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narumi-gens · 9 months

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The L Word

Miya Osamu x f!Reader

summary: Love makes people stupid. Osamu knows it firsthand.

warnings: minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, established relationship, love confessions, fluff with a teeny hint of angst, happy ending, small miscommunication bc Osamu is an idiot but it gets cleared up, Atsumu to the rescue, Osamu being the dumber Miya twin for a change, Osamu really goes through it in this fic but it's all okay bc you love him

notes: literally wrote this entire thing today bc Osamu just does something to me. this takes place earlier on in the Meet the Miyas couple's relationship and you don't have to read the other fics to get this one, but I sure would like you to.

words: 3.6k

part of the Meet the Miyas series

Osamu’s date with you was meant to be a quick dinner. If he was thinking more clearly, he wouldn’t have suggested seeing each other that night at all. It’s been a hectic week for the both of you and he knows that you have to catch an early morning train for a meeting out of town the next day.

But he can’t think clearly when it comes to you. Because he loves you. He doesn’t know when exactly it happened, but he knows it was probably after only a couple of dates, which he also knows is crazy.

Again, he can never think clearly when it comes to you.

It means that he’s spent the last few months in a love-induced haze of happiness as your budding relationship has progressed. It’s even been enough to dull the irritation he would normally feel at how smug Atsumu has been about being the one to set the two of you up in the first place.

Of course, none of that is on his mind now. The only thing he can currently think about is how much he doesn't want your evening together to end.

It’s a desire of his that you’re more than willing to indulge in as your time at the restaurant stretches on long past dessert. When he offers to walk you home even though you live in opposite directions, you don’t even bother to give a perfunctory protest. You merely nod with a wide grin, happily accepting the arm he wraps around your shoulders as you curl into his side.

And what began as a sweet kiss goodnight outside of your building is now bordering on something inappropriate for a public setting, even on an empty street.

Your soft lips move against his and his tongue slips into your mouth to taste you. One of your hands rests against his neck, while the other runs through his hair, making him shiver at the sensation of your fingernails gently running against his scalp. Both of his are tightly holding onto your waist, holding you as close as he possibly can so that the only thing separating you two is the clothing you both are wearing.

“Come upstairs,” you breathe as he begins to trail his lips from yours to the spot just below your ear that always has your knees feeling weak whenever he lavishes it with attention.

Unfortunately, Osamu has just enough of his sanity left to know what the responsible choice is.

“Ya need to sleep,” he murmurs against your skin before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck that makes you sharply inhale. “Yer meeting tomorrow is important. Gotta be well rested.”

“So thoughtful,” you tease as you guide his lips back to yours to give him another heated kiss, only to pause for air a moment later. “I promise. No funny business. We can just sleep.”

He can’t hold back his snort at your suggestion or his laugh when you pout at his reaction. He rests his forehead against yours, looking at you with a fond smile on his shining and slightly swollen lips.

“We never ‘just sleep’ when I come up,” he reminds you and your pout deepens.

“But I don’t want to say goodbye yet,” you tell him, and damn if his heart doesn’t ache with how full of love it is for you.

“Okay. We don’t have to say goodbye,” he agrees and your expression lights up. However, it falls as he continues to speak. “We’ll just say goodnight instead.”

“Osamu,” you whine and he presses a soft kiss to your lips before you can say anything else.

“Goodnight,” he says.

When you open your mouth again, he gives you another smiling kiss.

“Goodnight.”

You open your mouth again, a smile of your own tugging at your lips, which he kisses again.

He loves you.

“Goodnight.”

You playfully open your mouth as you pretend to say something. He kisses you.

He loves you.

“Goodnight.”

Another attempt on your part to protest. Another kiss to silence you.

He loves you.

“Goodnight.”

Your mouth opens. He gives you a kiss.

He loves you.

“I love you.”

He freezes, but not because he’s accidentally spoken the words that have been on his mind these past months.

It’s because the words don’t come out in his voice. They come out in yours.

His eyes snap open to find you gazing up at him with a small hint of nervousness, but otherwise nothing but pure affection and fondness and love. It’s everything he’s been dreaming of — literally. He has literally been dreaming about this exact scenario.

But in his dreams, he gently murmurs that he loves you in return and softly runs his thumb along the apple of your cheek. The two of you then kiss beneath the first soft snowflakes of winter or the floating spring cherry blossoms or a drizzle of summer rain.

Reality is much worse. Because in his shock and disbelief, all he can do is open and close his mouth, struggling to put all of his joy and excitement and love in return into words. And the longer the silence stretches on, the touch of hesitation that was initially present on your face slowly begins to morph into sheer horror.

Your embarrassment is visible at his lack of a response and when you force out a small, self-conscious laugh, he knows that you’re regretting ever speaking those three beautiful words aloud.

“Sorry,” you wince and a cold shard of ice pierces his heart.

No, no, no. Don’t apologize. Never apologize. Not for loving him. Not when he loves you, too.

You clumsily try to extricate yourself from his hold and he’s too wrapped up in his own mortification over how stupid he is that he easily lets you.

“I don’t…s-sorry!”

Your voice breaks as you stumble over your unnecessary apology and even while you refuse to meet his gaze, he can see how quickly your eyelashes are fluttering as you try to blink back the tears that he’s caused.

“Night, Osamu,” you manage to say through a soft sniffle before hurrying towards the steps of your building.

The only thing worse than the panic and anger that he’s feeling towards himself is whatever it is that you’re feeling. You opened yourself up to him, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and trusting that he would keep your heart safe.

And he was too much of an idiot to be able to offer his own heart in return.

He just needs to get the words out. Just get the words out.

Just get the fuckin’ words out, ya big fuckin’ pussy.

Relief floods through his veins when he’s finally able to blurt your name as he calls after you. He can fix this. He can tell you that he loves you and that he was just so elated that he was physically incapable of putting any words together.

You stop, your foot on the bottom step as you turn towards him. While your eyes are shining with tears, he can also the hope in them as you silently plead with him to continue.

A deep breath releases from his lungs. He hasn’t ruined it yet. You’re willing to listen to him. You’ll give him a chance to make things right and prove to you that he deserves you. He’s so fucking grateful to you.

“Thank you!”

He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Maybe a car will pass by and run him over. Could he be lucky enough for a freak thunderstorm and to be struck by lightning? When nothing happens, he contemplates dropping to his knees and banging his head repeatedly against the concrete sidewalk.

All of it would feel better than watching how quickly he’s shattered the last remaining pieces of hope that you were desperately clinging onto. You stay still just long enough for him to see your lower lip tremble before you dart up the stairs of your building.

And because of how the stupid apartment buildings in this country are designed, he gets a perfect view of you racing up the exterior staircase and then towards your apartment, pausing only to unlock the door, which then slams loudly shut behind you. The sound echoes through the quiet street, reverberating against the pavement and buildings, but also in his mind.

Osamu takes a slow, deep breath and holds it before exhaling. He then buries his face his hands, his fingers tugging at his hair, and lets out an unintelligible scream that’s filled with a nauseating mixture of frustration and embarrassment. The noise is louder than the slamming of your door and a dog starts to bark in the distance.

In a daze, he somehow manages to make it to his bus stop. Likewise, his phone is now somehow held up against his ear. And somehow, Atsumu’s screeching voice answers on the other end.

“Thank you?” he greets angrily and Osamu loudly groans as he slumps forward so far that his head is practically between his knees. “My best friend, the woman yer totally in love with, says she loves ya and all ya can do is thank her?”

“I was just so excited, I couldn’t think straight. I’m a fuckin’ idiot. I know, okay?” he mumbles. He hears a bus pull up to the curb but he’s too distraught to even look up and see if it’s his as he lets it pass. “She already told ya?”

“She’s on the other fuckin’ line right now, crying because of you, ya scrub,” Atsumu bites back and somehow, after everything that’s happened in the past ten minutes, Osamu manages to feel even worse.

There’s a long pause and his guilt and mortification must be so bad that his brother can hear it through the phone because Atsumu gives a sigh of pity.

“Look, just make it right. We share the same DNA. Ya must have gotten a little bit of my ability to be romantic.”

In any other situation, Osamu would scoff and roll his eyes. But right now, he doesn’t have the right to make fun of anyone, not even his twin. Instead, he simply nods even though Atsumu can’t see it over the call.

“Can ya find out what time her train gets in tomorrow?” he asks pitifully.

“Okay, sure,” the setter offers before sighing again. “I gotta go.”

“Yeah, don’t keep her waitin’.”

He wonders if you know that it’s him Atsumu is talking to. You must. But Atsumu is a pretty good liar, much better than Osamu anyway. He’s had plenty of practice lying over every little thing under the sun since they were young. Surely, he can convince you that it was a teammate or his agent or anyone else but the man responsible for your distress.

“Same goes for you, Samu,” Atsumu warns him, but there’s at least a gentle undertone of sympathy in his voice that he probably only extends because they shared a womb.

“Thanks,” he says, feeling truly grateful to his brother in a way he hasn’t felt since he set the two of you up.

“I think ya said that enough tonight, ya scrub.” Atsumu then ends the call and Osamu’s gratitude dwindles.

But Atsumu does come through for him, texting him the information on your train, which Osamu reacts to with a mere thumbs up, knowing that any form of thanks will have him being called a scrub for the third time that night.

The next day, Osamu closes the shop early. It’s for the better as he keeps getting orders wrong and has to offer so many discounts in apology that if he stayed open any later, he would probably end the day at a loss.

His mind has been so preoccupied that there’s no room left in it for onigiri. All he’s been able to think about is his plan to make it up to you. He’ll go home and change into his nicest suit. He’ll go to the florist and buy the nicest bouquet they have. He’ll stop by the bakery near your apartment on the way and order a slice of your favorite cake.

And then you’ll come home to find him waiting for you outside of your building, where he’ll give you the speech he spent all day on. He’ll tell you how sorry he is and explain how much of an idiot he was and tell you that of course, he loves you. He’s even written down exactly what he wants to say on an order sheet from the restaurant so he doesn’t forget a word.

But apparently, the universe has decided that it wants to laugh even more at his expense.

Everything starts smoothly. Despite not having worn it in over a year, his suit fits as perfectly as it did when he bought it. And after a quick iron, it looks like he just picked it up from the dry cleaner. When he arrives at the flower shop, the kindly older woman working there helps him make a custom bouquet filled with flowers that all represent some form of love and apology.

It’s at the bakery where things start to go wrong.

First, it’s so late in the afternoon that the display window is picked clean over. Your favorite cake has sold out entirely and all that’s left are a variety of croissants, donuts, and croquettes. He stupidly decides to buy a donut anyway, because although the image of him giving you a donut is much less romantic, he’s always believed that food is the best way to show you care about someone.

Then, just as he’s finished paying and in his rush to make sure he gets to your apartment before you do, he runs right into a teenager holding a bright green melon soda, which spills all over the front of his clean, white dress shirt. The girl gasps in horror and immediately begins to apologize, repeatedly bowing as she offers him the napkins in her hand.

However, he knows it was his fault and that he can’t make another girl cry in less than 24 hours. He assures her that she wasn’t to blame and after patting his shirt dry to the best of his ability, he buys her a new drink and then helps the employee clean up the spill. He leaves the bakery with a squished donut and an obscenely green, large stain on his shirt.

And of course, he gets one block away from the bakery when it starts to rain. It’s not the soft, romantic drizzle that he’s imagined might color such an important moment in your relationship. It’s a true downpour that has people ducking into stores and under doorways. For just a moment, he considers stopping at a konbini and buying an umbrella but he’s already drenched and when he sees how long the line is, he decides that it wouldn’t be worth it if he has to miss you.

It’s another block away from the konbini that the bag holding the donut breaks, dropping the baked good into the gutter where it’s quickly washed away by the rainwater. As he looks at the soggy remains of the bag in his hand, he decides not to worry about it and shoves the mess into his pocket. The flowers are enough on his own.

The flowers, which he’s just now realizing aren’t in his hand and weren’t with him at the bakery. The flowers that he remembers setting down on the bench at the bus stop but doesn’t remember picking back up when he got onto the bus.

The voice in his head is frantic as it tries to assure him that everything is fine. If you really love him then you don’t need flowers or baked goods or him in a dry, unstained suit. You’ll love him just as he is when you find him waiting to greet you after a long day.

He’s thankful that the sound of rain falling is loud enough to mask the panicked, high-pitched whine he lets out when he turns the corner onto your block to find that you’ve beaten him to your place and are already standing on the bottom step of your building’s staircase, protected from the rain as you shake the worst of the water from your dripping umbrella.

There’s the smallest part of him that wants to just go back home and hide beneath the blankets like he used to do after losing a volleyball match.

But then, without his consent, your name leaves his lips and his feet begin moving on their own to meet you. You freeze mid-umbrella shake and look up at him in shock, clearly not having expected him, and definitely not in this state if the way your eyes widen is anything to go by.

Your senses come back to you quicker than his did to him last night and you open your umbrella back up and rush out to meet him, hurrying to finally protect him from the rain.

“Osamu, what are you doing? It’s pouring,” you say with a mixture of disbelief and confusion. You look him over from head to toe and frown. “Why are you so green? You look like you spilled a melon soda all over your shirt.”

It’s okay. He still has his speech. He’ll win you over with his words. Whether it was volleyball or opening his own restaurant, when has he ever given up?

Instead of answering you, he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out the order slip. He’s relieved that it’s held up better than the bakery bag and vows to keep buying order pads from the same supplier for the rest of his life.

At least until he unfolds the paper and finds that the ink he wrote in has run because of the rain that soaked through his jacket. His shoulders sag as he sighs in defeat.

“Osamu?” you ask with a timidness he hasn’t heard from you before and it’s enough to snap him from his own wallowing. His idiocy left you in tears last night.

The flowers, the suit, the pastry, the speech, this entire big, grand gesture he was trying to make all boil down to one thing.

“I love ya,” he says and it feels so good to finally be able to say the words aloud to you for the first time. It feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest, leaving room for how big his heart has grown with all the love it holds for you. “I’m so sorry about last night. I’ve been in love with ya since, like, our third date but I knew I’d seem crazy if I said it that early. And when ya said it first, I just couldn’t believe it and I was so stupidly happy that I just couldn’t say anything.”

Now that he’s started talking, the words won’t seem to stop. But from the way you’re looking up at him with so much warmth and affection and love, he doesn’t think you want him to.

“And then I started to panic because I couldn’t say anything, which made it harder to say anything else. So, I came up with this big plan to win ya back with flowers and cake and a big speech but literally everything went wrong.”

“Osamu,” you try to gently interrupt him, but by this point, he couldn’t hold anything in even if he wanted to.

“I forget yer flowers at the bus stop and the bakery was out of cake. Then I almost made this teenager cry so I had to make that right. And of course, this fuckin’ monsoon had to sweep in outta nowhere. And my speech got all ruined, too,” he complains, holding out the order sheet for you to see the proof.

“Osamu,” you try again. Only he’s too wrapped up now in this bizarre, stream-of-consciousness monologue to even take in the adoring way that you’re looking at him.

“If it was gonna rain, couldn’t it at least have been a soft, romantic type of rain? But I guess nothing says romance like a flash flood warning. It’s a good thing ya live on a higher floor with how much it’s comin’ down,” he continues. “All this little love confession is missing are some warning sirens—”

“You love me?”

The question finally shuts him up. But it’s a different kind of silence than the one from last night. Because you look so utterly happy as the three words occupy the space between you. His own expression softens and he crumples up the paper in his hand before shoving it into his pocket.

His hand now free, he tenderly cups your face and presses the softest, sweetest kiss to your lips as the rain continues to come down in sheets around you, only your small travel-size umbrella keeping you both safe.

As his lips part from yours, he rests his forehead on yours, an almost mirror image how you two were wrapped up in each other last night.

“Yeah, I love ya,” he whispers as he affectionately brushes his nose against yours. You smile back at him and his heart pounds with excitement at hearing you repeat the sentiment back to him.

But then, your eyes begin to sparkle mischievously as they always do when you tease him.

“Thank you,” you say and he thinks he’s somehow managed to fall even further in love with you.

#miya osamu x reader #miya osamu #osamu miya x reader #miya osamu fic #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #miya osamu fluff #osamu fluff #mel writes #meet the miyas #the l word

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aealzx · 2 months

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Fighting humans was something Danielle was admittedly not too familiar with until being brought to Gotham. There had been other criminals that she’d had to chase off, police that she’d had to politely incapacitate so she and the others could escape, and even the unfortunate passerby that she usually overshadowed to lead them away from their hideout. But for all of those she’d always pulled her punches, knowing that she could do way too much damage and even kill the humans if she hit them with her full strength. Ghosts just tended to be more resilient than living people. Which meant she also couldn’t use any of her ectoplasm based abilities against them most of the time either. Both because of the damage it would do to the humans, and because she didn’t have a good way to recharge quickly. She didn’t need to end up as another comatose team member for the others to take care of.

Facing off against Deathstroke ended up breaking all of Danielle’s beliefs about fighting humans.

While Danielle still couldn’t use too much ectoplasm, she quickly realized she didn’t have to pull her punches. Jason was the first to technically engage Deathstroke, pulling out both pistols and firing mercilessly at the hulking man as he charged towards them. Yet for some unfathomable reason Deathstroke seemed impervious to the gunfire, the only bullets that might have hit him being slashed away with a blade like some ridiculous samurai cartoon. Jason ended up emptying both clips in his guns before Deathstroke reached them, and by that point Dick ran forward to block him while Jason reloaded. Instead of opening fire on Deathstroke again though, he holstered the pistols for now in exchange for his combat knife, not wanting to risk hitting Dick or Danielle in the crossfire.

Dick was definitely familiar with Deathstroke’s attacks, but that didn’t mean it was easy for him to fight the professional killer. Hits were heavy, and the combination of swordplay and martial arts was deadly to even trained combatants. He found he was glad Jason had insisted on staying, for while Jason had a much smaller blade he and Dick were so familiar with each other’s fighting style that it was easy for Jason to sneak in and target Deathstroke’s weak points, or take the heat away from Dick for a moment. It was something that Danielle found difficult to join in on, and her first attempt to punch Deathstroke proved unexpectedly useless since she held back as much as she usually did against living people. All it served to do was bring her in range for Deathstroke to immediately target her instead, his blade swishing over her head as she ducked with a slight yelp.

“Go join the others,” Jason ordered after watching Danielle make a useless attempt to help and almost get beheaded instead, getting Deathstroke’s attention by slicing at his blind side.

“I can fight!” Danielle protested, giving another test punch with more force behind it, only to have Deathstroke catch her hand. She felt his muscles strain under the impact of her punch this time, his hand pushing her off to the side just in case she broke his resistance. But as he kept ahold of her fist she just phased through his hand to pull back.

“Then stop holding back. He can take all you’ve got,” Dick directed, having been one of the ones who had initially taken Danielle down during the rescue capture mission. He knew she could hit hard. Stephanie and Damian had to help, and they only caught her because of Damian using sedatives.

With the others chatting between themselves, Deathstroke chimed in with a calm comment. “Make this easy on yourselves boys. This time I’m not here for you, so leave the girl and you won’t get hurt.” It should have already been obvious that his target was Danielle and the others of her team, for he all but ignored Dick and Jason when they weren’t in his face.

“Did you honestly think we’d even consider that option?” Jason demanded, quick to snatch his gun out of its holster and start firing again when Deathstroke caught Dick off guard enough to bodily kick him skidding several meters away.

“No,” Deathstroke admitted, leaving back to dodge the bullets for a moment. “But it was worth a shot.” He sounded almost bored, blocking the bullets with his blade once more before getting accustomed enough with Jason’s firing pattern to charge forward again.

As Jason lurched back, half blocking the slash with his knife but still getting cut in the shoulder, Danielle swooped in with a whirling kick to Deathstroke’s chest, phasing through Jason to get the best angle. There was enough force this time that Deathstroke grunted from the impact, getting launched backwards to tumble twice before righting himself and skidding on his feet.

“Nice!” Jason complimented, caught just a little off guard at the more Superman-like display of strength.

“Your fault if he dies,” Danielle shot back, already very uncomfortable with how different this fight was compared to others. She didn’t want to kill anyone, but if it happened because of self defense she’d have to learn how to come to terms with it. As long as this guy didn’t just turn into another ghost like Skulker. That seemed like a nightmare in the making.

“Great. I’d thank you if you managed that,” Jason returned, readying himself for another round.

“No killing,” Dick countered, reaching them again and taking his position near Jason.

