Summary: After Hela’s banishment from Asgard, she’s sent to Earth. Or, more particularly, your backyard.
Warnings/Notes: None! I wish this would happen to me
Word Count: 2562
The crash startled you in the middle of the night. The house rumbled, the bed shaking.
You sat up immediately and looked around the dark room. An earthquake? A new super villain sent from some other planet? Another superhero who almost caused more harm than good?
As you hauled yourself out of your bed, you were drawn to a green glow emanating from beneath your blinds. You almost just went back to bed. Why did you have to deal with this? Maybe it was a dream and if you tried really hard, it would be gone when you opened your eyes.
You were met once again with the darkness of your bedroom, and the same green glow.
With a groan, you grabbed your shoes, a jacket, and then stepped onto your back porch.
In the middle of your yard was a decently sized hole almost as though a meteor had crashed down. The glow was coming from the bottom of the hole. It was nearly too bright for you to see whatever alien life form had decided to make itself at home.
But as you got close enough to the edge, you finally saw it–well, her.
A woman. Curled up at the bottom of the hole. Her eyes were shut. Was she breathing? Her dark raven hair was thrown wildly behind her and she was in some sort of battered armor.
Thunder rumbled in the distance and clouds began to cover the moon. It was going to rain. You couldn’t just leave her out here…
So, with a lot of effort, you dragged her out of the hole and into your house. She was tall, she had to be at least 6 feet. Her eyes were shrouded in dark, smeared makeup, and her skin had some black veins that slowly began to fade. But she was beautiful, like a goddess. High cheek bones made of marble and a sharp nose bridge. Her eyes would be beautiful, you guessed.
She wasn’t very dirty, though she had a few wounds. You eased her up onto your couch and tried to remove her armor to check out what you thought could be a broken wrist, but it appeared as though it was a part of her skin.
Baffled, you left that for later consideration and treated what wounds you could find; a cut on her forehead, a bruise on her neck, and a few broken or missing fingernails.
You tried your best to stay up after that, waiting for when she would (hopefully) inevitably wake. But each wave of exhaustion that lapped at your body made your eyes heavier, and heavier…
Gasping for breath, or well, trying to, you woke up to find yourself at least a foot above the ground. A hand was clasped around your throat, a few nails digging into your skin. The tight grip was almost hard enough to cut off your air but you could still get a few breaths in.
This upset the woman.
Her eyes were beautiful, yet also terrifying; an almost glowing green one would define as evil. Those soft lips of hers fell from their smirk as she tried to tighten her grip. It was as if she assumed you would die just like that.
You took advantage of her surprise, and your instincts, serving a sharp kick to her stomach and sending her flying backwards onto the coffee table. A plant pot shattered on the floor and she let out a groan as her back smacked against the sharp edge of the wood.
Neither of you moved. She couldn’t if she tried.
It was as if one kick from you drained her of all she had. Her skin lost color and her eyes lost their glow. She was on her side, knees curled beneath her and one hand flat on the ground as if trying to lift herself back up. Her other hand was over her stomach.
For a few seconds, her body was wracked with coughs and gags and you realized you knocked the wind out of her. She tried desperately to push herself onto her hands and knees but her body shuddered as if jolted by lightning, and then slumped back on the floor, almost lifeless except her watching eyes.
You felt the skin that had been beneath her hand. She tried her hardest to do damage to you, but you thought you could’ve done more if you tried. Your neck was barely bruised, just a little red.
“Who are you?” You asked coldly. You were tempted to toss her out into the rain. She probably would've done the same to you. But as you watched her writhe on the floor, riding out the last of her… whatever that was, you felt a strange sense of pity for the evil at your mercy.
“Hela.” The woman finally rasped. Her eyes slowly lifted up to meet yours as if just moving them made her dizzy. She tried in vain to move but she couldn’t even pick her head up. “Goddess of…” another cough, “death.”
You should’ve thrown her out while you could. Or maybe you shouldn’t have tried to pry. Because now you had a very wounded, very weak, goddess of death on your floor.
“Are you dying?” The question fell from your lips before you could hold it back.
“I wish,” Hela spat. Her attempts at being intimidating were now sort of… cute. She glared at you. That wouldn’t even scare a child. “Are you just going to stand there?”
You scoffed. “You’ve made a shitty impression. I don’t see why I should help you.” It was then you noticed that she was glaring daggers at you. Literally. Trying to summon daggers out of existence, she was imagining piercing your stomach. But they never appeared. “What the hell are you doing?”
Hela’s glare faded into something else. Confusion. A hint of fear? No, no, that was gone quicker than it came. But she did look… lost. Lost, confused, visibility hurt, and ever so slightly scared.
She finally managed to lift her head but it was in vain as the rest of her body laid limply behind her. With a groan, she relented, head falling back onto the floor. “I don’t understand.” She whispered.
“Understand what?” You were beginning to feel strange pity for the goddess. You hated to admit it, but it was pitiful to see her like this. Slowly, you kneeled down a few feet away.
“I’m a goddess. The goddess of death,” Hela coughed again, eyes a little hazy. “I’m the strongest goddess… in all of Azgard, yet I can’t kill a mortal. I can’t even sit up.” She watched your movements like a wary, feral cat. “You should be dead.”
