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jqupohtia · 4 months

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Apokalypsis

When she leaves Elpis, Venat does not tell Phaethon her plan. She knows that what she must do would be particularly ghastly to someone whose soul has nearly cracked into pieces once, who has dealt with the pain of it every day since, who is a healer first before a fighter. Even if it was a piece of himself, standing proud and confident and determined despite the fragile shattered thing he was, that showed her the path she must take, she cannot risk him turning against her before she can even prepare, and so he is left in the dark.

Perhaps it is fate, or just twisted luck, that he would never have the chance to anyway.

Phaethon does not agree with the Convocation’s proposal. Not completely. But Azem does not defect from the convocation. He screams, he weeps, he rages, and he leaves, but he does not abandon them.

The Traveler is called away alongside the Contender, because the situation is getting worse and both the Words of Azem and Words of Nabriales have called for for their aid in a city not far from Amaurot, where rampant creations wreak havoc. It is his duty to help the people, and he has already seen so much death and horror, but he will not shy away from returning to it if it means saving more lives, so that there may be more left behind when they sacrifice themselves. When he sacrifices himself.

That is his condition for helping to create a god. That when they return, if there’s no better idea, he goes with the people sacrificed. Not as Zodiark’s heart, because there is too much despair and horror in him to not corrupt the God they will create, but to stand with those willing to fuel it. Some call it a noble choice, others misguided and foolish. He knows that it is cowardice. He cannot bear to face those left behind, nor those they'd ask to go in their stead.

But he doesn’t return.

Emet-Selch and Lahabrea also leave behind the endless debates and planning that have continued in their absence, and go to assist Nabriales and Azem when they both fail to return for several days. The carnage they find is horrific. Bodies litter the streets, and every moment fills Emet-Selch's senses with the steady stream of those who Return too soon. A devastatingly powerful creation runs rampant, and they find themselves focusing more on evacuating than defeating it, given the battered state they find Nabriales in.

It is only those three who return to the Convocation's chambers, once what citizens they can save are brought to Amaurot. When asked, they only say that Azem is gone.

Emet-Selch does not mention that there was barely a trace left of his aether, that was not tied up within the great beast destroying that ruined city. That he felt what little of it that remained return to the Star before they even left to help.

Lahabrea does not mention he found Azem shielding tiny bodies that likely were dead long before he was. Nor that he burned what remained before Emet-Selch could see for himself, as another piece of him broke under the weight of once again destroying someone he loved, so soon after restoring everything he had cut away.

Nabrieles does not mention he witnessed Azem’s fear and anger and sorrow manifest as the very beast that is now heading towards Amaurot, nor that he now fears himself and the others around him. That if something is not done, and fast, it has been proven even one of their number can become a danger to their people.

They do not mention the figure in white robes who watches as Azem's ashes disappear in the wind with so many others'.

What they do say is that there is no choice, and no time. They must summon Zodiark without Azem. As thirteen.

J'qupoh Tia survives his battle with Lahabrea not because of any special skill or quality of being Hydaelyn's champion, but because of a moment of hesitation. One brief moment where Lahabrea sees not the broken form of the mortal who has proven a nuisance in his plans to restore his God, but another's form. That of a man that has haunted him every moment he has worked behind these Scion's backs, whose vague likeness has made him take unnecessary risks. A man who had wormed his way past the walls he put up in the wake of Athena's betrayal his God's disrupted ascension the cutting away of what he saw as a threat to his duty to the Star. Who had fallen in doing his own duty, lain twisted and battered near beyond recognition, but not completely. Not quite.

That hesitation is long enough for Hydaelyn to interfere once again, pouring everything she can spare and more to keep her Champion alive. To restore life before that stubborn soul can leave, not so he can continue the duty he has been Chosen for, not because she recognized him as the one to find her in Elpis all those millenia ago. She saves him out of guilt, as an apology, for doubting him and not being by his side when he need her Before.

In that Light that pours life back into the Warrior's mangled form, Lahabrea sees Phaethon's face illuminated for one awful, undeniable moment. It is grief and rage over being betrayed again that drives him harder to destroy the Warrior of Light in the coming days.

Nabriales did not truly fear whatever trick the Scions had come up with to defeat him. Nothing they could do could truly end an immortal being, and even this white auracite would not be enough with their meager aether.

Or so he thought. When the second mortal woman, already weakened, sacrifices herself, his fear begins.

It grows stronger as he looks back at Hydaelyn's champion, and sees the rage, grief, and fear on his face, and recognizes it. Remembers, in ways the memory crystal he was bestowed could not give, the moment he saw that face twisted like that before, and feared death as he never had before.

It's a particularly cruel twist of fate that Emet-Selch's memories get away from him once again, when he shows J'qupoh Tia the fate of Amaurot. That it is the beast born from Phaethon's despair, high above the Star with a view the man nearly broke himself to see, that is his shard's final foe. It is an especially cruel twist that J'qupoh is able to recreate the worst of it's abilities so easily, and turn it against Emet-Selch once again.

Desperation, terror, and sorrow as he tried to save his people from an apocolypse brought about Phaethon's end.

Apokalypsis brought Emet-Selch's.

#ffxiv #drabble #i guess?#shadowbringers spoilers #endwalker spoilers #Azem #emet-selch #J'qupoh Tia #Phaethon #Lahabrea #Nabriales #character musings #Yes I did make Blue Mage a serious part of J'qupoh's lore #Yes I did decide to do it in the angstiest way possible #Yes J'qupoh canonically used Blue Mage spells against Hades #:)#also yes i am reposting i had Moar #EVERYTIME I LOOK AT THIS THERE'S A NEW TYPO HELP

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rioviaa · 9 months

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ok so I recently purchased the dlc and with that came loads of new story (which I adore tremendously!!) but it also came with new armor and one set particularly stood out to me: the royal guard uniform. I have pretty much been holding off on doing mipha’s champions’ ballad (because pain) but i decided to finally go for it. Now where am I going with this? Well. I had just obtained the royal guard set and was walking through zora’s domain when a little idea struck me:

Context: What if after the death of the king’s treasured daughter, Princess Mipha - a death that the zora blamed entirely on Link, causes the rest of the zora people to become weary of not only the hylian champion but as well as all hylians. thus creating a division between the zora’s and the rest of hyrule. this sudden change of mindset for the zora affected not only the trading systems, diplomatic relations, and personal relationships between both regions but also the nearby regions began to grow weary on where they should stand. for a 100 years this sort of rivalry grew to the point of both regions either growing to fear each other or actively become hostile towards the other whenever given the chance. tensions continued to grow. king dorephan is saddened by how his people’s mindset has drastically changed to hating the fellow hylians that once roamed and adored his domain. now either party would either flee at the sight of one or the other. leaving the domain to be filled with a looming silence. or they would storm into the grounds of the other with weapons unsheathed, piercing screams filling the once harmonious land. Torn by his grief of his fallen child and the hostility of his people towards any hylian who might dare wander too close to the domain, the king of the zora domain demands a permanent lockdown on their home. No one goes in. No one goes out. for the sake of his people and the hylian’s safety. at least that is what he has tried to convince himself for the past decade.

Then a miracle appears.

Link wakes as he normally does so in game and goes on about through his journey as he was intended to. When suddenly an obstacle halts his path. Quite literally. Zora’s domain is engulfed by a huge almost luminescent dome that prohibits any sort of entry. link is conflicted so he roams about the domain for days on end in hopes of finding any sort of answers but comes short when suddenly on the third day something occurs. He had completed his rounds of circling the domain for any sort of sign of entry when he feels the hairs behind his neck rise and the feeling of being watched becomes apparent. he goes into a defensive stance and begins to quickly glance around his surrounds without moving a muscle. He is about to call it quits, blame it on a fox in a bush nearby when he hears a muffled splash of water to his right. He quickly shifts his feet to face the sudden sound to then be face to face with a zora in glistening armor, piercing yellow eyes resembling the very sun above their heads and scales as red as the blood moon that looms over the vast lands of hyrule that wreaks havoc in its path. A zora trident flashes in his view, it’s deathly piercing spears leading directly to his chest. Instinct overtakes and it’s not long before he unsheathes his weapon and hears metal against metal clash, causing a piercing sound to ricochet. He slightly winces at the powerful clash clearly overpowering his still weakened state. once he catches his bearings on the blockage that possibly just saved his life from being filleted into a fine royal cuisine topped with peppers, salts, spices and hylian rice on the side link takes a moment to further study the figure before him. a zora he takes note. A very. Tall. Zora. Very very intimidating. But also alluring. With a large dorsal fin resembling a hammerhead shark and teeth so large they could probably kill him with a single bite. His (totally respectful) staring of the zora is cut short when a group of more zora, all different in size shape and color approach and surround him on all sides with their own tridents pointed towards him, sharp eyes throwing their own daggers. the tall (gorgeous) zora seems to take advantage of link being distracted and jerks his trident upwards thus releasing its hold from links sword and making him stumble backwards for a few seconds before catching his feet a mere inches from the trident a zora behind him had pointed towards his back. That same trident is then aimed closer towards him followed by the glistening trident of the taller zora that had almost killed him seconds ago. This is a threat. He is being threatened. They have murder in their minds and eyes. And link is the unfortunate prey.

This has gotten.. long.

But basically their first meeting is nothing but hostile and threatening. Far from the kindhearted gestures and replaced by hesitance and guilt. He is probably thrown into a cell for further questioning in his reason for being so near the domain and his identity.

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cosmicjoke · 2 years

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Levi and Giving Meaning to the Sacrifices of his Fallen Comrades

As anyone who’s paid even casual attention to Levi’s character knows, his high regard for the value of people’s lives drives him to want to give meaning to their deaths. The thought that his friends and comrades will have died in vain, that the sacrifices they made will have accomplished nothing, is abhorrent to him, and something he can’t and won’t tolerate. Again, this circles back to the value he places on people’s lives, and him being unable to justify anyone losing their life for anything less than a worthy goal. It’s why claims that Levi never cared about humanity, or only wanted revenge on Zeke, fall so flat, because they fundamentally misunderstand the driving force behind Levi’s character to begin with.

Again, Levi could only ever justify his friends and comrades losing their lives to a worthy cause, and that worthy cause, for him, and for all the Scouts, was a better future for humanity. Levi himself says it in chapter 136, when he asks the question of his fallen comrades if this is what they gave their hearts for, to see the lives and dreams of other’s trampled on. And he answers his own question with “No”, that the world they dreamed of, without titans, could only have been an absurdly innocent and idealistic world, otherwise, their dedicated hearts (meaning their lives) would not have been worth it.

Levi is shown more than once through the story ordering the soldiers under his command “don’t die”. More than anything, I think, Levi wishes he could keep everyone safe, keep them alive. I think there’s always that awful struggle within Levi, a fight between his desire to keep everyone alive, to protect as many people as he can, again because of how much he values life, and the necessity to let them sacrifice themselves and die in order to take a step closer to that better, idealized world they all dream of. I think it took a major emotional toll on Levi, for example, making the choice he did for Erwin and the other scouts that day, to let them sacrifice themselves in order for him to kill the Beast Titan, because every instinct in Levi was telling him to protect them, to keep them alive. Before that scene, we see Levi desperately scrambling to get the soldiers to safety, trying to move them toward the wall so they can take shelter behind it, only to be told by Erwin that the Colossal titan is wreaking havoc on the other side, and there is no shelter to be found. Before that still, Levi works himself into complete exhaustion, taking out as many five-meter titans as he can in an attempt to save as many of the inexperienced new recruits as possible. Levi’s statement that he “hates weaklings” often gets taken out of context and is used as some sort of “proof” that he doesn’t care. But it’s the exact opposite. It’s because Levi cares too much about these soldiers lives, and he’s expressing his frustration and pain at these inexperienced soldiers being thrown into a situation which is far too much for them to handle, knowing he won’t be able to save them all, even as every fiber of his being is screaming at him to do so. There’s a reason Levi can barely catch his breath once most of the smaller titans have been taken care of. Because he’s the one who took out the majority of them, all in an attempt to spare as many of his comrades as possible. Think then how difficult it must have been for him, to make the decision he did, to allow them to ride with Erwin to their deaths, all to give him a chance to take out the Beast Titan.