“Kill him. Don’t kill him. You guys should work on your mutual goals,” Danielle scoffed, following as the two of them rushed Deathstroke this time.

It really was unfair that the old man was able to keep up with all three of them. Danielle hadn’t fought Jason before, but Dick had been the main one she’d fought before, so she knew he wasn’t a wimp. Yet it seemed the only real hits they were able to get in were the ones that she snuck in between the others’ moves. Back and forth in a broken dance of ill intent, stealing blood when steps faltered or reactions were just a tad too slow. Deathstroke’s blade sliced Dick’s forehead and bicep, and Jason’s forearm and thigh in addition to the previous gash on his shoulder. But in return Jason had gotten two good cuts on Deathstroke’s ribs and arm. That combined with brutal hits from Dick’s escrima sticks and Danielle’s fists made her feel like they had done a near equal amount of damage to each other. Perhaps it would be a duel of endurance in the end.

As the fight dragged on it started to wear on those involved. Danielle was pretty sure Jason had a broken finger, and the cut on Dick’s forehead was bleeding profusely. Deathstroke had learned soon enough that if he got Danielle quick enough she didn’t have time to become intangible, small cuts drawing green blood to add to the red staining the silver of his sword. And if she bled, that meant she could be killed. Even if the injuries stopped bleeding soon after they were made. He’d just have to hit her with something harder then, and for that he strategically created an opening for himself.

By now they had gotten used to him targeting Danielle when she was close enough. So this time Deathstroke made a feint towards Danielle before switching his attack towards Dick’s neck. Luckily Dick’s reflexes were fast enough that he lurched backwards to avoid it, but it still would have left a large gash across his collarbone and chest if Danielle hadn't caught it. And that was the opening Deathstroke was aiming for, his other hand snatching a small pistol loaded with a shotshell from his armory and firing it into Danielle’s chest. The startled half scream from Danielle was cut off by both the shot shell beads, and Deathstroke’s foot kicking her from the air to tumble meters away.

“DANI!” Dick’s shout was accompanied by Jason’s renewed effort to beat Deathstroke unconscious, wordlessly increasing his offense to allow Dick to break away and skid to his knees near Danielle. As Dick’s mind whirled through all the first aid he knew that might help the girl, his hands resting on her back as she coughed, he was surprised to see her start shoving herself upright after a short groan. At first he thought maybe she hadn’t been hit by the shot shell, or it had been a non lethal capsule. But as Danielle shoved herself to her knees and snapped her head up to glare at Deathstroke with a snarl Dick saw the green blood dripping from multiple wounds on her chest and knew it had been a dead on hit. It left him a little stunned as Danielle pushed herself to her feet, spitting a small amount of green blood that she’d coughed into her mouth.

“THAT HURT, BITCH!” Danielle shouted once she was on her feet again, phasing a hand into her chest to pull out a pellet and hurl it to the ground. The comment was unexpected enough that Jason ended up distracted, both by Danielle still talking and the words she’d used, and got brutally elbowed in the side of the head. As Jason collapsed to the ground, movements uncoordinated because of the blow to the head making his vision spin, Dick threw one of his escrima sticks at Deathstroke and charged forward to protect his brother.

“So that wasn’t enough either,” Deathstroke mused, knocking the airborne escrima stick aside and intrigued by Danielle’s ability to still be moving despite having taken a full round of shot shell ammo.

“That’s it,” Danielle spat as Deathstroke blocked Dick’s next attack, kicking off the ground and snapping forward once again. This time instead of pulling her fist back for a punch, or otherwise outwardly attacking Deathstroke, she kept going, phasing through Dick and Deathstroke’s weapon and arm, wisping into his chest. Yet neither Dick or Jason noticed her appear on the other side, and neither had time to fully react before Deathstroke was abruptly dropping to one knee and plunging his sword into the top of his other knee.

“..... What the…?” Jason huffed, the screeching tires of the batmobile drowning out the rest of his words while he staggered to his feet, openly staring at Deathstroke’s display of sudden onset of madness.

“How much damage do I have to do to stop this guy?”

The question came from Deathstroke’s mouth, but sounded odd. Dick and Jason paused in disorientation, glancing around for Danielle before Dick made a connection in his head. Jazz had mentioned something about ‘overshadowing’ to Danielle, and some of the reports from the past two months had records of people behaving oddly, suddenly defending the people they were chasing or fighting their allies, and then having no memory of doing so.

“...Dani?” Dick asked, not completely sure, but confident enough to hold his hand out to stop Damian and Bruce from joining the fight. It looked like Damian had Talia on his phone as well, holding the device facing them.

“No, it’s grandma,” Danielle retorted with Deathstroke’s voice, understandably irritable. “Now answer the question,” she demanded, jerking the blade in Deathstroke’s knee slightly.

—---

The silence provided by the batmobile’s soundproof encasing was broken by Damian’s phone ringing as they hurtled down the streets, destined to meet up with Dick and Jason to provide backup if necessary. They all knew Bruce was the one who could best deal with Deathstroke, but if what they said was true and someone had hired the man without Talia’s knowing then Damian figured he might be able to put a stop to the matter without a prolonged battle. As much as he would love to stab Deathstroke in the other eye, that usually led to injuries to his family that were best avoided. Luckily his call was quick to be answered.

“Damian.”

Talia’s greeting was simple, but his name was spoken with more love than Talia bequeathed to anyone else. Other than, perhaps, Bruce. Usually if Talia deemed someone worthy enough to have her answer their call she only commanded them to speak.

“Mother.”

The returned greeting was just as simple, for Damian had learned the habit from her.

“It is rare for you to call,” Talia responded, and Damian could hear the smile in her voice despite the tense situation. They both knew Damian reaching out to her directly was risky. Other children would have weekly calls with their parents while abroad, if not daily. But their situation was much too different to allow for such a consistent opening. “What concerns you?” she asked, knowing he would only call if there was important, but not critical matters at hand.

“We have discovered the League’s most recent contract with Deathstroke,” Damian informed her easily. No need to question if she was aware or not, her response would tell him. “I must insist the contract be terminated, or we risk damaging connections with important contacts…. I imagine this was not of your doing,” he couldn’t help asking if she was responsible.

“What?” Talia’s answer dispelled the sliver of doubt Damian had. Her anger still ran deep towards Deathstroke; there was no one who remained from Ra’s time as head that would ever be willing to affiliate with Deathstroke again. She was quick to recover though, pausing for only a moment to align the facts in her mind, and research the source of the contract leading them to her people. When she spoke again it was with mild confusion only because it was her son she spoke to. “You are not the target, nor are any of yours. Why are you involved?”

“The targets are my wards,” Damian responded simply.

The words caused Talia to pause again, thoughtful as she browsed through the pertinent information on the computer next to her. She didn’t recognize any of the targets, but seeing their listed crimes made her understand what had happened. A delivery to a research team, tasked with potentially amplifying the Lazarus pit’s attributes, intercepted by an unknown group of teenagers. Someone on the research team had stepped out of line and ordered the hit, somehow getting it past the League’s administration without even requesting her authorization. There were several people now on the list to be severely punished, if not terminated.

Despite the welcomed revelation, the target location of this Team Phantom made Talia pause, questioning Damian’s words. “...You claim they are your wards, yet you keep them isolated from you. Far from your home,” she pointed out, and Damian clenched his jaw. She wasn’t trying to say he was lying, was she? Or did she think he was being manipulated? He wouldn’t put it past his mother to worry for him needlessly.

A quick glance at Bruce to judge his mood, knowing he was listening, and Damian answered after Bruce nodded with some reluctance. “They are to be relocated, but only once they are without assailants. Damaging the manor would be an unnecessary annoyance.”

Talia hummed, a smile tugging her lips as she was now curious about the ones who had charmed her family. But Bruce wasn’t within the view of the camera, and as he slammed on the brakes and the cover of the batmobile slid back Damian hopped out of the car. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but it looked a lot more promising than he’d initially imagined. Deathstroke was kneeling with a blade in his leg and Jason pointing a gun at his head. So Damian showed his mother the state of the assassin as Deathstroke spoke with a voice that was his own, yet words that were not.

“I have the ability to overshadow others, and make them do or say what I want while they’re completely unaware,” Danielle explained through Deathstroke’s voice. “It’s not the most comfortable state, but I can inflict more damage if I need to.” She was responding to a question from Dick, but as Damian approached with the phone held so Talia could see she was the one that responded.

“Then kill him,” she directed simply. “Many would welcome his demise.”

“That’s not how we work,” Damian spoke before Dick or Jason could respond, gaining a faint smile of his own. “Terminate the contract… Please.”

This time it didn’t take long for Talia to sigh in compliance, a fondness saturating her breath. “Very well,” she accepted, “Release him, and I will speak.”

No one moved for a breath, but after Damian nodded once Danielle’s sigh was half with Deathstroke’s voice before becoming her own as she floated out from his form. She stayed close as he grunted in the sudden realization of pain and what his current situation was, but Talia spoke up quickly.

“Slade. In light of recent information your contract will be annulled. You will be compensated half of your payment for your efforts spent as of now, and if you persist you will be hunted by the League of Assassins. You can take my offer, or be killed now. Which is it?”

Her terms were delivered quickly, and while Dick’s face scrunched in mild confusion as to who among them Talia thought would be willing to kill Deathstroke in her place, Jason shifted the pistol in his hand slightly to remind them it was there. And he deliberately ignored the way Bruce’s eyes narrowed at him. Deathstroke was enough of a pain to all of them that no one would miss him. Yet it turned out to be Danielle who tipped the scale.

“Answer fast or I might start ripping organs out. You’ll be surprised how many aren’t strictly necessary,” Danielle added, phasing her hand into Deathstroke’s chest to prove her point. She was testy, but she felt she had a good reason to be. She still had to dig the rest of those bullet shards out of her chest after all.

Deathstroke paused a moment longer, having not quite been swayed by Talia’s words just on principle. But after taking a testing breath and faintly feeling Danielle’s hand in his chest he realized dealing with the half dead girl might end up costing him more than he was willing to pay. So he answered soon enough. “Done. I expect to see the transfer before they’re out of sight.”

“You’ll get it when I deem it so,” Talia responded curtly.

Deathstroke watched the screen for a beat, gauging if he could barter any further before giving in. “I should have known you hadn’t changed your mind.”

“You should thank Damian instead of wasting your words on me,” Talia retorted with a scoff. “If I had my way, you’d already be dead.”

“Hmph. I won’t waste anymore of your time,” Deathstroke huffed. There was no way he was going to even consider thanking the demon child. He should have trusted his mind and not taken this contract in the first place.

“Consider yourself lucky we’re still paying you,” Damian scoffed in return, nodding his head for the others to start moving to the batmobile. “Show your face again near any of the Phantoms, and I’ll reconsider letting you live.”

There was a hesitant moment of the others not being sure if the conversation was done or not, but as Damian started to walk back towards the batmobile, turning the phone to face himself again, they followed suit. Danielle released her hold only when Jason and Dick were a few steps away, all three of them eyeing the man as they moved. Bruce made sure he was the last to follow, keeping himself between his family and Deathstroke.

“I will provide you with a full report tonight, Mother. If that is acceptable,” Damian spoke quietly to Talia once he was far enough away for Deathstroke to be deaf to his words.

“I look forward to it, my son. Be well,” Talia responded, her voice softening again with her expression moments before ending the call.

Two thirds of the way to the car Danielle felt the adrenaline wearing off quickly, causing her to drop lower until she was sagging to the ground on her knees. Her chest hurt, but at least it wasn’t bleeding that much anymore. It should be fine to take the rest of the shot shell pellets out now, so she took a moment to phase herself intangible without affecting the shards. “Ouuuhh, that was tiring,” she muttered, flexing her fingers as the beads clinked on the asphalt and rolled away. At least she was still stable. Now she just had to get back to the others and think of a way to calm them down when she got there. Something she didn’t have to worry too much about, for Dick had paused next to her and as soon as she returned to a tangible state he leaned over to quickly scoop her up. Without a word he picked up his pace to the batmobile, hopping into the backseat with her after Damian took the front.

Jason was walking backwards towards the vehicle, keeping his pistol trained on Deathstroke as the old man held his hands up in surrender, and staying aware of his family and their guest. He wasn’t planning on lowering the gun anytime soon either, but once he bumped against the batmobile Bruce snatched the gun out of his hand. It caused Jason to snap his gaze over to Bruce with a glare hidden behind his mask, but he knew Bruce was more than familiar with the look. And this time Bruce returned it for a moment before subtly nodding towards the car. They both knew the injury to his head had affected Jason more than he was letting on if Bruce had been able to take the gun so easily.

With a soft huff Jason hopped into the backseat with the others, folding his arms and deliberately not looking at Bruce. Luckily it wasn’t too difficult to do so, for Bruce was quick to climb into the driver’s seat and trigger the cover to close.

“Oracle, send support from the Justice League to make sure Deathstroke is properly detained. I don’t want to hear from him again,” Bruce called through the comms once they were all safely inside the vehicle.

“Copy that. I’ve also rerouted Spoiler to Signal and the others. Orphan will follow up to make sure Deathstroke doesn’t leave before the police get there,” Barbara confirmed, extremely pleased the situation was handled exponentially better than expected. “I’ve also asked her to make sure Hood’s bike gets brought home as well.”

It was appreciated, and Jason gained a small smile before texting her his gratitude.

_____________________

HHHHRRGGGH I hope I made it convincing enough for Slade to back off * wheezes * I could not find a good reason in my research, so I just tried something. I kept modifying this part like 4 times. =7=;

______________________

Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @zeestarfishalien,

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai,

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics

#my art #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #phantom rogues #tw blood #chest wound #chest injury #injury #swearing #mild gore #light gore #writing #fanfic #long post

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stormgardenscurse · 5 months

Text

at your service—!

Summary: Maid headcanons for May! When you’re invited into a rich family’s mansion to solve a murder mystery, who will you trust?

Warnings: mentions of death, assassins, poison and murder due to the theme.

Characters: Riddle, Deuce, Jade, Jamil, Rook, Epel, Lilia

If you liked this, consider checking out my TWST Isekai Fanbook, now digitally available on my kofi!

Riddle

The maid who you thought hated your guts at first, but it’s only because of how strict he is with both you and everyone else! You’re in the manor of the Queen of Hearts’ descendants after all, so Riddle will not allow you to fumble!

Honestly speaking, you felt like you could be scolded at any moment around Riddle. He teaches you dining etiquette, how to address certain people, how to dance…

...And saves your life, after your investigation ends up with you being chased by a masked assassin. Riddle surprises you with his abilities in horse riding and after a dramatic escape (stealing a horse from a previously wrecked carriage) addresses you informally for the first time (without realising it himself.)

After that, you start to take walks with Riddle in the rose gardens and listen to his explanations of the manor's history. It helps a lot in understanding background politics, and the sound of his voice is actually really soothing.

Could you say that you’re friends? You certainly trust him now, but can you be sure his would loyalties will lie with you and not his superior, if your investigation starts to point fingers in an unexpected direction?

Deuce

Deuce is well-meaning, but you’re warned by the other maids that he has a track record with delinquency. Cleaned up by the head butler when he entered the Rose Manor to work, but rumors are hard bugs to squash.

And when you spot him speaking to some well-known thugs in town, well… You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. Deuce has only been welcoming and earnest with you, and now you’re wondering if he might have some ties to murderer.

Some kind of friend you are, huh? But at the end of the day, you’re an outsider who’s been hired precisely because your employer doesn’t know who they could trust.

Your apprehensions have no time to take shape however, because one morning you notice that Deuce is wearing makeup to hide bruises on his knuckles and arms, and you’re overcome by the instinct to help him treat his injuries before suspecting him of anything else.

There’s no way he would hurt someone on purpose, right?

Jade

Prim and proper, Jade is someone who’s often by your side when you’re in need of assistance (as instructed by your employer), yet remains as one of the only people you cannot get a read on.

Just what is he thinking whenever he watches you scribble in your notebook, crossing out theories and names? Does he have something to add? Or might he actually be in cahoots with the murderer, keeping you away from the truth with his convenient position by your side?

As it seems with most things, it takes a serious incident to make the both of you open up. Jade rescues you from a poisoning attempt, but you don’t wake up in your usual room. Instead you’re in one of the empty studies, so that nosy witnesses during the dinner party can’t disturb your rest.

You don’t make sense, Jade tells you. But based on the way he’s calmly giving you another dose of medicine, he finds it fun rather than stressful. You’re glad. And now you know a tiny bit more about him.

He starts off the conversation by telling you he has a twin that works in a neighboring manor. But despite all the trouble Floyd gets into, Jade hasn’t felt as hopeless about a person than when you fainted last night.

Even with how weak you are in comparison to knights or trained assassins, you still fling yourself into mystery with a headstrong manner that makes his mouth quirk up in a smile.

Jamil

Shortly after that, you allow yourself to rely on Jamil for the investigation. He’s quite willing to help, and you can tell Jamil enjoys having something to puzzle out, demonstrating his own strengths and resourcefulness.

Early on, you realize Jamil is one of the only normal people here. In this noble household with its foreign etiquette and social expectations, you’re relieved that Jamil doesn’t expect such things from you, and even offers a space for something familiar to exist.

He brings you lunch once during your investigation of the gardens. And instead of sitting somewhere too exposed, Jamil leads you to a hidden corner with pleasant shading and a safe enclosure of hedges. It’s nice, and you speak casually to one-another. You discuss the town and best shops for food. You feel human again, rather than just ‘the detective’.

…But the more you notice these traits, the more aware you become that Jamil could easily be related to the murderer. The spark of someone forced to lie low in the shadows despite their brilliance can lead to drastic incidents.

But still, you want to believe in the Jamil who brought you out for a picnic because he noticed you’ve been feeling suffocated. You want to believe this friendship isn't a hoax.

Rook

Despite how you were intimidated by his extrovertedness at first, Rook has proven to be a genuinely friendly person and willing to help during your stay here. Which is more than you can say for the rest of the manor—which was nice and respectful, but see your job as a taboo. A ‘what if we get involved and become the next targets,’ type of thing.

You can’t blame them, but it makes you naturally get closer to Rook over the course of your job. You realize one day that despite how much you’ve told him, you barely know anything about Rook.

He’s quite mysterious, as one who sweeps the floors while whistling a tune, always with a smile on his lips as he tells you about how beautiful the building and gardens are. His physique is a bit too toned for someone who only does housework. You suspect he has some other role in the manor too, and wonder if it might be related to the mystery's culprit.

It doesn’t help that Rook seems very knowledgeable about hunting. He helps you figure out where the victim must’ve run and how long it took for the murderer to catch up with them. And sometimes, when you’re caught up in your thoughts and theorizing, Rook surprises you with his soundless steps.

Epel

Epel has always done his best to assist you, despite how he’s only worked here for a year compared to the other maids. He seems to be trustworthy and willing to help, on top of proving he’s reliable.

You find out that before you came along, there were already groups of maids and other staff who tried to piece together the mystery themselves. But in doing so, created distrust between them and rivalries of suspicion. He thinks that the culprit is definitely a staff member, but can’t be sure of who.

You don’t think he’s directly related to the murderer, but there are times when Epel’s mouth purses during a conversation you’re having with another noble, and you feel like he isn’t telling you everything he knows. Maybe out of privacy or because it’s personal—but when both of you seem to be the targets of an attack, you can’t ignore it any longer and are forced to interrogate Epel.

Now that he’s been helping you with investigations however, there’s definitely a target of sorts on Epel’s back. A few of the maids are unhappy that he might be spreading false ideas to you in favor of one theory or another. And he’s too prideful to shrink under their demands, so they haven’t been on talking terms for a while.

You can only hope that he isn’t indeed a poisoned apple placed before you, unknowingly used by the murderer themself.

Lilia

Very knowledgeable about the hidden rooms around the manor, you can’t help but be a little wary about the clever glint in Lilia’s eyes. He’s explicitly been assigned to keep an eye on you for the sake of the manor’s secrets, and you can tell he isn’t trained to be a maid, despite how it's the pretense he’s using to stick to your side 24/7.

You sometimes get distracted by the mystery of who Lilia himself might be. He speaks about knights familiarly, yet none of the ones at the manor seem to recognise him when you both pass by. He’s not very good at chores or cooking (to the point where you took over at some points out of concern for the upholstery and kitchen), so how is he still blending in with the other maids?!

Lilia’s saved your life twice now, and you slowly learn that he has weapons hidden beneath his maid dress. Also that he can scale rooftops and the town in less than a minute, but you don’t want to ponder on his scary amount of agility just yet.

