squealed with laughter. Six red candles glowed on top of a homemade birthday cake.

“Happy birthday, dear Jisung, happy birthday to you!” On the last note, she swiped a dollop of vanilla frosting and dabbed it onto his nose, making the toddler burst into a fit of giggles. His mother had drawn the curtains, a handful of balloons -- they were all she could find -- around them. Her bright smile was lit up by the birthday candle flames, a smile Jisung hadn’t seen for what felt like forever.

Her face was an odd shade of white, but at least there were no red markings. Jisung didn’t like the red marks, because they always made his mother cry.

He dipped his own finger into the frosting and smeared it onto his mother’s cheek, the two of them still laughing. Catching his breath, Jisung reached up to wipe the white frosting from her face as she beamed back at him.

But the moment his tiny fingers touched her skin, her face contorted into an expression of pain before she tried to pull away, a forced smile on her face. Jisung’s hand clumsily swept over her cheek and came away with something thick and powdery on his fingers. Looking up in confusion, he was startled to see that his mother’s cheek was darker -- and beneath the white powder, there were the telltale marks of deep, painful purples and bright, angry reds.

“Hey. Hey, birthday boy, you still need to make a wish,” his mother said, smiling. But Jisung couldn’t hear her, fingers continuing to wipe away the thick makeup concealing her bruises.

The sound of the front door opening made his hand freeze. He watched his mother’s features draw taut, like a string pulled too tightly. As if a bomb had gone off, she shoved the balloons beneath the table and ripped open the curtains, her face pale with fear. Turning back to him, she thrusted the birthday cake -- candles still lit -- into Jisung’s hands before hurriedly pushing him into his room.

She kneeled to his height, one hand stroking his hair soothingly. “Remember to make a wish, okay? And don’t forget to sing yourself happy birthday, too. When you’re finished singing, mommy will be with you.”

She shut his door with a bang, the lock clicking. And Jisung was all alone.

“Happy birthday to me?” He whispered, but it came out sounding more like a question. “Happy b-birthd--”

A series of deafening pops made him jolt, soon followed by a crash and his mother screaming. He could hear his father’s slurred yelling from his room, the popping balloons sounding like gunshots.

“Happy birthday to m-me. Happy birthday, d-dear ‘sungie,” he sang louder, a bubble of sobs threatening to break in his throat. “H-happy birthday t-t-to me.”

The crying and yelling got louder, the sound of glass shattering making the floorboards beneath his feet tremble. So he sang again, and again, and again, until his throat was so sore and scratchy he couldn’t make a sound, and only dry, hiccuping sobs escaped his lips. Make a wish, his mother had told him, and so he squeezed his eyes shut.

I wish he was dead.

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SEP. 14 2009

“H-hey, ‘sung, happy birthday.”

Jisung opened one eye to see Minho smiling back at him. The older boy was standing in front of his desk and holding what looked like a small slice of cheesecake in his hands, wrapped crudely in a strip of cheesecloth. He had stuck what looked like a matchstick into the dessert like a makeshift candle, probably to make Jisung laugh -- or simply because there weren’t any birthday candles in the orphanage.

“I barely snuck into the school kitchen and bothered the cook until he made one.” He looked down at the cake, and stammered, “I-it’s a bit overcooked, and it’s cold by now, but, uh…”

Jisung lifted his head from his desk and Minho flinched. For a split second, Jisung thought he saw fear flicker across the older kid’s face, and then it was gone. Jisung had seen that look before; he’d seen it too many times.

It was how everyone used to look at his father.

He took a small bite, the sweet, familiar aroma making his mouth water and bringing a torrent of repressed memories flooding into his mind. He pushed Minho’s hand away, a little harder than he’d meant to.

“Thanks. You can have the rest, Minho. I’m...full.”

────────

SEP. 14 2013

“Hey, Han!” Chan’s voice was warm and friendly as ever, even from the other end of the phone. “Where are you, mate? I know you said you don’t like celebrating your birthday, but a few of us are hanging out at Felix’s. You think you can make it?”

The phone was propped against Jisung’s shoulder, Chan’s voice was pressed right up in his ear, and both of Jisung’s hands were digging into a dead body.

When he’d looked down and realised what he’d done, Jisung had made a small noise of terror. The dead man’s eyes were unnaturally wide with raw fear, and Jisung’s hands were wrapped so tightly around its throat he swore he could feel the vertebrae crack. Releasing his grip with a choked gasp, he stumbled backwards into the spreading pool of blood as Chan continued to speak on the other end.

“Don’t think of it as your birthday if you don’t want to -- some of us seniors just wanted to celebrate our last year in high school. What d’you say?”

Jisung’s fingers were still clenched and bruised and sore. He’d killed this man, he was sure of it. The memories were coming back to him in jagged flashes -- the man hitting his wife in their house, Jisung overhearing through the open window, the man stumbling outside, and Jisung driving his head straight into the wall. Mustering up the steadiest voice he could manage, Jisung replied, “Y-yeah, um, about that...I don’t think...don’t think I can m-make it, Chan. I--”

He broke off, voice growing scratchy and panicked. He heard Chan pause for a long moment on the other end before the older boy finally spoke again. “You sound terrible, ‘sung. Are you sick or somethin’? And on your birthday, too?”

The blood was beginning to seep into Jisung’s Converse, sticking between his toes. He was kneeling before the corpse now, not able to tear his eyes off of the man’s lifeless expression.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m so sick, it’s unbelievable.” A bright laugh forced its way out of Jisung’s mouth, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Above him, the night sky was pitch black, with no sign of stars or even the cold face of the moon. The stench of death was beginning to settle in, making his nostrils burn. “I’m so, so fucking sick.”

────────

SEP. 14 2019

Jisung tore out of the nightmare, clawing at his bedsheets and blankets and ripping them away. He was sat up straight now, chest heaving, blood roaring in his ears, his breath leaving him in jagged wisps. A drop of cold sweat trickled down the side of his face.

He reached for his phone, eyes burning when the screen lit up. September 14th. 2:00 A.M. A notification had popped up.

Happy Birthday, Han Jisung! Miroh Heights wishes you a happy birthday.

He’d forgotten that they did this -- they had every student’s birthday logged onto the student database, and the system sent everybody stupid automatic birthday messages every year. He scowled. Happy birthday. What kind of bullshit was that? He hadn’t known a single happy birthday in his life. For the last thirteen years, the only birthday gift he’d gotten from the universe was flashbacks and nightmares--

Bzzt. Bzzt.

His phone lit up, his ringtone muffled against the bedsheets. Frowning, he picked it up, checking the caller ID.

INCOMING CALL: y/n l/n

He rubbed his eyes. Why on earth were you awake at 2 in the morning? Before he could stop himself, his finger pressed the answer button, heart pounding.

“Hello?”

He could hear the flustered smile in your voice, could see your reddened face as you stammered in response. “H-hi! Um...it’s just...I was staying up working on my report, you know, and Felix told me it was your birthday tomorrow -- I mean, today -- and, um. I swear I meant to just send you a message, but my finger slipped and my eyes are kind of glazing over at this point, so I’m really, really sorry if I woke y--”

“I’m glad you called,” Jisung interrupted, his voice coming out painfully softer than he’d intended.

He heard you make a squeaking noise on the other end, and chuckled. What’s going on? What’s happening? Why was he smiling despite the cold sweat on his brow, why was there a warm fluttering in his chest despite the lingering sick feeling in his gut?

“A-anyways. I should probably make this quick. Um, so I don’t have a gift, I’m really, really sorry, but -- you know what?” He heard you huff determinedly -- the same was you had before you’d pulled him in and kissed him for the first time. The memory made the corners of his lips twitch. “I can--I’ll sing you happy birthday!”

Jisung’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to stop you, but nothing came out. How was he supposed to tell you that hearing anyone sing happy birthday made his head pound from repressed memories, made his throat close up with hot tears? What would you think--

You began singing, and all his thoughts immediately went silent.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…”

Jisung’s breath caught in his throat, ears straining and pressing against the phone just to hear your voice more clearly. You were half-singing, half-whispering, voice hushed and shaky with nerves and embarrassment. You went off-key in some places, giggled a bit, and then continued singing softly.

It was the most beautiful thing Jisung had ever heard.

“Happy birthday, dear Jisung…”

He felt all the tension in his chest let go, his muscles relax, as he sank into his bed, phone sandwiched between the pillow and his cheek. When was the last time he’d felt like this? Ah...he remembered. A birthday party, fourteen years ago, a mother’s warm embrace, her sweet voice, a smile lit up by six birthday candles. A dollop of vanilla frosting on a pale cheek…

“Happy birthday to you.”

His eyes drooped shut, lips parting softly as he slipped into a rare, dreamless sleep.

“...’sungie? Did you fall asleep?” You giggled. “Well, goodnight, then.”

Maybe it was a happy birthday, after all.

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ashes-and-ashes · 5 years

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Birthday Part 1

A bit of backstory to this fic:

So tomorrow (July 15th) happens to be the amazing Aly’s birthday! Seeing as she is one of the most incredible people ever, I decided that I was going to write her a birthday fic.

Of course I had intended for it to be pure fluff, but my evil brain doesn’t work like that. After an hour, I seemed to have 2808 words of angst, with very little fluff. And (despite Aly being the Princess of Angst) I was not sure if she wanted such depression on her birthday.

So, I split the story up! Here is the first bit of angst, and I’ll post the fluffy bit tomorrow. The fluffy bit is purely dedicated to Aly, and I’ll write an incredibly long and gushy post about her tomorrow. However, here’s the first angst and depressing bit - hope it’s okay!

@withrewings

Sirius was going to explode.