This is why it’s so important to Levi, afterward, to fulfill his promise to them and kill Zeke. Because all of these soldiers, whom he’d been trying so hard to protect, and who he instead ended up sending to their deaths, agreed to die specifically so he could kill Zeke. Levi couldn’t bear the idea that he’d failed them, that he’d let them die for nothing. Killing Zeke was symbolic for him. An encapsulation of the meaning behind their deaths. If he could just kill Zeke, then it would mean that he hadn’t allowed them to die for no reason. That their deaths accomplished something more, allowing all of them to take a step closer to realizing the dream of a better world. That’s what killing Zeke, or the Beast Titan, had meant to them, what they believed it would mean; that it would be a victory for humanity, one that they were willing to die for, to give humanity hope and a future. And Levi couldn’t, and wouldn’t, fail them in that regard. He wouldn’t let what they’d sacrificed be reduced to meaninglessness.

And Levi continues to fight for humanity, even after he’s lost everything, because once again he’s driven by the need to ensure that what his fallen comrades sacrificed wasn’t sacrificed in vain. He needs their lives, and their deaths, to have meaning, to have mattered. And he uses their sacrifices as the fuel he needs to continue fighting on, in their name, for their sake, and for the sake of that better tomorrow they all died for.

Erwin convinces Levi to join the Survey Corps after Furlan and Isabel have died by telling him not to let their sacrifices be in vain, to use them as motivation to keep fighting on for other people, for the dreams and hopes of humanity. Levi remembers the looks on their faces when they left the walls for the first time, the awe and wonder as they gazed up at the sky, and realizes they died while dreaming of a better life. And he understands Erwin’s words then, that while Isabel and Furlan may not get the chance to experience that dream of a better life and world, their deaths can still be used as fuel for Levi to fight for and give that better life and world to others. Their deaths don’t have to mean nothing. Erwin shows Levi that path toward using his strength to help as many people as he can, and how to escape the bitter, ugly pointlessness of the sort of death he’s been surrounded by his whole life. Growing up in the Underground, Levi was constantly surrounded by death brought about by things like violence, poverty, starvation, neglect. All deaths which achieved nothing but more misery and sadness. Here Erwin was offering Levi a chance, not to escape death, but to take it and use it to create something better, something more hopeful, something meaningful.

Later, Erwin’s expresses his own doubts and guilt surrounding the sacrifices he’s made, leading others to their deaths, not for the altruistic goal of a better future for humanity, but for his own, selfish dream of finding the truth of the world. And now it’s Levi’s turn to remind Erwin of his chance to ensure the lives of those lost before him weren’t lost in vain. He can honor their deaths and give their deaths meaning by abandoning his selfish dream and committing to his duty of fighting for humanity in their name, and in the name of future generations. By using their sacrifices to give him the courage he needs to abandon his own dream and fight on for humanity.

Levi promises Erwin that he will do the same, using his death, and the deaths of all the other scouts that day in Shinganshina, to fuel the strength he needs to keep fighting for humanity

In Levi’s mind, the only thing worth those lives, and the lives of all his fallen comrades, is a better world, a world in which humanity is free to live their lives how they choose, to continue to dream and hope.

#Levi Ackerman #SNK analysis #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan

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shadow-whisperer152 · 2 years

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Father’s Day (Chapter 7)

(Aaaaaaah this is the chapter I basically formed this entire fic around! Can’t believe this was just meant to be a one shot, yet here we are at chapter 7 (and we aren’t even done yet). Hope you enjoy!)

(Chapter 6)

~Time Skip~

Janus could never have fathomed that everything would go so wrong. It felt like only yesterday his boys were bringing half-cooked pancakes to him in bed and cuddling with him under their one soft blanket on the couch. He tried not to think about those days too much; the memories only made the ache in his heart all the more prominent, the cold on his skin all the more biting, the tears down his face all the more sorrowful. It had been a long time since Virgil had disappeared from their lives. For a time, Janus and Remus had been filled with resentment at how Virgil had chosen the others over his own family. Remus had refused to allow Janus to blame himself, begging to be let upstairs to show those impostors even a fraction of the pain and fear they themselves felt. And, like a fool, Janus had let him. He doesn’t understand how he could possibly have been idiotic enough to make the same mistake twice. But back then, he didn’t understand how it was a mistake. Now he knew better.

Remus had gone up, wreaked havoc, done what Remus does best. And in turn those Sides had greeted him with patience and understanding. It had taken some time, but much too soon he was up there all the time, and then he was never down here at all. Janus wanted to say that the Sides had blinded him, manipulated him, turned him against the only person who could ever love him. But after all this time, he finally understood: he’d been the monster under the stairs the entire time. It wasn’t the other Sides that were the problem: it was him. He was the reason Virgil and Remus had left because he’d been the one imprisoning them. Janus had been so blinded by his own fear that he’d corrupted the two young sides, making them feel like they were monsters too if only to feel less lonely in his misery. The other Sides had greeted his sons with such warmth and acceptance because they deserved it. Janus didn’t. He was different, always had been, always would be. He would never be treated like one of them because ever since his manifestation he’d been the villain, someone to be feared. Every time he went up there he was yelled at and denied and ignored, while his sons got the chance they deserved. Maybe this was how it was meant to be; Janus would spend the rest of his days alone while his sons would live on with their new happy famILY.

All these negative thoughts and feelings poisoned Janus on the inside. He became a recluse, and stopped answering the other’s calls entirely. He spent his hours trying to squash the useless flicker of hope that still remained, desperately trying to save himself from the pain of being hurt by abandoning the idea that he would ever see his boys again. He didn’t even bother to dress in his usual attire, everything replaced with what he wore as pajamas. Everything except his hat. (He couldn’t bear to part with it, no matter how many times he put it away he’d always end up taking it out again.) Janus would have stayed like this for the rest of eternity if he could’ve.

Unfortunately, he ran out of tea.

Now this wasn’t a problem he’d ever had to face. He’d either ask Remus to summon him some, or he’d go to his little garden on Remus' side of the Imagination to pick some tea leaves himself. But Remus wasn’t around anymore, and he couldn’t go into the Imagination without either of the twins finding out. He’d stopped eating or sleeping properly since he’d been left behind he couldn’t remember when, so summoning the tea himself was out of the question. There was only one option left. He had to go up there, to the place he swore he’d never go again. Janus wished he could just go on without tea, drink water or soda or nothing at all. But the warmth of a cup of tea was the only joy he had left in his miserable existence, and without it he might discorporate from sorrow.

He made a plan. He’d go up to the door underneath the stairs, cross to the kitchen, steal some tea, and run back down. That’s all. He wouldn’t look at anyone, wouldn’t talk to anyone, and if they tried to stop him he’d……he’d……well, hopefully there wouldn’t be anyone there to stop him. He clutched his hat in his hands in an attempt to gather some courage, slowly making his way out of the Dark Side to cross the Subconscious.

Janus could hear voices. The door was very slightly ajar, and he listened closely. He couldn’t hear exactly what was going on, but they seemed to be whispering. Not just that, but they were at least in the living room. The light in the hallway was off, and so was the one in the kitchen. He could slip through, get his tea, and run back down. Excellent. Janus carefully nudged the door, slipping out and darting across to the kitchen before anyone could see him. He hid behind the counter, heart racing. No screaming, no noise. He hadn’t been spotted.

Janus slowly stood, backing up until he felt the counter behind him. He turned, snatched the box of tea bags from the cupboard, and creeped back towards the doorway. Halfway home. He stepped out into the hallway again and-

The lights suddenly turned on, startling him as he whipped towards the living room. Virgil, Remus, Roman, and Logan all sprung up from behind the couch, confetti filling the air. It was only now that Janus noticed the balloons, the table full of food, and the banner strung across the back wall. “Happy Father’s Day!” it read in big bubble letters. Janus stood frozen, mouth opened in a shocked expression. It was Father’s Day already? And……and they were throwing a party? For him? A feeling of warmth, like sticky honey, filled his chest. For the first time in what felt like years he felt a genuine smile spread on his face. He was about to step out of the darkness when a new voice surprised him from atop the stairs.

“Oh my goodness! Is this all for me?!” Patton ran down the steps, rushing forward. The others all met him in the middle, engulfing him in a big hug.

“’Course, Pat. We had to celebrate our favorite popstar’s special day after all.” Virgil gave him a crooked smile, nuzzling over his shoulder into his neck. “Happy Father’s Day, Dad.”

Remus enveloped all the sides in his tentacles, which led to squeals and shrieks of surprise. “Yeah! We’re gonna squeeze you full of joy until your eyes pop out of your head! Happy Daddy’s Day!” He grinned.

The others spoke as well, and there must have been music, but Janus couldn’t tell. His ears began to ring as he stared at his two sons, the biggest smiles he’d ever seen on their faces as they wrapped themselves further into Patton’s arms. A hiccup made its way out of his mouth, lost under the sound of the other’s chatter. They’d……they’d replaced him. After all he’d done, after all they’d gone through together, they’d found a new father. A good, kind, caring father who could give them everything they’d ever wanted. Janus felt lightheaded, and just like all those years ago, the ground disappeared from under him and he fell, away from the searing warmth and the blinding lights and the hurt hurt hurt hurt that filled his head. He crashed onto the cold, musty floor of the Dark Side and here, where no one could see, where no one would ever see him again, Janus began to wail. His sobs and screams of pain filled the air around him, shaking the Dark Side to its core. He was so ashamed, so destroyed, that he failed to notice he was missing something important.

Upstairs his hat sat surrounded by the discarded tea bags, alone and abandoned in the dark hallway. It wasn’t until hours later, when the food had been eaten and the gifts had been opened, that a figure in purple noticed it lying on the floor.

(It broke my heart to write this one, but it’s going to start looking up for our poor snakey side. Just gotta throw in a little more angst first >:) Hope you enjoyed!)