Thankfully however, it seems that Lilia is only hired here on a contractual basis. His true, deep rooted loyalties aren’t close to this manor. Which means when the both of you find some very incriminating evidence, Lilia helps keep it a secret from your employer. The both of you are shouldering the weight of the mystery now, but Lilia promises he’ll keep you safe.

You hope there never comes a time where you have to worry about his safety, or that he’d stick his neck out for you more than he needs to.

#riddle rosehearts x reader #deuce spade x reader #jade leech x reader #jamil viper x reader #rook hunt x reader #epel felmier x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst x reader #twst x you #twst reader insert #twst headcanons #twst imagines #twisted wonderland #storm writings

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fic-heaven · 6 months

Text

Ghost x witty! Reader x Price

Jealous much?

You spent too much time with Price.

Of course it was on purpose, if anyone asked you'd agree, after all, you are no liar. But who could blame you? It was so much fun to piss Ghost off this way.

Since the day you first paired up together in your first solo mission you were like finger and nail, deadly separate but even deadlier together. Your partnership bloomed into a friendship so rare even the captain couldn't believe it at first... The big bad Ghost willingly attached to a sassy clown like you? Wasn't Johnny the closest thing to a friend Ghost had? Obviously no, because the way he'd joke, train, protect and tell you everything that reached his ears spoke volumes of his deep attachment to you.

You knew this, of course. And although you felt just as close to him that didn't stop you from forming other friendships of your own and Simon was indifferent of this until he wasn't.

He'd wait wait for you on your room's door, respectful of your space and privacy but you never open, so him being worried decided to let himself in only to see you were already gone, to later be informed by Soap that you are having breakfast with John Price.

That happend THREE times in a week.

Ghost would wait for you on the stairs closest to the gym eager to spar with you and enjoy the funny remarks you did about anyone who crossed you or just pretty much hear whatever the hell you wanted to say without him having to saying much in return. Because that's your routine, so where the fuck are you? He sees you carrying a stack of papers laughing with the captain only giving Ghost an apologetic face before returning to your riddles. That happend TWICE.

See, Ghost is a patient man specially with you being a walking headache, but this? You knew he wouldn't hold it any longer. And you were eager to see how he'd explode.

His last straw was during a mission where you had to rescue a number of hostages. You two behaved with the same professionalism as always with a non so professional comment here and there, all normal, until you met with the captain and Ghost felt you instantly untangle yourself from his presence. Like Price's dry comments and even dryer humour was more interesting than Ghost's.

You were well aware the lieutenant wouldn't say a word about his obvious discomfort because what reason would he have? You were just attentive to your captain instead of your lieutenant, woops. Also considering the way Ghost is, he would never admit he has a crush on you unless he's provoked too far. So you'll use Price to give him a little push on the right direction.

Out of pure entertainment obviously, not because you loved that bastard too much to confess yourself. Yeah...

Simon didn't have a good enough reason to be pissed so that any person would understand without thinking he's jealous until you gave him one: At your captain's command, you two launched an ambush to the enemies corralling them dangerously close to the hostages, once they were eliminated, you three made a quick work of gathering the hostages out of the boat they were previously captured to wait for the rescuing helos to land while keeping them as far as possible from the bomb the enemies had planted. The moment you rushed inside the boat, Price had to tackle Ghost to the ground so he wouldn't run after you, it didn't take long when you trotted back to them with a few files in hand and a couple of minutes later, the boat exploded. Price smiled proudly, praising you with enthusiasm. "I knew you could do it, hon. Well-fucking-done! This calls for a celebratory drink, don't ya think?"

Ghost didn't speak to you for the whole flight to the base, his eyes were glaring daggers at your form while you discussed the content of the files with Price, seemingly careless about Ghost's state. Of course you were worried about him when Price said the tall brit tried to go after you, you asked if he was alright but the brief "m'fine." he gave you seemed to be enough answer for you to turn around and chat with the captain.

During morning drills, Ghost sat on a chunk of grass near the fences. His imposing presence did wonders making the soldiers around focus on their training, chores and other tasks, Price deeply thanked him for it because apparently he was busy with other matters of his own, surely with you. He sniffed trying to focus on finishing painting the mask he was holding and totally not thinking about you and Price alone somewhere far from him.

How dare the captain confide in you to gather important Intel he could had easily ordered Ghost to pick quicker than your short legs could carry you?

How dare Price spend more time with a stupidly annoying Sargeant instead of his loyal lieutenant?

How dare you enjoy Prices' presence more than Simon's? Was it because he was more handsome? Because he spoke much more than him? He surely didn't tease you the same way Simon did... Right?

He saw a flash of light from the corner of his eye, raising his gaze up without moving his head an inch he saw your dog tags dangling on your chest reflecting the light of the torching sun almost blinding his him.

The moment you spot your lieutenant you giggled and it irked something ugly in him. Were you mocking him?

You shot Ghost a challenging look he was soon returning with a tilt of his head as to say "oh really? I'll show you." He dropped the mask he was holding to the grass, abruptly standing so fast some passerby yelped in horror, Simon rapidly approaches you from the other side of the training field aggressively bumping into other operators who didn't see him but turned white at the sight of the angry lieutenant glaring ahead, a few rookies looked at the scene about to unfold in fright, some ran to find the captain thinking this would end up bloody.

-"What's got your face like a teapot funeral, lieutenant?"

-"Who do you think you are hiding crucial information of the mission from your superior!?"

-"We were reading the files on the ride here. You chose not to read them, Sim-"

-"Don't fucking call me that! I'm your lieutenant! Got it!? If someone farts I hear it first, if Price has something on his mind I'll be the first he informs, if Intel must be gathered I'd have to know."

You listened with humour all over the face, he was getting so frustrated he looked like an angry two-meter tall pitbull. "My my, if I didn't know any better I'd say you're jealous."

-"I will rip you apart. Hang your corpse on a pole for everyone to see..."

-"That a promise? I'd make a beautiful flag~"

Ghost was on your face huffing like an angry bull, his shoulders heaving with the force of his huffs. He was frustrated as hell with your enchanting wit that did nothing but enamour him further and the fact that he could literally intimidate anyone but you. It was driving him crazy.

You sighed "Are you really THAT mad, dear? I mean come on. You know you are the Captain's favorite but I deserve some of his time too."

He opened his mouth, his skull mask looming over you so close he did you the favor of shielding your face from the sun until "HEY!"

Price stepped between you, but you rose your hand to stop him with a serene look. "No need to baby us, cap. We were just having a peep talk."

Ghost took your arm dragging you away to a quieter place after you calmed your captain but John wasn't so convinced sprinting to you and stopping Simon by gripping your other arm. In that moment they looked like two kids fighting for a toy. You couldn't help but laugh out loud your head falling back not breaking the increasing tension among them.

-"Lieutenant Riley, you are out of line-"

-"I'm out of line? YOU are out of line! Fraternizing with this sargeant, giving her additional support and exposing sensitive information to her like she's ranks above her current one!"

-"Watch your accusations, you won't like the repercussions, besides you are no saint either threatening the life of this Sargeant in front of the others. This is unacceptable behavior from a lieutenant!"

-"OH wanna talk about unacceptable behaviour!? I've kept quiet for far too long. You wanna fuck this woman so bad you risk your position as our captain, it's pathetic... I never expected something like this from you Johnathan."

Your half lidded eyes shot to Price waiting for an answer, the wide smile you held slightly turned downwards at your captains silence. He looked stoic but there was a slight hint of nervousness that manifested in the way he pursed his lips and glared at his lieutenant.

"For real?" You asked. Ghost tsked, Price's hand never wavered from his position gripping your left arm, Ghost didn't either.

"Wanna know something funnier?" You asked, and finally they both broke the eye contact to look at you. "You two wanna fuck me so bad it's getting too obvious. So I suggest something: Do whatever you planned for today, come to my room at night TOGETHER and make up by doing whatever you planned to do to me."

Ghost's eyes widened and Price looked down trying to come up with a replay clearly as stunned as Simon.

"Think of it as a... Hmmm... A bonding exercise! Also a way to make peace. We will all benefit from it, and afterwards we won't have to talk about it if you don't want to." The way you spoke, so sure of yourself made the two men rethink whatever the hell they wanted to spit.

Ghost finally spoke lowly "And if we want to talk about it...?"

Your smile widen, your hands softly took the arms that gripped them making them both shiver as if they had been electrocuted for a moment.

"Then I'm sure we can come up with a deal." You looked back at Price who still had his blue eyes firmly planted on the ground. "Captain?"

"I have a meeting with Laswell at nine o'clock." Price finally rose his gaze to your face, his cheeks were dusted pink in embarrassment accentuating the beautiful constellation of freckles on his face "I'll cancel and skip dinner."

Ghost nods at his captain's decision, you look at the masked brit waiting for his own response "I had to be with Johnny and Kyle somewhere t'night. They'll be well off without me."

"Fantastic! My room at nine, then." You chirped until Price stopped you.

"No-" He abruptly interrupted. Ghost and you looked at him in surprise, nervousness lazed on Price's voice after he shook his head and recomposed himself "My office. We'll go there, that way people will think we'll be addressing the matter of Ghost's public outburst."

Ghost growled out "Public outburst?" But you nodded enthusiastic "Perfect plan! Also it wouldn't be far from the truth at all, am I right fellas?"

By that point the two men had let go of your arms but kept a closer distance to you, their previous angry expressions had softened seeking your eyes with desire, the voids of their pupils were so dilated you could see your smirk reflected on them.

"This will be quite the experience."

Who should I write next ;) ? Requests open!

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod #john price #john price x reader #price x reader #ghost x reader x price #price x reader x ghost #witty reader

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ilguna · 1 month

Text

☼ the great war pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; your relationship has been rocky with finnick lately, and each time you think you can let it go, it comes back full force. it isn’t until you’re injured on the way to storm the capitol, are you able to slow down and fix what’s wrong.

warnings; swearing, blood mention, ehh gore, weapon use, death/death mention, torture mention, emotional/mental abuse, cheating, use of derogatory names such as whore, slut, etc.

wc; 8.3k

notes; based off of the taylor swift song!!

part two.

Lately, you’ve spent a lot of your time reflecting on what could’ve been, instead of focusing on what is. It’s a process that you’re no stranger to. It’s a defense mechanism you turn to when you know a big storm is coming. And in this case, you’re facing two fronts, neither of which you actually want to look in the eye of.

There are a few events you’ve lived through that have permanently damaged the way you think and operate around problems. Which is why you like to hide in the past, hoping it’ll offer more comfort than the present, when it’s far from it. Your actions and life-changing decisions are usually made on a whim, done to inflict pain on another person after they hurt you.

Some of those times are obvious, starting when you volunteered for the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games at seventeen, with absolutely no experience that would help you. It was done out of spite, hatred directed at your grandfather when he told you that you had no future working for District Four.

Your labor would have no real worth, because you’d be doing it for free beneath him. It was the ‘least you could do’ after he ‘rescued’ you from the group home, when he could’ve let you get lost in the system. He wanted you to work for him on the docks for the rest of your life, and you knew that if you agreed, you’d never get out.

So, you made a rash decision. When the Capitol escort asked for any volunteers following the original reaping, you jumped at the opportunity. You thought, ‘either I’ll die in the arena or I’ll come out a winner’. As long as you wouldn’t be working under that hateful man, you would accept your fate as it came.

To this day, you still call it one of your biggest mistakes. You’d been contemplating volunteering for weeks leading up to Reaping Day. Training had crossed your mind several times during that period, and you never got around to doing it. You got stuck on a fence, until your grandfather eventually pushed you to one side. You made the decision a couple weeks too late.

The Hunger Games went like they normally did, except nothing was in favor of Four that year. District Two had a distinct advantage from the beginning when it came to favoritism during the Tribute Parade, and for the longest time, you think their mentors were tipped off on what the arena would be, due to their costumes.

While they usually dress for masonry—that year they looked like they belonged in a dust storm. A prophecy of what was to come. They proceeded to get the highest scores, the best audience reaction, and a perfect position when they came out of the tubes. One of the tributes from Two, the boy or the girl, were destined to win.

The arena was a sandy desert, and they had placed the Cornucopia right smack in the middle of it. There were cacti, tumbleweeds and rocks, but almost no coverage from the sun as far as the eye could see. You were a fish on dry land, and you were supposed to die.

The only reason why you won was because of a fight you had with the girl from Two, the only other surviving tribute after the twentieth day. You had suffered through strong and unwavering record-breaking heat, and shivered your way through terrifying thunderstorms that drowned everything in sight and left low visibility. The Gamemakers were going to extremes during the end, desperate for a quick winner.

Xanthe had run across you while you were trying to cool down in the shade of a cactus, applying aloe vera to your worsening sunburns. Your skin hurt no matter what you did to get some relief. You wasted two bottles of freshly cold water, donated by a sponsor to pour it on tender skin. The aloe vera worked for so long before your skin was just slimy. And no matter how hard you begged, sunscreen seemed to be off the table due to expense, or banned from being sent completely.

She tried to sneak up on you from behind, but you were ready. You knew that she had been tracking for a while, it was just a matter of time before she finally came across you. She swung her sword, you dodged, and then tore her apart with your knife. For a girl that had spent most of her life training for this very moment, she was too slow.

And it cost her life.

It took about fifteen minutes before you immobilized her. There was no coming back from an injury that severe. Once she was on the ground, you gave her a quick death, and then collapsed beside her. With your knees pulled to your chest, hyperventilating because of how hot the air was, you listened to the announcement of your win.

The arena ruined the way you work entirely, especially after your district partner turned on you on the third day. During the fight, they claimed it was because you knew what you were doing, and it was scaring them. If they eliminated you, they’d be one step closer to the end.

It also taught you not to trust the people that surround you. The doctors that rescued you out of the arena had to strap you down because you were convinced they were going to kill you. When Finnick and Mags tried to gently guide you in the right direction with the interviews, you said that they were trying to control and silence you.

And when you got home, it worsened. You were repeatedly told that you had to wait for your victor house to be ready, so you were instructed to stay with your grandfather in the meantime. He drove you crazy. Every single hour, almost on the exact same minute, he hounded you, claiming that you owed him part of your winnings. And if you didn’t pay, he would never leave you alone.

Between him and the Capitol cameras following you everywhere in District Four, you broke. Your complacency went out the window, as you threatened to turn your grandfather into a forgotten memory and told the paparazzi that you’d bring them to the wrong side of town if they didn’t get lost.

No one took you seriously, of course. It wasn’t until you were in the middle of strangling your grandfather, did the district have to step in. Finnick was instructed to be on your elbow, no matter where you went, because you didn’t seem to mind him. He kept everyone at a distance, and ensured that you moved into your victor house five weeks before it was due to be ready.

By the time the Victory Tour came around, you’d begun to settle down. You cut contact with your grandfather permanently, and the mayor had him removed from your victor benefits, leaving him penniless. You begrudgingly went on tour, partially enjoyed the Capitol banquet, and then you were free.

Well, as free as you could be until the next Hunger Games came around in July, which is when another life-altering event took place. With you taking over for Mags, it opened new chances for President Snow. He let you have the first day, so the Tribute Parade went without a hitch, as you followed Finnick’s instructions while learning the usual protocol.

On the second day, the first training day for the tributes, you were pulled to the President’s Mansion, and told that you’d be joining the small group of victors that did his bidding. It was horrible news to receive, but you didn’t react that way, surprisingly. You took it and left.

The whole situation alone was enough to kick up a lot of past problems. Finnick was apologetic, of course, telling you that he knew it was a possibility, but he thought that he would hear it first, at the very least. You didn’t blame him, it’s not like he was the one that suggested it to Snow.

Either way, for the longest time, physical touch gave you the chills. It didn’t matter who accidentally brushed against you, or put a hand on your shoulder. The fact that you didn’t know their intentions was getting to you. You never would have guessed that half of those Capitol citizens had the heinous thoughts they did.

Well, there was one person you didn’t mind, and that was Finnick. He was a year older than you, going through the exact same thing. He taught you some trade secrets that he’d gotten from the other prostitutes, and told you to use it to your advantage. If you wanted money, jewels, clothes or expensive and exotic foods, then you should press for it, because they would give you anything you wanted.

It’s the only reason why Finnick has survived as long as he has in this industry. If he wasn’t getting what he wanted, he would’ve found a way out by now.

Three years after you won, you went through a rebellious phase, and you got a boyfriend. By then, Annie had already won, and failed to take the attention off of you, like you’d hoped. She wasn’t stable, at all. The Capitol refused to focus on her, which meant no cameras, a short Victory Tour, and then she was swept under the rug. She wasn’t even recommended to take over mentoring.

It drove you up the wall. You understood why they did what they did with her, but it wasn’t fair. You wanted her to be your relief, the key to your freedom, and you would’ve had it, too, if she was just a little stronger than she is.

When you first started dating your ex, Vaughn, it was perfect. He isn’t a victor, just one of the many district workers from the boats. He worked early morning shifts that ran into the evening some, but left his nights open so that he would have free time outside of work.

You met him one night by accident at the market. You were running an errand for Mags before it got late, because she was going to host breakfast for all the victors at her house to discuss the upcoming Quarter Quell the following morning. It was four years away, but she wanted everyone to be prepared for the worst. Anything could happen.

Vaughn had bumped into you as you were taking a step, almost knocking you over, if he hadn’t caught you first. He apologized profoundly, said that he hadn’t seen you next to him, and helped you straighten out your canvas bag with the goods inside.

You don’t remember exactly what sparked the conversation. You think he may have recognized you as a victor, asking why you were on this side of town. Everyone knows uptown goods are more expensive and only slightly better in quality, which is why you don’t mind going downtown to shop for groceries. Especially since you know the people better.

You two got to talking, surprisingly had a lot in common, and agreed to hang out in the near future. From there, you hit it off, and quickly became attached at the hip. You vaguely recall Finnick getting uptight about it, but if he had something to say, he swallowed it, because he never told you.

Now, looking back, it’s obvious that he didn’t want you to date Vaughn. You’re sure that’s one of his own many regrets. If he had just told you how he felt back then, you wouldn’t have been put through two years of hell that have ruined your brain chemistry.

Like you said, Vaughn was perfect. He knew you had victor responsibilities in the district and never held them against you. You’d usually take care of it in the morning, that way you could spend as much time with him as possible at night. And when the Hunger Games came around, he kissed you goodbye and wished you a good trip.

When you came home with no winner, he wasn’t there to greet you at the train station. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. You spent three days looking for him all over District Four. And it took you waiting at the docks during shift change for you to catch him.

He was livid.

Vaughn started screaming at you in front of everybody, causing feet to slow, as men and women stood conflicted on whether or not to intervene. While his voice became louder and his motions more aggressive, you never flinched. Your expression didn’t change from confusion, as he called you every name off the top of his head associated with infidelity.

He called you a cheater, a liar, an adulterer, a whore, a slut.

It wasn’t until he started advancing on you, face turned a deep shade of red, did you place a hand on his chest to keep him back. You told him if he stepped a foot closer he would regret it, because you’d teach him how you like to solve problems when they appear violent.

That got him to snap out of it. He finished what he was doing on the dock, several passersby asked if you were okay, and you brushed them off. Your threat to injure him wasn’t a joke, you were fully capable of doing so if there was a need to.

When he was done, you found a private street that was dead and dim. You told him that if he tries screaming at you, you’d walk and that’d be the end of it. So, he needed to explain to you why he was upset because you couldn’t understand the allegations. You were loyal. You are loyal.

You don’t know who did it, maybe one of the other victors in the village, or maybe it was speculation from someone in town, but he was informed that you had more than just mentoring duties in the Capitol. They didn’t use the word prostitute, they called you an escort. Which is almost the same thing, but it’s not exactly.

You were quiet for a while, trying to figure out who sabotaged you this way, and repeatedly drew up blanks. When you tried to tell him that you had no choice in the matter, and it was ordered by President Snow and you couldn’t just back down, he wouldn’t believe you. No matter how many times you explained it to him or if it was done in different ways, he thought it was bullshit.

Even after you told him that you weren’t the only victor put in this position, he was insistent that you were cheating. The fact that you didn’t tell him of your duties beforehand solidified it in his mind. As long as you were a prostitute, you’d be cheating on him, and he wouldn’t see it any other way.

He wouldn’t hear you out, so solving the problem wasn’t even an option. You were forced to let it go, assuming this would be the last you’d hear about it, and it’d be brought up again in a year when the Hunger Games came around again.