It was March 4th, a mere 6 days before Remus’ birthday and Sirius still hadn’t managed to produce anything suitable for his present. He had started drawing in January, convinced that three months was enough for him to create something good enough to give to Remus, but the days had rolled by and suddenly Sirius was left with a sketchbook of half-finished drawings and a looming sense of dread.

He winced, bending back over the page, ignoring the shiny charcoal film covering the side of his hand. His fingers ached from grabbing onto the stub, his back sore from being hunched over the paper for hours, but Sirius didn’t really care. He bit his lip idly, tracing the curls of Remus’ hair, the tilt of his chin, the hollows carved into his back and arms -

“Goddamn it!” With a snarl, Sirius stood, interrupting Marlene’s rant about the Slytherin Girls. He hurled the sketchbook to the ground; the back cover bent with a slight crunch as it hit the floor, the pages flipping open to reveal the sketch he had just been working on. “God-fucking-damn it!”

The others barely looked his way - Sirius’ outbursts were common enough now that everyone had gotten used to the swearing and yelling. It was late at night - they were the only ones in the common room. James bent down, scooping up the book with one hand, eyes still fixed on Marlene. “Go on Marls. What did you say to her?”

“More like what did you do to her,” Dorcas muttered. “No way that girl made it out in one piece.”

Marlene flashed a quicksilver grin. “I hexed her nose off. Completely. Transfigured it into the tiniest mushroom attached to her ugly face. God, they were so mad.”

James let out a laugh, throwing his head back; in the background Sirius noticed one of the twins (Either Fabian or Gideon - the light from the fireplace was dim, and he couldn’t quite pick out the details on their faces) hand a galleon to Benjy, who was sitting on the mantle. “Priceless.”

Peter leaned forward, eyes wide. “How long do you have detention for?”

Marlene shrugged. “Detention will last 3 months. But the tales will last forever. I’ll be a goddamn Hogwarts legend.”

“You’re already one,” Lily assured her. She tapped James on the shoulder. “Prongs. Want to give Sirius his book back?”

With a smirk, James held the book out to Sirius, the covers still open to reveal the half-finished drawing. “Oh right. I forgot.”

Sirius snatched the sketchbook back, flipping him off. “Oh, shut up.”

They were all meant to be discussing Remus’ party (Remus having gone to bed ages ago) but the hours had ticked away and they had planned absolutely nothing. Sirius wasn’t surprised - nothing ever seemed to work when everyone got together, except for a whole heap of snogging between Marlene and Dorcas, and James and Lily.

He scowled down at the sketch in his lap, the half-finished outline of Remus, silhouetted against a huge moon, the curve of his spine mirroring the constellations twinkling above him. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, the words bitter in his mouth. “I’m so screwed.”

Lily looked surprised. “Why? That one is beautiful, Sirius. He’d love that.”

Sirius shook his head, violently flipping to another page. “No! This one is...is…”

Dorcas raised an eyebrow. She was sprawled in a huge chair, legs dangling over the side; Marlene gave her bare legs a long look before winking at Sirius. “I think this one is pretty.”

“God.” Sirius groaned, slamming the book shut. “It’s romantic. It looks like we’re dating or something.”

Benjy snorted, swinging his feet from where he was perched on the mantle. “Aren’t you already?”

Sirius flipped him off; he could feel blood rising to his cheeks. “I’m pretty sure Remus is straight, Benj.”

“Only one way to find out,” Kingsley muttered; the room erupted in laughter.

“I say,” mused Marlene, “That you should draw him in an intimate position.”

“Maybe with a collar,” Fabian called, “And chains, black leather and fishnets - “

Dorcas laughed. “A gag!”

“You should draw me in that!” Benjy yelled over the laughter. “I’d love to be drawn in collars and chains and black leather fishnet stockings.”

“Oh shut up,” Sirius said. He scowled, staring down at his hands; there was a scar shaking across his index finger where his mother had broken it once. “You guys are absolutely useless.”

“Says the guy without a present,” Lily muttered. Sirius stuck his tongue out at her.

Gideon rolled his eyes. “Look,” he began, “Remus is...Remus. He’d love anything you drew him. Stop over complicating it.”

Sirius spread his arms out wide. “Over complicating is what I do, darling.”

Benjy snorted. “I’d prefer that you do Remus.”

He was definitely blushing now, Sirius could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, spreading over the back of his neck like a flood. He scowled again, running a hand through his hair; it was already wild and tangled, paint and God knew what else caught in the dark locks. “You know what?” he said, then paused. “I was going to say ‘Screw you all’ but I reconsidered because I knew you would turn it into something about screwing Remus. So go eat a bowtruckle.”

He could hear Benny’s voice carry, even as he turned the corner and started up the stairs. “Why don’t you eat Remus?”

Sirius scowled. “Fuck off Benjy!”

Sirius glares down at the paper.

He knew he wasn’t going to give this one to Remus anyways. It wasn’t even the drawing that screwed it up - the paper was crinkled from where he had grasped it, the lines smudged and faded, too intense and too bold. It turned everything into hard lines, points instead of curves, edges instead of sweeps. He knew he was wasting time, drawing something that he would never, could never show Remus but it lessened the tightness in his chest, made it easier to breathe.

He had 2 sketchbooks. The first one had a red cover, and he used it for all his doodles. Pages of simple things: wand tips and goblets, candles and flowers, spellbooks and cauldrons and hundreds of unicorns. He brought that one everywhere, kept it in his school bag, was always doodling in it until the book was finished.

The second book was black, the cover heavy and Sirius always kept this one under his bed, because who wouldn’t know? This book contained everything - a boy on his knees, broken fingers, a single burning piano key. Scars, hundreds of them, rendered in perfect detail, all torn flesh and blood and bones, the lashes seared into his brain. He drew fingers with scar marks and backs with claw marks and even the broken, bleeding figure of an angel with its wings sawed off.

And Remus. This book was filled with Remus as well, all the shattered, beautiful parts of him, all the scars and cuts and marks. He drew Remus crying, and Remus screaming and sometimes he drew Remus kissing him.

He stared down at the drawing now, splayed on the page in front of him. He had hesitated when he drew him and Remus, but once he started he couldn’t stop. The charcoal spilled out of him, bleeding onto the paper, and everything was the same. Two boys kissing, the desperation clear in the clenching of their fingers or the arch of their spine, mused curls and closed eyes and scars like brushstrokes on their skin and Sirius couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

He wondered, sometimes, what Remus would say if he saw him, if he peeked into that black sketchbook, saw every dark crack in Sirius’ heart laid bare. Everyone had their secrets, he supposed. His were just more open than most.

There was a rustling sound from behind him; Sirius quickly flipped the page. It was late at night, the room filled with the sounds of people breathing, dreams spiraling into the air. The nightmare had woken Sirius up, the fractured visions of his parents and Death Eaters, and he had spent the rest of the night drawing, filling up even more pages in the sketchbook. He glanced down and started; the lines he had made were so dark that the colour had bled through the page, leaving smudges and streaks and the delicate tracery of lines carved into the page in front of him. He hastily closed the sketchbook, pulling the red one onto his lap, opening it to a random part in the book. Damn. This one was of Remus too, a idle study of him sleeping, his curls framing his face with gold.

He was about to turn the page again when the curtains on his bed flew open. It was as if his drawing had come to life; Remus stood there, golden curls forming a messy halo around his face, his eyes half lidded from exhaustion. He yawned, running his hands through his hair. “You okay?”

Sirius shrugged. “Sure.”

Remus frowned. “You’re always so closed off. It’s like you’re hiding something. Keeping something locked away.”

Yeah, my love for you, Sirius thought, but he didn’t say anything. He shifted, pulling the covers up around him, focusing on his breathing. Remus shot hi a concerned look.“Nightmares?”

“Yeah.” Sirius’ hands tightened around the blankets. “I’ve been up for awhile.”

Remus regarded him thoughtfully, then pulled the curtains wider. He slid into bed next to Sirius, gently rearranging the blankets until his warm legs tangled with Sirius’ cold ones. “It’s like lying in bed next to an ice sculpture.”

Sirius forced a laugh. Remus was too close right now; he was certain that he could feel his heart pounding. “It’s like lying in bed next to a furnace.”

Remus laughed, the sound warm and rich. God, Sirius could drown in that sound. He shifted over, giving Remus some more room, twisting until his head was tucked under Remus’ shoulder. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, the air smelling of wool and pine and clean cotton -

“Shit,” Remus said. “Is that me?”

With a jolt, Sirius opened his eyes; the book on his lap had fallen, the pages splayed open to reveal the sketch of Remus sleeping. He swallowed, hard, fighting to keep his voice steady. “No. It’s the fucking Duke of Alytown.”

Remus punched his shoulder. “Shut up.” With a shaking hand he reached over, picking the book up carefully, tilting it so the light fell on the pages and illuminated the drawing. “Did you...did you draw this?”

Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His heart was hammering triple-time in his chest, like a huge drum - he was certain Remus could hear it. “Nope. I just fall asleep with drawings of you on my lap all the time. I actually commissioned Snape to draw this, you see - he would creep into our room at night and - “

“Jesus.” Remus’ mouth hung open, his eyes wide as he turned the drawing back and forth. This close Sirius could see his eyelashes, golden against his skin, so fine that it looked as if they were spun from spider silk. “God. This is beautiful, Sirius.”

“You’re beautiful,” Sirius said, then quickly snapped his mouth shut. Smooth, Sirius. Real smooth you fucktard.

Remus laughed, more in shock then anything. “Me? I’m not...I’m not…”

“Beautiful?”

Remus looked down at his hand. “Yeah.” He pauses, clearly struggling with something; his mouth twisted into a bitter smirk before he continued. “Just look at me. I’m...I’m ruined. I’m scarred all over.”