#tw slight body horror #janus sanders angst #sanders side #patton sanders #virgil sanders #leoni_writes #roman sanders #remus sanders #dark sides #angst #Father's Day

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hooned · 4 years

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no but listen to me lISTEN,,, the endless capacity for love this boy has, despite all the wrongs he suffered through since childhood, and he still has the brightest smile, and he still wants to help ppl and protect and care for his loved ones and Wei Ying is THE SUN *screams into eternity* and you know the quote "the saddest people smile the brightest"? I feel it both describes wwx but also is too limiting because this boy is stronger than his sadness and pain he CHOSES the light *cries*

hello, dianaaa!! 💙 ok listen. i am all up for discussions about wei wuxian and how he's literally the best character of all time in all of fiction but i won't promise there won't be any crying on my part because anything that reminds me of wuxian? and the pain and suffering he went through? makes me cry an entire ocean. like. i once talked about this with my brother? and i CRIED. DEADASS. ok so here we go.

what really pains me about the life wwx lived (i just finished till ep. 33 so i have no idea what happened after he resurrected) is that he kept on building a family of his own. he lost his real family and became an orphan at a very young age, eating off of scrapes and barely surviving THEN he found himself a home in lotus pier. with a brother who's never the best in expressing himself but always always means well, and a sister who's cradled him with love and warmth from the very first moment. he found a home who accepted him and loved him so abundantly he never felt left out. it wasn't his biological family but not once did it feel like it wasn't real. AND THEN in a blink of an eye? he lost it. again. the family he grew up in, who accepted him as no less than their own, massacred and killed mercilessly. for so long, he pondered if there was a place in this world whom he might belong in after that AND THEN!! he meets the victims in the wen clan. he empathized with them and just knew in his heart, that he can't turn a blind eye. and so he turns his back against everything the society deems righteous and decides to build a new home with these people, much like him. AND THE THING IS. HE DID MANAGE TO BUILD A HOME WITH THEM. an unexpectedly found family where they plant radishes and not potatoes, with an older sister who supports him and a loyal ghost brother who'll literally dive into death the second time for him. it's broken, it's not perfect, but it was family. and wwx is happy. BUT THEN!! THEY DECIDE!! TO TAKE THEM ALL AWAY FROM HIM!! AGAIN!!

god, he tried so damn hard to pick himself up every time he falls and the world burned him for it. leaving him with nothing. literally nothing. at least that's what he thought in that final moments he had on that cliff. and man. ugh. the amount of pain he went through for him to change from being the happy, playful, teenager in cloud recesses to the hopeless and broken yiling laozu standing on that cliff and letting himself fall — god. HE DIDN'T DESERVE ANY OF THAT!!! he just wanted to have a family he can call his own for christ's sake. he's not asking for much. and yet the whole world decides to paint him in the darkest light and took everything he holds dear away from him. EVERYTHING.

if i were him, i'd go insane. he deserves so damn much. 🥺

#💌 ask.#feycien #diana #oh wow here comes the tears 🥺#i mean yeah he's had terrible decisions and did bad things. but all these he did out of love #and diana the way his smiles weren't the same after he was thrown into the burial mounds 🥺 his smiles never stays #and you just know he's been through so much #but like...he's trying his hardest to smile and move on and love and care for everyone #but the world is just too cruel to contain his light 🥺#the utter pain in his smiles in that night after he knew wenqing and the rest of his found family are killed #it was like he's too tired to prove them wrong. too tired to prove that he isn't what they thought he is #and so he wreaks havoc because the pain is just too much to bear (not to mention the intense evil energy seeping into him)#but even after all that!!! he still manages to smile!!! after he was ressurected!!!#god he deserves so much 💙🥺#i am ready for the next arc of the story to wreck me even more ugh

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genshinboys · 3 years

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Thigh job with Genshin boys - Zhongli

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Fem reader x Zhongli

Knock-Knock-Knock

You are standing in front of the door to Zhongli’s office at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. Upon knocking, you open the door and peek inside only to see the Archon seated at his desk and hunching over some documents. His form relaxes the moment his eyes cast upon your persona.

„Can I come in?” you ask politely knowing very well that Zhongli would never be capable of saying no to you.

He puts aside the pen that was previously tightly squeezed in the palm of his hands. Eyes glistening and his facial expression a tell-tale sign of excitement which he promptly attempts to hide going back to the customary for him calm facade.

Immovable as a rock and yet his world was shaken the moment you waltzed into it.

Zhongli doesn’t mind though and he revels in the way you made everything the Archon thought he knew to go to rack and ruin.

So, he finds himself inviting you and wreaking more havoc in his hitherto impassive and emotionless millenniums of existence.

„Oh, by all means, please do,” he responds courtly. He straightens up in his armchair gesturing to his lap.

You smile knowingly.

Zhongli but adores having you in his lap. The way your soft body fits in there is glorious and the lord of Geo could narrate hundreds of stories about the marvel of you being sat on his thigh tightly pressed into his sturdy physique.

It is his way of unwinding after a long day or taking a break from work. He would find solace and relaxation with you next to him. It becomes habitual and it just occurs naturally. When he sips his tea, scans through documents, reads a book or wants to tell you some of the stories from his past. You sit on his lap and everything falls into place.

He loves the control this setting gives him and the fact that he can easily do whatever he deems fit when your body is conveniently at his disposal.

And you wouldn’t say no. Whatever his intentions are.

So you come over to the handsome god and with a loud scoff unceremoniously land on his lap while wrapping your arms around his neck.

„What’s the matter my dearest?” he furrows his brows but the little crooked smile doesn’t escape your notice. Zhongli can’t help himself, he thinks that you’re just too adorable and pure for this world.

„Oh, Zhongli!” you cry out, „That little bastard Venti stood m-,”

He clears his throat and gives you a reprimanding glare, „Language my little girl.”

You roll your eyes at his antics and wiggle your butt successfully shifting your position so that your whole weight is now on Zhongli’s right thigh and your legs are hanging in the air on the other side of the armchair. He wraps a protective arm around your middle while his free hand starts caressing your uncovered leg, so nicely exposed by the skirt of your choice.

So once you feel all snug and comfortable you continue dramatically, „Zhongli, but he really stood me up! I needed his help with one commission and I found him as drunk as a skunk. He was so sloshed he fell asleep in the tavern and Kaeya had to escort him home!”

„Is that so?” he cocks an eyebrow but he isn’t surprised at all.

„Yes! I wasted so much time because of this motherf-,”

Zhongli shoots you another look of disapproval and you just smile apologetically.

„He’s never been good at holding his liquor, my Dear,” he states the obvious more preoccupied with the way the plump flesh of your thighs reddens when he squeezes it with his leather-clad hand. He allows himself to roam a bit higher and the skirt does little to prevent his movement.

„Dear,” he says as his lips approach your earlobe, „Have you by any chance forgotten to put on underwear yet again?”

You really love Zhongli’s voice. His low rumbles, deep and husky sounds from the back of his throat always give you goosebumps.

And so this time, you shudder in his embrace like a leaf in the wind.

„No, of course I didn’t,” you respond in your defence.

„Mind if I see?” he asks and pushes your skirt out of the way revealing your naked bum.

He clicks his tongue, feeling you up with his long fingers. The gloves he is wearing create nice friction as he strokes your skin.

„I might have forgotten after all,” you admit even if reluctantly.

Zhongli is a patient man. Throughout the centuries he has learned to remain cool and composed despite the most arduous and trying of times. He would have never guessed that this quality of his would so often come in handy when graced with your presence.

„Pray-tell my Dearest, so you did come here, parading around the streets of my city with no decency in your soul left, only to sit in my lap with your bare bottom?”

This question sounded more like an accusation and was rather rhetorical.

You shrug your shoulders for lack of any better excuse.

The archon takes a deep breath and digs his fingers into the meat of your ass.

„You enjoyed yourself last time, no?” you make a point to remind the lord of Geo of your last visit to his office.

„So vulgar,” he criticizes gazing down and marvelling how your smooth skin contrasts with the material of his black slacks. You would often stain them with your juices when the Archon opts for something more than just telling you stories with you in his lap.

„I trust you know what to do, Love,” he adds once again locking his eyes with yours and then kisses your forehead fondly.

You chuckle having no intentions to make the god wait any longer.

You let your hands slide down to his crotch and unbuckle the belt helping Zhongli get his erection out of the tight black slacks. At times like this, you would internally curse the Archon for his strict dress code but it can’t be helped. Zhongli is as stubborn as a mule when it comes to certain customs.

His cock springs free and you bite your lip openly admiring the ex-Archon. It never ceases to thrill you. His shaft is thick and painfully long with popping veins and a swollen tip. He is just so enormously big it intimidates you. You briefly wonder if it has anything to do with him being a half-dragon and you shudder at the thought mentally taking a note to ask him about that next time he places you in his lap.

Zhongli’s heartbeat quickens when you teasingly stroke his impressive girth, your lips finding his and you crash them together hungrily.

He hums in delight when you slide your thumb over the tip of his penis. You break the kiss and flash a cute grin at your immortal lover.

„I want to please you with my thighs,” you inform him matter-of-factly at which he nods somehow too quickly to match his typical indifferent attitude.

„You spoil me, my little one,” he praises in an erotic timbre and his eyes widen when you lift yourself from his lap and turn around.

„Hold my waist, will you?” you ask for some assistance placing your hands on both sides of the chair.

„Certainly, so,” he obliges.

So with some help on his side, you elevate your bum and reach for his hardened cock to delicately insert it between your warm-to-the-touch thighs. Experimentally, you lift yourself up and then push down letting his erection slide between your legs in a smooth motion. You make sure to smudge the leaking pre-cum all over his shaft so that the Archon doesn’t feel any discomfort.

„How does that feel Zhongli?” you ask glancing behind your back only to see his already fucked-out stare which makes your chest swell in adoration.

His lips are parted and eyes half-closed as he holds onto your waist the way you asked him to.

„Absolutely marvellous, my Dear. Please, do continue, hmm?” he encourages albeit struggles to reply.

You carry on stroking him like that, sometimes pressing your thighs a little tighter and he groans as quiet as he possibly can. Zhongli would despise being caught by Hu-Tao when you rub his cock so expertly.

The pace you decide to torture Zhongli with is sickeningly slow and he’s had enough of playing around for today.

You let out a muffled cried when the Archon grabs you even tighter and forces you down on his dick. He repeats the motion in an animalistic tempo taking pride in the way your ass bounces up and down in front of his eyes.

„Zhongli!” you plead as you feel your legs going numb.

„Bear with me a little longer, Love” he coos.

Your whole body hurts and your arms feel as if they were going to give out any moment.

Fortunately, Zhongli isn’t going to last much longer as the pleasure mixed with pain make him approach the brink he so much desires. With one final thrust and a guttural moan he releases and you can feel his hot load on the inner side of your thighs. Some drops of cum land on your lower belly and face. It’s so messy and you feel how your walls contract around nothing in feverish excitement.

He helps you go back to your previous position with his arms now tightly wrapped around your exhausted body. He enjoys the slight twitching of your weary muscles. He reaches for your chin and forces you to face him.

„Home?” you ask in a desperate plea for him to return the favour. Your body aching for his touch.

„Home,” Zhongli agrees, as indeed, the Archon is unable to turn down any of your wishes.

Other boys:

Albedo

Xiao

Diluc

Kaeya

Childe

Kazuha

#zhongli #zhongli headcanons #zhongli scenarios #zhongli smut #zhongli reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #zhongli you #zhongli genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin drabbles #genshin imagines #zhongli imagines

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Partner

Ethan Winters (Resident Evil Biohazard) x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Spoilers for Resident Evil 8:Village, Swearing, Mentions of injury

Genre: Angsty Fluff, Comfort

Summary: Following the final battle in the Dimitrescu Castle, Ethan is surprised to stumble upon a person who witnessed the whole debacle, offering him a safe place to patch up his wounds and rest for a little while.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request! So sorry you’ve had to wait so long but here it finally is! Hope you come across it and enjoy reading it! Love, Vy ❤

“That was...something else.“ Ethan Winters mutters to himself as he limps his way out of the Dimitrescu Castle which is now vacant in terms of residence - his doing. He killed Alcina Dimitrescu and her daughters, all arguably in self defense and with little guilt to follow. However, plenty of trauma’s definitely attached to him following the horrific events he had to go through and the things he had to see between the walls of those luxurious rooms hiding dark secrets of the vampires who took pleasure in torturing people, and wreaking havoc over the villagers who feared them.

“At least they won’t hurt anyone any longer.“ He tells himself, giving the monster of a structure one final look before he continues back towards the center of the village where he’s gonna rethink what he’s got to do next, gather his bearings, take a breath and keep going. He has no other option but to keep going, he won’t allow himself to quit no matter what danger he faces. In his mind, he’s convinced himself that he’s already seen the worst, it’s easier on him that way, it suppresses the fear he’d feel otherwise. The last thing he wants is to think what’s in store for him ahead, he’d rather focus on what’s up to him to do next.