It’s clear it affected your relationship. For a while, he was distant and quiet, and he wouldn’t engage with you if you were in the mood. He stopped spending as much time with you after work, it didn’t matter if you had made plans, he’d bail and apologize later on. Although, none of them seemed sincere.

The more time grew on, you were sure that you’d be breaking up. When you tried to get him to talk out his feelings, he brushed you off and told you that he was busy. By November, you were getting ready to tell him you’d rather be single than be waiting on him everyday.

He changed one weekend, and the two of you went back to normal. Vaughn went right back to hanging out with you, treating you to dinner, spending the night at your house. It was like the past four months didn’t happen at all. It was weird, and you were hurt by it, but chose peace over answers.

Which wouldn’t matter in the end, anyway. The Victory Tour came around for the most recent victor in January, and conversations came back full-force. He wanted to have a discussion about everything that happens in the Capitol, and got increasingly upset by the details. You were trying to be honest, and all it did was make things worse.

And then he scared you. Vaughn took a deep breath, the red in his face slowly diminishing as he told you it was okay. He’d already spent time making it even between you two, and he’d do it again next year when you went to the Capitol. He said that he’d repeat the process as many times as necessary until President Snow changed his mind.

In the three weeks you were away, he met a girl and slept with her. And then he proceeded to have a relationship with her for the next four months. He was moody and distant because he was ‘managing’ two girls at once, and he couldn’t handle it. When he came back to you in November, it was because he’d finally broken it off with her, believing that he’d made things right.

You didn’t know how to react to that information. You’re pretty sure you lost a little bit of yourself, going back on years of emotional progress. You couldn’t trust him anymore, and you made the mistake of telling him that. Vaughn promised you he’d do better, that he was all-in from then on, and he’d never touch another girl.

It seemed like it from the outside, and you even believed it. The truth is, for the next year and a half, he subtly tortured you. He didn’t do better, he was worse. Instead of cheating, he threatened to do it whenever you made him angry. He held the fact that he had no issue doing it at any time if he truly wanted to, and you wouldn’t be able to stop it. He dangled that girl above your head to keep you in place, and for some unknown reason, you let it work.

He made you miserable, but you didn’t want to leave him. You wanted it to work out with him. Besides, you were starting to see Capitol citizens back off when they realized that you had a district boyfriend. To them, you weren’t in pristine condition. You were dirty, you were being touched by someone that wasn’t like them.

You hoped that if you held on for a little longer, President Snow would retract the agreement, and everything would go back to normal with Vaughn. Before he found out that you’re a prostitute.

When you came back from the Capitol after the Seventy-Third Hunger Games, you found out that he’d begun cheating again. It was the final straw with him. You thought he didn’t mean what he said about doing it every year, especially when you had been in a good spot. He warned you, though. He told you exactly the type of person that he was going to be, it was your fault you didn’t want to take his word for it.

The good news is that you’ve learned from this experience. Unfortunately, you learned from it in the exact same way you did with everything else you’ve lived through.

You can’t trust the surface.

The breakup with Vaughn was messy and irritating. It took two weeks for him to finally understand you weren’t kidding when you said that you weren’t going to work it out with him. You didn’t want to put up with his bullshit. You were sick of feeling ashamed and upset all the time. You had to move on.

Of course, during the process of him accepting this, he never left you alone. It didn’t matter what time it was or what you were doing or where you were. He always found his way to you. You could’ve been in the middle of the district with Mags, you could’ve been at home with all the lights off or with Finnick in his house—he would come knocking on the door to talk to you.

It wasn’t to beg, either. It was to reason, which made the situation a hundred times worse. You might’ve entertained the idea of him apologizing and getting on his knees and telling you that he was stupid and he didn’t know what he was thinking. Instead, he fed you the exact same lines that he had before about getting even with someone else.

He was persistent. And it wasn’t until Vaughn showed up at Finnick’s house for the fifth time, demanding to see you, did Finnick snap and get the message through your ex-boyfriend’s skull. You didn’t want to be with him anymore because he was scum. You had better things to spend your time on, and he wasn’t on that list.

Finnick was a lot meaner when he explained this to Vaughn, cursing like a true resident of District Four would. You remember standing behind the door, watching Finnick lose his patience, his tanned skin turning a deeper shade of red with every passing minute.

Finnick had made you feel safe and seen.

Lately, it seems like you and Finnick can’t see eye to eye, anymore.

A lot has changed in regards to your relationship over the past year and a half. For a while, Finnick had been dating Annie when you’d been together with Vaughn. He broke up with her shortly after he stood up for you that night. And then for the longest time, the two of you were single, pouring your energy into the upcoming Seventy-Fourth Games.

Unfortunately, all effort was wasted, as it was a relatively short mentoring trip. The boy died during the bloodbath, and the girl was gone when Katniss Everdeen dropped the tracker jacker nest on the Career camp while they were sleeping. Your distractions were gone in the matter of a couple weeks, when you’d been hoping to have them for a little while longer.

Even worse, President Snow refused to allow you and Finnick to go home, despite how early your tributes had died. So, the idea of going back to District Four and rotting away in your house was out of the question. The only good news was that the clientele was slow, most likely enamored by the girl from Twelve that was defying the fate of those who came before her.

It left a lot of freetime, which you mainly spent on the couch with Finnick, watching the Games slowly roll on. There’s not much to do inside of the apartment, and it wasn’t like you could leave the Tribute Center, as much as you wish you could’ve. Snow had you on lockdown unless you were going to an appointment.

It was boring at times, but you never felt lonely. You and Finnick were close—best friends, even. Although, it seemed as if you perceived each other differently, because being locked in a place together sealed the nail on a coffin you didn’t know you were laying in.

Finnick decided that he was going to ask you to be his girlfriend. However, he didn’t act on it until months later, during Katniss and Peeta’s Victory Tour, when he was sure that you’d had enough time to heal from the wounds that Vaughn inflicted. It was perfect timing, too, because you were beginning to think the same thing.

Now, almost a year into your relationship, you’re starting to doubt whether it was the right choice to say yes to him. Especially since there seems to be unresolved feelings on both of your sides.

“Jackson, set up a two-person, round-the-clock rotation on Peeta. I need to have a word with Soldier Everdeen.” Boggs suddenly barks, sliding his communication device back into his pocket. Judging by the look on his face, the conversation with President Coin must’ve gone in the wrong direction. Or he didn’t hear what he was hoping to hear.

If you had to guess, it’d likely be the fact that Peeta shouldn’t be here with Squad 451—also known as the Star Squad—because he tried to kill Katniss. A few short weeks back, he, Annie and Johanna had been rescued from the Tribute Center in the Capitol. Following the abrupt ending of the Quarter Quell, half of the victors that were left alive had been split between District Thirteen and the hands of the Capitol.

Luckily, you, Finnick, Katniss and Beetee had been rescued out of the arena. Those remaining were taken and tortured, and in some cases, not. For example, they let Enobaria go completely because of her affiliation with District Two. And they never bothered to lay a hand on Annie, much to Finnick’s relief.

In all honesty, it’s probably not a great idea that Peeta’s here, but not much can be done about it, now. What Coin says, goes. You found that out when she told you that she was assigning you to this mission. Haymitch informed you that she was tired of listening to you and Finnick squabble all the time.

You’re not sure how your arguments have been affecting her, considering that you have spent maybe an hour with her, out of the months you’ve been in Thirteen. At the time, you were just thankful you were being let out of the cement tomb.

Boggs and Katniss begin to walk away from the Squad, leaving you with Jackson, the second in command. She makes a list on paper, pairing people together in silence, before announcing it aloud. To no one’s surprise, you’re made to be with Finnick.

He wastes no time turning to you, “I wonder what made them decide on Peeta.”

“It’s not like they can send Johanna, she failed her final test.” You tell him, looking off at the train station. “I’m sure she’s feeling really useless right now, but they can use her elsewhere.”

“That’s not who I meant.” Finnick says, causing your face to twist.

You turn your head to look at him, finding his eyebrows pushed together. You squint at him, watching the distant look on his face grow. You clear your throat, “What? You think Annie would do better?”

He looks at you, the expression on his face fleeing, “This again? Really, (Y/n)? We’ve been fighting about this for weeks.”

“You’re the one that’s been talking about how worried you are about her state of mind. Of what she’ll do without you nearby.”

“I already explained to you what I meant, I thought we agreed to not bring it up again.”

You shake your head at him, “I didn’t agree to anything.”

“Well, I remember telling you that I wasn’t going to argue about it, because it seems like you just want to be upset by it.”

“I’m upset by a lot of things when it comes to you and her.”

“I know.” Finnick closes his eyes, sighing. “Can we please not talk about this right now?”

“Fine, if that’s what you want.”

“I want you to trust me.” He says, taking a step to walk away. “And for the record, I was talking about Haymitch, (Y/n).”

He leaves, heading for your shared tent. You cross your arms over your chest, looking at the ground, pushing the dirt around with the top of your shoe. When Jackson announces that she needs a couple volunteers to help Peeta set up his tent, you’re the only one that willingly agrees to it, wanting to keep your hands busy.

Leeg is ordered to help you. The two of you work together to shove the poles through the thin fabric, being careful not to puncture it. Peeta stands nearby, hands at his sides, watching you do this, expressionless. Behind him stands Messalla and Mitchell, guarding him.

It isn’t long before Katniss and Boggs return, both sporting the same unsatisfied look, meaning that conversation must’ve gone sour, too. Katniss’s face screws tightly, “What time is my watch?”

Jackson looks up from her paper, eyes narrowing into a squint as she stares at Katniss for a long second. “I didn’t put you in the rotation.”

“Why not?” Katniss asks.

“I’m not sure you could really shoot Peeta, if it came to it.”

Katniss raises her voice, “I wouldn’t be shooting Peeta. He’s gone. Johanna’s right. It’d be just like shooting another of the Capitol’s mutts.”

You can’t help the way your lips curl with disgust. You stomp the last stake into the dirt, securing the tent to the ground to keep the winds from blowing it away. Leeg gives you a nod before she goes to talk to Messalla and Mitchell.

“Well, that sort of comment isn’t recommending you either.” Jackson says back.

“Put her in the rotation.” Boggs tells her.

Jackson blinks, shaking her head. She writes on the paper. “Midnight to four. You’re on with me.”

The dinner whistle sounds, cutting off the conversation from proceeding any further. In silence, you all follow Boggs to the canteen. For the first minute of the walk, you’re by yourself, until Finnick shows up. Nothing is said between you two, but it’s clear the annoyance is still present.

One by one, you collect your dinner, which looks more appetizing than what you were eating in Thirteen. There, all food was calculated to give you the most amount of nutrients without feeding you too much. You can’t say that you were hungry after dinner, but the portions were disappointing.

The squad gathers together in a circle to eat, you sit on the ground with your legs crossed to make it easier to hold the tray. Finnick starts by standing beside you, picking at the food. Eventually he crouches down, offering you part of his tray.

“I’m good.” You murmur.

Finnick lets out a sigh, “(Y/n)...”

You abruptly get to your feet, not wanting to listen to a lecture. You take a few steps away, dropping the partially empty food tray into a bucket that’s already halfway filled with other squads’ trays.

While avoiding eye contact with Finnick, who’s gotten to his feet, you look at Boggs. “I’m turning in for the night.”

“Goodnight, (L/n).” Boggs nods.

You give him a smile that’s weak at best, and then turn to head to the tent that you share with Finnick. You flip the fabric open, step inside, and almost zip it completely shut behind you. And even though it’s late, and the pillow feels nice after a long day, you can’t force yourself to fall asleep.

In fact, you can’t sleep at all.

You spent the hours waiting for your shift to guard Peeta tossing from side to side, recycling the same thoughts you’ve had since you were sent on this mission; if dating Finnick is the best idea. Or rather, if Finnick is actually in love with you.

It seems like a ridiculous thought on the surface, but every time you go over what’s happened this past year, and compare it to what you already know about relationships, it becomes serious. The way Finnick acts reminds you of someone you try hard to forget.

You felt secure with Finnick in the beginning—for maybe the first couple of months—but as soon as the Quarter Quell was announced in the winter, it was like the center of his world shifted. Where you had just begun to hold the key to his heart, it was suddenly taken and regifted.

Finnick was worried about how Annie would react to the news and the possibility. He wanted to preserve her feelings and her mental health, so he began to work to get her on the same level as you and Mags, at the very least. Except, it was clear he had other expectations in mind, when he constantly brought up the idea of volunteering because she’s so fragile.

In the end, you let him win. When reaping day rolled around, you took one for the team and volunteered for Annie so that Mags wouldn’t have to. You cherished Mags far too much to let her go back, and you were hoping that Finnick would finally shut up about it.

There was no gratitude from Annie, there was barely any acknowledgement from Finnick. Due to this, the loathing started, but can you really be the one to blame for it? You did something selfless for someone that had started to pull away the person you’d just begun to call yours.

The Capitol praised you for your act, you were quickly overshadowed. You weren’t the only fan favorite victor that was coming back this year. Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria, Brutus, Beetee, Wiress, Finnick, Johanna, Chaff, Seeder, and Katniss and Peeta? Not to mention some of the lesser known but touched the hearts of the older Capitol citizens like Blight, Cecelia and Woof.

It was surreal, being thrown back into activities you hadn’t touched in years. You’d gotten so used to mentoring your tributes, that it wasn’t until you touched some of those weapons or life saving stations did you realize you were rusty. Or they had new protocols that could save a tribute faster than your old school techniques.

Either way, you knew you were in frigid water with Finnick during the interviews. You had poured your heart out, telling the citizens that you had found new meaning to life, and you were excited to see it through. You wanted the opportunity to grow old like Mags and have children like Cecelia. And you were hoping to do this with Finnick, under the assumption that he loved you the same way.

When it came to Finnick, he took his interview down a completely different path, destroying the idea of love you set up between you two. You were hoping if the tribute lineup had another set of lovers, they’d protest harder. He didn’t care for this. He went on to talk about the most important people in his life, where Annie was mentioned by name, and you were implied in there somewhere.

The seeds of doubt that were planted in the winter finally began to sprout in those three minutes. You were reminded of Vaughn, who took that girls’ feelings into consideration when he was cheating on you. You didn’t matter at all, because you were already in a relationship with him.

And there you were, going through the same process again.

The problem just continued to snowball, getting bigger by the day. The arena was fine for the most part, but as soon as you were rescued from the arena and brought to Thirteen, you never heard the end of it regarding Annie. It was the topic of every conversation you had with him.

How cruel it was that they took her from Four and brought her to the Tribute Center. They better not be torturing her because she can’t handle it. How could they use her as a weapon against him. What he would do if he ever got his hands on the doctors that touched her.

You were relieved when they finally sedated him and medically induced him into a coma because he was driving you crazy. Even Haymitch saw it, and while he tried to offer his own words of wisdom, it was useless in the situation that you’re in. You know that Snow took the people he loved, but you watched your ex-boyfriend take matters into his own hands to get back at you.

You repeatedly got cheated on, managed to get out of the relationship, only to get with Finnick to watch the same warning signs start.

He was worried sick when they sent the volunteers on the mission to retrieve the victors from the Capitol. He was restless waiting for them to land. He ran to her in the hospital.

And you watched from the corner of the room as they slammed into each other in an embrace that was not appropriate for exes. Between then and now, there have been dozens of fights you’ve had with Finnick over her and their uncomfortable friendship. He thinks that you’re exaggerating, and of course, you think that there’s something else going on there.

He won’t even hear you out anymore, acting like you enjoy having this fight every other day. The truth is that you’re tired of bringing the topic up and not seeing an ounce of change in his actions. It makes you question whether or not you’re making the right choice by staying with him.

It would be so much easier to let go than to continue to waste your breath.

Finnick must decide that it would be better if he slept outside tonight, because he never comes inside to join you. You feel a little guilty for this, but only because he only has the fire outside to keep him warm. He’s a grown man though, so he can make his own choices.

“These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not. Back and forth. Back and forth.” Peeta says, breaking the recent silence.

You’ve been listening to one of the soldiers cry since you decided to go to bed. If you had to guess, you think it’s Leeg. She just lost her twin sister yesterday or the day before, and Peeta has been sent as her replacement. It was a mislabeled pod that sent out blades instead of insects. The good news is she died quickly.

“I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me. After that, I always thought of you as… an ally.” Katniss responds.

“Ally.” Peeta says the word slowly, like it’s foreign on his tongue. “Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.” He spits. “The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.”

Some heavy breaths have been taken in the surrounding tents, as they accidentally disrupt those who have managed to fall asleep.

“Then you should ask, Peeta.” Finnick’s voice is nearby, practically outside of your tent. “That’s what Annie does.”

“That’s what Annie does.” You mock quietly, which is most definitely heard by him, because you can see the way his head turns to the side briefly, before focusing back on the fire in the center of camp.

“Ask who?” Peeta says. “Who can I trust?”

“Well, us for starters. We’re your squad.” Jackson tells him.

“You’re my guards.” Peeta points out.

“That, too.” She agrees. “But you saved a lot of lives in Thirteen. It’s not the kind of thing we forget.”

A silence follows as he digests this. You roll over in your sleeping bag so that your back is facing the light from the fire. You close your eyes, feeling your eyebrows push together as the annoyance washes over your body at the mention of Annie coming from Finnick’s mouth.

You just want to be done with this.

The following day is agonizing to get through without picking a fight in everything that Finnick does. It’s partially caused by the fact you didn’t sleep much. You were able to doze off sometime after Katniss and Peeta’s conversation came to an end, but awoke shortly after from a nightmare you had regarding Annie and Finnick.

With it being time for you and Finnick to take over for Katniss and Jackson, there was no time to fall back asleep. You spent four hours staring into the flames, brushing off Finnick every time he tried to get you to talk to him. At eight, Boggs woke everyone up for breakfast, and you were released from your duty of guarding Peeta.

Still, there was no time to sleep as Gale, Finnick, Katniss and you were swept away by the camera crew to shoot the glass windows of buildings for their clips. It didn’t last long, you were out there just past eleven. By the time you came back to camp, the soldiers from Thirteen were sitting with Peeta, playing a game called “Real or Not Real” where Peeta would ask a question and they’d have to answer whether or not it happened.

This went on for a while, until Jackson broke everyone up into a different watch, splitting you from Finnick. She does this so that Peeta has access to a soldier and someone that knows him relatively personally. You get paired with Messalla, who is thankfully more talkative than you are, because you can feel yourself shutting down more by the hour.

Unfortunately, you get stuck in your head for the rest of the day, lips almost completely sealed. If you pretend you’re not bothered by how close Annie and Finnick are, it’ll eventually become true, right? If you don’t let conversation about Annie get to you, then you won’t get fired up enough to get in a fight with Finnick. You two will be okay.

However, the only downfall of pretending was that every time Peeta had a question about District Four or what happened with Annie, you quickly deflected it, forcing Finnick to answer it. Which only continued to rub you the wrong way, despite the fact you had to remind yourself that it’s your fault.

It’s spineless, but it’s better than having an argument. It was clear in your actions that you were angry or at the very least upset, yet you never verbalized it. You let Finnick’s mood dampen until he could hardly stand to be around you except for dinner. And even though you sat side by side outside the tent, and it was pretty obvious you had something to say to him—you never did.

This time, you want to take another approach. All those arguments have brought you nowhere, and you’re tired of going in circles. If you try to talk about this with Finnick again, he’ll get defensive, you’ll get angry, and once again, you’ll be back where you came from.

So, you’ll just shut up and be quiet.

The next afternoon, Boggs informs the whole squad that you’re all needed to stage a propo a few miles out. Peeta claims that it’s because Coin and Plutarch are unhappy with the footage, and he’s right. It’s no one’s fault except for Thirteen, though, for practically wrapping everyone in bubble wrap.

You’re not actually on a mission, you’re behind the front lines. You move camp every couple days to be close, but you’re never in real danger. Except for when pods are mislabeled and accidents happen, like with the Leeg twin.

Nothing changes today, though. On the way to the area to film, Boggs tells everyone the block they specially set aside for you to play with is relatively out of danger. There’s even a couple of active pods they left behind for you to trigger. One of them should spray gunfire, and the other releases a net to trap the invader.

The group of you are made to suit up in heavy armor just for precaution’s sake, including the camera crew. Cressida talks to Boggs about how she’s planning on using more smoke bombs and adding gunfire as a sound effect to please those in Thirteen. Each person is given a gun, or allowed to take their specialty weapon, including Peeta. Boggs makes sure to tell him that his gun is loaded with blanks.