Sirius bit his lip, hard. In his mind he saw his back, the lashes standing out like lines of silver, raised and thick and livid. He swallowed, hard. “Sometimes the cracks are the most interesting part of a sculpture.”

The barest edge of a smile ghosted over Remus’ face. “But it’s still ruined all the same.”

If only you could see, Sirius thought, If only you could see how beautiful you are, how perfect you’ve become. If only I could draw you the way I see you.

He coughed; with a steady hand he tore the sketch out of his book, handing it to Remus. “Keep it,” he said, then shook his head at the shocked expression on Remus’ face. “It’s yours now. I was going to give it to you for your birthday, but I’ll just whip up another drawing.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, and a beautiful, dazzling smile raced across Remus’s face, making it look like the sun had coated him in strands of liquid gold. Beautiful, Sirius thought, and his heart gave a painful twist in his chest.

“Thanks Sirius. But I don’t…I don’t need this, you know. All I want is...is you, I guess. Your heart. I want your heart, Sirius. That’s all.”

Sirius looked down. “Anything for you, Re.”

He couldn’t stop himself from drawing Remus.

The black sketchbook was open on his lap again, a fresh page blank and empty. His hands were dark, coated in the shiny-grey of graphite, his clothes covered in the stuff. He had been drawing for ages without taking a break, his eyes dropping from exhaustion and yet he allowed the sketch to bleed out of him, splattering across the page.

He was almost done the black sketchbook, had only a few pages left. Usually a book would last him 6 months, but he had filled half the book in less then 3 weeks. It was like he was an addict, thirsting for something he could never have, lightning and thunder and rain echoing through his veins. He couldn’t stop himself now, even as he continued filling the pages, Remus staring up at him from every angle.

Sirius took a shaking breath. It felt like he was underwater, drowning in his feelings for Remus, threatening to blow him apart with every gasping inhale of air. He set the pencil to the paper, letting his mind take over, the curve of Remus’ eyes gradually starting to fill the page.

He remembered the first time he had seen Remus, 5 years ago, standing in the compartment of a train as the sun went down over the hills. He was with James, wild and rebellious because for the first time ever he was free, when the door had opened and Remus had stepped into the compartment.

There was something different about him, even back then, some ethereal way that Remus moved. He remembered how the light had hit Remus’ face in just the right way, casting his features into shadow, making him look like some beautiful bronze statue and all Sirius could do was stare.

There was always some part of him that had loved Remus, but it really hit him in 4th year. He had been playing Quidditch, backlog against the setting sun, and he had looked down and seen Remus in the stands and his heart swelled up and he couldn’t breathe. He knew it then, while hurtling through the sky on his broom, knew he would have given up anything to make Remus happy.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by a sharp crack; he had pressed down so hard on the pencil that it had shattered, pieces skidding all over his sheet. Sirius scowled, glaring down at the page - there was a boy on a broom and a boy on the ground, the light hitting them until it looked like a spotlight, wind whipping their hair around them. He swore, staring down at his hands - it was so obvious. All it would take was for someone to look at his book to know what he felt towards Remus. He couldn’t burden Remus with that, the unrequited feelings of a shattered boy. Remus had already been through far too much - Sirius couldn’t heap another load onto his shoulders.

But what if he did? The thought rose up unbidden. What if he did like you?

His mind flickered back, sorting through the memories of the year - the Train, Remus’ hands tight around his neck. The Christmas Feast, sitting together under the cold half moon. January, grasping onto Remus’ fingers, the desperation in his eyes as he began to change. Valentine’s Day, a single chocolate, a whispered conversation. Sirius, I…

“I what?” Sirius had said.

Remus shook his head. “Never mind.”

So many moments, so many hidden touches, and Sirius’ heart was pounding because what if? What if there was a chance?

He was gripping the sketchbook tightly, so hard that the cover was digging into his palms, scoring lines across his palm. Remus had told him what he wanted that night, didn’t he? I want your heart, Sirius. That’s all.

“My heart,” Sirius said, out loud to the wind. Slowly, his hands tightened around the sketchbook.

He knew exactly what to give to Remus tomorrow.

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aerialsquid · 5 years

Text

Validation by the Hour

A small dollop of a fic I wrote for two of my favorite assholes in SPoP. Takes place somewhere between “Mer-Mysteries” and “Destinies Part 1″, spoilers for season 4 abound, unbetaed because it needed to get out the door already.

——–

Shadow Weaver genuinely enjoyed teaching. At least, she did when the pupil showed any promise at all, which Glimmer certainly did despite her (understandable) lack of trust. They could work on the trust thing. Shadow Weaver was willing to be patient.

Right now, the thing testing her patience was her missing shears. She only had so many ‘wandering around alone at night without guards’ credits to burn with Glimmer right now, and blowing one on finding garden equipment was a total waste. On the other hand, with the palace as paranoid as it was now, having a sharp object formerly in her possession found in a prisoner’s “cell” wouldn’t look great.

“Welcome back, darling.”

Shadow Weaver pointedly did not look at the green individual sprawled on the chaise lounge in the middle of the room. She instead started peering behind the furniture, looking for places the shears could have fallen when she put them down.

“I understand now, Shadow Weaver.” Catra’s voice - soft, vulnerable, nearly quivering with emotion - drifted across the room. “I understand now, why you did what you did. You were preparing me to be strong - and you know what, it worked. I’m grateful, even if I won’t admit it. You did make me strong.”

“I don’t need validation from her,” Shadow Weaver grumbled.

“Then what about her?” Adora’s voice. “Or her?” Castaspella. “Or him?” Hordak’s, making her snort in derision.

“Got it, definitely not Hordak. There was a hot minute where I was wondering if you two were a thing, but—”

“I don’t need validation from anyone, shapeshifter.” Damnit, where the hell were those shears.

“Everyone needs validation. Granted, your girl Catra’s a special case…but that’s how you made her, so you know that already.”

Shadow Weaver glared at Double Trouble from under a chest of drawers. “If you want to send me on a guilt trip for my past sins, there’s a waiting list.”

“Guilt trip? Hardly! I’m impressed. You changed sides twice and managed to claw your way up from the bottom both times…as one player to another, I’m very impressed.”

“Where did you even come from, anyway? I’d know if we had someone like you around before I…took my leave of the Horde. ” Assuming that was actually Double Trouble’s true form, Shadow Weaver couldn’t recall ever seeing anything quite like them at all. There were certain people of Snake-Man heritage who could change their coloring or slightly rearrange their bodies, but nothing on Double Trouble’s scale. If they’d been with the Horde when she was still in power, the war might well have ended early.

Double Trouble counted off on their fingers. “Do you want Tragic Orphan Backstory numbers one, two, or four? I retired three, turns out I accidentally stole it from a romance novel I read when I was twelve - ooh, there’s also the one where I imply that I could be unknowingly be Hordak’s secret child, abandoned for my own protection. I like to drop hints and see if the listeners can figure it out from my clues.”

“I can come back tomorrow with a truth spell.” Oh, there were the damn shears, stuck between the wall and one of the displaced armchairs. Shadow Weaver stretched out her arm as far it could go and managed to snag one of the handles, grunting with the effort.

“Ugh, you’re no fun.” Double Trouble stuck their tongue out at her. “Truth is, I don’t have a clue. My egg got traded to the person who raised me by a Snake-Man who was probably one of my parents. By the time I hatched, they were long gone, and no one had bothered to even get theri name. It’s not uncommon in the Crimson Wastes…a lot of people are drifters. Once I grew up and worked off my debt to my 'foster family’, I struck out on my own.”

“As a spy?”

“Honey, no, spying’s a new game. As an artist. I did a lot of community theater - the Crimson Waste’s hard up for entertainment, we barely get any broadcasts out there, so the theater scene’s pretty lively. And on the side…well. There’s always people willing to pay for 'validation’.”

At Shadow Weaver’s raised eyebrow, Double Trouble slipped down and stretched out on the chaise lounge, feet dangling over the arm. “Get those dirty old lady thoughts out of your head. In the Crimson Wastes it’s hard to find someone who gives good hugs. Everything’s profit this and cutthroat that. Even your husband will sell you out to the highest bidder. People come to me because I tell them what they want to hear.”

As their boots idly kicked in the air they flickered through another set of bodies, ranging across age and species, their voice rising and falling in pitch as they put on each mask. “They want their mom to say no, she really did love them and didn’t mean to go out for milk and never come back again. They want their ex to say she misses them even though she’s dating a richer, hotter girl now, or that chick that never looks at them to say she’s secretly always got them on her mind. They want their grandfather to say he was always proud of them and doesn’t blame them for that rock slide that took his life two years ago. They want their boss to say they’re sorry for working them so hard. People want to be validated…people want to be loved. And even if they’ll never admit it, they’ll do just about anything to feel worthy of that love.”

Double Trouble’s eyes blinked sideways as their skin faded back to green.

Shadow Weaver made a small noise of approval, folding her arms. “That’s quite a philosophy. So who validates you, then?”

Double Trouble smiled a grin that nearly split their face in two. Their fingers inscribed a circle in the air. “Everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“My public. Every successful performance that moves people - or fools them - is my validation. Attention validates me. Granted, I wouldn’t be in this if Catra wasn’t paying handsomely, it’s so hard to turn a profit in the theater business, but I admit that playing to royalty’s been a real novelty.”

“So the worst punishment we could give you would be to simply lock you away and ignore you, hm?”

“Ooh. Yes, that’s the nasty Shadow Weaver I was warned about. Very into playing dirty.” It was skillfully hidden, but Shadow Weaver definitely noticed the shapeshifter flinch at the very idea of being left unnoticed.

Shadow Weaver looked down at the shears in her hand and carefully worked them a few times, as if cutting off an invisible thread leading between her prisoner and her former pupil. “And conversely, if we were to exceed Catra’s offer, you might be willing to…change employers?”