“And we can’t thank you enough.“

The sudden presence of an unfamiliar voice startles him, causing him to whip out his gun and point it in the direction it came from. However, he quickly finds his deadly tight grip loosening ever so slightly because he realizes he’s pointing the barrel at a very human-looking and seemingly harmless person.

“Who are you? Who’s ‘we’?“ Ethan still refuses to let his guard down though, just cause it may not be a life or death situation, doesn’t mean this person won’t bring him trouble and Lord knows that’s the last thing he needs right now.

On instinct, the person takes a step back, “I speak on the behalf of all the remaining villagers. I mean, it was only a matter of time before we too became victims in the Dimitrescu Castle basement. I was next, actually, but the commotion you created allowed for me to escape. I owe you my life, foreigner.“ The speak hurriedly and in a hushed tone, as if the fear of their torturers overhearing them still lives within them despite the monsters being deceased.

“Glad I could help you.“ He nods curtly, remaining at the distance of seven feet between them, “My name’s Ethan Winters by the way.“

They give him the tiniest of smiles, “Y/N L/N, pleased to meet you.” Their gaze gives him a quick onceover, assessing the damage the horrors of the castle have inflicted on him. Their eyes widen in shock at the many bleeding wounds all over his body but what appears to rattle them most is the severe injury that’s causing his limp as well as the missing finger - a poorly wrapped would that has surprisingly not started getting infected yet. “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I don’t trust you to take care of yourself either. I live in that windmill over there in the outskirts, come with me, I’ll help you with...well, with all that. You seem rather hopeless at medical care.”

While he could refuse their offer, he wouldn’t be able to deny the fact that they’re right - he knows the basics of first aid, but his injuries are far too gone for simple first aid, especially when taken into account that he doesn’t even have any supplies. How he’s not died from blood loss is a surprise to him as much as it is to them.

“What’s my guarantee you won’t turn on me?“ He finally asks after a decent amount of time contemplating it.

They shrug, “You have none. But, you have the guarantee that if I turn on you, you’ll be the one coming out of that altercation alive.” Their gaze sizes up the guns he’s got on him, emphasizing their point.

Suddenly, Ethan feels sorta ridiculous - after all, guns or no guns, he could probably take on them easily with just his knife. Regardless, no one can blame him for being cautious. “Fine.“ He mutters, “But please don’t turn on me, I’ve already had one hell of a day.“

Y/N nods, motioning for him to follow them, “I promise I won’t.”

* * *

“Wow, what a back-stabber! Some friends you have, Winters.“ Y/N comments as they set down a cup of tea on the small wooden table in front of the freshly patched up Ethan.

Turns out, he made the right move by trusting them - they used to be the village’s main nurse until it all went to hell and they went to hide in the shadows of their windmill where they, as evidenced, still are today. That being said, not only did they have all the necessary equipment to fix him up, but they also had the skills and knowledge needed to use that equipment.

“There are those friends who borrow money from you and never pay you back and there are those who shoot your wife randomly while you two are trying to have dinner. Two types of friends out there really.“ He sighs, his tired, a thousand yard stare following the path of the steam levitating from the cup that’s been placed in front of him. “I have no time to dwell on that right now though. My daughter is in grave danger and I have no idea where I should even start looking for her.“

Y/N sits down on a chair opposite his, “Well, you’ve already defeated one of the village Lords looking for Rose, process of elimination should reveal where she is - wherever she is, it has to be one of the Lords’ residence. Mother Miranda trusted Lady Dimitrescu most so it’s a wonder why she wasn’t there, but then again, Heisenberg’s factory is damn near impenetrable, one cannot enter unless he wants them to so she could have entrusted her precious cargo to him.”

“How do I get to that fucker?“ Ethan tightens his hand into a fist, squeezing so tightly his knuckles turn white. There’s so much within him, so much that’s happened to him, so much in such a short amount of time and he’s had no time to deal with any of it. He’s a volcano waiting to erupt, but he has to do so at the right time - in front of the right danger to show he’s not hopeless or weak as his opponent may think. “Where do I find him?“

“He’s in the outskirts too just on the other side of the village.“ They sigh, regretting every word they are saying since they know they are just feeding him information on how to get himself in the worst kind of danger he’s probably ever been in. “That key you have, it’s not complete to access his quarters yet. By the looks of it...“ they observe the key Ethan has placed on the table, “You can only get to Lord Donna Beneviento’s estate, and I wouldn’t suggest heading there before you heal at least a bit more. Her and her dolls are a real nightmare. Of course, I haven’t experienced it for myself, but the stories are enough to get an idea.“

“So you’re telling me I have to waste my time with the little fish before I can finally get to Rose? You know how long that’ll take? You know how long she’ll have to be at the mercy of a fucking lunatic until I can finally save her?!“ Ethan snaps, banging his fist against the table, bad idea considering his hand’s been just patched up. The impact sends a jolt of pain up his arm that makes him hiss.

“I get it, I understand, Ethan. But you are a lot less likely to get to your daughter if you’re dead, you know.“ Y/N cautiously explains, their eyes narrowing a bit as they wait for the pearl white bandages to soak crimson, sighing in relief when they don’t. “Speaking of how likely you may or may not be to get to her on time, I’d also have to mention your odds would be significantly higher if you were to receive help from someone else. You’d need someone to have your back throughout all the shit you’re about to go through, especially Heisenberg’s factory where two eyes are not enough to track each and every threat that might pounce at you.“

Calmer now, Ethan gives them a puzzled look, “What are you suggesting?“

“I’m suggesting - well, I’m offering you my partnership.“ They explain, watching his expression change to one of knowing and understanding. “Of course, you’d have to give up one of those guns and hand it down to me, but I think that’s a small price to pay in exchange for an extra pair of eyes and limbs to guard and help you.“

Ethan’s first instinct is to decline. He can’t afford to see another person dying around him or because of him, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. But then again, just like he had no guarantee they wouldn’t turn on him, he has none that they’ll die. Of course, he’ll do everything in his power to keep them and himself alive and they don’t seem like they are in it to half-ass it either. Quite the contrary, they seem perfectly determined and ready to face the same shit he’s about to.

“What do you get in return?“ He asks, his gaze suspiciously measuring each line on their face to gauge their true intentions. He’s a complete stranger to them, they’d have no reason to be this selfless for him, it’s obvious they are aiming at something bigger.

Y/N scoffs, leaning back in their chair with a small bitter smile on their face, their gaze resting on the tabletop and avoiding his, “You really wanna know? I want my revenge - revenge for what they did to this village, to me, to so many people I cared about and to those I didn’t even know. But...” they trail off, pausing to sigh out a heavy sigh before continuing, “But I also wanna redeem myself. I knew I should’ve done all in my power to stop them when their havoc was still on the rise, I knew I should’ve done more, but I didn’t. And now I’ll die trying.”

“You won’t die.“ He says sharply, barely a second after the last word left their lips, “I won’t allow it.“ He adds, taking a bit of the edge off his voice.

Their eyes come up to meet his, searching for what he means, “Does that mean...“

“It sure does, partner.“ Within the blink of an eye, his pistol is on the table, fully loaded and free for their taking, “You just give a green light and we’re off.“

Y/N lets out a sound between a laugh and a gasp as their hands quickly wrap around the gun, looking at it in disbelief before whispering a quick ‘thank you’. Ethan allows them to marvel at it for a bit longer but they don’t wait another second. “Get your ass up, Winters. We have monsters to kill.”

He needn’t be told twice

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sweetsbfreex · 3 years

Text

my baby, my baby

brought to u by me watching IW for the millionth time

Summary: You ask Steve for one thing before the fight against Thanos (IW), but for the first time in however long he denies you of fulfilling this wish.

Warnings: language?

Pairing: Nomad, Bf!Steve x thanos daughter!reader

He was manning the quinjet, not all the way true. Sam was flying the jet to Wakanda, Steve slumped in his seat beside Sam, in deep thought. His chin is set into his palm, his arm sitting up on the armrest, and his palm covering half of his mouth. Looking further down his leg was jittering steadily.

What would happen next was a pretty big deal, none of you on the jet knew what could go wrong. So obviously tensions were at an all time high in this cooped up jet.

You rise up from your seat between Wanda and Nat. Walking yourself behind Steve’s chair. Your pointer finger taps his embellished shoulder, separating him from his apprehensive thoughts. He looks up at you and the creases that were once prominent in his forehead evaporated.

You don’t utter anything, only nudging your head behind you.

Follow me to the back.

Is what’s reciprocated when he too gets up from his seat, letting Sam know he’ll be up front in a second. Once you turn, he follows you down the small aisle to the side “room” away from all the prying ears.

Finally.

You step into the room first. You weren't going to lie, your heart was beating with so much force and it only grew as he walked past you into the room. You close the door behind you, turning, so you're facing Steve's attentive figure.

You only smile at him to some extent, prompted to show there were no ill intentions to asking him back here. When you see how nervous he looks, as you take his hand seating the both of you to a bench against the wall.

Your knees tenderly touch. He clears his throat coercing you to go on, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

“You alright doll?” he asks you, in a gentle manner. Taking the already linked palms shifting it from your lap to his. His other hand blanketing your combined hands.

“I’m okay. Are you?” you ask the question hesitantly, raising your spare hand to move aside the hair that fell over and veiled his eyes. You desperately wanted to make sure you got a good look at his face. You loved his face.

His cheeks go plump in a charming smile, and his hand squeezes yours back.

His hair was long. Longer than you would’ve ever imagined Steve would let it be. Either way you loved every inch of the gold locks. Yet, everytime you told him how much you loved it, despite his insecurity and slight annoyance with it. He'd always fall into a rampage down memory lane. Telling you how his late mother would've hounded him about the upkeep of his hair.

You adored that about him too. Loved, that he loved so hard and so full. He’d never forget the ones he loved no matter what.

“I’m swell, you don’t need to worry about me” he tells you.

You didn’t believe him one bit and you weren’t going to push him about it. You knew how he was...stubborn as ever. But, it was also ,by and large, your job to worry about him–– after loving him of course. Contrary to what he would say (Which was vice-versa.)

“We’re gonna be okay...okay? But I have something to ask you. And you can’t get mad.”

“I’m not promising that, but we won’t shout. We’ll talk it out–– whatever it is”

It was the best you were going to get from him and time was closing in on you guys being able to be like this, anway.

“I know how you are, but this is a really critical thing we're fighting for here. So, unless I'm in some type of grave danger. I don’t want you worrying about me on the field. No matter what...Make sure he doesn’t get that stone.” Your voice lets you down towards the end, starting to get scratchy and low.

He stands up in no time. His hands going to his belt, then to his hips, he finally raises one hand to run against his beard.

His facial hair, another thing in the endless things you loved about Steve Rogers.

When the stubble he usually shaves away kept growing into a full beard, it surprised you both. You in a hot kind of way, he became more adoring by day when decided to stop shaving.

You walked in on him one day. He was facing the scratched up mirror in a bathroom in a dingy hotel room. Running his fingers against his face, the other clutching onto the edge of the counter. Tilting his head back and to, eyes shifting as he looked over his face. It was another part of the effect of the serum he didn’t expect would happen.

Telling you a story as he wandered down memory lane again. How he had problems growing stubble as a sickly kid–– so behind on puberty. He even watched Bucky grow his first “stache” at sixteen, but that came to an abrupt stop when Bucky’s mother made him shave it off.

Steve thought It was weird to think that he could now also.

You were still sitting on the bench. Swiveling your body so you were facing your boyfriend, looking up at his fidgeting build with care.

Feeling like a child waiting for their parents to dispute whatever impending punishment they would grant.

“Why would you ask me that?” he finally, finally disrupts his silence. Scoffing at the offensive question.

He doesn’t look at you with anything negative, only confusion.