Peeta shrugs. “I’m not much of a shot anyway.” He says, and then spends most of the journey in silence. Katniss and Jackson seem to keep a close eye on him, afraid that he’ll fly off the handles. At the halfway point, he finally speaks with irritation. “You’re an Avox, aren’t you?”

You glance over your shoulder to see that he’s talking to Pollux, face screwed tightly. “I can tell by the way you swallow. There were two Avoxes with me in prison. Darius and Lavinia, but the guards mostly called them the redheads. They’d been our servants in the Training Center, so they arrested them, too. I watched them being tortured to death. She was lucky. They used too much voltage and her heart stopped right off. It took days to finish him off. Beating, cutting off parts. They kept asking him questions, but he couldn’t speak, he just made these horrible animal sounds. They didn’t want information, you know? They wanted me to see it.”

When he’s finished speaking, he looks around and notices that everyone has stopped walking, staring at him. No one knows what to say, he asks, “Real or not real?” Silence. This upsets him more. “Real or not real?!”

“Real,” Boggs says slowly. “At least, to the best of my knowledge… real.”

Peeta’s shoulders fall. “I thought so. There was nothing… shiny about it.” He sighs, wandering away from the group, talking to himself.

It’s quiet for a while while this information is settled in your mind. Only the sound of glass crunching beneath your boots fills the still air. Until Finnick clears his throat slightly, looking over at you.

“They must’ve done the same thing to Johanna.”

You hum, giving him a quick shrug. You wouldn’t say that. What they did to Johanna was completely different because Peeta and her are far from similar. Johanna has no one she loves, and she lacks the same compassion that Peeta has. She’s strong mentally, which is why they waterboarded and electrocuted her. It’s why they shaved her head to take away her individuality.

With Peeta, he cares more deeply about the people around him. He has a driving character. It was more meaningful to show him people that were familiar and to take away the ability to help them. Peeta’s the type of person to save others first, sometimes over himself. And he’s very memory-reliant, he likes to reminisce, which is why they made it hard for him to do without getting confused.

“Don’t you think?” Finnick asks, once he realizes you’re not going to respond without being prompted.

“No.”

“No?” His face twists.

“They’re different people. It’s clear the Capitol took different approaches.”

Two different people. You and Annie. You and Finnick.

“What about Annie? Do you think they—”

You sigh through your nose. “They didn’t have to do anything to Annie because being in the Capitol was torture enough. She can hardly leave the house without having a meltdown—something that you coddled. Snow didn’t have to lift a finger. You know this.” You snap.

Finnick doesn’t speak for a couple minutes. “That was unfair of you to say that about her.”

You roll your eyes and turn your head away from him. Maybe if you’d stop speaking to me about her, you think bitterly. Every conversation you have, she’s brought up. The doctors at Thirteen have told you two that she’s fine, and the memories she’s recounting are from when she was rescued out of the arena. Which was five years ago.

They know this because the technology she’s recalling has been discarded. They use different machines now. And the medical team they used then have since retired, because there’s a strict contract on how long they can work for. Finnick doesn’t want to believe this, he just wants to listen to Annie because she’s the victim.

You’re not blaming her for being traumatized, you’re blaming him for enabling it. Again.

The air is tense, but you’re right around the corner from the residential building the prop will be taking place in front of. Boggs pulls out the Holo to show you a projection of the street. The gunfire pod is about a third of the way down the street, above an apartment awning. Bullets should be enough to trigger it.

When it comes to the net pod, it’s at the far end, almost around the next corner. This makes several people perk up, everyone volunteers to set off the pod, except for Peeta, who doesn’t seem to be interested. Katniss gets skipped, and she’s sent to Messalla to fix some blemishes on her face.

Boggs takes this time to direct everyone, Cressida sets up Castor and Pollux to capture the perfect angle. Messalla throws a couple of smoke charges to set the scene, with Cressida calling, “Action!”

Together, you walk down the purposely hazy street, which vaguely reminds you of the Block back in Thirteen. You blow out a couple of windows as you were told, but Gale has been assigned the real target. When he hits his designated pod, everyone ducks for cover. You settle for crouching behind a pale green wall with white florals painted on.

A hail of bullets sweeps back and forth. As soon as it’s finished, Boggs orders you forward. Before anyone can move, Cressida declares she needs close-up shots, meaning you’re forced to reenact your reactions one-by-one. Thankfully, your position was fairly captured, so she excuses you, but tells you not to move a muscle.

The others have to fall to the ground, dive into alcoves and grit their teeth. Katniss presses her lips together in discontent, yet she participates anyway. The good news is that there is one terrible actor in the squad, and that happens to be Mitchell. Castor plays back the new footage of Mitchell grinding his teeth and flaring his nostrils.

It turns mostly everyone into a giggling mess. Even Boggs, who firmly orders, “Pull it together, Four-Five-One.” Only to turn away and smile to himself.

You watch as he pulls out the Holo, checking the location of the next pod to be safe. He lifts the device in the air to get a better look at the projection. He takes a step back on the orange paving stones.

An explosion splits through the air.

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folkvangr-seidr · 8 months

Text

Runaway

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x fem!reader

Summary: you end up in a city you hate but maybe the company makes it worth the while.

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: none?

a/n: this is my first time writting for Jenna and english is not my first language so keep that in mind <3

It was 4am and you were stranded at the airport. your flight was delayed due to a raging storm and you decided to stay the night instead of booking a room. you were used to airports by now anyway.

Your job required you to travel a lot. You were a firefighter and you also worked as a volunteer with the IFRA (International Fire and Rescue Association) so yes, you spent a lot of time wandering around airports.

You were training some mexican units and the weather was horribly hot, so as soon as the job was finished you found yourself desperate to find a way back home. You knew there would be no direct flights from Mexico to Iceland in fucking November so you settled for a connecting flight via New York.

That's how you ended up slouched over a small table questioning every decision you ever made.

You knew the weather in Iceland, you weren't born there but it was the place you proudly called home. So you knew this storm could either be over in a few hours or block all the flights for at least a week. You didn't like that thought though.

You looked around and saw a large group of people walking towards some free seats near you so you made the smart decision of getting up and gathering your small suitcase and the book you were reading. You were not in the mood for chatting with strangers and you felt the need to move your legs anyway so you plugged your headphones in and started walking with no direction in mind. You found a much quieter and less crowded corner and you unconsciously sped up in hopes to get there before someone could spot the couple of empty chairs under some burnt lights. You were lost in your thoughts and inmersed in the music until someone bumped into your side, throwing you off balance and making you drop your book. You turned around to see a small figure crouching over and picking up your book.

"I'm sorry" it was a beautiful voice.

She looked at you and smiled and you just froze.

"Sylvia Plath, huh?" she smiled and your eyes became fixated in the small dimples on her cheeks.

You just nodded, somehow keeping a sense of calmness in your words when you spoke.

"Would say it's my toxic trait but I like to think it's more like my biggest flex."

She laughed and you found yourself unable to look away from her.

"I'm Jenna" she simply said, extending her hand.

"I know" you answered meeting her hand in a soft handshake. "I'm Y/N."

She just smiled, not breaking eye contact.

"It's a beautiful name" she said, disentangling your hands. "Now, Y/N, please tell me we can share that secluded corner for awhile?" she sounded a little desperate despite the playful tone and the lingering smile.

You motioned for her to go ahead and she took a couple steps forward before looking back at you.

"You coming?" her smile made you feel warm inside.

You followed her and sat in one of the chairs, ready to pull your phone out and go back to your playlist.

"There you go" Jenna said handing you the book. "Did you get here too soon too?"

You frowned at her shaking your head.

"My flight was delayed" you answered. "When's yours supposed to take off?"

"In a couple of hours" she said tiredly.

You couldn't help but laugh, earning a fierce glare from Jenna. "She looks cute" you thought.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" you said, still laughing a little.

"No, you're not" she retorted with a smile. "So… Where are you flying, Y/N?" She asked curious.

"Iceland" you said with a happy sigh. " But seems like the weather doesn't like my plans."

"Sure" she snorted. "Iceland seems like an amazing destination, though. Business or pleasure?"

"Neither" you said "well, for pleasure I guess."

She looked at you with a weird look, like she was trying to decipher some kind of mystery.

You cleared your throat and tried to explain.

"I live there. Well, at least when I'm not working or on a mission. I usually go visit whenever I have a few days off."

"A mission?" she said, as if it was the only thing she heard.

"Yeah, well" you touched the back of your neck, unsure. "I'm a firefighter so sometimes we volunteer to go on training or rescue missions."

"Really?" she said, her eyes shinning with a strange glimmer in them.

You nodded, not knowing what to say.

"And you live in Iceland? Whoah" she gestured with her hands while mouting the word "mindblowing".

You had to laugh at that.

"Yeah, but I spend most of the year working on England or traveling, you know" you explained.

She nodded at that.

"Seems like your full of surprises, Y/N" she smiled at you.

You checked the time on your phone only to be met with a notification saying "CANCELLED FLIGHT 18-705".

"Fuck" you cursed under your breath. "They cancelled my flight."

Jenna looked at you serious but didn't say anything until she saw you getting up from the chair.

"Where are you going?" she asked scrunching her face.

"It's almost 6am, I'm getting you to your boarding gate and then I'm calling a friend to see if I can crash at her place" you explained with a smile.

Without saying anything she got up aswell and checked her phone for the info she needed then she started walking toward the gate without much thought.

Until some guy grabbed her arm and started screaming about how he got so lucky to run into THE Jenna Ortega. Her face was showing clear signs of discomfort and… pain? Was the guy hurting her? You inmediately stepped toward them and took his wrist in your hand and with just enough force you made him let go of her.

He wasn't happy, the looks he was giving you made it clear but he wouldn't try anything by the slight fear in his eyes.

"Maybe you should try asking first next time" you said coldly before leading Jenna away from him.

She was quiet and wouldn't look at you and you wondered if she was maybe angry because of what you did?

"I'm sorry, I was out of place but he seemed like a bit too much" you started, smiling tentatively. "I'm really so…"

"Don't be" she cut you off, still not looking at you. "He took me by surprise" she admitted. "Thank you" she continued lifting her face to look at you with some sense of… fondness?

She seemed genuinely grateful and you couldn't shake the feeling that accompained the thought of this kind of situation happening to her everyday.

"It was nothing" you said shrugging it off.

You continued walking toward her boarding gate in a comfortable silence.

"This is me" she said with a nervous smile.

"Be safe" you said. "Have a nice flight, Jenna."

You turned to leave but her voice made you stop.

"Wait" you turned again, now facing her. "Thank you, Y/N."

You smiled at her starting to walk backwards as people you assumed wanted to board the very same plane started filling the space and when you could no longer see her you turned fully determined to find the exit and then call Gio to ask for a ride and a couch to crash on.

Meanwhile, Jenna got seated on the plane when a thought came into her mind.

She forgot to ask for your phone number!!

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x female reader #tara carpenter x female reader #wednesday addams x fem!reader #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x y/n

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herejusttosufferalong · 2 months

Note

Here are my theories about N/L relationship. I am positive 50% is true, just not sure which 50%! They had chemistry from day 1, became friends and flirty with no feelings showing until the start of S3 filming. They couldn’t help the attraction, everybody on the set saw it and I think J felt it and discussions were had. Up to Sep 22, J referred to L’s mom and sis as MIL and SIL.

L/N were told that feelings may happen due to intensity, long hours, a uniquely shared experience and the roles they are acting. It was recommended for the sake of their careers they should wait and see if the feelings last. So ends, S3 filming. L goes to his Raya, young girl, vacay mode and ends up with A, who is a close friend of S. (I will not bring his SM fiasco from last year. That boy is just not savvy or astute enough to use SM to his professional advancement!) N starts dating E in April of last year. All is relatively hunky dory. Come Jan and PR training. They probably were just told to let go and let their natural chemistry shine, because PR people are not idiots! And boy, did they. A sees this and probably feels it too and starts to make some demands. She wants to be known as his gf and have an increase in her SM #, so she can monetize it. She posts Hotel locations, etc because they get to stay there at a reduced cost at the least. (The Soho vacays are just brag. L is the member, the rest are just friends that can go with him, but not alone). I am sure to a certain degree, A orchestrated the In Style fiasco.

Feelings get more confusing and complicated with N/L during the WT. A surprises L at the NYC premiere. He doesn’t seem thrilled about it, introduces A as a friend. During the A/N ‘intro’ and hug, A says she thinks N is funny! (She is, but an odd thing to say to your bf’s costar at an after party). Have no idea what other things happen behind the scenes, but all of us fall in love with Lukola. If they had had a wedding reception at the end of the London premiere, nobody would be surprised and there would be puddles of goo worldwide from our collective swooning.

Instead we got the pap pix.

Whoever arranged this is the single most evil and unromantic person in the world. We didn’t even get to watch part 2 and we were slapped hard and left confused. A can do whatever she wants, she will never have chemistry with L.

L got the backlash and N came to his rescue with a very sweet declaration. I think the SATC clip which was done during S3 filming was maybe supposed to bring the narrative to the show and funny things? or maybe N was upset by L’s behavior or inaction? I like to think N is not petty, but who knows. She took it down, because the comments went in the direction she wasn’t expecting. (She still needs to learn TT over Insta, they are different beasts.)

Apparently, E exited at some point. Maybe the romantic engagement dinner DM reported was actually a breakup?

Your post on LaLa land, I felt was too on the nose. With this current mess, maybe their professional advancement means no HEA. He did make a post and put LaLa Land?! She has made her career her priority. She is a Hamilton fan, she is not going to throw away her shot!! Is he subconsciously ruining his career? Does he just want to be in her presence and light? Can they work it out?

I brewed more coffee and am sitting at the restaurant with the rest of you. I just ordered a stack of pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream.

Your thoughts?

"Apparently, E exited at some point. Maybe the romantic engagement dinner DM reported was actually a breakup?"

It wasn't until recently that I considered they actual broke up or took a break around Nov/Dec '23 and then rekindled Feb/Mar '24

But that Nic sighting posted by DM was in Jan '24, no?

Maybe they reconnected sooner and then finally parted ways in Mar or early April

I know folks like to say that N wasn't as flirty or obvious until the end of the press tour but the April press junkets and livestream was something else

#just my opinions btw #timelines #theories #merely speculating

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ravisinghs-wife · 1 year

Note

Hii!

Could you please do Aaron Warner x reader dating post? cause I live for that man.

Aaron warner x gn!reader

warnings: ooc!Aaron (?), I changed the timeline and a tiny bit of the plot from unravel me, my poor attempt at writing anything besides headcanon, cringe writing, mention of being drugged, being shot, curse words

word count: 1.6k +

notes to the reader: reader's gift is to make people believe and do everything they say. reader has been at omega point since their childhood and is best friends with kenji. reader wears a dress

other notes to the fic: Juliette and Aaron are just friends (well still kind of enemies, but Aaron's main focus from bringing her to the reestablishment was to help his mom, instead of rescuing her bc he was in love with her), a/n: I am SO sorry that this took so long, I'm currently trying to work on my request before I open them again but I just don't have that much motivation to write rn😭, I hope you still like it:)), my first language isn't English so please respect that, I tried to write something different from what I normally do...

Masterlist

you two met when he was taken by omega point

after he was allowed outside of his room, and castle made sure that Aaron wouldn't destroy any more furniture, he kept seeing you on his daily walks with castle and began asking questions about you

"what's their name" Aaron looked focused, directing his question to the person joining him on his walk. Castle waited a few seconds before answering Aaron's question: "y/n, their gift is to make people believe and do everything they say" Aaron gave you another intense look before turning his attention to castle again and nodding, to signalize that he understood him.

after that he kept noticing you and eventually agreed to eat dinner with the others, just so he could sit at the same table as you and listen to your conversations with Kenji

you had been friends with Kenji for as long as you could remember, so you always sat at the same table, different friends of yours joining you both, be it Ian, Brendan, lily or the brand new members Adam, James or Juliette, with whom Kenji was especially close

but when the new omega point member, the infamous Aaron Warner joins you both you of course notice him

you also didn't miss the glances he kept sending you

so when castle, who also didn't miss the glances, asked you to train him you rushed to say yes because you just couldn't believe that a person could be so pure evil like Adam pointed him out to be

yes, he let someone tortured your best friend (which you still were pretty pissed about) but you believed that there could be something nice in him and assumed that he was under much stress due to his father, who you haven't heard a single nice thing about

his first training session was on an Tuesday afternoon, to which he arrived exactly on time and in perfect clothing, as if he somehow found a way to iron it

you started with some simple tasks to try to find out what exactly his power is and why he is immune to Juliettes touch

around three sessions later you come to then training session in your prettiest dress that you normally safe for special occasions

aaron, he demanded that you call him by his first name, immediately had one of his rare smiles spread out on his face when he saw you in that dress

he kept asking you to do a twirl so he could see the whole dress but you refused at first

it wasn't until he came closer to you, held your hands carefully in his and asked like a little puppy "please to a twirl for me, my beloved" that you made one with a shocked face

when he saw your expression he rushed to stop you and asked panicked if everything was alright

you told him that he just practiced your gift and couldn't do anything but do a twirl

after that both of you quickly figured out that his gift was to practice other peoples powers and copy them

the night after you are me in his room, trying to work on his powers

you do that until you notice him staring at you

"what's wrong Aaron?" you ask, looking concernt at the boy. you notice that he isn't smiling or grinning a bit like he normally does when you say his name. "my beloved, I- I'll have to leave in the morning. My father can't suspect that I'm here or where exactly omega point is, he'll know soon if i stay longer. I can't put you at this risk." You were shocked to say the least. "Aaron you can't- how would you even do that? Do you even know the way out?" "I wasn't really unconscious when I was brought here, you know? And I found a way to navigate myself around here in the last two months." He looks at your shocked face before adding: "But don't worry, I won't tell my dad or someone else about anything here. I'll hope that you'll miss me the same amount that I will miss you. I hope we will see each other soon again"

He doesn't let you protest any further, gives your hand a gentleman-like kiss and leaves

you had absolutely no idea where he went to, it was his room that you spent your time just mere minutes ago in, after all

still in shock you don't even think about following him, the only thought in your head being that he would be gone tomorrow and will probably spent his time with his pathetic excuse of an father

You don't even think about telling castle or someone else at omega point about Aaron leaving, and at the morning of the very next day you find out that he succeeded

days pass until each member from the rescuing mission of Brendan and Winston, who where both kidnapped my Aaron's psycho dad, Anderson, were ready and prepared to start the mission

the mission seemed to go well until you saw the bombs falling from the sky directly on the place where omega point was located

you were in shock and didn't notice the arms grabbing you and dragging you into a tank

you'd been handcuffed and your eyes were covered with a cloth

there was a voice saying something but you didn't catch was it was saying

someone forced a liquid down your throat and you soon passed out after that

the first thing that you noticed was the warm light

you sat in a kitchen chair but soon noticed that a person, who you assumed to be Anderson, Aaron's dad, because of the obvious resembles, joined you

shit

you didn't catch everything he was saying because you were still feeling dizzy from the drug you were forced to consume, something about revenge, the stupidness of his son (who apparently had joined you two), leading and shooting someone

you soon found out that with someone they meant you, when you were shot in the chest

right into your heart

being shot and drugged at the same day wasn't a nice feeling

you were bleeding and if it didn't stop soon you'd be dead in a few minutes

and if that would happen you couldn't exactly tell because you passed out

for the second time today

it was a shock, to say nicely, when you woke up next to Aaron

he immediately asked you if you were okay but you just stared at him

"I- What the fuck happened?" "my father he- he wanted to 'teach me a lesson'. I'm sorry, my beloved. If I never would've asked him to spare your life he wouldn't have tried to kill you or make me try to kill you." he rambled, trying to explain the earlier actions. But one question was still lingering in your head: "why exactly would you have asked him to spare my life?" He could've carered so much more about someone else's life than yours. Juliettes or maybe James. Besides his constant dining you were sure that he cared at least a bit for them. "Because I care for you, my beloved." You don't know what to say after this confession and just look at him and take his hand into yours.

that's how you met<33 sorry, I got carried away

anyway

that man SPOILS you

you see a pretty flower at the market? It's yours. There is a new collectors edition of your favorite book, but it's out of your price range right now? It's on your desk the next day. The limited edition vinyl that just restocked? already ordered, you get the deal

despite everything he says he actually loves dogs and you'll get one when everything with the reestablishment is over

he'll always pick out fancy colars for the dog and style it<3

he definitely has a fashion blog and posts his daily outfits on there

he'll also pick out your outfit everyday and he always tries for you two to match

every time you go shopping with Juliette and/or Kenji he insists on tagging along so you don't chose some ridiculous clothing items that would wash you out or something

he's obsessed with coffee after delalieu introduced him to it

and when you already like coffee you two have this ritual that every Sunday you guys drink a cup coffee on your balcony and just enjoy the early morning

but if you don't like coffee he always tries to get you into it and 'accidentally' places an extra cup on the breakfast table

"i promise my beloved, it's really good you just have to try it for once"

his love languages are words of affirmations and physical touch

he can't go longer than five minutes without touching you

he always has his hand rested on your lower back or holds your hand because your touch comforts and relaxes him<33

also loves to hold your pinkies

he may not look like it but he LOVES cuddling

you can't sleep anymore without you normally grumpy boyfriend squeezing you like his life depended on it

he also loves to rest his head on your belly before sleeping, while you both read something

he's so mesmerized by your presence

he tells you at least ten times a day how gorgeous, smart or lovely you are

you could literally just walk to the kitchen to get a snack and he'd drop everything to tell you how much he loves you

at the beginning of your relationship he was way more open than you expected with his feelings and already told you one month in the relationship that he loved you

I don't know why but I think he'd write you poems frequently

#aaron warner x reader #aaron warner #aaron warner fanfic #aaron warner fluff #shatter me x reader #shatter me #unravel me #dating headcanons #x reader #aaron x reader #tahereh mafi

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jinxhallows · 7 months

Text

𝐔𝐧𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 .