“She never had me sign a contract. You raised a great general but a terrible businesswoman.” Double Trouble sat up straight on the couch, then leaned in, their hands pressed greedily together.

“What’s your offer, madame Weaver?”

#double trouble #shadow weaver #she-ra and the princesses of power #spop #she ra #she ra netflix #spop spoilers #squid writes fanfic

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etjwrites · 5 years

Text

OC Backstory Week 3 - Rivals

Has there been a rival in their past? What was their conflict about?

Write about a scene in their past where the rivals face each other!

@yourocsbackstory

Did I have any rivals growing up? Hah! You're making me cry I'm laughing so hard. See, the funny thing is, my best friend used to be my worst enemy. Guess I kinda have a habit of doing that. Anyway, there's a particularly amusing incident I remember from back before the frix sprite story I just told you guys. . . .Ken's shaking his head at me, so maybe I shouldn't. Nah, let's do it. Anyone got a picture of the forest we can put up while I'm telling this next one?

“The school report says you bit him. You bit him?” Bo bared his fangs at Nyss, wishing he was already an adult with an impressive growl. “Yeah, and?”

Nyss pinched the brow of his nose, ears and tail drooping. “We've discussed this so many, many times. Kenton is barely a few months older than you. He is not, in any way, shape, or form, responsible for P'rraa's passing!”

“He's human!” Bo spat back, and Nyss crossed his arms. “I wouldn't care if he were a Vyss'n, Bo. You don't go around biting people who've done nothing to provoke it.” Oh, but he had. Nyss didn't understand. Kenton was a stupid human, and it was so unfair that he was better than Bo at almost everything. Everywhere he went, people congratulated him on speaking Klia'an so well, and how great he'd done at recitation night, and on and on. He didn't deserve it. Any of it. Bo's father for a weak, fragile human? It wasn't a fair trade at all. “As it stands,” Nyss waved the parchment in his hands, “you're getting too old for a switching, and honestly, it hasn't even remotely changed your attitude towards Kenton, so after consulting with the Innah, we've decided to try a different tack.” Nyss looked up at the ceiling of their loft muttering “Lanae, give me strength,” and Bo had the sudden sinking feeling he was going to hate whatever his big brother was about to say. “On your school's field excursion to the kitterstone mines tomorrow, you'll be pairing up with Kenton on any assignments Teacher Illyia has for you.” “No!” Bo had been looking forward to visiting the mines for so long. And now he had to work with Kenton? It wasn't going to happen, it simply wasn't.

“Stay out of my way,” Bo said to Kenton after Teacher Illyia had explained their activities for the day. “But we can't complete all our assignments without working together,” the human protested. “That's your problem,” Bo said and grinned at him. The first task was easy enough, using the small nets they'd been given to pan for lumps of kitterstone worn smooth by the water in the shallow pools all around them. His pile grew and grew, but didn't seem to get any bigger than Kenton's who kept pulling the bright red rocks out of the swirling water as fast as Bo. Faster even. The human suddenly gasped, and Bo looked over to see Kenton clutching a beautiful blue rock. “Oh, you found a sapisz stone! Very good, Kenton.” Bo snarled under his breath at Teacher Illyia's over-the-top praise and flung his net aside. “Don't be mad,” Kenton said, and offered the stone to Bo, “we're a team. This is your find too.” “Told you to stay away.” Bo shoved at Kenton's hand and crossed his arms in a sulk, refusing to look when Teacher Illyia added their score to the tally she was keeping. Next they had to collect liphiz flowers from the brush growing around the mines, and while Bo gathered more than Kenton, the irritating human upstaged him yet again. Bo went to present one of his flowers to Seri, only to find that Kenton had already given his adopted sister a crown of the bright orange and purple blossoms. Bo flung his own on the ground and trampled them, not caring that Teacher Illyia swished her tail sternly and marked his and Kenton's score near the very bottom of the list. “Please,” Kenton pleaded after they received their third and final assignment, “please work with me. We did so well on the first task; if we try really hard, we can make up the lost points.” “I can do it. On my own.” But catching the fast swimming craunah in the stream which fed some of the mine's pools was easier said than done. They were see-through, which made spotting one difficult in the first place, and when Bo plunged his hand into the water, they squirted ink jets that hid them from sight again. He tried and tried and tried, coming up with only silt and rocks, his claws piercing leaves and driftwood but not craunah. His only consolation was that Kenton seemed to be struggling just as much. The human was up to his knees in the stream, ink-dark water gushing around him, and he appeared to be holding back tears. Bo gave up on catching the slippery creatures and started to jeer at Kenton instead. The human deserved to know what it felt like to fail at something for once. “Just stop!” Kenton finally yelled at Bo and dragged an arm across his muddy face. “I get that you don't want to help, but you don't have to make it harder for me.” “You think crying will make me feel sorry for you?” Bo laughed, and approached Kenton. “I might be the only person in all of Tribe Osinan who sees you for what you really are. Murderer.” He whispered the last word, so Teacher Illyia wouldn't hear. Kenton's bottom lip trembled, and he clenched his fists. “I lost my pa that day too,” he said, voice shaky and thin. “You don't have to be mean about it. It's why Seri stopped talking to you.” That was why? Seri had stopped coming over to play at Bo's loft because he refused to let Kenton trick him – like he'd tricked everyone else – into forgetting all the people they'd lost trying to help the worthless humans in Ethaba? “You told Seri to stop talking to me?” he growled, furious at the yellow haired human standing in the stream. “No! It was your own actions which pushed her away.” “Liar. If you weren't here P'rraa wouldn't be dead, and Seri would still be my friend. It's all your fault!” Bo sprang at Kenton and tumbled him fully into the stream, pushing his head under the water and scratching at him with his claws. Kenton shrieked, bubbles escaping his mouth, the muffled sound lost under his flailing and thrashing. The commotion must have attracted Teacher Illyia's attention, as moments later Bo found himself being pulled away and his arms firmly restrained behind his back whilst Kenton was dragged out of the water by Seri, crying and vomiting and bleeding from a dozen places. Bo shifted to try and escape, but Teacher Illyia scruffed him without hesitation, and he went limp in her grasp.

“This is the last day you will ever be in one of my classes – in my school at that! Nyss wants you to learn, he'll have to teach you himself.”

“He tried to drown him!?”

Even though Nyss was in the other room, Bo could clearly hear his oldest brother. He sounded very mad and horrified all at the same time. Bo supposed he had good reason, given that Kenton's adopted mother was none other than the leader of Tribe Osinan herself. “Innah, please accept my repentance on Bo's behalf. I assure you, nothing like this will ever happen again.” The low growl accompanying those words gave Bo the sudden certain feeling that he was not yet too old for a switching. He wouldn't outright attack Kenton again though. Rather than open people's eyes to the truth, all it had done was make them feel more sorry for him. And now Seri wouldn't even look at him anymore. He didn't think even two flower crowns would change that. From beyond the spinner-floss curtains, the Innah laughed gently. “Well, Healer Laedr patched up the worst of Kenton's injuries, and he's mostly fine now. Mild maiming does seem to be the best outcome, given the circumstances. We'll keep trying with Bo. At least he didn't bite him this time.”

Was that a funny story, or what? (It wasn't? Most children don't attempt murder to avenge their dead fathers? I'm scaring people, and my sense of humour's is badly skewed? See, now you sound like Laine.) (Oh, it's time for break? I wanna try the cut!) You're watching an interview with the famous Bo of Tribe Osinan on the Thorunn Crystal Broadcast News Network – don't change frequencies, we'll be right back!

@igotablankpage @musicofglassandwords @whatsanwritepocalae @elaynab-writing @sheabutterskyes @alcego-writes @valdifarniente

00 - Intro || 01 - Family || 02 - Friends || 04 - Skills || 05 - Loss || 06 - Home || 07 - Free/Secrets

#thorunn #yourocsbackstory #writeblr #am writing #am revising #Bo #these seem to get longer and longer oops #I just really like writing #and Bo is so much fun to write for #etjwrites #writers on tumblr #sci fi #backstory

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powered-by-paranoia · 5 years

Text

Of Mutual Trust and Other Myths | Chapter 3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

genre: angst, fluff, slow burn, (eventual) smut

pairing: Loki x OC // Loki x Reader

summary: A long time ago, when the telephone had barely been invented on Midgard, a secret organization made a pact with a powerful Asgardian figure. After twenty years of training, the organization’s best agent was smuggled into Asgard, as one of the terms of the pact. The woman ends up working undercover as a librarian, and patiently waits for opportunities to dig her claws into the inner politics and circles of Asgard. But despite all the magic tricks, how trustworthy can a human weapon really be, when the humanity starts to show?

words: 3782

taglist: @what-a-fantasy

“...and I finally feel as if I am going somewhere. As if all the work I have put into this is finally showing results.”

The red-headed girl, Frigga’s apprentice, was looking into the distance, her palms resting on the opened book in front of her, while nearly having finished explaining her whole life story to Ingrid. They were sitting down, facing each other at one of the tables in the reading section of the library. It was already late in the evening, and they both knew they had spent way too much time talking, and way too little time working. While Ingrid had no superior to actually worry about, except for the other librarians shooting her dirty looks, the girl suddenly realized the extent of her procrastination, and it showed on her face.

“I was supposed to finish reading this book by this evening!” she exclaimed, almost a little too loud for a library. Ingrid looked at how many pages she had left to read, and estimated around one hundred. “I’m going to be in trouble… and I distracted you, as well.” They looked at one another and Ingrid could only smile at the girl’s worry.

“I really should not, but I suppose I can make an exception. Take that book with you, bring it back tomorrow… or whenever you can,” she comforted the apprentice. The girl’s face lit up before Ingrid even got to finish her sentence.