“Because. I don’t want you jumping in front of whatever it is in front of me...I know him, he’s my dad. He’ll do anything to get what he wants, even if it means I die.”

When Steve told you that it was actually Bruce calling and told you what he said. He looked at you baffled when the shirt you were about to put on dropped from your grasp.

Once you told him you had knowledge of Thanos and how you knew him, there was a pregnant silence in the air.

If anything it filled the rage towards Thanos in Steve even more, by the time you finished.

“Are you listening to yourself?” he questions you in disbelief, lips stuck in a sneer.

“Please. Just please, angel.” you maintain.

You don’t answer either of his questions and he truly hates that. He stays silent for a bit watching your seated figure, looking up at him with the saddest eyes you’ve ever given him. His puzzled eyes shift down to your bobbing leg and your hands wringing together with so much speed and anguish.

He could probably throw up right now.

And when he shifts his eyes up again, you keep that same look on your face waiting for him to say anything.

He sighs dejectedly, dropping his hands to his side, and walking himself back over to you. He sits closer to you than before. Extending a gloved hand to caress your cheek before fixing the flyaways from your sleek ponytail.

“I can’t. You’ll always be my priority, and I won’t promise something like that sweetheart” he tells you this languidly. His thumb starts to rub circles against your cheekbone, to calm you down, when he catches the way your eyes widen at his admission.

“Steve!” your voice breaks. So shocked, you can’t hold back the tears that build up and fall slowly over your face.

You couldn’t believe this. He’s supposed to love you. Time and time again he’d always remind you how much he loves you and how he’d do anything for you–– too hard to say no to you, his words. Thinking this over you pull your face away from his hold, looking down at your taut hands. This wasn’t a silly death wish. You had to make sure your father didn’t get what he desired, no matter what.

He hates having to watch you cry, but he doesn’t have much of a choice now. He needs to stand his ground, there was no way he would be arguing about this. And he does this, grabbing your face with a light hand, so you were face to face again.

"I love you so much. And if I have to choose between letting you die and Thanos losing. Or you living and watching the universe crumble, you know exactly what I'm gonna choose. I'm not losing you, not if I have anything to do with it"

Albeit how dumb it sounded, there is no notable instance in his life where’d let you perish over him.

“You’re not thinking this through” you hiccup.

“It’s you, isn’t it? There’s not much to think about” he smiles at you and as you look at him you can see his eyes glazing over.

His statement only causes you to cry more. You feel nothing but the pain in your heart and the repositioning of your body. It takes you a moment to realize you’re settled on his thighs sideways. His well built arm warmly wraps around your shoulder, your temple rests against his shoulder, and his lips are placing light kisses to the crown of your head.

You incline your head, “I love you too much” you say in an awed whisper, raising a hand to twirl in the strands at the back of his collar. Following that, you let your hand spread across the back of his neck pulling him down for a kiss.

“After this we’re done okay? We have our pardon and are going to buy whatever house you want to get. I’m gonna buy you the prettiest engagement ring money can buy, Gonna get whatever animals you want,” you chuckle at that part.

If there was one thing Steve learned while living incognito with you is that you’d save any animal if you were able to. Always stopping whenever you passed by any animal in need in the drary streets. Looking up at Steve, who’d always have to remind you that neither of you could give it the life it deserves right now. Opting to only go to the nearest convenience store to buy whatever safe animal food in sight.

His hand immediately clutches your face to wipe away the tears that fell without pattern. His smile grows fonder when you do the same. “‘Can paint the house whatever we decide...maybe even get a house big enough to fit the kids we’ll have?” he tells you the last part in such a timid manner, bearing one of his hands to clutch yours. His thumb running over your knuckles at full tilt.

The only thing you were able to give him was a stunned look. So shocked you were unable to react like a normal person.

You squeeze his hand tight only being able to stutter a “really?”

“Of course. I want to have a bunch of small Rogers with you, wreaking havoc around our house” he admits this to you, carrying out such strong eye contact. If his hand didn’t slither down your back, supporting you up and grounding you, you’d jump in glee.

Fuck. Neither of you had talked about this, but you were glad that you both were on the same page about his. You felt terrified but in a good way, wanting to wholly get this over with and start this dream life with Steve.

“And this is all gonna happen, because everything is going to go well. We’re gonna win, I don’t want you thinking like that or asking me something like that ever again. Thanos will never be on our list of priorities ever again.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I can’t wait to start that life with you” you respond, winding your arms around his neck, crashing your lips to his with force.

He pulls away without notice to place hasty kisses to your cheek, loving the giggles you emitted. Even so, the energy in the room shifts too soon when Sam knocks on the door. Steve allows him entrance.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we’re about to land Cap”

Steve responds by nodding his head once, stiffly. Letting him know he’d be out in a second.

You get off of his thighs, so the both of you were standing chest to chest. He claps your worried face. Pulling you into him with little force, so his lips could fall to your forehead, nose, and lips.

“Remember what I said and be safe, I love you”

“I love you” you recite, bringing his hand down to kiss his covered palm.

With that he envelops you in his arm, his cheek resting against the top of your head. Both of you breathing each other in. Your shoulders relaxing at his loving touch.

He’d do whatever needed to keep you safe and if it ended in his death, then so be it. You’d do the same for him in a heartbeat, there was no point in either of you arguing this one out.

––––

Everyone was tired, it seemed like this fight only dragged on with the never-ending monsters. But, with the help of Thor (of course) it seemed like things were only getting positive from there. With the way he rendered lightning, destroying things into dust, you were ready to end this once and for all.

And when a cloud of grey smoke appeared out of thin air, and a large titanian appeared. You knew this would either be the ending or the beginning of all these troubles.

“That’s him” you falter, turning to Steve. You give him a quick once over, nothing the way he eyed your father. A menacing, scary look on his face and the furrow of his eyebrows only grow.

“We have eyes on Thanos” he says into the intercom.

It’s like time stands still for a few seconds, no one moves a muscle. You haven't seen this man in years. You feel as if he doesn't recognize who you are as he glances over everyone, like they're roaches in his kitchen.

Yet, in a blur, everyone takes their chance on Thanos. Trying their hardest to somehow, someway take this Titanian down. Bruce gets thrown with a shout, Branches entwine Nat, and Sam drops from the air smoothly.

At some point you hear the grunt of Steve, who somehow gets some punches in, his hands clutching the gauntlet. He shouts from the hefty weight and in a swift motion is stock-still on the ground from the punch he endures.

“Steve!”

Without a choice you run towards Thanos, your adrenaline kicking in. Kicking in punching only to use your hands to grasp around the metal. You knew towards the end; you were no match for him.

“Please! Please don’t do this. Dad please I’m begging you” you plead profusely, but he only looks down at you emotionless. “Please, please, please” you cry, your head hangs low for a bit before you raise it up again. “This won’t fix anything! You–– you…JUST TAKE IT OFF” you scream, knuckles colliding with the gold.

You try so hard to think of anything to turn his mind, but he only looks at you like a stranger. Not the little girl he recruited and used to look at with some kind of affection. His type of affection, if you could even title it that, affection.

Sure, he raised you to be a ruthless killer and thief, but you’d do anything in this key moment to change his crooked mind.

“You don’t get to call me that again. You chose your path...I always knew you’d be the one to let me down the most” he says all this with so much venom.

You cry as you're lifted in the air, by his gauntlet hand, and thrown against the bark of a tree.

You're in a daze. The only things securing you back is the hand against your cheek and a booming, choked up "no". Hearing it a distance away.

You open your eyes to see Steve in front of you, your name on his lips almost incessantly. But when you open them, your eyes quickly move to Thor. Who’s a few feet away from the two of you, shocked and angry. The remnant of smoke in the air. You knew he did it.

“We lost?” you ask Steve, tears already forming in your eyes, as he carefully lifts you to his feet.

He doesn’t get the chance to answer you, though.

“Steve…?” It’s Bucky, You both look towards him to see him fall slowly, disappearing into a brown dust.

You both look on, shocked all while Steve tries to drag himself and your weak body to Bucky. But it’s already too late.

“Buck?!” Steve calls out, but there’s no answer.

You watch on in disorder, stomach plummeting with every second that pasts. Your eyes catch Wanda looking onto Vision's body in sorrow and as you do, she turns into brown dust. It was frightening and you were speechless. So much happening around you, you weren’t sure where to look. You weren’t who was going away.

The hand against your spine, holding you up, starts to feel faint and a headache you had suffered from earlier comes back, but ten times stronger.

“My head hurts” you tell him, your words come out slowly as your mouth starts to feel numb. You drop your head to his shoulder. “Stevie...I can’t feel your hands” you blubber, chest heaving as your breathing picks up. Everything was happening so, so fast.

He lifts your head, “Hey, you’re alright sweetheart, you took a hard hit. Just a bit banged up, gotta stay awake in case it’s a concussion” he reassures you.

You don’t believe him and when you look down at your right hand to see it crumbling away little by little. You lift your wrist up, hand gone. You look down to see the brown dust below your view.

You didn’t want to go. You had merely planned your dream future with him. It wasn’t fair your father would be the one to rip that away from you.

“No. No, you’re alright, stop that” he condemns, bringing your other hand to his bruised lips imperatively. Watching as it climbs up and up, half of your shoulder already gone.

“I’m scared. I love you so much Steve”

“I love you so much doll, feel like we’ve been saying it all day” he tries to joke, eyes roaming all over your face. He had to make sure he had your face recognized to a t, even if it was in a manner of pain.

And you do the same. You weren’t sure where you were going. Were you even dying?! You couldn’t tell, all you knew was Steve and some of your friends wouldn’t be where you were going.

You laugh despondently, low, and mirthlessly knowing how much he needed that laugh at the moment.

“No. I’m gonna––” you start, but never get to finish, because at that moment. In a flash, he’s left with the sight of the soot falling in a sway, like leaves tumbling to the ground. Staring at him gloved palms to see nothing of you there any longer.

He does nothing but stand there for a few minutes, recollecting the exchange. Not only was his best friend gone, but so was his best girl.

He had one fucking job. Keep you safe at all times. Not only did he let the whole universe down, he let you down. You were gone. He can only think about the moment you both had on the jet, telling you, you had nothing to worry about. Because you guys were going to win and now she is gone. He let you down in the worst possible way imaginable. You were gone…

He repeats this to himself, losing hope each time that you would be back in just a second.

He turns around to see his friends observing him and once he notices that Sam is no longer among the group it only increases his agony.

“Cap?” Nat mumbles.

“FUCK!” he breaks. Ripping the gloves off his hand before he sets himself against the ground–– his body feeling heavy. His head is in his hand, body heaving roughly as he cries quietly.

Everyone is stunned and takes a step back to give his face, not remembering the last time they’ve seen him this broken or the last he’s had an outburst resulting in a curse word.

He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to live with this guilt or without you by his side. In spite of that, there was no way in hell he wasn’t going to try and find a way to bring you back.