━━━━━━━━

☾ -- ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛs

━━━━━━━━

ᴍʏ ᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴏᴜs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ -- @sikebishes @hamburgers101 @felix-housewife @agnes-king @exfolitae @brojustfknkillm3 @skzswife @just-randomm-stuff @thunderous-wolf @3rachasninja @katsukis1wife @hanjingin @mylilliposts

☾ -- ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ɢᴇᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ? ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇʀᴇ

━━━━━━━━

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇᴇɴ | ᴡᴄ: 8.6ᴋ

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A dense smoky fog blankets the ground as you navigate through it, obscuring everything but the silhouette of barren trees in the distance. Their branches reach out like grasping fingers, lending an air of malevolence to the journey. It feels as though every element of the landscape is vying for a piece of your soul.

The vampires, purportedly devoid of soul, remain unaffected by the eerie atmosphere. Jisung, however, betrays his unease by idly rubbing his amulet between his fingers. Though he maintains his stoic facade, a flicker of apprehension glimmers in his eyes as he catches your gaze. His smile is unfamiliar, lacking its usual warmth—it's akin to the polite nod given to a stranger who holds open a door.

This isn't the Jisung you're accustomed to.

Time is running short for Jisung. He's almost resigned to his fate, harboring a faint hope for a swift, painless end once this journey concludes. The prospect of returning home to face the slow decay of his essence over the remaining years weighs on him.

Thoughts of his long-lost fiancée flit through his mind. He's yet to encounter her in his frequent visits to the afterlife, but perhaps he'll spend his eternity seeking her out instead of perpetually evading death.

A tender glance at your stomach reveals his excitement at the thought of becoming an uncle. Even though he likely won't be around to see it happen, he finds comfort in knowing that your child will carry his legacy through their magical bloodline. Someday, they'll cross paths again.

The dark aura emanating from the coyote demon casts a shadow over the group. The silence is difficult to tolerate in its absolute stillness. Wasn't this supposed to be the most dangerous part of the journey? Only a day ago, you were under siege by demons, yet now, on the brink of the final stretch, there's nothing. Certainly, if there were something in the distance, any one of the supernatural creatures on your sides would be able to detect it.

Hyunjin listens to the crunch of twigs under his feet, lost in his thoughts. He ponders his mother's cryptic words, wondering if tonight will mark the loss of one of his brothers. Maybe even you. Hyunjin had grown incredibly fond of you, and you had earned his loyalty by rescuing him.

Hyunjin even entertains the idea that it should be him instead. Many uncertainties plague his mind. Returning to the mortal world has been a jarring experience, and true peace eludes him. Hyunjin wonders if he'll ever find any sort of peace, or if this perpetual unrest is his eternal atonement for past sins.

"Hold on, you see that?" Chan's voice breaks through Hyunjin's runaway train of thought, directing everyone's attention to a sudden clearing that appears before you, seemingly out of nowhere. The forest, dense and forbidding just moments ago, now yields to an expansive open space. The nearby sounds of water reach your ears, and squinting reveals the clearing's boundary—a cliff shrouded in thick fog. The archway formed by the bending trees at the cliff's edge invites them to peer beyond, where the natural sky seems to disappear. The impending sunrise has vanished from view, leaving behind a darkness that blankets the forest in a timeless haze.

"This must be it, I can feel it." Santiago declares, drawing a deep breath as he surveys their surroundings, his senses on high alert despite his formidable power. He didn't clue anyone else in on it, but he had a strange feeling that they were being followed the last hour of travel. When nobody else made note of it, he attributed it to the twisted curse of this place and let it go.

Is this Abysmora? Or does it lie beyond this mysterious veil of smoke?

You wrap your arms around yourself tightly, a surge of nausea unsettling your stomach.

"What did you say?" Chan's concerned voice breaks through your thoughts as he turns to check on you, his expression puzzled by a sound he thought he heard.

"I didn't say anything," you reply, feeling perplexed. Had your thoughts accidentally slipped out aloud?

"Weird. I could've sworn I heard something," Chan mutters, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Maybe your mind's playing tricks on you," Jisung suggests, joining the conversation. "I didn't hear anything either."

Chan is still skeptical, approaching you with a frown. He squats down to press his ear against your stomach, and you allow the gesture, gently resting your hand on his head, the weight of the moment heavy amidst the strangeness of the situation. Standing up, he scans the group, finding no confirmation of his earlier perception.

"Nobody else heard it?" he asks, met with shaking heads all around, including yours.

"In Abysmora, believe only half of what you see and nothing you hear," Santiago advises, breaking the tension. "I don't wanna tempt Fate; she can be cynical. We have to pay the Coyote demon before we cross over." You avoid eye contact as Santiago looks at you again, instead averting your eyes to the coyote demon close to the water. Somehow, your anger has shed it's skin to reveal your fragile hurt. You wonder why you aren't worthy of the truth from him, even now, after all you had accomplished.

The sight of your mysterious guide at the cliff's edge draws your attention like a moth to a flame. It hovers there, a few inches above the ground, an enigmatic presence, its form shrouded in shadow. Despite its lack of eyes, it seems to peer intently at the ground below, as if deciphering some hidden message written in the earth itself. The air around it crackles with an otherworldly energy, adding to its mystique as it stands sentinel at the edge of the abyss.

"I'm sorry, pay him? With what?" Jisung's voice rings with alarm.

"What do you think, my friend?" Santiago responds, unsheathing his knife. "Our life force." With determined steps, he approaches the coyote demon, and the rest of the group follows suit. It remains unfazed, its attention fixed firmly on the ground. You cling tighter to Chan, who slows to let you grip his arm.

With a wave of its bony hand over the water's edge, a makeshift raft emerges from the foamy stream. It appears flimsy, like a discarded piece of construction material, hardly capable of supporting its own weight, let alone the rush of the rapids with you all atop it. Yet, it remains steady, held aloft by the coyote demon's power. Santiago steps forward first, slicing his palm and allowing blood to spill onto the demon's outstretched hand. Every drop is absorbed without a trace, prompting Felix to follow suit, eyeing the demon warily before adding his own sacrifice. Jisung, surprisingly, steps up next, his usually cautious demeanor overshadowed by the gravity of the situation.

Hyunjin's turn comes next, and as you and Chan approach, a sense of dread begins to well up within you. The fear seems to seep from the ground itself, creeping up your legs and constricting your throat.

Chan, hearing something again, looks down at you, his expression troubled. It's a sound he can't quite place, like a whisper in his mind, indecipherable yet unsettling. He blames it on Abysmora's influence, steeling himself against its effects as he watches Hyunjin make his offering.

As you and Chan present your own blood sacrifices, the sting of the cut fades, replaced by a tingling sensation that signifies rapid healing. Chan pulls you close, whispering words of reassurance as he guides you onto the raft. "I think she's helping you," he murmurs, speaking of the unborn child you two share and her mysterious powers. You wish those powers could alleviate the nausea that still lingers, but as if in response to your wish, the sickness vanishes without a trace.

Jisung's voice trembles with a mix of anxiety and bravado as he settles onto the raft. "How sure are we that we’re gonna survive this waterfall drop?" he asks, his words filled with a nervous energy.

Santiago's response cuts through the tension. "You're asking the wrong questions," he declares cryptically. “I’m still in a mortal body that has never been to Abysmora, about to go over a waterfall, what questions am I supposed to be asking right now?”

Perched on the edge of uncertainty, you suppress a chuckle at Jisung's retort, stealing a glance at Felix, who struggles to conceal his amusement behind clenched lips.

“The toll is paid.”

With a final decree from the coyote demon, the atmosphere shifts. The ethereal guide dissolves into obsidian mist, and in an instant, the raft is swept into the rushing current.

Chan's arms encircle you protectively as you bury your head in his chest. His embrace offers a semblance of security, though beneath the surface, fear lies in wait in his veins. It's not the fear of death that grips him, but the fear of loss—of you, of his brothers, Jisung; of the life he's only just begun to consider worth living.

Chan yearns to utter words of comfort, to quell the storm raging within you.

Casting a sidelong glance toward Hyunjin, he extends a tentative gesture of affection, seeking to bridge the chasm between them. Though initially stiff under the weight of fraternal embrace, Hyunjin gradually yields to Chan's touch.

Across the raft, Felix's gaze meets Chan's in a quiet exchange. But before their unspoken bond can solidify, in an instant, the world tilts on its axis as the raft hurtles over the precipice, plunging into the yawning abyss below.

For a heart-stopping moment, gravity claims dominion, and the sensation of free fall grips you all. The wind whips around you, snatching at your clothes, your hair, as you all hurtle downward into the void.

But just as suddenly as it began, the vertiginous descent comes to a halt. The world around you seems to freeze, time itself holding its breath as the raft settles into the stillness of Abysmora's dark embrace. "Fucking Hell—" Felix's expletive pierces the air, jolting you from your reverie.

"Jisung, little witch, are you—" He begins to ask, worrying for the mortal passengers.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. You?" Jisung's voice wavers with the remnants of adrenaline.

"I'm... still here," you manage, your voice a fragile whisper amidst the chaos that surrounds you.

Chan's senses begin getting assaulted by a familiar itch—a primal instinct clawing at the edges of his consciousness.

Surely, he’s not going to turn? Not now? Not like this?

The same inexplicable murmur tugs at Chan's senses once more, this time drawing his attention squarely to your stomach. An involuntary pang of tenderness wells up within him, a protective instinct he struggles to suppress. And for that second, perhaps two, he doesn't feel his monster trying to come up for air. With a will of its own, his gaze flits away, his jaw clenching with the effort to regain control.

‘Abysmora is playing tricks on my mind,’ Chan reminds himself sternly, his thoughts a tumultuous whirlwind of uncertainty. He grapples with the realization that, in this strange realm, he may not be able to shield you and his daughter as he wishes.

But the memory of Amelia, her sacrifice, cuts through the haze of his thoughts like a knife to the heart. He can still feel her absence, a haunting guilt for the price paid for their survival. Chan's arms wrap tightly around himself, his fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket in a desperate attempt to anchor himself in the present, to get out of his own head, to banish the ghosts of the past that threaten to consume him.

The raft creeps languidly through the dense, murky waters, now a deep, suffocating shade of purple that seems to swallow light rather than reflect it. The waters are calm, yet their opacity hints at untold depths and secrets submerged beneath. Small islets punctuate the expanse like broken teeth, each hosting clusters of weathered gravestones that stand as silent keepers of forgotten lives. Some stones are cloaked in a dense mantle of moss, their inscriptions eroded by time, while others lean precariously, half-engulfed by the encroaching, swamp-like embrace of the water.

The air itself seems to congeal around you, infected with a sense of despair and decay.

As the raft drifts aimlessly, a disturbing ambiance pervades, heightened by the mist that clings to every surface, weaving through the air like the breath of the isle itself. This mist carries with it an odor so foul, a blend of rotting flesh, sulfur and damp, decayed wood, that it assaults the senses, a physical manifestation of the corruption that seeps from the very soil of this place.

“Oh God, I- I don’t feel good–” Jisung body convulses slightly as he heaves over the side of the raft, expelling a noxious, black substance—a memory of his earlier possession. The sight is disturbingly out of place against the backdrop of unnatural stillness that surrounds you. He coughs violently, a raw, hacking sound that seems too loud in the oppressive silence, wiping his mouth with a shaky hand, his expression one of revulsion and deep unease.

He speaks, his voice barely above a whisper, but it's clear the very air of Abysmora is anathema to him, a venom to his senses. “I can’t…I don’t think I can be here very long.” "I don’t think any of us can…” Felix's voice carries his concern, tasting the bitterness of the venom in his mouth, something he hasn't felt in a long time. Swallowing becomes a chore as the acrid taste spreads, worsening his already noticeable thirst. He keeps his discomfort to himself, knowing his brothers need him now more than ever. Despite the absence of the Full Moon tonight, Abysmora's sky holds no celestial bodies, just an endless void stretching upward into an unseen realm.

“Where’s Santiago?” The question of Santiago's whereabouts lingers, as you survey the desolate landscape. Memories of the heated argument with him resurface his words cutting deep. Could he have abandoned the group at the gate, his duty fulfilled by merely delivering you to Abysmora? The worry eats at you, the fear that your past conflicts might have jeopardized the journey for everyone, with no guide to navigate the treacherous unknown ahead.

None of you have any experience in Abysmora, a daunting realization. It's a frightening thought, to be on an even playing field with some of the strongest creatures you’ve come to know, and all the while carrying your first child. In truth, Hyunjin has rejected the idea of forming an alliance with Santiago for some time, ever since he inadvertently overheard the conversation back at Lysandra's. Despite the pressing need to focus on capturing Santiago after the Blood Bloom, time constraints forced the brothers to prioritize other tasks. However, with Santiago's sudden disappearance, urgency seeps into their thoughts, amplifying their concerns. Finally, the raft nudges against the mainland with a soft, almost imperceptible thud, coming to rest at the edge of a larger isle. Here, the tombs are more imposing, grander in their decay, arranged in a deliberate circle that borders the perimeter.

These larger mausoleums and monuments loom like giants, their shadows casting long, dark fingers across the ground as if to welcome—or warn—any who dare to trespass. It feels even heavier here, if possible, threaded with a history of sorrow and darkness that permeates the very ground upon which you’re about to stand.

"No time to figure it out," Chan declares, rising to his feet, his actions prompting the others to follow suit. Stepping onto the mainland, he extends a hand to assist you ashore. Meanwhile, Hyunjin swiftly rips off and repurposes the hood of his jacket into a makeshift mask, covering Jisung's nose and mouth for protection. “There you are!” Santiago turns the corner of a mausoleum and lays eyes on you. He seems out of breath, worked up as he shakes his head, catching up with everyone.

And yet, despite his outward appearance of concern, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that doesn’t quite match his urgency—a subtle shift in demeanor that leaves you feeling uneasy in his presence. You hadn’t felt this just moments earlier getting on the raft with him.

“How did we get separated?” Santiago asks.

You are the first to answer, unaware of the suspicions of everyone else and just relieved to see another familiar face again. Though, that nagging doubt gnaws at your mind, whispering of the questions surrounding his sudden reappearance.

You wonder if Abysmora is playing mind tricks on you too?

“No idea, but we’re all here, Jisung’s getting sick, we’ve gotta get the Blood Bloom and get out of here.” You look around, “But where is it?” "In there." Santiago's gesture directs your attention to a towering statue of a knight, its sword thrust upward toward the darkened sky. "It's always inside the tomb of the One, the very first of our kind." Santiago approaches the statue, touching it with reverence, in a way that strikes you as odd, because it’s as if he hasn’t seen it before, and Santiago said he had taken prior trips to Abysmora, albeit via other routes.

He must know what the tomb of the “One” looks like? Right?

Muttering under his breath in an unfamiliar tongue, Santiago circles the statue, his intent clear as he seeks a means of entry.

Felix, ever perceptive, senses a subtle shift in Santiago's aura. Vampires as ancient as he can detect things far beyond micro expressions in mortal faces, no matter what’s wearing the skin. It’s how they can tell when something isn’t exactly human, or when mortals lie. Yet, this time, something feels different. Is Santiago under some form of influence? What drives him to lead them into the depths of this tomb? He hears the spells the archdemon chants but doesn’t recognize the tongue.

"Where did you land?" Felix's inquiry interrupts Santiago's prayer, prompting him to refocus his attention. As you join in the search, kneeling amidst the moist earth, the ground squirms with repulsive creatures disturbed from their slumber by your intrusion.

"Land?" Santiago straightens up, his confusion evident. "I just woke up behind that grave," he gestures toward a nearby tomb. "I have no idea what happened." His explanation is abruptly interrupted by Jisung's retching, the soul of this environment taking its toll on him once more. As Jisung lifts his makeshift mask to expel another bout of black, putrid vomit onto the soil, Santiago's attention remains fixated on unlocking the tomb's secrets.

Hyunjin, growing impatient, voices his concern, stepping back to avoid the splatter onto his shoes with a lifted brow. "Can't you do something about him? We can't exactly conjure."

"It's my bloodline—" Jisung's words are punctuated by another fit of dry heaving. "I can't—my body—"

You spring into action, rushing to Jisung's side with mounting worry. His suffering raises questions about the influence of this place, and you fear for the well-being of his soul.

"Jisung, tell me what to do," you plead, desperation clear in your voice as he struggles for breath. But Jisung, consumed by his own distress, cannot offer guidance. With trembling hands, you place your palm against his stomach, channeling an unfamiliar power in a desperate attempt to alleviate his suffering. As your energy flows into his body, Jisung convulses one last time before finding his breath returning in ragged gasps.

Santiago stays oblivious to the commotion around him, his concentration fixed on the statue, lost in prayer with closed eyes. Meanwhile, Hyunjin's attention wavers as he catches the scent of blood emanating from your ear, a telltale sign of overuse of your conjure. His sudden cough startles you, drawing curious glances from his brothers as he hurriedly wipes his nose, trying to conceal his reaction. The scent reaches Felix next, prompting you to check yourself, and your fingers come away stained with blood. Panic sets in as you hastily wipe your neck with your hoodie sleeve, inadvertently spreading the stain further into the fabric.

You’ve made it so much worse, and you don’t even know it. "This can't be what I think it is," Chan says as he uncovers something amidst the infested soil. He holds up a fragment that appears to be from a golden beret, the gold melted over one of the encased jewels, evidence of a failed attempt at destruction. "Do you see this or am I imagining things?" Felix's heart races as he snatches the fragment from his brother's hand, his senses heightened to every sound, every scent around him. "This is it, this is... I have no doubt," he declares, his voice tight with apprehension. He turns to Hyunjin, whose eyes are fixed on the cursed fragment a few feet away. But instead of their usual crystal blue, they shimmer with a bright amber hue, a telltale sign of a loss of control. Hyunjin shuts his eyes tightly, fighting against the onslaught of disturbing images flooding his mind. He feels the creeping sensation of tiny toothed imps devouring his flesh in the depths of Purgatory, a sensation he fights against with every fiber of his being. Is it the curse or is it just him?

Passing the fragment to Chan, Felix approaches Hyunjin; and he gently shakes his younger brother from his trance, their eyes meet, and Felix is struck by the vulnerability in those familiar baby blues, a contrast to the centuries of resilience he's come to expect.

"Brother, what’s—how do you feel?" Felix's voice is soft, a rare tenderness breaking through his usual stoicism. He sees the innocence in Hyunjin once more, a vulnerable human amidst the vast expanse of their immortal existence.

“Afraid, brother,” Hyunjin confesses, his voice laced with raw emotion. He blinks back the bitterness in his eyes, unable to maintain the eye contact with Felix. “I can’t go through this again. I–I can’t, I’ll die, Felix. I’ll die first.” Felix's voice cuts through the chaos, gentle yet firm, as he addresses his brother. "Hey now," he begins, his words carrying a sense of his own certainty, a vow to himself amidst the uncertainty surrounding them.

"I’ll die before you go through that again."