“Are you sure? I know you said you’re not supposed to let people borrow these...”

“It’s either this or having to stay here past my bedtime just to watch you read,” Ingrid replied, her smile still present. She rested her hand on the girl’s shoulder before reassuring her that she wasn’t exactly being inconvenienced, “...and I’m not sure I could keep myself from distracting you further with our little talks.”

They both stood up, while the girl kept thanking her continuously, before rushing out of the library. Ingrid watched her run away with a melancholic expression, as she remembered her training days and how they had been nothing like hers. While Frigga’s apprentice was excited about everything that was happening, Ingrid had no memory of such excitement. Her training had been filled with nothing but anger, tears, and hardship until she ended up not even being able to feel them anymore.

---

“Again.”

Her head hurt. Her arms hurt. Her legs and feet hurt. In fact, she wasn’t sure there even was a body part that did not hurt. But the teenage girl got up anyway, dusted herself off and on shaky feet, regained fighting stance.

“Asgardians are far more resistant than humans,” her father explained to her. “If anything happens and you are hurt this easily, they will be able to tell.” Tears had begun forming in the corner of her eyes, as she wiped away the little drops of blood coming from her nose. “I cannot make you feel less pain, but you need to learn to conceal it.”

He pushed her by her right shoulder, not with too much force, but enough to make her take one step back. Ingrid grunted; this wasn’t supposed to happen, she knew it. She was supposed to stand her ground, not lose her balance. She was supposed to fight back, but she just couldn’t bring herself to continue. All that she could focus on was the unbearable pain her body was in, and it was then that it struck her that even grunting wasn’t allowed. She had to remain expressionless, as if what she was experiencing was just a mild headache.

Then, while she had been focusing on her own mistakes, her father had pulled out a metal bar and struck her behind her knee. She fell to the ground, crying in pain, her fingers digging into the ground as she attempted to stop herself from screaming. Times like this, the most cruel and wicked thing seemed to her not that he continued punishing her, but that she could not force herself into losing consciousness. There had been moments years before that, when she would fall to the ground by herself, without having been struck yet, shouting for mercy for she had realized she had made a mistake.

Mistakes were forbidden.

“Again, Dolores.”

---

She knew there was no point remembering specific events like that. She was not Dolores anymore, she was Ingrid. Ingrid, daughter of Ingvarr, born into a supportive family that always had her back - that understood her thirst for knowledge and did everything in their power to make sure she got the best education and opportunities. Her mother had recently passed away, and her father had died in battle trying to repress a rebellion on Vanaheim. Rangvald had taken her in and let her rent the room above his as an act of kindness - to make dealing with the loss of her mother easier. Every now and then, she would stare at a sketch of her mother that she kept on her nightstand. She didn’t exactly know who the sketch really was of, but after days of initially ignoring it and eventually ending up staring at it before falling asleep, she had almost begun to feel a connection with whoever the woman was.

After years of training, of being mentally torn apart and put back together every time she failed, it wasn’t hard for Ingrid to play her role. She had ended up somewhat believing most of her backstory and the lies she had to tell. It could also easily pass as a spin-off of her actual backstory - her real parents back on Earth had indeed tried to offer her the best life they could, but had died in a tragic accident when she was just a child. They were now faces she had no name for. Every person she had met on Earth, including her mentor, was a face without a name. For she had taught herself that in order to best hide a secret, you have to hide it from yourself first. She had to keep it in a dark corner at the back of her consciousness as part of her, but never let it emerge into any shape that could be given a name.

But that part of her didn’t matter now. Ingrid didn’t exactly count the days until she could return to Midgard, because she didn’t exactly wish to return. She was already home.

The short moment of introspection shattered she noticed something sparkling on the table, and her eyes drifted towards it. In her rush to get back home and study, the girl had left behind her pen and notebook. The notebook looked rather worn, and there were several pages written in it, so Ingrid figured the girl would probably be needing it. She decided she could make a detour and bring the notebook to the apprentice’s chambers on her way home, if the girl did not return for it before closing time. If she still felt like it, of course. The girl had made sure to share an extreme amount of information, including where she stayed during her apprenticeship. Apparently, Frigga liked to keep them close.

It had already been a few minutes, and the apprentice had not returned. Ingrid’s eyes followed the other librarians as they exited the library and excitedly chattered, probably talking about their plans once they got home, or about going out for drinks. They had never invited her to come with them, even though she had overheard them several times organizing night outs.

She waited until everyone left, and walked out the large doors, while at the same time pulling them behind her to shut them. They creaked at the exact same spots they always did, and Ingrid locked them the same she always did, every night, with a golden key almost just as large as her hand. She tucked it away in her coat, which now made it heavier on one side, but it didn’t bother her.

Now, she could either walk her usual path home or make the detour through the palace and drop off the notebook. Ingrid sighed to herself and took a sharp left, heading for the apprentice’s chambers, slightly annoyed but at the same time unsure whether the guards would let her go all the way so close to Frigga’s personal chambers. The last time she had wandered off, she had almost died, after all.

Eventually, Ingrid reached a patrolling guard and walked directly towards the man, instead of trying to pretend she belonged there. The guard stopped pacing when he noticed she was heading towards him.

“Hey, excuse me…,” she began, searching herself for the notebook and pulling it out to show it to the guard. “I need to get this to Frigga’s apprentice… the red-haired one.” She realized she had never cared to ask the girl for her name, but she quickly opened the notebook to check for a name, just in case. It was written in golden letters in the bottom right corner of the first page. “...Eyja,” she read, before continuing her explanation. “She forgot this in the library - I’m the head librarian.”

He looked at her as if he was waiting for her to continue. “And?” he eventually asked.

Ingrid closed the notebook and put it back inside her coat. For some seconds, she was confused, until she realized the guard wasn’t exactly considering her an intruder. She didn’t need an explanation for being there - that’s how much confidence they had in their people and their security. “And I was just wondering if you could give me directions,” she improvised.

The guard’s expression softened from a confused one to a friendly one, while he explained how to get to Frigga’s chambers. He wasn’t sure which one belonged to Eyja, the red-haired apprentice, but Ingrid remembered well the girl had told her she was just at the end of the same hall. With the directions in mind, Ingrid nodded at the guard to thank him and rushed away. She was still perplexed by how she had almost given herself away. Apparently, there was a bad side to being too cautious as well.

She had to knock twice before the door opened. The girl flashed her a visibly forced smile, as if there was someone behind her pointing a weapon at her back. It seemed odd, but Ingrid just assumed the girl was stressed. Before she could explain why she was there though, the girl took a step back and rapidly gestured her to come in. Ingrid hesitated at first - she did not feel like spending any more time there than necessary, but there was something in the girl’s insisting eyes that made her feel she didn’t really have a choice. So she stepped in.

“You forgot your notebook. I thought I’d drop by and bring it to you…,” Ingrid began explaining, while at the same time examining the place. It was chilly in the room, enough to send a shiver down her spine, but the way it was decorated surprised her - with what looked like marble walls, and black, gold and green accents every here and there. While most things were darker in color, every part of the room had a hint of bright gold or emerald green that lighted the place up, even at such a dark hour. The light from the few candles and small lamps was reflecting in them perfectly.

“I know.”

Another shiver ran down Ingrid’s spine now, but not because of the change in temperature, but because of the change in voice. She had her back turned to the apprentice, but as soon as she realized it was a man’s voice that had responded, she instantly turned to face who it had come from. But it was still only the girl’s figure standing in front of her.

“Did you just…?” she frowned at the girl, who had already closed the door behind her and was now leaning against it. The apprentice tilted her head, waiting for her to continue. “Is… is this a new trick you’re learning? Changing your voice?”

The girl chuckled, this time in her normal voice, before switching back to the masculine one. This time, however, the change went further - a bright ray of light formed at the top of her head, and as it slowly went down, revealed the real owner of the masculine voice. It was no other than Loki.

Of course.

Ingrid stared at him, but didn’t say anything. “You’re so much nicer to me when I’m a little girl. Look at that blank face of yours again,” he teased. She just kept staring at him as he walked past her and threw himself on the sofa next to the massive windows. For a few seconds, Ingrid considered turning around and just walking out. “Don’t run away just yet. We need to talk.”

To that, she raised her eyebrows and tilted her head a little. “Yes, I think we do. Is the girl even real?” She couldn’t tell where the annoyance was coming from - what did it matter to her if the girl was real or not? - but it was surely building up.

“I promise you she is. I placed that notebook there before she arrived. That’s why she didn’t take it with her - it wasn’t hers,” he explained. Before he could continue, she interrupted him,

“And the guard? The girl told me where her chambers were, and he directed me towards them.”

“That was me too. I directed you to my chambers. I was the guard,” he said the last word rather mockingly, as if he was making fun of her use of it. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter now. As I said-”

“It does matter. Why am I even here?”

Loki frowned. “That is exactly where I’m getting at, if you would be so kind and stop interrupting me. Take a seat.” He gestured towards the smaller sofa, right in front of the one he was sitting on. The two were separated by a small coffee table made of glass, with a small lamp shaped like a snake on top of it. Ingrid sat down and fixated her eyes on the lamp, pretending to be fascinated by it in order to avoid having to look at the Asgardian.

“Go on then.”

“I need your help,” he bluntly stated. This made Ingrid immediately switch her gaze to look at him, trying to figure out whether he was making fun of her again or if he was being serious. She would have expected that type of phrase - coming from him - to be embroidered with at least a small amount of shame, but he had said it in a surprisingly confident manner, with a wide grin on his face, as if he was doing her a favor. She squinted her eyes a little. “There’s this man that I am convinced is responsible for all the trouble that is now unraveling on Vanaheim. I will not bore you with the details, but my father trusts him too much to even consider my idea that he could be plotting against his will.” Loki’s grin had faded a little, but she could sense the frustration in his tone. There was also that feeling of superiority emanating from him, as when she had first met him. “Which is why I plan on capturing him and making him confess. But I have to do that without Odin or Heimdall finding out.”