– – – –

realized while writing thing i am not creative...this (beginning) was literally a scene

if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #avengers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers x you #chris evans x reader #marvel fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x avenger reader

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javier-pena · 3 years

Text

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

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The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao, @filthybookworm, @frannyzooey, @khalysa, @leannawithacapitala, @mothandpidgeon, @mrsparknuts, @mxsamwilson, @piscespussybabe, @something-tofightfor

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #star wars #din djarin #pedro pascal #fanfic #the hunt fic #yes i've queued this #yes i'm asleep right now #and yes i'm too much of a coward

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bbygenya · 3 years

Note

May i have sanemi, obanai, zenitsu, and tanjiro with an S/O who’s normally pretty similar to inosuke but has very frequent and easily triggered mental breakdowns where they knott and matt their hair terribly. Im so sorry if its too specific i just need comfort as i had one of these mental breakdowns received and i cant deal with it

hihi anon! sorry for getting back to you so late—I hope you're doing fine and feeling better! mental breakdowns suck >.< I'll still do the ask you've gifted with me, and I hope I interpreted it correctly? lmk though ☺️ pls take care of yourself and I'm here if you need me 💖

shinazugawa sanemi

🌪 » 😃

🌪 » sanemi honestly isn’t the most well versed with mental illness but is very understanding in regards to it

🌪 » but y/n runs his blood pressure up—side note

🌪 » it’s even worse when you link up with inosuke

🌪 » he’d rather bear hug giyuu then deal with this

🌪 » though surprisingly? he takes rlly good care of y/n

🌪 » even though he’s got a flip mouth, he means well and is genuinely concerned

🌪 » vvv gentle; handles you with the utmost care 💘

🌪 » honestly as much as y/n stresses him tf out, he’s very well equipped to help you manage your breakdowns?

🌪 » when he sees your hair starting to mat up and knot up, he tries not to let it get too bad

🌪 » “y/n, y/n— no, come on,”

🌪 » firm voice but gentle voice

🌪 » nemi is a sweetheart on god

🌪 » when you’re calm, he sits with you and gently starts to detangle your hair. carefully

🌪 » head kisses the whole time 🥺

🌪 » “I love you regardless. we’ll get through this. you’re not alone, and I’m not going anywhere.”

🌪 » SANEMI 😭😭😭

iguro obanai

🐍 » this fucking simp is ready to fucking fight you

🐍 » “y/n I swear to fucking god—”

🐍 » he’s fed up with his crackhead bby but loves you dearly

🐍 » loves you soooo much that he can’t cope with you having breakdowns 🥲

🐍 » as in it’s so starkly different from your personality and (as a simp) seeing you in distress sends HIM into distress

🐍 » slaps the internal panic button

🐍 » “deep breaths y/n”

🐍 » like sanemi this microscopic mf does NOT know what to do and will visibly hit the 🧍🏻pose REAL quick

🐍 » but one thing about obanai is that this man? will soften tf up so fast for you oh boy

🐍 » considering his own struggles with his mental health, his own breakdowns are not as severe (well to him) and though different, he understands what it feels like

🐍 » is really ready to fight whatever and whoever triggered it

🐍 » kaburamaru tries helping too 🥺

🐍 » helps you calm down

🐍 » after breakdown shower! together!

🐍 » frowns a bit seeing how your hair is matted up and kinked up with knots, so takes it upon himself to gently untangle

🐍 » “does it hurt? sorry, I’ll be more gentle.”

🐍 » okay but obanai is also vvv sweet 🥺

🐍 » cuddles after with kaburamaru + nap time

🐍 » he’ll also feed you after; food makes EVERYBODY feel better

agatsuma zenitsu

⚡️» 😃😃😃

⚡️» the two of you bicker a lot but playfully

⚡️» it’s always bad when you tag team with mf inosuke; that’s a powerful duo that zenitsu doesn’t have the mental stability to handle well

⚡️» speaking of mental stability

⚡️» zenitsu surprisingly handles mental breakdowns well?

⚡️» sure at the beginning he was a train fucking wreck but now he knows how to manage

⚡️» will deadass hug you in the middle of a mental breakdown; doesn’t care if you try to shove him away or get snot and tears all over him

⚡️» your pain = his pain

⚡️» as part of the simp squad, he literally swears he feels pain whenever you do

⚡️» he will hold your hands during your meltdown and kiss them, trying to help you breathe and get through it

⚡️» “come on, breathe my love. it’s okay, I’m here.”

⚡️» idk how he’s so good at this wtf

⚡️» afterwards, he’s very gentle; he’s surprisingly mature through it all

⚡️» “look, let’s get you situated and we can order food, okay?”

⚡️» will glue to your side the rest of the day to make sure you know hes there for you and to be on watch if you start up again

⚡️» you really annoy the hell out of him but god does he love you

⚡️» “your hair is so pretty y/n, let’s get all the kinks out of it,”

⚡️» does everything at your pace; tries to prevent the matting and knotting before it happens

⚡️» if he senses a breakdown on the horizon, he’s proactive and will braid your hair to keep it from getting all tangled and knotted up too badly

⚡️» tries his best 🥺

kamado tanjiro

☀️ » I saved the best for last tbfh

☀️ » too pure for this world

☀️ » sometimes he is >:| with you but is usually 🥰 when you’re not with inosuke wreaking havoc

☀️ » you’re his literal sunshine even when you’re sad

☀️ » this bby slaps the “big brother” mode when you’re not yourself

☀️ » he can smell a breakdown before it starts

☀️ » like zenitsu, he’ll hold you while you have your moment

☀️ » he gets so sad; just goes into comfort mode the whole time

☀️ » “it’s gonna be okay y/n. I love you; it’s okay to let it out.”

☀️ » damn I need a tanjiro when I have meltdowns too

☀️ » he loves your hair and feels bad when you knot it up during a meltdown

☀️ » though it frustrates him, he never raises his voice at you—he’s always gentle and sweet because he knows it’s a habit from you being in emotional distress

☀️ » holds your after too; just rocks you in his arms and reassured you you’re safe

☀️ » doesn’t want you to be ashamed of your meltdowns. at all.

☀️ » if your hair needs to be cut, he’ll help you cut it!

☀️ » it probably ends up fucked up let’s be real: so he has to take you to the salon

☀️ » overall tanjiro? he’s the sweetest, bestest bf

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laceymorganwrites · 3 years

Text

Souvenir

Word count: 2,076

Pairing: Mikey x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, corruption

Summary: You´re a police officer, a bad one. Or a terribly good one. Depends on which side of the law you stand. Mikey is interested in you, so are you but it can´t be that easy, can it?

A/N: happy birthday to this maniac

Song inspo: Souvenir by Avril Lavigne

THIS CONTAINS MANGA SPOILERS

It was a hot summer day, the sky was clear and the heat in the city unbearable. A vacation was definitely long overdue.

Your parents had a vacation home at the coast but they themselves were currently hiking in the mountains. You were against it, telling them to do something more relaxing, after all they weren´t the youngest anymore. It was always you who took care of them, that was how it was supposed to be, not the other way around.

However they didn´t see it that way, saying as long as they were alive they´d always support you and take care of you, you were all they had after all.

And yet they always said you were the one working too much. You really didn´t. You loved your job, but compared to everything they´ve done for you, everything they continued to give up to ensure you have the best life possible, it was nothing.

Of course you were grateful! How couldn´t you be? But it just always felt like it wasn´t enough, you wanted to do something for them too, yet you could never get the chance.

Being a police officer made your private and personal life very hard.

The reason you took this job was because you wanted to create a safer neighborhood for your parents. And you got so lucky, being just a regular officer taking care of small town thugs. Every time you hear about your colleagues working on taking down a gang, you shuddered.

They were the ones who lost their families first. Of course their work was noble and they were so brave but you just couldn´t bear the thought of losing your parents.

Sure, it was selfish, but they were all you had. What did you care whether some gang wreaked havoc in the city? Let them. You never cared about the city and its people anyway, never really having any friends that lasted.

However your station was assigned to take down the Bonten, every officer had to work on that, no matter what their job was before that. That really was the last thing you needed or wanted right now. And because you were you, you didn´t listen. You just kept doing your work, finding any excuses to go on a standard patrol, saying you´d look for their hideout or something. It was all bullshit.

“Fucking great… mom, dad, thanks for everything you did for me. If I don´t come home anymore, if you´ll never find my body: thank my idiot boss who thought it was a great idea to take out the most dangerous guys in town. Fuck him! Doesn´t he have a family he cares about? There´s an order in this city, he can´t just disrupt it, fucking asshole” you grumbled, a bad habit you had. Every time you were mad about something you had to say it out loud, though you didn´t care if people thought of you as the crazy lady who talked to herself. At least that way they stayed away.

You heard a small chuckle from one of the alleyways, turning around and laughing at the absurdity.

That, was how you met Mikey.

He wasn´t anything like you imagined and that made him scarier than anyone else you could ever dream of meeting. Something that surprised you was that he didn´t kill you on the spot, neither did he have his underlings do it somewhere else, a clean job like it was usual for them.

No, they kept you alive. More than that: they wanted you to cooperate with them. They knew you were on their side and wanted to keep them in the game so that your parents could live a peaceful life. So why should they kill you? Besides, Mikey always found that interesting. The fact that you, a normal citizen with the most boring job imaginable, you out of all people understood that the city needed Bonten to survive, to keep the peace. It was fascinating to him. Everyone else was still believing that gangs like theirs, ruthless criminal organizations, should be exterminated. But not you. You wanted to preserve them and had such a… stupidly admirable determination in your eyes.

Mikey couldn´t help but become infatuated with you. That was why he came to greet you personally, something he never did.

And that was how you started working together, you kept them updated on the investigation, got rid of some proof and evidence and nobody suspected a thing. You were so incompetent at this kind of work that it just worked. You were doing such a good job for them, it left Mikey speechless and actually for the first time in a long time did he feel something else than utter numbness. He liked watching you work, finding it so funny how you deceived everyone around you, you were just as ruthless as him.

But there was a difference between the two of you that kept him looking and coming your way: you did it out of kindness. You were a genuinely kind person, even to him, sometimes he hoped especially to him.

He didn´t like the thought of distractions like yourself but then again he was the boss, he could do whatever he wanted. He was still invincible.

Now the only question was: how did you go about having a crush? He never gave it much thought, you were different than the women he used for a distraction. He wanted to get to know you, but didn´t know how. That wasn´t something he could get as easily as everything else. But that just made it so much more fun to him.

You were so integrated in his life and in the gang by now that he asked you to be an official member, still working at the police station to help them out.

Of course you said yes. You weren´t stupid, this was the easiest and best decision in your life.

Now you were sure that your parents were safe, as if the Bonten would kill their own. Well they did, but only the traitors.

And you´d never be one, they knew that. Even the most skeptical ones out of the lot trusted you by now.

Mikey was… special to say the least. He was a ruthless leader like everyone told you but nobody told you about the broken parts, nobody told you that he covered up all of his pain and hurt with sleepless nights and bloody murder. Though their murder was anything but bloody, it was clean and calculated.

You liked it that way. It was even more cruel and very thought out. Still, he needed a break and everyone could tell. Of course nobody dared to say anything. Never defy me, that was the sole rule everything was based on.

Protect the king.

Especially Sanzu was loyal to him, not that the others weren´t but he was very suspicious towards you. That was why you stayed away from him, no matter what you said or did he always thought you were a spy and honestly if it weren´t for the others you were sure you´d be dead by now.

The only reason you weren´t was because Mikey told him explicitly not to.

To this day you wondered why that was. But you´d find out soon enough.

This morning Mikey told you that you´d be the one to dispose of any proof with him this time.

Which basically meant going to a vacation home as an alibi, it was near the port and in this time a lot of students were there too since it were holidays too.

Somehow the thought of being alone with Mikey excited you more than it should, it was dangerous, you knew that.

And even so…. Or maybe precisely because of that, you fell in love with him.

There was something about the unreachable nature of him, people couldn´t help but keep looking at the burning building collapsing. Your presence was the gasoline.

“I came here often as a kid” he explained when you two arrived at the house. It was in the woods, but still close to the beach and port. Perfect to get rid of proof.

You didn´t expect him to talk to you, least of all about private things. Then again maybe he just needed someone to talk to, someone who saw him as Manjiro and not the coldblooded gang leader.

Some would say you had a savior complex and maybe they were right but what was so wrong about feeling special when you were with him? About him sharing things with you he didn´t share with anyone else?