Hyunjin meets Felix's gaze, feeling a rush of emotions within him. Even that has become foreign after being gone for so long; feeling emotions he'd forgotten the weight of. In that moment of silent connection, he senses the weight of their bond, built over countless centuries of shared trials and unspoken understanding. Despite the shadows of their tumultuous past looming over them, Hyunjin finds safety in the unwavering intensity of Felix's gaze, a silent promise of protection and support. This rediscovered depth in their relationship speaks volumes, highlighting the profound significance they both place on each other's well-being.

━━━━━━━━ The tension in the room is filled with anger and resentment as Chan confronts his younger brother, his voice echoing off the stone walls. Hyunjin's defiance matches his elder sibling's intensity, his eyes ablaze with righteous fury.

"Are you mad, brother?! You're in bloodlust!" Chan's words cut through the air like a whip, each syllable dripping with disbelief and frustration. He can't comprehend Hyunjin's actions, can't fathom the depths of his rage.

"Now you've killed her son?! Amelia's brother?!" Chan's accusation hangs in the air, a damning indictment of Hyunjin's actions.

"Did her mother not take our parents from us first?!" Hyunjin's retort is sharp, laced with bitterness and grief. To him, his actions are justified, a reckoning for the injustices inflicted upon their family.

But Chan's anger simmers, threatening to boil over as he struggles to contain his emotions. With a roar of frustration, he hurls a nearby chair against the wall, the sound of splintering wood punctuating the heated exchange.

"Those were my parents too," Chan's voice is raw with emotion, his eyes flashing with a mix of pain and fury. "Do you not think me furious as well? Do you doubt that I too, want to drink from their hearts and watch them fall to my feet?!"

Hyunjin stands his ground, undeterred by his brother's outburst. He remains unshaken, fueled by a burning desire for justice.

"Yes, Christophe, I do!" Hyunjin's words are a challenge, a testament to his unwavering conviction. "I doubt you want to do anything more than run with your tail between your legs, defending a traitorous witch, the very daughter of the woman who murdered our parents!"

Meanwhile, on the other side of the closed door, Amelia stands frozen, her hand hovering over the doorknob. A cool hand touches her shoulder, and she turns to find Felix by her side. His silent guidance urges her to stay back, to let the brothers work through their grievances without interference.

As they move a few steps away from the door, Amelia embraces him, softly crying into the fabric of his blouse. Felix's thoughts churn with concern. The arguments between his brothers have become more frequent, fueled by Hyunjin's growing impatience and resentment. His thirst for vengeance risks engulfing him, driving them to move twice in the last four months alone.

Felix knows Hyunjin cannot be contained, his actions driven by a primal need for retribution. Yet, despite his own fury towards Amelia's family, he understands the futility of their situation. They are newborn vampires--outnumbered, outmatched, and outsmarted without a plan.

But what troubles Felix the most is Chan's hesitance, his reluctance to act. And as they stand in silence, away from the fight unfolding on the other side of the door, Felix can't shake the feeling that something is amiss, something he can't quite put his finger on…

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"Santiago," Chan's voice cuts through the tension, his gaze fixed on the archdemon who is still engrossed in his task. With each passing moment, Santiago's words grow more rapid, fueled by a sense of passion that borders on obsession. Chan moves closer, reaching out to get Santiago's attention. "Santiago, hey–"

The statue begins to shift, its movement accompanied by the harsh scraping of rock and the unsettling rumble of the earth beneath their feet. Hissing echoes around you as the creatures in the soil turn aggressive, some leaping into the air with fangs bared. Hyunjin reacts swiftly, his movements a blur as he dispatches several of the creatures with deadly precision.

"Protect this at all costs," Chan's command is clear and direct as he locks eyes with you, a brief flash of amber in his gaze before he blinks it away. He presses the beret fragment into your hand, urging you to keep it safe.

“Come on, hurry!” Santiago hurries down the stairs into the tomb. You tuck the fragment into your bra and the rest of you have no time to think, and you follow behind, risking the chance that being in the tomb of the very first demon in creation would be safer than being on Abysmora's grounds, exposed.

If there was anything lurking in this strange place, they certainly know they have unwelcome visitors now. Jisung's condition noticeably improves as the darkness envelops them, the sickness that had plagued him fading into the blackness. Yet, amidst the near pitch-black surroundings, a distant blue glow emanates from a room at the far end of the underground tunnel. Backed by a surge of adrenaline, you act swiftly, your fingers darting like arrows to ignite the sconces along the walls. Each flame catches, casting a blue hue that bathes the chamber in its glow. As the dim blue glow from the sconces barely penetrates the darkness, Jisung finds himself momentarily awed by your ingenuity. But any sense of accomplishment is swiftly overshadowed by the atmosphere closing in around you. The tomb of the first demon ever to exist feels suffocating, each breath tainted by the heavy, musty scent of centuries past. With each inhale, Jisung's heart flutters nervously. In an attempt to summon his conjure to navigate the path ahead, Jisung encounters an unexpected resistance, as though an invisible force is constricting his abilities. A dryness creeps into his mouth, he can’t be powerless yet?! How is this possible?! You were able to light the way without hesitation.

"Now what?" You whisper, your voice barely audible over the silence. Turning to seek guidance from Santiago, you find him vanished once more.

"What the–"

"Little witch, we can’t trust him," Felix's voice cuts through the darkness, his hand pulling you closer to the rough stone wall for protection.

"But he said–"

"It doesn’t matter what he’s said," Felix's tone is firm, his words tinged with urgency. "We can’t trust him."

With no other options available, Hyunjin strides ahead, his figure disappearing into the hallway, with Jisung following closely behind. There is no turning back now, no room for hesitation. You’ve come too far to retreat, your only choice is to press onward. The confines of the tomb seem to be closing in on Chan, the primal instincts of his wolf beginning to overwhelm him. Sensing the impending shift, he knows he must act quickly, not willing to risk losing control in such close quarters, especially with you nearby.

With a determined step backward, Chan starts to unzip his hoodie, preparing for the inevitable transformation. His voice carries a note of urgency as he speaks to Felix, his brother, and you. "Felix, you and little witch go on ahead with the others. I’ll catch up with you soon."

Felix puts his arm around your shoulders and obeys his elder brother’s command.

As Chan's metamorphosis reverberates through the ancient confines of the tomb, each sinewy shift heralds the awakening of primordial forces. A chill snakes down your spine at the power unleashed, but with Felix's presence guiding you onward, there's little room for fear, only purpose.

Stepping into the chamber's heart, you feel a lack of control, like you've stepped into public in the nude. This feeling sticks to you as if you're an insect on fly paper, the discomfort follows you. Your gaze is drawn to the raised platform, where a mummified figure cradles a flower in its desiccated grasp. Against the backdrop of darkness, the bloom's vibrant hues stand in defiance, its petals swirling in an ethereal dance. On the opposite end, Jisung stands watchful, his focus unwavering as he hovers over the coffin. Bathed in the soft azure glow of the chandelier above, the scene unfolds like a tableau of strange beauty, casting shadows that dance across the chamber's walls.

Your breath catches as you draw near, the allure of the flower irresistible. Its petals, delicate yet sinuous, seem to pulse with a life of their own, their crimson hue a vivid sign of its unearthly vitality. And at the heart, a pool of crimson gleams with luminescence, a symbol of the bloom's power.

"This is it," you murmur, your voice a mere whisper amidst the hallowed silence of the tomb. "The Blood Bloom."

Jisung's brows furrow in disbelief, his head shaking in denial. “The legend I remember said it grows in the soil of Abysmora…” Despite his hesitance, he leans forward, sensing the same energy that grips you both.

As a sudden stillness envelops the chamber, Jisung's instincts flare, a warning pulsing through his veins. With a sense of alarm, he whirls around, calling out for his missing companions. "Felix? Hyunjin?" His voice echoes off the stone walls, met only by silence.

Your palms grow clammy, fear prickling at the nape of your neck. "What's happening? What's wrong?" you stammer. "Oh look, you found it!" Santiago's voice cuts through the tension, his arrival heralded by a sense of impending doom. Panic floods your veins as you instinctively back away, only to be ensnared by a vice-like grip from behind. Your breath catches in your throat, your thoughts racing to the safety of your unborn child, as fear tightens its grip on your heart.

"H-Hyunjin..." The name escapes your lips in a breathless whisper, finally realizing the scent. Your body tenses, every nerve on edge as you struggle to keep your composure.

Before Jisung can react, Felix is upon him, his strength overwhelming as he wrestles the younger man into submission. You look to Santiago, the sight before you twisting your stomach into knots. His head lolls to the side with a sickening crack, a grotesque contortion of flesh and bone. As his eyes roll back into his skull, his skin begins to slough off like molten wax, revealing a smaller, naked figure beneath.

This new form is like something out of a nightmare, its skin slick with a viscous substance that oozes and drips. The creature's features are twisted and deformed, elongated limbs and sharp, angular joints giving it a disturbed appearance. Its eyes, once human, now gleam with a endless black, reflecting the depths of its sinister nature.

As the demon's gaze fixes upon you, a shiver runs down your spine, fear gripping you with icy fingers. As Jisung struggles against Felix's overpowering grip, his frustration mounts with each futile attempt to break free. Heat radiates from his palms, a manifestation of his inner turmoil, but it's as if an invisible barrier stifles his efforts, rendering his conjure useless.

“The audacity only a Han would have, trying to use your conjure here, now don’t you know better? Then again, you want to die, don’t you?” The demon's voice drips with malice, taunting Jisung with cruel words.

Jisung refuses to dignify the demon's words with a response, his jaw clenched tight in defiance. Beneath his poker face, a sort of fear dances in his eyes. The demon's insight and access into his psyche unnerves him, exposing vulnerabilities he'd rather keep hidden.

“I have a name, you know.” The demon's grin widens, revealing a mouth lined with jagged, razor-sharp teeth. “Do you want to know it?”

“Oliver,” you breathe, the name escaping your lips like a curse, triggering a flood of memories from your night terrors that you'd rather forget. "She's smart, isn't she?" Oliver's voice drips with malicious intent, each word laced with venomous glee. The knowledge that you know his name seems to egg on his perverse joy, a sickening trophy of the power he holds over you, a feeling he rarely gets to feel in his own existence. In the dimly lit chamber, his grin casts twisted shadows across the walls.

As your gaze darts nervously around the room, searching for any sign of escape, the sound of sloshing footsteps draws your attention to another presence lurking in the shadows. With a sickening lurch of your stomach, you realize that you're not alone, the presence of another demon sending a wave of fear over you.

The unnamed demon drags a large and furry form into the chamber, its tortured cries echoing off the walls as it's callously thrown against the unforgiving stone. Your heart sinks in your chest at the sight.

"NO!" Your voice rings out in a desperate plea, the words torn from your throat in a frantic rush. "Hyunjin, let go of me! Stop! This isn't you! That's your brother! Felix! Felix, it's me! Y/N! You're stronger than this! All of you are!" But your cries fall on deaf ears, drowned out by the cruel laughter of the demons that surround you.

"Chan—Chan, please," you plead, your voice barely a whisper amidst the chaos unfolding around you. Exhausted and defeated, you sink to the ground, your body wracked with sobs as despair threatens to eat you alive and spit you back out with no remorse. "Y/N, stop," Jisung's voice cuts through the noise, his tone firm as he locks eyes with you from across the room. His gaze speaks volumes, silently urging you to quell your desperate pleas. In this moment of peril, communication is reduced to silent exchanges, a shared understanding passing between you both.

With a deep breath, you stifle your cries, recognizing the urgency of the situation. Any hope of escape hinges on maintaining composure, lest you risk losing control of your conjure before it can be wielded as a weapon against your captors.

Exhausted and defeated, you offer no resistance as Hyunjin releases his grip, allowing your body to crumple to the ground. His derisive laughter rings in your ears. Meanwhile, Oliver's attention drifts to the Blood Bloom, his excitement obvious as he revels in the discovery. “They really found it, the Blood Bloom!” His voice echoes through the chamber, a frenzied tirade of anticipation as he fixates on the object of his obsession. But his excitement is short-lived, abruptly cut off by a sudden surge of malice directed at the lesser demon.

"What are you waiting for?! Bring the Mistress!" Oliver commands, his impatience boiling over as he demands action. With a hurried nod, the lesser demon scurries away, his footsteps fading into the distance as he disappears into the darkness.

Lying on the dirt-covered brick floor, you succumb to silent tears, the weight of anguish pressing down on you like a leaden blanket. With jittery hands, you crawl forward, the distance between you and the wolf reduced to mere inches. As you nestle your face into the coarse fur of the muzzle, a gentle warmth caresses you, soothing the raw edges of your fractured spirit.

Suddenly, in the darkness, amidst the faint scent of earths and decay, you feel it—a tender brush against your nose, followed by two more delicate licks. Slowly, you open your eyes, greeted by the shimmering gold orbs of the wolf before you. It's a curious sight, this peculiar hue, but within those luminous windows to his soul, you find an unexpected solace—a glimmer of Chan's inherent spirit shining through. You continue to feign distress, your sobs a desperate symphony masking the turmoil within. Each movement is calculated, every tremor carefully choreographed to draw attention away from your clandestine actions. Your fingers venture into the wolf's mouth, inching closer to the razor-sharp teeth that threaten to sever skin from bone.

As your wrist hovers over the waiting fangs, fear coils in the pit of your stomach, a visceral reminder of the perilous dance you've chosen to partake in. But you steel yourself against the rising tide of panic, a vow echoing in the recesses of your mind. You'll fight tooth and nail, even if it means staring death in the face, for you know that within the pits of Hell lies the flickering ember of hope.

With a nod of assent, Chan's lip twitches in acknowledgment, a fleeting moment of connection. As he closes his jaws with painstaking care, the taste of blood blooms in his mouth, on his tongue, along his gums. Through gritted teeth, you endure the searing pain. Jisung's mind races as he formulates a plan to wrest control from the clutches of Oliver. With each passing second, the grip of the demon's influence tightens around the minds of Felix and Hyunjin, reducing them to mere marionettes in this macabre play.

"Felix," Jisung breathes, barely audible in the hushed chamber, "Can you hear me?"

The vice-like hold tightens, and Felix's response echoes through the silence.

"Loud and clear, mate," he replies, the words filled with a predatory glee that reminds Jisung of exactly how different they really are from one another when it comes down to being factory reset to pure instinct.

‘Shit’. A curse punctuates Jisung's thoughts; reaching them in this state seems impossible. Oliver's conjure has rewritten their essence, transforming them into instruments of darkness. To break this unholy connection, the source needs to be severed, and at this moment, Oliver stands as the puppeteer, feeble or not.

As Chan discreetly drinks from you in his wolf form, Jisung's mind churns with frustration, the invisible chains of restraint still boggling him. 'If he has me restrained, there must be a physical block somewhere' he muses, a spark of realization flickering to life amidst the darkness. 'So how is he doing it? Where is it?'

A sweeping glance around the chamber reveals the answer, hidden in plain sight. The talismans, hanging down from the ropes strung along the ceiling, catch Jisung's attention. They're no ordinary charms; they bear the unmistakable markings of Korean origin, Bujeok, but warped and twisted into a perversion of their intended purpose.

These were crafted with him in mind, designed to stifle his magic and render him powerless.

'Bingo' He knows what he must do to break free from Oliver's grip, to reclaim control and turn the tide of this deadly game. Jisung's words slice through the air with a cunning edge as he probes for weaknesses in Oliver's facade. "Possessing the minds of vampires is light work, what’d you do, a blood bind of some sort?" he questions, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Oliver's response is swift, a mixture of amusement and hubris. "Well, aren’t you an arrogant little witch?" he retorts, unknowingly stepping right into Jisung's trap. "Demons do more than blood bind to have others do our bidding."

A smirk plays at the corners of Jisung's lips as he goads Oliver further. "I guess you haven’t figured out how to get a Han to do your bidding though, so you had to use these guys," he gestures disdainfully toward the vampire restraining him. "I mean, I get it though, you don’t look capable of doing it yourself."

You listen with bated breath, the cool touch of the earth grounding you while Chan's watchful eyes mirror your own tenacity.

With calculated steps, Oliver descends from the platform, each movement purposeful and deliberate. A glint of steel catches the dim light as he approaches Jisung. As the blade he wields grazes Jisung's cheek, a thin rivulet of blood appears, tracing a crimson path down his face. Oliver steps back, grinning while Felix looms ominously behind Jisung.

In a mocking tone, Oliver scoffs, "Miss Edith couldn't care less about the likes of you."

Despite the threat at his neck, Jisung remains steadfast, his gaze averted from Felix's predatory presence. "You're a bad liar," he counters, a beacon of defiance in the face of imminent danger.

Oliver's smirk fades into a scowl. "I'll have your best friend drain you dry until you're nothing but a lifeless husk."

Jisung's laughter rings out, carrying a hint of madness. “Yeah, but then you’ll have a mighty angry vampire that can conjure on your hands, and how will you handle that? Oh fuck, you can’t--”

“You’ll just piss off your Mistress, and I get the feeling that’s a habit of yours—what was your name again?” The demon's rage is evident, his fists clenched at his sides as he discards the knife, the sound of its impact echoing through the chamber as it hits the ground. His bluff has been called; a demon under another's command lacks the authority to make unilateral decisions, especially ones as significant as ending the lives of captives. Captives that they’ve taken the time to carefully ward against.

For reasons unknown, they need him alive, at least for the time being.

"You'll regret this," Oliver seethes, his departure swift as he hurries to investigate the delay in the other demon's return, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the chamber. Hyunjin stands frozen, his gaze vacant, like a puppet abandoned by its puppeteer. Felix, unmoving, maintains his vice-like hold around Jisung, his thoughts seemingly distant despite his physical grasp.

With resolve sparking in your weary eyes, you snatch up the knife, ready to act.

"Little witch, hurry," Jisung urges, his voice barely above a whisper, directing your attention to the talismans hanging from the ceiling. "Cut them down—they're sapping our power." You swiftly ascend the stone platforms, a strength from an unknown place guiding your every move as you slice through the ropes with the knife. With each talisman that falls, dissipating into wisps of blue smoke, a surge of hope fills the air. Chan, his wolf form a blur, disappears into the darkness, tracking the demons' elusive trail. Your focus wavers momentarily, but Jisung's urgent plea snaps you back to the task at hand.

"No time, keep going!" he insists, spurring you onward. With steady hands, you continue your circuit around the room, severing the final ropes. Jisung, eyes closed in concentration, channels his purifying energy, causing Felix to recoil and collapse, overcome by the searing sensation of his blood boiling under his skin. As Jisung kneels beside the fallen vampire, a grimly determined spirit, unflinching and serious, settles over him.

Frustration tinges his voice as he assesses the situation. “Fuck, they’re in deep.”

You wave your hand in front of Hyunjin’s face but he doesn’t even blink. “What can we do?”

"Nothing, yet. We've gotta kill that bastard first." Jisung replies, scanning the room for any signs of their next move. Striding over to the mummified corpse, he delivers a swift kick to the wooden coffin, and you wince, splintering it open. With practiced efficiency, he breaks off a jagged piece of wood, handing it to you before keeping one for himself.

“But if we have to protect ourselves,” He gestures to the two vampires, “This is the only chance we’ve got.”

You gaze at the stake in your hand, horror coursing through you at the thought of wielding it against those who have become your kin, your protectors.

"Listen," Jisung's voice breaks through your turmoil, his tone resolute as he senses your hesitation. “If their souls get away from us again, I can’t help to get ‘em back. Death is a mercy, but it’s our last resort.”

You agree, though as you look at your friends, lost and locked inside of themselves, you wonder if you’ll follow through with such a promise if the moment were to ever present itself. Retreating toward the coffin, your gaze fixates on the flower delicately held within its grasp. Without much thought, or perhaps with thought you aren't conscious of, you extend your hand, fingers brushing against the petals, taking it into your grasp. Half-expecting the tomb to quake and crumble around you, like a scene ripped from the pages of a thrilling adventure, you're startled when the chamber remains still.

"In my dream they wanted to stop us from getting this, I don't know why," you assert, locking eyes with Jisung, an unquenchable fire burning bright within you as you secure the flower in your pocket. "The odds are now in our favor."

You dart down the corridor, Jisung hot on your heels, fueled by your sudden fearlessness. As the cavern splits into two diverging paths, you and Jisung find yourselves back to back, each scanning for a sign of which route to take.