Ingrid pushed herself into the sofa, crossing both her legs and arms, still squinting her eyes at him. “And I come in where, exactly?”

Loki lifted his chin and mimicked her sinking into the sofa. “I already know how to get him to Asgard without anyone noticing, but I am going to need to keep him somewhere while I convince him to confess,” he replied. Ingrid didn’t know whether to wait for him to explain further, or to just bluntly decline and invoke Rangvald finding out as too much of a risk. Her confused expression probably gave him way to elaborate. “Let me hold him in that room you keep the registry book in, or some other confined space within the library. You just have to make sure no one enters while he is there.”

There was a short moment when both pairs of blue eyes met, which she spent trying to figure out whether this was another trick of his that would lead to major trouble. Knowing how easily he had tricked her earlier, and the times before, it was only natural for her to stay cautious. Many things did not seem to add up, however, and to be honest, she didn’t really feel like going through all that trouble. Ingrid was sure he had other alternatives that implied less to no effort on her part.

“No.”

The word echoed through the room, spoken a little too confidently by her, which made it seem forced. She kept thinking about that in the moment of silence that followed, while their eyes were still making contact with Loki’s. Ingrid didn’t want to break the eye contact, as to not seem unsure of her answer, and he certainly did not want to break it either in order to try and intimidate her. Neither plan seemed to work.

“You’ll be greatly rewarded,” he calmly said, as if he had already prepared for her rejection.

“I will not jeopardize everything I have worked for until now. I’m sure there are other places you can keep him. Besides, I have other things to look after,” she replied, still maintaining eye contact.

Loki tilted his head to the side. “I’ve been trying to figure out what drives you, you know,” he said, as the change in subject and tone took Ingrid by surprise. “And my best bet is... knowledge. You’re curious, but you long for a little adventure, don’t you? Which is why you keep humoring me. I am offering you just that - as a reward, I shall grant you a tour of Odin’s treasure room. All you have to do is guard a room, a small price if you would ask me. If anything happens, you can always say you did not know.”

Ingrid could feel her heart starting to beat faster, which made her finally look away. Her thoughts raced and her mind was trying to balance everything. Of course, entrance to Odin’s famous treasure room was a jackpot for her, and for the moment she did not really wonder how he would be able to sneak her in. They were plotting against Odin himself though, and that posed a great risk. Ingrid stared at a particular candle in the near distance as if she could melt it with her eyes, trying to make order in her thoughts.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” she asked, in a much softer tone now. “And that no one will find out?”

Loki’s grin visibly grew wider seeing her change of heart. “Of course. For all Heimdall knows, I am now outside admiring the new statues being built,” he assured her, while placing his hands over his knees. Ingrid didn’t notice it however, as her gaze was now wandering around the place again.

“Why don’t you just keep him here? Or in some hidden cave somewhere…,” she muttered.

“Here is the most obvious place they would search if they suspected anything,” he replied. “And I also need to have eyes on him at all times.”

“What if he screams?”

“He won’t.”

She looked at him again and noticed the absence of his grin. In fact, even his posture had changed. Loki was now leaning forward and looking at her with what seemed like sincerity in his eyes, but there was something about the way he had assured her the prisoner would not scream that made her feel uneasy. And she wasn’t sure how good of an idea it was to associate sincerity with Loki. Ingrid swallowed and averted her eyes.

“There’s a storeroom no one really uses. But I don’t want him there for more than two days.”

They both stood up almost at the same time. “I am going to go after him tonight,” he added.

Ingrid straightened her dress and fixed her coat. “How are you going to sneak him in?”

“Leave that to me. Your only concern is to be there when I arrive and make sure we are alone.”

There was still time to change her mind, she thought. She hadn’t exited the room yet, but she was on her way. Slowly but surely, Loki guided her towards the door as she second-guessed herself. Risky as it was, he was right - she could say she had been tricked into doing it or that she didn’t even know, in case they were caught. Would everything go according to plan, not only could she possibly earn Loki’s trust, but she would also get an exclusive of Odin’s treasure room. Had the request come from any other person, she thought, she would have had no hesitation in accepting it.

Before reaching the door, Ingrid stopped dead in her tracks and turned around to face Loki - who had stopped as well, but just a few inches away from her. She could almost distinguish the pores on his face from that distance, but that was not her point of focus. When she realized how close they were, she decided to concentrate on a golden garment embroidered just underneath his collar.

“You still left one question unanswered…,” she started, as he raised his chin a little, in order to look at her from above. “Why am I here, and not someone else?” She had begun to lift her gaze while asking the question, but much to her relief, the eye contact didn’t last long.

Loki scoffed, as if disappointed by the question, and just walked past her. Ingrid turned around, watched him walk towards the door and rest his hand on the handle. “Because you can get it done, of course. I have spoken to Rangvald, and I know you lied about the book. Apparently, you lie about a lot of things. You’re a natural.”

Ingrid frowned at him. “That’s not true.”

With a short chuckle, Loki opened the door and gestured for her to get out. “See you soon, accomplice.” She angrily wrapped her coat around herself and rapidly made her way outside.

“Don’t push it,” Ingrid mumbled, trying to not look at him while the distance between the two grew shorter.

“I suggest you sleep in the library,” Loki almost whispered in her ear as she passed by him.

notes: again, thank you so much for reading this! it means a lot to me :)

#loki #loki fluff #loki fanfic #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki x ofc #loki x oc #loki smut #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #loki fic #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #slow burn #angst #loki angst #loki of asgard #of mutual trust and other myths

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unbefuckinglieveable · 5 years

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Logan Bartender AU Prequel

(( Wow okay so. Have a prequel no it won't be this dark the entire time. But character backstory and I had fun. It was going to be @apologieslogan holific, but i got a logince idea .however i told them that I would write this for them. And here we are :D enjoy

- Pandora

CW: verbal and physical abuse, manipulation, drowning, drinking,and suicide.

Danielle Croft didn't understand how her six-year-old was so smart, but it bothered her to no end. The brat was just like his father, fair complexion, sharp features, dark chestnut hair, growing fast, and a mouth that just wouldn't stop. It just wouldn't stop. She may not have been so annoyed if she wasn't constantly nursing a hangover, and dealing with civil court cases.

Much like how she was currently reading over a character witness, that was until her son burst in on the balls of his feet a book clucked in his little hands. Dark curls hanging in his face. Danielle had ignored him at first, she tried. However, he continued to shout about the stars of all things.

No doubt it was the North Star and Bible study that brought it up. Stupid religion and its dependence on holidays. Much like the one coming up.

“ -And Neutron stars! Mommy they thpin and thpin and thpin they go 600 thpinth a second! And uh uh nobody-uff” Logan huffed as he finally stopped spinning, trying to talk more facts with his mom, maybe she'd listen to this topic, dad would have liked it. He couldn't get the air in him fast enough. Or talk slow enough to negate the lisp from losing a front tooth.

“Logan, stop. I am busy I don't have time for you to interrupt me.” The adult warned, patience worn thin, she pinched the bridge of her nose. Her eyes wandered to the Hem of his pants just coming over his ankles. ‘ugh, I just bought him those pants, come on!’ Logan's expression seemed sad and confused.

“ Bu-but Mommy, tharth are tho pretty and amazing, did you know that-”

“ Did you know! Did you know? Logan, did you know that you are earning your way to no Christmas if I can’t get my work done!” Danielle snapped slamming a hand down on the table. Logan jumped frowning

“ Even if we did have it you'd get coal.” The child grumbled defiantly his hands clutched the book tighter as he looked up into his mother's light hazel eyes with his own deep blue ones. He hadn't anticipated the back of his mother's hand colliding with his face so hard it knocked him to the ground.

“ You don't talk to me like that, Logan, and I never get coal because I am Santa. Go to your room.” Logan scrambled out of his mother's office with tears in his eyes, his book abandoned on the floor.

Danielle picked up the book and threw it into her fireplace, it was one less thing for him to bother her about. She didn't think about the gash on her son's cheek from her old engagement ring. If she was honest, she didn't care.

Later that night at dinner Logan came up to her and asked with a little plea tingeing his tone. “ Thanta ith real, right? You were jutht mad at me, right?” Logan rubbed the scabbed cut on his cheek, as he looked at the person who put it there. He would never forget the smirk on her face like she felt good about what she was about to say.

“ None of the holidays are real Love, I wanted to keep you happy, but I don't see the importance of lying to you, not if you love facts so much.” The child ran to his room and didn't come out for two days. Christmas went by unmarked that year, and every year with every holiday.

Logan's mother saw an opportunity, every time he would go off on one of his topics, she would tell him a fun fact about the real world some weren't too terrible. Other times it would be, “ Did you know on average one American dies every twelve seconds?” Logan would leave with his head hung low, however, he did dive into his studies, there had to be something his mom would enjoy.

There had to be something. Anything.

Though her words left a mark, a burning sensation in his chest. It wasn't as bad as the scar left on his cheek from the first time. A diagonal thick line from his cheekbone to the right of the middle of his cheek. She didn't backhand him anymore, but when he stepped out of line, he knew what he had coming.

Her words would haunt him at the most inconvenient times, particularly, his first and last time at the coastline a few years later. Logan was about eleven years old. Boogie boarding while his mom was busy with work and happy hour. Logan was having a blast so much he didn't realize that the current had pulled him out too far.