“Sometimes I wonder where it all went wrong…” he sighed, a sad smile on his face. You could tell how hard it was for him to even do that. It was tragic, really. But then again he had it coming.

Mikey wanted the world and he got it. Mikey was ruthless and always got his way, he didn´t care about anything else but power and bloodshed. There was this darkness inside of him that was consuming the little pieces that were still left of Manjiro.

“Would you change it if you could?” you asked, eyes grazing his slightly.

“Well I can´t so there´s no use talking about it” he mumbled, his eyes wandering to the surface your hand was resting upon.

Yours was so different than his… so soft and clean, so fragile.

His was calloused, had seen more blood than human warmth and was always cold because who would voluntarily touch it?

You.

His heart jumped slightly as he felt your fingers entangled with his own. This sensation was so foreign to him, he couldn´t help but smile slightly.

You made him do things he hasn´t in ages, smile and feel for instance.

“Sometimes I wish I could stay here forever” he mumbled, looking down.

He looked so tired, he always looked so tired. You wondered if he ever slept. Though you highly doubted it.

“Staying a day more wouldn´t hurt, right? I mean you have to be here once a year anyway, why not stay the night?” you suggested. Mikey smiled sadly, he could do it… he was the boss after all. But he feared that if he did he would never want to leave again. And then he wouldn´t.

“Hm...I guess you´re right...I knew it would be a good choice to have you work with us” he smiled slightly but there was his usual sadness and tiredness in it. You smiled back at him, shutting your brain off for a moment to wrap your arms around him and pull him into a tight hug. Because right now, all the other times, he just looked like he needed one.

And you were right, by the way he held onto you, the way he relaxed into your touch. He really needed this. It were moments like these were he wished that he could stay like this forever and just not go back to his life. But he chose this life and he won. He made it to the top. But as clichee as it sounded, that was also where it was the most lonely. If you weren´t there beside him he´d have given up on himself a while ago.

The darkness was so easy to control around you.

You smiled at him, going back inside and getting the job done.

The next day felt like you were in a different world. It felt like a normal holiday you both knew as children and never ever had since then. You two would eat together, watch the sunrise together, even play in the ocean a bit.

Mikey even gave you his shirt when you were cold.

“Keep it” he told you when you were packing away everything, the day was over faster than any of you liked. But it also felt like an eternity, like you could truly escape from everything.

“As a promise. Meet me here this time next year, no matter what happens, okay?” he asked, he had a gentleness in his voice that you didn´t recognize, but it must´ve been there all his life. The cruelness just suppressed it all the time.

“Okay, it´s a promise” you smiled, taking his shirt and putting it in your bag so that the others wouldn´t see. For now everything would return to normal, whatever it was that you two had would have to happen in secret, in your sanctuary.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers writing #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers oneshot #tokyo revengers angst #tokyo revengers scenarios #tokyo revengers drabbles #tokyo revengers fic #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo revengers x you smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers mikey #sano manjiro x reader #mikey x reader

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holding-out-for-hea · 2 years

Text

Hear me out…

Season 15 Supernatural where instead of God being just a douchebag writer villain, he goes for the emotional reset of his creations because he realizes the pain on earth, in humanity, is too much for the world to bear. Without it being assuaged, humanity cannot survive.

So he goes with his nuclear options. He and Amara release the sentient. Beings who were designed to mitigate the emotional suffering of humans because they were wired to understand the emotion in a way heaven and hell could never. The sentient are like muses, helping people not only deal with complex emotions, but inspiring people to help others as well.

The sentient have been away for a very long time, because God found the world less amusing when everyone was capable of coping. They’re shocked at the state of the world. Though Sentients can help, it’s so bad out there and they know they have a limit. Only human souls can truly understand other human souls. Only humanity could truly ever save humanity. So they bring out the power of the empath. A gift given to certain people who are able to take on every feeling of every being in close proximity. These empaths, however, are designed to take on much, much more. These empaths don’t just reflect the emotion, they absorb it fully and alleviate the other from it. Only those with a soul mark, given by God, can become one, though many already show the signs of being one.

Of course Sam has a soul mark.

Chuck visits the boys with one of his sentient and tells them what needs to happen. Dean loses his shit and tells Chuck the only reason it got to this point is because of him, because he needed to be entertained by the circus he created. Chuck tells them that unless the empath- around 5000 people worldwide- activate their gifts and take on the pain in the world each day, it will all end. There’s a disease among his creations that Chuck cannot rectify.

Sam accepts, and the sentient takes him into another room to recite the spell that will release the true power of the empath. They tell Sam that this isn’t what they would wish on anyone, given the state of things. They tell Sam to expect pain, sadness, fear and all the other emotions of that nature. An empath doesn’t need to absorb the happy emotions, there’s already too little of those.

The sentient returns to Dean, where they tell him it’s more important than ever to rid the world of the demons, monsters and curses that wreak havoc on the earth. To try to eliminate as many sources of pain that he can, to alleviate the burden the empaths suffer. The sentient pauses, closes their eyes, and when they open them again a small scroll appears in their hands. They hand it to Dean. It’s a list of places currently facing to worst torment of the supernatural. It’s where Dean needs to go.

Dean and Sam start trying to knock off hunt after hunt, but the job Sam has becomes so heavy and painful that he can’t continue. The pain of the locals in these places is unbearable, and Sam takes it all in. Every day he feels more and more, just as the sentient said he would. Dean brings him back to the bunker and watches his brother sink into bed as though he’ll never get up again. Dean feels helpless. He calls in every favor he can and gets a small group of friends, including Cas and Jack, to stay and watch after Sam. Dean leaves to hunt with a few others, a small fire burning inside him to help take some of the torment away from his brother. Sam will never not help, so does all the research from afar, and is in constant contact with his brother.

This goes on for a few episodes. Sam, emotionally broken and in mental anguish- Dean, bloodied, exhausted, bruised and physically broken. Both seeing and feeling too much. Both doing everything they can to save a world that has been so unkind to them.

Dean goes back to the bunker and sees the shape his brother is in, he can barely stomach it. He retreats to his room and cries out for some kind of help, some kind of solace. He needs to talk to the sentient. He scours the lore and finds an old summoning spell and finally brings one to them.

The sentient looks over Sam and sees the toll this role is taking on them. Sam says what he has been guessing at- that this will kill him. The sentient agrees it will. But it is working. Humanity is healing. The sentients have been able to get through to the masses and help again, because the people were feeling hope. Hope given because of the pain Sam and the other empaths have taken away. The sentient remarks how special the soul is of the empath, that they are in a way divine, and few other souls can match theirs. They tell Sam that they’re working for one final moment of enlightenment, and then they’ll be able to take over the job of the empath for good- but it will be the last thing Sam does. Sam accepts this. Dean.. well…

Sam has gone to his room to rest, but Dean asks the sentient to stay for just a moment more. He asks about how bad the end could be for Sam. They reply hesitantly, not wanting to divulge an ugly truth. Many empaths, so overwhelmed, lose their way at the end of it all. Become lost souls in death. Struggle to find peace. A horrifying reward despite their goodness. Dean can’t accept that. He just can’t. But he knows Sam- he knows he can’t stand in his way. Sam will do this come hell or worse. Something sparks in Dean’s mind. They brought up Sam’s soul and who can and cannot match it. Dean brings up soulmates. The sentient is intrigued and touches Dean’s head for just a moment. When they open their eyes they smile and tell Dean what he’s always known- that he is Sam’s soulmate, Sam is his. The sentient marvels at the revelation, so few soulmates exist. Dean states that if this job for Sam is because of his soul, maybe he help bear the burden. The sentient is shocked. Because it is possible. But Dean would only be able to take on so much, and it would most certainly result in the loss of his life. It would spare Sammy some of the pain at the end of things. Perhaps enough so that his soul could remain intact when all is said and done. That’s enough for Dean.

The next few weeks Dean and Sam leave the bunker and travel around a bit. To be together. To find some peace. They can’t really go into any place, Sam can’t be near any people. Instead they sit outside and reminisce. They laugh, and Sam vents all the things he needs to vent. Dean tries with everything he has to not let any negative emotion well up in him, he’d hate to put that on Sam. Dean doesn’t tell him about being soulmates. Though he thinks Sam already knows.

They go home eventually, the sentient sent a warning that the end was coming. Dean takes Sam to his room and sits with him on his bed. They know it will begin any moment. Sam starts to feel the intensity of emotion wash through him and can’t hold back his cries- there’s so much pain. Dean kneels in front of him, tells him he’d never let him do this alone, he’s so sorry he couldn’t bring Sam the life he deserved, but that he’s here to take care of his little brother, that he loves him. Sam looks at him, he loves Dean too, so much. He wouldn’t trade his life with his brother for anything. Dean whispers a small incantation the sentient gave him, and the brothers souls fully converge. They both feel it, and for the briefest of moments both feel a wholeness they’ve never felt before. It’s short lived as Dean sits beside Sam again, stunned at how quickly the pain is now rushing into him and how bad it is- and Sam looks at him in wonder as he wonders how some of the pain in him is going away. They grasp onto one another as an onslaught of feelings assault them. The lights flicker out, but somehow they’re illuminated, as though the light is coming from them. Sam knows there’s only moments left, and Dean can feel it too. They look at each other and Dean tries his best to give a small reassuring smile to Sam. “It’s gonna be okay Sammy.”

They’re found there later, by friends. Looking peaceful- side by side. Together, as they should be, after saving the world one final time.

* this isn’t a well thought out or well written fic. Just an idea I had to put out. I loved the finale for what it was, but I will always wish the brothers went out together. I love them. I miss them. I hope you like the idea. Sorry if it’s sucks 😳

#the epic love story of sam and dean #sam winchester #dean winchester #what I think would have been a good season 15 #sam and dean ❤️#Sam and Dean are soulmates #fic… kind of

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bellakitse · 3 years

Text

I've got the remedy

“Stiles, go upstairs and take care of your guy,” she tells him as she turns to face him once more, sighing loudly when he starts to stammer.

“My guy?” Stiles squeaks, and he hopes Derek is too loopy to hear this conversation or the way his heart is racing. “I don’t –“

Derek gets sick with werewolf flu, and Stiles is left to watch over him. Their mutual crushes come to a head.

“Werewolf flu?”

Stiles Stilinski looks at his friend Lydia Martin dubiously as she stands in front of the stove, heating up soup. She’d called as he barely crossed back into the town lines – home on break from school, with an SOS text telling him to get his ass out to the Hale house. That wasn’t the surprising part, even being away at Berkeley didn’t stop the wolfy emergency-related texts. However, he could admit that their dear Alpha had a better handle on things these days, and he didn’t get too many ‘the world is coming to an end; we need your google-fu, Stiles’ call these days.

Not that Derek was willing to call his impressive skills ‘google-fu’ in the first place, no matter how much Stiles insists. Just because the big guy had mellowed out over the years doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a sourwolf.

Lydia rolls her eyes at him, probably because she has explained twice, and he’s still not getting it. “Peter didn’t precisely tell us – “

“What?” he drags out sarcastically. “You mean Peter Hale was vague about something?”

Lydia shoots him another look, more annoyed than the last, and Stiles smiles delighted, riling her up is one of his favorite pastimes. “Yes, shocker,” she says, returning his tone. “And he didn’t call it werewolf flu, but that’s essentially what it is, and Derek has it.”

Stiles frowns, looking up at the kitchen ceiling like it’s going to open up and show him their Alpha. “Is he okay?”

Lydia rolls her eyes yet again, and Stiles is starting to worry for her eyesight if she continues this way. “Yes. He’s just more irritating, if that’s even possible. Werewolves barely ever get sick, so he’s handling it oh so gracefully,” she tells him. The aggravation in her voice makes him wince.