Jisung's senses, honed by experience, detect a pulsating energy emanating from the right tunnel. He purposefully directs you away from it, "Go Left!" he calls out to you, his voice echoing down the corridor like a solemn decree. Without a moment's hesitation, you veer down the opposite path, placing your trust in his keen intuition as he forges ahead toward the heart of the mysterious power. In the glow of his flickering flames, Jisung continues on, his back pressed against the unyielding stone walls, each step plunging him deeper, and he can feel himself descending, guided by the flames in his palm, taxing his magick as a necessary means of sight... You creep, as light as you can on your feet down the hall, and though you don’t sense much, you feel like you’re moving towards something, someone important. A thought crosses you, and you recognize the feeling from before, when you could sense Chan's presence. You're just not sure how the honing mechanism works in your body. You come to a stop, straining your ears in the silence to hear anything. How could a place so evil be so silent? Maybe that was a part of its sinister nature, you’re in a constant state of paranoia, questioning everything you encounter.

That’s when you hear it. A cacophony reaches your ears—a wet, slurping noise interspersed with sharp cracks and snaps. Despite the unease creeping over you, you find yourself moving forward anyway, your feet carrying you around the corner even as your instincts scream at you to flee.

As you round the bend, the sounds abruptly cease, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. With shaky hands, you summon a burst of flame, its flickering light casting shadows across the room. You shield your eyes from the sudden brightness, snapping your fingers again to maintain control over the fire with an extended palm, its glow offering a glimpse of the scene before you.

With a sigh of relief, you realize it is Chan, still in his wolf form, perched atop the body beneath him, methodically tearing away its limbs. Despite the gruesome scene before you, you don't recoil in horror. Instead, a strange understanding dawns upon you—a glimpse into Chan's cryptic intentions. He's systematically dismembering the body. Catapulted into action, you scour the area until your eyes land on a discarded plank embedded with rusted nails. You don't carry natural nightvision like he does. With a snap of your fingers, flames dance along its surface, casting a flickering glow that barely illuminates the chamber. You hope, to be able to talk about how much you've improved with Jisung once you're all out of this mess. To thank him for everything's he's done for you to get this far with your conjure. Armed with a knife of strangely high quality, the one Oliver had dropped earlier, you set to work, slicing through the demon's flesh with surprising ease. It’s as if its appendages were made of gelatinous cartilage rather than solid muscle.

With a final, resolute stroke, you lock gazes with Chan, something primitive passing between you two. Taking a deep breath, you shift your focus to the grisly sight before you: the half-mauled neck upon which Chan still labors. You issue a directive, "The leg," you command, indicating the limb lying closest to you. You direct Chan to the leg on your side, trading places to continue the task. You hack away at the remaining flesh of the neck until the head is brutally separated from its body. As the final blow lands, the detached leg collapses to the ground with a sickening thud as the wolf by your side finishes alongside you.

Chan nudges your wrist, smearing your hoodie sleeve with the dark ichor of the fallen demon. Bewildered, you meet his gaze. "What's wrong?"

The massive black wolf pads over to the plank, its end nears the final embers of its burn. With a sagacious air, he settles down, resting his head upon his paws. You nod in silent comprehension, scrambling to your feet and surveying the room for flammable materials. Hastily, you gather anything combustible, stacking them in the center of the chamber—a rickety wooden stool, dusty tomes whose contents held no value, and any other debris within reach.

Chan prowls around the scattered body parts, a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest, and you begin to deduce the demon isn’t gone yet. "Let's go," you command, stepping backward as Chan joins you at the entrance. With a steady focus, you close your eyes, channeling the power within you. In an explosion of heat and light, flames engulf the chamber, forming a barrier that forces you to retreat, the intensity making you stumble and fall to the ground. Though the flames lick at your skin, they do not scorch, leaving you breathless as you gaze at your hands. How did you just do that?! A sharp itch on your forearm draws your attention, prompting you to hastily roll up your sleeve. To your astonishment, you find a series of canine tooth marks left by Chan's earlier bite, unhealed, the crescent pattern etched into your flesh. Frustration bubbles within you as you scratch at the irritated skin, rising to your feet just as the flames begin to dwindle.

"Fuck, Chan, what is this?" you demand, only to find Jisung's figure illuminated by the dying embers, his eyes glinting an unnatural complete black in the dim light. He grins wickedly as he snatches your wrist tightly, looking down at the bite. “I don’t know, looks pretty bad though.” Before you can react, he painfully twists your wrist, and darkness consumes you, consciousness slipping away as you collapse into oblivion.

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pokemonshelterstories · 6 months

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I’m only asking because he eventually fixed the problem, but I’m still curious: my brother has a kirlia who used to absolutely HATE when he and his girlfriend kissed. Like, she would yell at them pretty much lol. She’s fine now after some training and getting her used to it, but I was wondering why you think that was? For reference, this was when they first got together, and she was fine enough with them hugging and with my brother kissing me on the head (the behavorialist wanted us to check)

it's not an uncommon problem for trainers of the ralts line, especially if the ralts is captive-bred. the ralts line form monogamous, often lifelong bonds with their mates in the wild; in place of a proper mate, they can sometimes project that onto their trainer instead. while they're not the only pokemon that can struggle with this, it's exacerbated by the fact that the ralts line turn the positive emotions of their mate and friends into energy; if that energy is directed at someone else, they can become territorial about it. it's not uncommon to see captive-bred ralts line pokemon surrendered to a shelter or rescue because they became aggressive towards anyone who took their trainers' attention. the reason why she was specifically upset about them kissing is likely because it was causing a stronger emotional reaction in him, and she could feel those emotions.

i'm glad things are doing better! your brother did the right thing by consulting a behaviorist and working through this with training.

#charlietalks #pkmn irl #pokemon irl #pokemon behavior #kirlia

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zarvasace · 5 months

Text

Next is Depth! He is dark Sky. (He gets his own special dramatic portrait—the perspective mostly works? Idk I need to practice and find some good refs for this sort of thing.) So much rambling about him and his design under the cut.

Masterpost

The most striking thing about Depth is how normal he looks. Disregarding a few odd features, he looks like Just Some Guy, at least until he opens his mouth. He occasionally feigns being mute around others so he can keep the charade of being human up for longer, since his voice sounds truly awful. Depth is paler than Sky with much darker hair and orange-red eyes, but is otherwise identical. He doesn't mind that, and chooses to play it up a bit with very similar clothes, too. His tunic is rust-colored, opposite Sky’s spring green, and his chainmail is pointed and jagged on the ends instead of smooth. He wears a purple sash with more angular designs and lines, which matches the purple charm that keeps his cape on.

Depth’s sailcloth is both a source of pride and a sore spot. He made it to contrast Sky’s, dark and tattered, but one of his very secret desires is to get one as beautiful as Sky’s, made by Sun, maybe dark, but functional and lovely and a reminder of her.

See, Depth doesn't understand Sun—he doesn't actually know her, though he has memories from Sky. He wants her to be a damsel in distress that he can rescue, he dreams of her choosing him over his Light, but he doesn't realize that she won't. He loves his idea of her. While Depth follows [insert LU bad guy here]’s directives, he makes his own plans and he has his own agendas, and many of those plans aid him, in some way, to win Sun’s affection.

However, as Depth has been growing into the leader role, he's starting to become attached to the other Darks. He's annoyed by them, but his plans have started to expand to benefit them in a way that doesn't necessarily benefit him, too. He might have a little altruism in him, after all.

Despite that, unfortunately, Depth remains someone who would not save the world, but someone who intends to damn it over and over again. He doesn't flinch at the thought of Demise’s curse, in fact, he would welcome it. He likes the idea of having a purpose and a destiny. He wants to coddle the few people he cares about and would set everything on fire to do it. He says he loves Sun more than Sky ever could, but he would lock her away to keep her "safe."

Depth is the de facto leader of the group, since he's driven and has ambition. He has a very strict idea of what the other Darks should be doing and gets upset when they don't do it. He hates being touched and is ruthlessly practical. Once, when Nothing was being particularly annoying and tried to steal Depth’s sailcloth, Depth broke at least one of Nothing's fingers. He hasn't gotten close to injuring someone like that again, due to equal parts nobody bothering him like that again and him trying to be a little gentler. He doesn't hesitate to threaten injury to keep order, though.

Depth knows about Ghirahim as a sword, and wants to wield it, but is under the impression that he needs to prove himself worthy first. (Whether or not [LU bad guy] actually intends to let him use it is a different story.) Depth is one of the more skilled sword fighters among the Darks, remembering formal training, but his sword isn't anything special. In a fight with Sky, they would be evenly matched if it weren't for Sky’s ability to use a Skyward Strike, and Depth's inability to block that much light.

Depth’s special ability is his voice. In a mundane way, the others try to not make him use it, because it's almost painful to hear. In a magical way, Depth’s voice carries over long distances. When he sings, he can summon creatures like bats, crows, rats, and snakes, and they'll listen to him for a time. When he screams, his voice is a magical, short-range wave of destruction. Yes, he's an evil Disney Princess. Depth doesn't feel any strong affinity for the animals he attracts, but he doesn't let Dire or anyone else hurt them, and he doesn't send them to their deaths. He mostly uses them as spies and distractions.

Depth is one of the more dangerous members of the Dark Chain—not because he’s physically imposing or particularly powerful, but because he can see beyond the next mission and is determined to ruin the Lights once and for all. He's one of those who would happily kill his Light—but only after Depth shows him how he has lost everything dear to him.

#my art #lu z darks au #is this even lu anymore #i mean technically im using the lu interpretations so okay #linked universe

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thedeviltohisangel · 6 months

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Blurb idea of Cass bringing John a gift back after her overseas trip?

All The Things I Did (Interlude): All I Brought Back With Me

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 INTERLUDE 1 CHAPTER 3

INTERLUDE 2 INTERLUDE 3 interlude 4

a/n: this got a little out of hand. cass and john have a mind of their own. i took the prompt in a bit of an evil direction but am i sorry? you be the judge. interlude ideas still open/come scream thoughts and questions at me. esp curious if you guys think cass should visit more? what does she do when she notices bucky's decline? does seeing her help or hurt? interested in your thoughts. love you all, enjoy !

When she landed at Thorpe Abbotts, her trip to rescue John failed, Colonel Harding was waiting for her on the runway. He looked like her father did when he caught her sneaking back into the house after night swimming with friends back in South Carolina. Hands on his hips and jaw twitching.

“You look like hell, Lieutenant.” Cass had spent the flight back biting her lip so hard it drew blood in an attempt to keep it from trembling. The tears had fallen silently but she was doing her best to keep them at bay. She couldn’t waste time crying over the current situation. Emotion would distract her from the task at hand. Prevent her from focusing the way she would need to do to break him out of the camp. She wasn’t going to sleep until he was back with her and safe.

“That’s where I came from, Colonel.” Her ribs were hurting with each breath, the bottle of whiskey the pilots had given her not numbing the pain at all.

“We’ve got to get you in front of an interrogator.” Cass nodded. She knew the drill. Knew they would want to know about the layout of the camp, the susceptibility of the guards, the process of transferring pilots. “For what it’s worth, Cassandra, I’m sorry about Egan. He was one of our best.”

“Is. He is one of the best. He’s at that godforsaken camp and I’m going to get him out.” She grimaced and reached for her side.

“I think your supervisors at the OSS have an opinion on that. They’re waiting for you inside.” Fuck. Now she was screwed. They had kept out of her business the entire time she was in the field. Had sent her instructions by classified mail or cable and praised all of her reports. For them to show up in person, she must have pissed someone off all the way up the ladder.

“Well, Colonel, I guess this is goodbye.” Harding removed his aviators and looked at her with sadness behind his eyes. He reached out and tenderly touched the bruise on her cheek before his hand dropped back to his side. “Cassandra-”

“Colonel, you already declared your love for me once. Don’t do it again.” Every professional wall she had built would break. She turned before he could change his mind and take the risk and walked into the building where she was sure her career was going to end. In there was a table with a man in a suit sitting behind it, a thick file open in front of him. All the chairs for her to sit in had been removed and she would’ve taken a deep breath if she thought it wouldn’t have killed her.

“Lieutenant Cassandra Ann Egan. Ink barely dry on the marriage certificate before your husband goes down over Germany and you recklessly insert yourself behind enemy lines. I might add, also in defiance of orders from your local, cover consistent chain of command, in direct violation of your training. Any comment so far, agent?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re lucky you were successful in Berlin last month. If you weren’t the only officer to ever accomplish that operational objective, I’d be here to escort you back to the states in handcuffs.” Cass gulped but maintained eye contact as best she could. “Instead, I’m here to promote you.”

“Sir, that doesn’t seem-” She caught the new rank he threw her way as best she could with one hand.

“Captain, you’re being sent on mandatory R&R back to the states until DC decides where to place you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Do I get to choose my location for leave?”

“I presumed South Carolina-”

“Wisconsin. There’s some people I need to meet.” He looked at her pensively but nodded.

“Very well. Now, let’s get a doctor in here and start the interrogation, shall we?”

----

When Cass finally made it back to her room, breathing was easier and the moon was illuminating a giant trunk that was now at the foot of her bed. She froze in the doorway. It was John’s. And now it was hers. She kicked her shoes off and padded over to her desk, his large sheepskin resting over the back of the chair. It still smelled like him when she put it on and it shattered her last will to stay strong. She dropped to her knees and wrapped his jacket around herself tighter, the sheepskin catching her tears like she imagined John would himself if he were here.

“You were right, Johnny. We should have never left London.” It had been the happiest two days of her life. It had been normal. Just like she imagined falling in love with a boy might be. They had gone to dinner and danced and danced and danced until her feet hurt. He had kissed her and ran his hands down her body and whispered in her ear how he needed her. They had gone to bed and claimed each other over and over until she forgot where she was and how awful the world around them was. Until she forgot how dangerous it would be to tell him she loved him and said it anyways. Had married him the next morning because neither of them could shake the feeling something bad was going to happen. That they needed to be each other’s fully in this life to guarantee they would find each other in the next.

Cass crawled over to the trunk and opened it shakily. There were the items she was expecting. Books, gum, cigarettes. A photo of his family back home and Yankees baseball cards. There was a pile of letters from home and then at the very bottom, an envelope with her name on it. And then she found another one and another one until there was a stack of letters he had written to her on the floor.

The first one dated the night she found the nerve to claim him in public. He wrote that he was going to tell her he loved her. That he couldn’t keep it in any longer so he wrote it down. That he knew she would be the one to get his trunk if anything happened to him because he had known she was it for him all along. She held that one close to her chest and felt the words seep into her skin and soothe the ache in her chest.

The rest of them followed similar themes of John pouring out emotions he was too afraid to say out loud. They all made her giggle because almost immediately after the letter was dated, he had said those words to her in person. He was never good at restraining himself when it came to her. The last one made her heart ache. It was the morning of the last mission, his handwriting rushed and sloppy. He poured out his love for her, how he was fighting for a future with her and hoped at least one of the men who owned the bullets she collected was down there today.

And as soon as I get back, we are going to celebrate our wedding and plan our trips to South Carolina and Wisconsin and practice our baby making. Cass smiled. The version of her that had met John that first night at the social club would have never guessed how broody he was. Now that she knew, it made her tingle. My sun. My moon. My stars. My wife. My precious Spook. I love you, Cass, and am eternally yours. She wiped the tears from her eyes and gently placed the letter back in its envelope. Sitting at her desk, her pen hovering over the blank paper, she looked up at the moon. Whenever her dad spent the nights camped with the farmhands in the field and Cass missed him, her mother would tell her to look at the moon and remember he was looking at the same one. John was looking at the same moon as her tonight. As she whispered her love into the moonlight and wrote the first of the daily letters she had promised him, she hoped the moon did her a favor and carried the message to Germany.

----

She spent the first day or two of her leave building up the courage to knock on the door of the Egan family. Her and John had discussed the eventuality of meeting his family. It felt odd to do it without him but she felt in her heart they deserved to know where he was and how he was doing. Selfishly, it was like getting a piece of him back.

After knocking on the door, she hoped for a moment it didn’t answer. Maybe this wasn’t going to make her or them feel any better. Maybe it would just break her heart all over again.

And then, the door opened.

----

A few weeks later she was pacing outside that wretched chain link fence. She had managed to make it without any broken ribs this time and she was thankful her contact hadn’t confiscated her canvas bag. In it were hats and gloves for John and Gale and the other men, enough chocolate to hopefully bring them some happiness and some mementos from Wisconsin his mother had sent with her. Cass wasn’t even sure how many of her letters had made it to him yet. If he even knew of the trip she had taken.

“There’s my beautiful, beautiful girl.” Her smile split her face, surging to meet his lips through a gap in the fence. “I’ve missed you.” Seeing her soothed the ache within him only incrementally. There was still something endlessly aggravating about the fence in between them but John knew he was lucky to even be able to see her like this. Counted her as his chief blessing before he tried to find sleep at night.

“I’ve missed you too but your face looks better than the last time I saw you.” John scoffed.

“Worried I wasn’t handsome enough for you anymore?”

“Worried you weren’t going to take care of yourself more like it.”

“Buck’s got me covered.” He pressed as close to her as the fence would allow. “I’ve gotten a few of your letters. Wrote you one back.” She smiled at how sheepish he seemed. Nervous that maybe she hadn’t liked what he had written.

“It hasn’t made its way to me but I’m sure it's lovely if the letters to me in your trunk are any indication.”

“You found those?” he asked while rubbing the back of his neck.

“It was waiting for me when I got back from here the last time. You loved me a lot earlier than you said it, John Egan.”

“Loved you from the moment I saw you.” He smiled, he thinks he only smiled when he read her letters or the one time she had visited, took any opportunity to escape into their solar system that he was allowed. “Your last letter said you got in trouble at work.”

“Colonel Harding ratted me out for not obeying his orders.” John’s jaw clenched at the mention of the man. The man who had used his rank to take Cass to dinners and dances and promised her the life of a General’s wife if she wanted it. “But you’ll be happy to know after I got my ass thoroughly chewed, I got promoted.”

“Promoted?”

“You are now the lucky husband to one Captain Cassandra Ann Egan.” He whistled, heart stuttering at the reminder she was his wife, as she did a little twirl and took a bow.

“Congratulations, Captain. You certainly earned the hell out of it.”

“You’ll have to feign surprise when the letter telling you all of this gets to you.” John watched as her face fell and grew concerned. “You’ll also see some letters from me that are postmarked from Wisconsin.”

“Wisconsin?” Then realization settled on his face. “Cass, did you…did you…” He was struggling to formulate the question.

“Please don’t be upset with me,” she breathed desperately. “When they mandated stateside leave it just slipped out. It was selfish of me. I’m sorry. I should’ve just gone to South Carolina and left it alone.”

“I haven’t been to Manitowoc in years,” he spoke wistfully. Had wanted to go back with her on his arm when all this was over. “My sisters give you a hard time?”

“I brought some fabric from my last trip to Paris to butter them up.” John laughed. Only his Spook would be able to tame his two older sisters. “I spent most of the time promising you were okay. They thought you injured your head when I told them we’d been married, something about you not seeming like the type.”

“Just had to find the right girl.”

“Your mom misses you. A lot. Wanted me to give you this.” Cass reached into her bag and pulled out a slightly tarnished silver watch with a date engraved on the back.

“My dad’s watch.” It was hard to swallow around the lump in his throat. “His dad gave it to him on my parents' wedding day. That’s what the date on the back is. Told me when I got married, it would be mine.”

“I can get it cleaned and upgrade the engraving and bring it back if you’d like.” John coughed and shook the fog from his head.

“No. It’s perfect. We’ll get the engraving done together when I’m out of here.” He tucked the watch into his shirt pocket.

“She also gave me this. Was horrified I wasn’t already wearing it.” Cass handed him a small ring box and he knew it was his grandmother’s engagement ring before he even opened it. “I told her it would be wrong to put it on my own finger. One more thing for us to do when we get you out of here.”

“Yeah but you best keep it safe while we wait to get the chance.” He removed the cross from around his neck, slipping the small diamond ring onto it and passing through the fence. She took the chain but slid the cross charm off and handed it back to him with a look. “I’d rather use it to protect you.”

“It’s not up for debate.” He took it and slipped it onto the same chain as his pendant. “Here comes our friend. Catch.” Cass launched the canvas over the side of the fence, John gathering it with ease.

“Thanks, baby. I’m sure all the guys will be very grateful.”

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Moscow is my new station.” She had asked for London but was turned down. Told she had earned more of a challenge than London presented. “I have to get the lay of the land and keep my head down for a little bit.”

“I’m sure you’ll win them over in no time, Spook.” She rolled her eyes and reached for a kiss. “I love you, Cass. Now and forever. I promise.”

“I love you, too, Johnny. I’ll see you soon.” Cass stayed until he was walked out of sight, the chain heavy against her chest once he disappeared from her view.

Soon was never soon enough.

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