“I’m alive and well.”
“I know that!” Hela snapped, though regretted it as she soon hacked again. “If… I should’ve strangled you within seconds. I can pierce your body with blades from thin air, I can crack your bones just by looking at you.” Her voice fell soft. “My powers.”
No, no, you were not starting to genuinely feel bad. This woman–goddess–thing openly admitted to wanting to murder you in cold blood. And you were caring about her? You tried to school your expression into cold and neutral. “How did you get here?”
It seemed Hela was finally remembering what happened. She managed to prop her upper half up on her arms. “My father… he stripped me of my powers and banished me.” A sudden look of despair spread across her face.
You moved closer, another mistake. Hela took advantage of your kind heart and tried to lash out at you. But you caught her mid swing and smacked her hand back as if playing with a cat.
But your hit had a lot more impact than expected.
Hela took the hit like she was brutally assaulted with a frying pan. She fell back to the floor and tucked her hand beneath her. “How dare you?” She growled before finally realizing her efforts were fruitless. Resignation flooded her eyes and she reluctantly settled on the floor in surrender. “I will not hurt you anymore.”
“Why should I believe you?” You scoffed. “You just can’t seem to stop fantasizing about killing me.”
“It’s how I was raised,” Hela mumbled, laying her head on her arm. “I will resist it… please, do not hurt me anymore, I won’t hurt you.” She seemed to be telling the truth. Her body was severely weakened, past that of normal mortal status. One more blow from you and she could be dead. At least, that’s what she feared.
“Fine.”
Your agreement brought the weakest smile to her face. Hela nodded slowly and closed her eyes. “Let me rest.”
“Please.”
“Please…”
And so you did. You cleaned up the broken plant and found her passed out afterwards. You almost thought she had died but her side rose and fell slowly. So you did the bare minimum, draping a blanket over her shoulders, and then took a nap.
Hela woke up sometime that evening. You tried your best to ignore the passed out woman on your floor as you went about the day, going as far as having to deny a quick visit from a friend so you didn’t have to explain. You were even slightly excited at this point for her to wake up, though nervous too.
You were relaxing on the couch, watching tv when you finally saw her stir.
Hela let out a low groan, hands reaching for purchase on the cold wood floor. She almost slipped and fell on her face. Finally, she managed to sit up and looked around your house with bleary eyes.
“So… this is Earth?” She sounded unimpressed.
“Yes.” You watched warily. “This is my house.”
“Hmph.” Hela eyed the place, scrutinizing it. It was nothing compared to Asgard's towering castles. But it would do. For now. “Then you are a mortal.”
“Yes.” You replied again. “Are you feeling better?”
“I am… not as weak.” Hela looked down at herself. All four limbs worked. That was good. Then something caught her eye and she lifted her hand closer to her face, examining the bandages over her fingers. “You did this?”
“Mhm.”
Hela frowned. She was confused as to why a mortal would help her in the first place, but then also confused why you thought she would need help at all.
She settled for a chuckle, trying to regain her imposing tone. “I appreciate the thought, mortal, but it is not necessary. I can not–” she pulled one of the bandaids off, revealing the bloody spot on her finger where the nail used to be. Her skin paled into a light green and she wrapped her other hand around the digit.
“Never lost a nail before?”
“...I don’t bleed.” Hela swallowed. Her eyes scanned the house once more as if desperately trying to find something to focus on. The tv only made her more uneasy and she looked over at you. Was she shaking?
You turned the tv off and slowly approached her. “You’ve never been hurt before?”
“...no.” Hela whispered. “I have had blades pierce my body from both sides, but I have never felt the pain, nor bled.”
“Does that make you a mortal, then?”
Hela actually looked like she was going to vomit, which you did not want to have to clean up, or explain, so you changed the topic.
“My name is Y/n, by the way.” You sighed, going into the bathroom and returning with a box of bandaids. “In case you wanted to know.”
“I did not ask,” Hela mumbled bitterly, though it was mostly a redirection of what she refused to acknowledge as fear. She watched you before quietly asking: “What in the Hells are you doing?”
“Let me see your hand.”
“What are you doing?” Hela seemed genuinely frightened now, pressed up against the coffee table.
You held up the box, then lifted a bandaid out. “I want to put this over your finger.”
“Why?”
“Becuase it makes it feel better.”
Hela wrinkled her nose. She looked at her other bandaged fingers and wiggled them in the air. Then she looked over at you again. “Are they magic?”
“Sort of.” You moved a little closer and pulled the backs off the bandaid. “May I?”
Although she still didn’t look too happy, Hela relented and held her hand out. She winced when you touched her missing nail, though seemed to settle once the bandaid was put on. As soon as you finished she pulled her hand away and inspected it to make sure all 5 fingers were still there. Then, she nodded in slow approval.
“It does feel better.” Hela reluctantly admitted, like a child who was given a bandaid for a nonexistent injury just to make them feel better. Then her stomach growled and she frowned. “That does not.”
“Are you hungry?”