Before he even had time to process the situation, the waves came down over top of him knocking the board away, the force strong enough to pull the Velcro apart. Leaving him to flail as he sunk. ‘ Did you know on average one American dies every twelve seconds?’ His mother's voice taunted in his mind as he thrashed trying to get to the surface

Logan felt his eyes droop while his hands clawed towards the sun. Wireframe glasses sunk below him far from sight. He did the one thing he could think of. If he could survive twelve seconds, maybe he could survive twelve more.

One… his arms feel heavy but he continues to struggle.

Momma, help me!

Two... His mouth opened exhaling his air in a huff. Involuntarily.

Please I'm scared!

Three … he sinks deeper as water fills his lungs.

There's no air here!

Four… Exhaustion grips him.

I'm... I'm so tired.

Five… he stops fighting as the edges of his vision soften. Warmth. Surrounds him

You aren't coming...

Logan was unconscious by six.

After Logan regained consciousness, it still took five minutes for him to realize that he was not dead. That a girl named Rosaline had pulled him from the water and ultimately saved his life. The eleven-year-old had his hands feeling the ground for the slim wireframes that weren't on his face. “ Oh no,” the younger boy groaned which peaked Rosaline's attention.

“ What? What's wrong?” She questioned as she tucked a curl behind her ear.

“ I lost my glasses.”

“ You could've died out there and you're worried about your glasses… I fear you may have lost some brain cells with them.”

“ You don't understand, my mom is going to be so mad at me.” Logan protested.

“ Nowhere near as upset she would be if you had died just now.”

“ I don't think she'd notice too much, well, she'd notice but it would be followed by relief. Thank you for your help miss-”

“ Just call me Ro, my friend's do. I think even though she is a bit mean your mom might not be so angry when she found out how.”

“ Your most likely right, thank you, Ro, have a nice day,” Logan said calmly as he went to stand up through legs wobbled beneath him. Ro steadied him and held the younger till he had his bearings.

“Thank you, again.”

Ro smirked, “ Yeah Yeah, can you walk? It might be best if you laid down and got some rest.”

“ I got it just give me a minute,” Logan said taking a few wobbly steps before he gets his act together. “ Thanks again Roro,” Logan said calmly as he walked away, Rosaline sighed softly to himself.

“Later…LoLo”

Danielle was furious that her son had lost the one thing that she had bothered to keep up with. She started packing up their belongings to leave. “ We aren't going to be able to come back for a while those were expensive glasses. And I have to scrape money to get new ones.”

“ I understand..”

Logan didn't care if he ever came back, though he did enjoy Ro's company. Maybe they'd meet again one day.

Years passed, holidays were skipped, birthday's skipped, stars are forgotten. Logan gave up actively trying to impress his mother instead he focused on his studies. By fifteen his mom lost her job at the D.A, by sixteen her unemployment ran out. Logan started working at a restaurant, to support himself, and he supposed that he took care of her, in his own way.

By the time Logan was set up to go to college his mother begged him to stay by her. He chose a school by the shore they vacationed at when he was younger. It was a quality school, far away from her. And he was firm when he left. She hadn't believed him the first four times he explained. At this point, he wasn't letting her play him off.

“ I am leaving tomorrow, mother. There is a bit of money left in the pantry. I look forward to meeting people, people of the functioning variety, that is.” The young adult warned as his mother stirred on the couch.

“ Logi-bear, why do you wanna go so badly? Take a year off.” Danielle, or Dani as she went by now, lolled her head to the side, Logan rolled his eyes in disgust.

“Did you know, that I just don't care to do that.”

“ Alexa, play ‘Mother Knows Best’, The Tangled soundtrack.” Logan grimaced as the cringey soundtrack began to loft through the air.

“ No more like Alexa, play ‘Comfortably Numb’ by Pink Floyd, because that is you, always chasing a high that will never feel the same again.” He crossed his arms glaring at her. “ I did try to make you happy! If you aren't there for me then I will find someone who is!” Lo growled as he grabbed his coat. Walking to his bags by the door taking one in each hand.

“ I won't stay, because I know you won't change. We'll be homeless by Winter. I do not intend on being there to witness your alcoholism consume you. Goodbye, mother.”

“ Logan!” Dani hissed shooting up from her seat and staggering to her son. “ I'll change… I will stop drinking.”

“ That is great, except, I know it isn't true. It is something that you would fight for the rest of your life. You couldn't even go to A.A to keep your job.”

“ Do you want me to go to A.A. I'll go!” Dani pleaded as she stumbled to her knees in front of him. Her lighter red hair tousled about her sunken in the face as she glanced at the only strong feature of her life.

“ Go to rehab,” Lo ordered quietly, to him that would be what it took in that moment for him to consider staying. She needed to give him hope. With Comfortably Numb playing quietly in the background his piercing blue eyes stared at her while she looked away.

“ I- uh - wh- what? Young man you are the ch-”

“ In your own words then, every time you went to the bar on holidays or birthdays, ‘laterz’. “

He left with no intention of going back, that night his mother died, in the bottle and with steel on her temple. The night Logan's childhood died with her. He had received a stipend for the affair. Lo wouldn't spend it. Logan started working an extra job, under the table. He wanted his education. And it was paid for, housing and food? It was a good thing he started mixing drinks at a young age. Now he got paid for it at least.

#logan sanders #logan angst #sanderssides #trans!roman #tw:suicide #tw: abusive parents #i am aiming for a good time. can you tell?#pandorafic #prequel #college bartender au.#thank you everyone ♡♡♡♡

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harrypotterandthefandomaccount · 6 years

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Otherside

request: Always a slut for Severus x reader stuff, be it fluffy or smutty. Bless me with something smutty! Love what I’ve seen on your blog so far by the way, Meepmorp is here to meep-support!

summary: Prisoner of Azkaban but yall are in 7th year// After you, Harry, and Hermione chase down the dog who drags away Ron and Scabbers, they find out the dog is Sirius Black, infamous criminal who seemingly betrayed the Potter’s. But, with further backstory, all four learn that it was Peter Pettigrew who had worked for Voldemort and betrayed James and Lily, not Sirius(who is also Harry’s godfather). When Sirius and Professor Lupin are about to kill Peter, Harry convinces them to turn him over to the dementors for a new trial to give Sirius freedom. As they are about to leave, Lupin sees the full moon and turns into a werewolf. The four of you scower back in fear, thinking you’re about to die until Professor Severus Snape comes in to save the day. When Snape gets injured, you take him back to the potions classroom where he puts up the biggest fuss of his life. Fluff and smut ensues

warnings: uhh blood, stitches, werewolves, probs like one a couple curse words, NSFW!! SMUT

note: yes another song titled from a posty song. sorry, just appreciation for my dad. also thank you all for your lovely messages, they really do make my day:))

NSFW BELOW!!!

Rushing towards the whomping willow with Hermione and Harry, the three of you weren’t entirely sure what was going to happen. Ron and his pet rat Scabbers had been taken away by a large dog to the whomping willow and disappeared. Dumbledore had made it known that Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban and dementors circled the school, searching for him. Yet they didn’t notice a big, black dog dragging away a pubescent boy and his disgusting pet rat?

Heading up the hill, you three see Ron and Sca - wait, now a gross looking man. There, Harry looked to Professor Lupin for answers. “Professor,” you started, looking between Lupin and Ron, “what’s going on?”

Sirius Black then emerged next to Ron who let out a scream. Hermione snorted as you and Harry shook your heads. The infamous murderer turned to Lupin, embracing him like someone would an old friend. Sirius let go, turning to Harry, “there’s my boy! Spitting image of James.”

The boy who lived looked to the crazy man, “you knew my father? How?”

Lupin and Sirius shared looks before quickly turning back to Harry. Lupin started, “I’m a werewolf, Harry, and Sirius along with your father and Peter all went to Hogwarts together. Sirius is. . .”

The mentioned man interrupted, “your godfather!”

Harry’s eyes widened, “godfather? Wait, no, you’re a murderer who betrayed my parents.” His fists clenched as he got angry, wand in hand in case anything had come up. You stood beside Harry, letting him know you had your wand ready, too.

Lupin had then explained everything, “Sirius is innocent, Harry. He wouldn’t betray your parents even if his life depended on it; Peter is an Animagus who became Ron’s pet, so to speak, and he committed the crimes. . .not Sirius.”

Sirius laughed, “so I say we just kill this little shit when we have the chance. Come here, Pettigrew, we just -”

“Wait,” Harry said, making Sirius furrow his eyebrows. “The dementors are here, yeah? So why not just give Peter to them. He can spend longer than 12 years in Azkaban.”

Before they can agree, Lupin turns around and he whispers, “oh no.” Peter Pettigrew lets out an evil chuckle and waves to you four, transforming into a rat and running away. Sirius goes up to Lupin and holds him tightly, telling him who it is and yelling at him to control his werewolf transformation.

Lupin’s eyes changed color to a dark red, his skin darkening slightly with claws forming. He let out a deep yell, his shirt ripping open as Sirius kept trying to talk some sense into him. Pushing his head toward the sky, Lupin had changed into a werewolf and howled, no trace of Professor Lupin left.

You, Hermione, Ron, and Harry all stood by the whomping willow, almost holding onto each other for dear life. Hermione broke away, “wait, wait. . .Professor?” The werewolf whimpered, looking around as if unsure about its surroundings. “Professor Lupin?” Hermione asked again, but the werewolf did not answer(meme segment: but the yoyo master did not answer, he just kept on yoing), except he let out a howl at the moon.

Pulling Hermione back, you failed to see the shadow of the Professor you’ve had a crush on since your third year; Professor Snape. He stepped in front of you four, seeing the werewolf, “there you are!”

His hands pushed against your waist as his back hid you from your Professor, now werewolf. Said werewolf stood up against you five, striking his hand against Snape, drawing a cut through the Professor’s arm. You and Hermione screamed, falling backwards against the ground as the werewolf howled again.