“...I believe so.” Hela was rarely hungry. She was a goddess, obviously, so she could go without food for much longer. Though she was also used to being served food at the flick of a wrist. “Yes. I am hungry.”
“I’ll make dinner.”
Hela seemed not too thrilled about the concept of mortal food but she didn’t try to push her luck. Instead, she unsteadily followed you out to the kitchen before slumping into one of the chairs at the table. She laid her head on the surface and watched your every move. “You are strangely nice to me.”
“I wouldn’t call this nice,” you served her a sandwich and some chips you found. The chips were slightly stale, but she wouldn’t know. “It’s more so the least I can do.”
“The least would be doing nothing.” Hela studied the food. “This is something.”
“Mortals aren’t so heartless, you know.”
“I’m learning.” Hela picked the sandwich up. “If this is poisoned, I won’t be upset at you for ending my misery.”
“It’s not poisoned. Eat it.”
She rolled her eyes but did as directed. As she swallowed the first bite, she was quiet. Then a faint smile spread across her face. Not the evil smirk from before, something real, and… happy?
Hela finished the sandwich off before eating the chips. Then she leaned back in her chair and stretched a little. “This is not bad.” She was reluctant about giving compliments, but credit was due where credit was due.
“Wait until you try ice cream.”
“May I have some now?”
“You just ate a whole sandwich and some chips.”
“Just because I am now on a mortal level does not mean I don’t have the appetite of a goddess.” Hela stuck her nose out. “Ice cream. Please.”
As annoying as she was, you couldn’t help but laugh. You dug out a tub of chocolate ice cream from the freezer and handed it to her as is, along with a spoon.
With Hela occupied with her new favorite thing in the world, you made a shopping list. If you were going to be housing a goddess–or mortal, who was once a goddess, you were going to have to be prepared. Because she was right, you didn’t want to do the bare minimum, and you certainly didn’t want to just do nothing. You had already melted a bit of her icy heart. You had a feeling you could get through the rest.
-
Since everyone really seems to love this story, here’s another similar Hela fic
For the free day I chose pink and made a Victorian AU. Because how about having to crossdress as a lady for a mission? I couldn’t chose who to dress as the lady, so both versions it is. ;)
Warnings: Typical TWD violence & gore; Depictions of serious injury
Summary: Daryl finds you on the highway instead of T-Dog.
A/N: Credit for this idea goes to my beloved Anon🌷
The smell of sunbaked asphalt and rot hung heavy over the highway. With a herd of the dead passing through, Daryl scanned the wreckage, boots crunching against stray glass. The others were farther back, scattered and hiding, but he’d caught the faintest sound. He’d learned from a life hard lived to listen to his instincts. And right now, they were screaming at him to investigate.
He rounded a rusted sedan and froze.
You were slumped against the rear door, shirt sleeve soaked through with crimson. A twisted shard of metal jutted from your arm, gleaming wet. A walker shambled towards you, mindless intent clear.
“Hell,” Daryl muttered under his breath, rushing forward. Creeping up, he pulled his knife and made his move. Wrenching the corpse’s head back, he plunged the blade into the base of its skull. It went limp, silent, and he followed it down.
After a finger to his lips, he clasped your ankles and dragged you away from the car, draping the dropped walker over you. Daryl moved quickly and wrenched a corpse from the seat of the car you had been against, hitting the ground with his own rotted camouflage lying on top of him.
The passing of the herd was slow, their unsteady gaits dragging the intensity out until the weight of the body above him seemed unbearable. He couldn’t move, lest he give himself away. He wanted to look at you, make sure you were still with him. He wasn’t even sure why. You weren’t anyone special. Another survivor with whom he had saddled himself.
You were already shoving the walker away from you when he rolled over. He watched you grit your teeth, hands clumsy but determined as you yanked the shard free with a wet, sickening sound. Your head lolled on your shoulders, sweat beading your forehead.
“Stop that!” Daryl barked as loudly as he dared, grabbing your wrist before you could press at the wound again. He examined the puncture closely. Deep, a lot of blood. How in the flying blue hell had you managed to hurt yourself in such a way?
“I’ve—done this before,” you said, voice slurred but defiant. “It’s—nothing new.”
Daryl’s jaw tightened. He’d seen plenty of folks act tough, but there was a quiver in your voice that told him you were barely holding on. “Done what before? Yanked out the thing that was keepin’ most’a the blood on the inside?” He tore a strip from his shirt with a swift rip and pressed it hard against your arm.
You gave him a look too weak to be a glare.
“Don’t matter if ya done it before. Ain’t lettin’ ya bleed out here.” He growled, eyes flicking around the empty highway like it might swallow you up if he blinked too long.
Your eyelids fluttered, and for the first time you let yourself lean into him. “Reckless,” Daryl muttered under his breath as he kept pressure steady, “but tough. Damn tough.”
The distant sound of voices drew closer—Rick, Glenn, the others. But Daryl didn’t move, didn’t call for them right away. For now, it was just him, keeping you anchored to the world.
“Done this before.” You whispered again, weaker this time.
“Heard ya the first time.” Daryl said, voice softer now. Something was shifting but he couldn’t focus on that. You needed help. “Y’ain’t doin’ it alone no more.”