Professor Snape looked back at you, crawling quickly to put himself in front of you. Lupin stalked towards your group, raising his hand to strike again until another dog came out of the shadows. “Sirius,” Harry said, standing up with his wand in hand.

The two animals battled it out, whimpers and growls being exclaimed throughout the fight. You all had stood up by now, Snape still putting his hands behind him, trying his best to protect you. Harry ran past him though, keen on trying to help his godfather. Snape called after him, “Potter! Damnit. . .”

Harry had thrown a rock at Lupin, catching his attention. He was about to run back towards Hogwarts until a new howl had come out of the shadows. It had sounded womanly, but it got the werewolf’s attention. He howled back and took a look at Harry, then went down the ditch.

Ron, you and Hermione attempted to go after Harry when he had chased down Sirius, but Snape blocked you with his arms, “not. . so. .fast.”

You looked at Professor Snape, “sir, you’re hurt. D-do you need some help?” Still shaking up, your voice quivered with every couple words.

Snape look displeased, even with your attempt to help, “no, Miss L/N, you and your friends have done enough. Get back inside Hogwarts and I’ll look for Mr. Potter myself.” All three of you nodded, not in the mood to fight against Snape.

Walking back into the castle, you heard a couple grunts of pain from the DADA and potions master. You turned to your friends when they headed towards the Gryffindor commonroom, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow morning. Try not to worry, he’s Harry Potter for You-Know-Who’s sake!”

Your two friends laughed and headed off to bed, talking about the night’s events before turning in. Glancing back around, you saw Professor Snape leaning against the stone cold wall. He took in a deep breath beforre leaning down to get his classroom keys.

You beat him to it, “let me, Professor.” Snape let out a disgruntled sigh, “thank you, Miss L/N. Now, I do believe it is past curfew so I will-”

You rolled your eyes, “geez, can’t you just let someone help you? Wait inside your classroom and I’ll meet you in there in a few minutes.”

Snape’s face contorted into amusement but then disappointment, “excuse me, but that was highly -”

Letting out a laugh, you turned around and went into the infirmary to get supplies, “good chat, see ya soon!”

Severus sighed and opened the door to his classroom, setting his keys down on the desk. He let go of his bleeding arm, the sting making him hiss. Three bloody marks had made themselves known on his arm and putting part of his robe to it had done nothing.

Footsteps had then made themselves known in the room. Snape looked up at the now 7th year student who held a needle and string along with some alcohol and cotton pads. His eyes quirked, “for my arm?”

You snorted, “no, for the Quidditch game tomorrow.”

Snape let out a sound that seemed to be a chuckle, “I can take points away from your house, you know, Miss L/N?”

Putting the supplies down on the table, you turned to Snape, “yeah, and I can see you struggle doing these stitches yourself. Whatever suits you, Professor.”

Grumbling, Snape ripped off the rest of the sleeve on his arm, watching his student pour alcohol on a cotton pad and drag it across his wound. He let out a curse, grabbing his desk chair. “Sorry Severus, I probably should’ve warned you,” you said, not even taking notice to your slip up. But neither did Snape, “it’s okay Y/N, just. . .warn me next time.”

Grabbing a cloth, you dipped it in more alcohol before cleaning off the blood around it. “I’m sorry, Severus, we had no clue about Professor Lupin and now you’re hurt,” you said, turning your head to blink away from the alcohol.

Snape scoffed, now realizing what you’re calling him and your stupid excuse, “Y/N, I must say, for a Y/H, that excuse was pretty senseless.”

You nodded, “yes, Professor.” Snape let out a chuckle, “Severus.”

Putting the thread through the needle, you looked to Snape, “this is going to hurt a lot, so grip onto something.” Snape nodded as you started to stitch up his wound, “talk to me while I’m stitching you up.”

Snape’s mind went blank, “I’ve noticed your potions are getting a lot better, even better than Miss Granger.” You snorted, “better than Hermione? Never knew you had a sense of humor, Severus.”

He shook his head, black hair swaying softly, “I am not kidding. . .you’ve easily become my favorite student by not only paying attention and sitting front row, but taking my class seriously.”

Being halfway through stitching, you stretched your fingers. You looked up at Snape who had a soft grin on his face, “thank you, Severus. You’ve always been my favorite teacher.” Going back to stitching up his wound, you failed to notice his smile.

The needle softly went through his skin as you continued, “I think I love you.” Snape’s head slowly turned towards you, glancing over your focused features, “really?”

You laughed, “seems you didn’t feel me grip onto your cloak tonight, or I yelled your name when you got this nasty injury. So yes, I do. I know I’m a student, but I thought you had a right to know.”

Leaning over the desk, you grabbed gauze and wrapped it around his stitches until ripping it, putting a string of tape over the end of the wrapping. Snape then took a breath and put a hand on yours, “Y/N?”

Looking up, your eyes met Snapes, “yes, Severus?”

Snape raised his hand and rested it on your cheek, “what if. . .I felt the same way?”

You smiled and bit your lip, unsure of how to answer, “well, I’d be very happy and I’d hope we could have something.”

Snape gives you a crooked smile before leaning in and closing the distance between you two. He kisses you slow and gentle, savoring each moment. You run your fingers through his black hair and tilt your head to the side, allowing him to deepen the kiss as he slips his tongue between your lips

The professor pulls away, looking into your eyes as he shifted his own between your lips and your eyes. “Do you want this?” he asked, waiting for your answer. You nodded your head, taking your arms and pulling your shirt over your head. Snape chuckled at your eagerness.

He pulls his robes from his body and tosses them to the side before his hands go to the buttons of his underr shirt. You run your fingertips down his chest as he shrugs his shirt from his shoulders. You smile back at him, deciding to go up and lean against his desk.

He rests his hands by your sides, towering over your small frame. Snape’s hands glide up towards the back of your bra, “may I?” You nodded as he unhooked your bra, tossing it to the side.

With the way he drinks you and your breasts in, it makes you self conscious. You move your hands to your lap and look away, blushing. The papers he was grading seem more interesting at the moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” Snape whispers as his eyes travel over your body, leaving small kisses everywhere he looked.

Leaning up with Snape between your legs, you press your lips to his again. Snape’s hands move down towards your hips, his thumbs pressing circles into the skin just above the waistband of your pants. You slide your hands down to his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it through the loops. He kicks off his shoes and toes off his socks as you open the front of his pants. Your fingers brush his erection through his pants as he lets out a soft moan. With your light touches, you can tell he has never done this or has, but once or twice.

Snape then pushes down his pants, his hard cock springing up against his stomach. You giggle as you unbutton your pants and kick off your shoes. He hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your pants and panties, pushing the material down as you shimmy your hips as best you could from sitting on the desk.

Snape smirks as he finally sees you fully unclothed, “lay down for me. . .Y/N.” You did as he asked and leaned back on the desk, spreading your legs open to him. Snape leans down towards your pussy and licks up, tentatively, tongue slipping past your lips and grazing your clit, making you unable to hold back the cry that escapes you. He then grabs your thighs and brings you closer, kissing your cunt and you moan loudly, contemplating between wanting to push down or wanting to pull back from the intense stimulation.

You interlace your fingers with his, holding his hand tightly as his tongue swirls inside you. His nose nudges your clit as he presses his tongue into you as deep as he can. The feeling makes your hips buck from the desk, but Snape holds you down as he continues eating you out. A knot coils in your stomach and your walls begin to tighten around his tongue. "Severus,” you moan, “oh, Sev! I'm - ” You don’t get to finish. Snape presses his thumb to your clit and swirls his tongue inside you. The combined feeling makes the knot in your stomach snap and your muscles tense, making your back arch from the desk as your walls clamp down around his tongue.

Snape takes your hand and kisses it, interlacing his fingers with yours. He presses your hand against the pile of graded papers beside your head and uses his forearm to prop himself up. His other hand moves down to your hip, holding you gently. You lean up, capturing Snape’s lips as he pushes into you, his thick cock stretching you and filling you to the hilt. “YN,” Snape whispers, his hand squeezing yours gently.

You drag your free hand through his dark hair and down his back, moaning as he pulls back and thrusts forward slowly. The muscles in his back ripple beneath your hand as he sets a slow, even pace. The easy roll of his hips drives you mad, his cock hitting all the right spots. He whispers that he loves you over and over, you doing the same. You kiss his neck and shoulder as he moves inside you, drawing you closer and closer to your second orgasm. “Oh YN,” Severus groans, his head tipping forward to rest against your shoulder. His easy thrusts falter, the pace increasing but becoming no less gentle. You tangle your fingers in his hair and wrap your legs around his waist. With the new leverage, you draw him deep into you with each thrust, making you both moan. Snape’s hand moves up from your hip and fists into the papers beside your head, caging you beneath him.

“Severus,” you moan loudly, his throbbing cock sliding against your g-spot with each shift of his hips, “oh, fuck!” He is getting close; you can feel it in the way his cock twitches and his hips falter from their steady rhythm. “YN,” Snape groans as your walls flutter around him. He shifts his hips, entering you at the perfect angle and you can’t hold on any longer. "Severus!” you cry out as your walls clamp down around him. Warmth and pleasure coarse through you as you reach your climax, him not too far behind.

You hold him close as you both begin to come down from your high, your legs slipping from his waist and down his legs. Severus breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against your shoulder, his body half collapsing above you. At the moment, only his legs kept him up. "We should’ve done this a long time ago,” Severus whispers between leaving kisses on your neck. You hum in agreement, you both letting out breathless laughs.

You look up at your teacher, "do you really want this? Us?"

Snape pressed his head to yours, "while it is against school rules. . .yes. I suppose I can teach you more than just how to brew glory."

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