“Where is everyone?” he questions. He knows the pack arrived days ago, him being the last one to come back to town due to a late paper he had to hand in.

“Far away,” Lydia answers as she turns off the stove. “I called Deaton. He said that while rare, the werewolf flu is contagious to other werewolves, so I sent them away because I couldn’t bear the thought of dealing with more supernatural whiny babies.”

Stiles snorts loudly at that. “Can’t Derek hear you right now?”

Lydia raises an eyebrow at him. “Like I care about the big bad wolf?” she asks, her mouth quirking upward when a growl vibrates through the house. Stiles shakes his head, amused. It’s times like this when he remembers why he was in love with her for so long.

“Okay, so why did you call me?” he asks, instantly regretting it when she gives him a bright smile. “No.”

“Stiles – “

He shakes his head quickly. “No, you just said he’s moodier than ever – “

“He needs someone to make sure he doesn’t drown in his own snot,” she says patiently, and the house shakes again with another growl.

“His betas – “ he tries over the huff Lydia lets out.

“Will get sick if they come near him,” she reminds him. “You really want to deal with a sick pack?”

Stiles lets out a sigh of his own as he reluctantly shakes his head. Scott alone used to be such a nightmare when he got sick before his wolfy transformation. “What about Allison?” he questions desperately.

Lydia looks at him like he’s stupid, and he knows why. Even years later, Allison and Derek aren’t particularly close. She’s pack because she’s Scott’s mate, but she’d probably just end up putting Derek out of his misery before bringing him tea with honey.

“You?” he questions in a last-ditch effort, knowing it useless by the way she looks at him.

“What exactly do you think I have been doing the last three days when I should have been studying, Stiles?”

“We’re on break,” he argues.

“You don’t win a Fields Medal by slacking off,” she shoots back with a flip of her hair. “Besides, I’m not Florence Nightingale.”

“And I am?” he asks. “What makes you think that leaving me with a sick and, per your words, grumpier Derek Hale is a good idea? I’m just going to annoy him more than usual, which I’m sure is not going to make him feel better faster.”

Lydia gives him a look that Stiles has come to know as her ‘Stiles, you’re such an idiot’ face. He’s used to it, but he’s not sure what he’s said right now to warrant it.

“What?” he questions when she continues to look at him like that.

Lydia rolls her eyes because it seems irritation is her default setting for the day and starts to make her way out of the kitchen into the living room to gather her jacket and purse. “The soup is ready. Make him drink plenty of water, and there are these herbs Deaton gave us. It’s already brewed. He has to drink that too. Word of warning, he says it tastes like death, so he’s going to pout about it. Make sure he drinks it in front of you. The first day the big baby poured it down the toilet.”

“Lydia, please,” he tries again as she puts her jacket on and heads for the door.

“Stiles, go upstairs and take care of your guy,” she tells him as she turns to face him once more, sighing loudly when he starts to stammer.

“My guy?” Stiles squeaks, and he hopes Derek is too loopy to hear this conversation or the way his heart is racing. “I don’t –“

Proving that she can be even more unimpressed with him still, Lydia rolls her eyes in a way that makes it seem it’s with her whole body.

“I don’t have time for your panic, so let me lay it out for you,” she says, not waiting for him to speak. “You two talk over the phone all the time. When you and I talk, you end up talking about him, and you get stupidly excited about making him laugh. He softens around you like no one else. You like each other, Stiles, and while it’s amusing for the rest of us to watch this little mating dance of yours, it’s also tedious as hell. Now, Derek has been a pain in the ass the last few days, and I guarantee you that you being here will put him in a better mood. So, I repeat, go upstairs and take care of your man.”

Stiles opens his mouth, but nothing comes out as he tries to process the truth bomb Lydia just dropped on his head. Seemingly taking his silence as an answer, she smiles, pleased with the havoc she has just wreaked, and walks out of the house, leaving him alone with a sick werewolf.

“Right,” he says to himself after a moment, closing his mouth and the door. He heads back to the kitchen, working on autopilot as he serves the soup Lydia heated up, pouring some of the herb-tea Lydia mentioned that does indeed smell like death and some water, placing it all on a carrying tray. All the while, he thinks about Lydia’s comments and the truth behind them.

He and Derek do talk all the time, sometimes for hours, about nothing and everything. He does get a ridiculous amount of joy when he can make the man laugh, and he’d been looking forward to coming home and seeing him, hoping to see and hear that laugh in person. There’s also the undeniable fact that he’s had a crush on Derek since high school, something he thought he’d manage to hide pretty well, but if Lydia’s words were true, then maybe not so much.

He feels his face go hot at the idea that the pack might be aware of his feelings, or worse, Derek. Because even if by some chance he wasn’t aware of them before, there’s no way he’s lucky enough for Derek not to have heard Lydia now.

Every part of him is screaming at him to get back in his jeep and drive home where he could hide under his bed until it’s time to go back to school. Instead, he grabs the tray and starts to make his way up the renovated Hale house. He’s faced scarier things than his feelings since learning about the supernatural, and it’s not the first time he’s been interested in someone wildly out of his league.

It’s his M.O.

Besides, there’s no way he could actually leave a sick Derek alone to be miserable if he can make him feel better. Lord knows the guy has had enough misery in his life. With that in mind, he pushes the door to Derek’s room with his hip, ready to deal with whatever is inside.

What he isn’t ready for is how good Derek looks. Stiles hasn’t seen him in person in months since his last break, and he looks amazing. Leave it to Derek Hale to get some strange supernatural cold and still look like a GQ model.

Derek is sitting up on the bed, and except for an impressive bedhead and unusually flushed cheeks under his scruff, he looks as gorgeous as ever.

“Life is truly unfair,” he whispers to himself, getting a raised eyebrow in return. “What? Of course you would look this good while sick,” he says with narrowed eyes. Frankly, he’s annoyed by just how beautiful Derek is sometimes. “Can’t be like us lesser mortals who look like death when we have the flu? Do you just have to show us up?”

Derek stares at him for another moment before giving him an impressive eye-roll of his hazel-green eyes. “Why are you the most ridiculous person I know?”

Stiles snorts. “That’s simply not true. You also know Scott,” he answers as he makes his way towards the bed, tray in hand, silently apologizing to his friend for the dig.

Derek’s lips twitch for a second before he schools his features, but Stiles still catches it and celebrates the win with an amused grin of his own. It softens a bit as he sits down on the side of the bed, placing the tray on the bedside table to get a better look at Derek.

He stands by his original opinion that Derek Hale is just way too gorgeous in general, much more for someone sick with a magical flu, but this close, he can see the bit of bruising around his eyes from the lack of sleep. His cheeks are rosy-pink from sickness, and before he can stop himself, he reaches out to press his hand against one.

Derek lets out a surprised sound at his touch that startles Stiles into realizing what he’s done. He goes to take his hand off the werewolf, ready to apologize for overstepping when Derek gives him a surprise of his own by leaning into his touch, his pretty eyes fluttering shut, a peaceful look coming over his face.

Stiles holds his breath as Derek lets out another lovely rumbling sound from deep in his throat.

“Your hand is cool,” Derek murmurs softly, his eyes slowly opening to look at him. “It feels nice.”

Stiles bites down on his lip, feeling his stomach clench when Derek’s eyes drift to them, and he licks his own.

Holy shit, Lydia was right. This whole time he had figured that this was just one-sided. That it was him once again developing feelings for someone who would never return his affections. But looking at Derek now, he sees the same want and longing he sees in the mirror every day.

“Oh, screw you,” he breathes out, tightening his hold on Derek when he tries to pull away. “Nope, you don’t get to retreat now, sourwolf,” he warns him with narrowed eyes, proving his suspicions real by the way he listens to him. “You heard Lydia earlier,” he challenges with a raised eyebrow.

“I have good ears,” Derek grumbles back.

“So you heard her when she said we have feelings for each other,” he says, his heart beating faster than usual with anxiety, and he knows Derek can hear that too. Derek’s almost timid, hopeful expression when he gives him a single nod helps ease that worry as he starts to feel hopeful too. “Only all this time, I thought I was the only one with feelings here.”

“I thought you were the smart one,” Derek murmurs, a small grin playing on his lips when he sputters indignantly.

Stiles huffs loudly, even as he’s unable to stop the silly grin that takes over his face.

“Your heartbeat sounds happy,” Derek tells him softly as he looks down to his chest.

“You like me back,” he answers, letting out an incredulous laugh when Derek smiles at him, not denying it. Instead, he looks at him fondly, causing Stiles’ heart to skip a beat at being the recipient of such a rare and special look. “I’m more than happy right now, Derek,” he shakes his head. Happy doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Derek smiles again, pushing off the mountain of pillows behind him, reaching out for him. Stiles does the same, placing his hands on Derek’s bare shoulders, playing with the edge of his white tank top. His face gets inches away from Stiles’ when he stops.

“Wait – “ he starts as Stiles already shakes his head.

“No, no waiting,” he whines, wrapping his fingers around the material of his shirt, leaning forward. He rubs the tip of his nose against Derek’s even as he tries to close the last inch of distance between their lips. “I have had a crush on you since like junior year, Derek. No waiting, no wasting any more time, kissing now.”

Derek chuckles slightly. This close up he can see Derek’s eyes shining with joy, and Stiles wants to be responsible for that from now on.

“I’m sick, remember?”

“Affects werewolves, not humans,” he mutters as he brushes his lips against Derek’s, sighing at the feel of their softness. His sigh turns into a low moan as Derek gives in, hauling him onto his lap, proving that werewolf flu or not, his strength is still superior.

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck as he cradles him between his legs. He kisses him slow and deeply, thoroughly, it being such a long time coming. He sinks his fingers into Derek’s hair gripping it harder than he intended, pulling on it on reflex when Derek gives his bottom lip a bite. The pleased growl Derek lets out against his mouth vibrates down his whole body, making his spine tingle. He breaks the kiss to take a breath, only for it to turn into a gasp when Derek ducks to kiss his way down his neck.

“Totally worth the risk,” he gets out, moaning as Derek traces his moles with his tongue.

Derek laughs against his throat. He pulls back to look at him, smiling widely. “You say that now, but don’t complain later if you do get sick.”

Stiles shrugs his shoulders, not really worried or caring right now when he’s in Derek’s arms. “If it happens, we’ll stay in bed together until we’re both better,” he answers, his eyes lighting up as he speaks. “Actually, that’s a great idea. Let’s stay in bed.”

He waggles his eyebrows, grinning when Derek huffs, rolling his eyes at him.

“The most ridiculous person I know,” he mutters right as he rolls them over, ignoring the yelp Stiles lets out at the sudden movement.

Stiles blinks up at the ceiling while Derek throws an arm and a leg over him, settling around Stiles like he’s his own personal body pillow.

“What about the soup?” he questions even as he starts combing his fingers through Derek’s silky hair, scratching at his scalp with blunt nails.

“Mhmm,” Derek hums out, his face tucked into Stiles’ neck, already sounding half-asleep. “It will keep.”

Stiles laughs softly, but still, he wraps his arms more securely around the sleeping wolf, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead because he can now, closing his eyes too.

The soup can wait.

#teen wolf #sterek #eternalsterek #sterek fic #derek x stiles #my writing #my nostalgia for sterek kicked into gear today and this happened

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Text

you are all horrible horrible enablers, every one of you, and I hope you know that

The Quiet Room (aka whumptober no. 24) part 2/? - for part 1 see ao3 or tumblr

Lan Wangji liked the quiet.

Or – perhaps it was only accurate that he had liked the quiet, back when quiet meant good things. When it meant thoughtful contemplation, not having to deal with people he didn’t understand, and mama.

She’d called her home the jingshi, the quiet room, after the real one that was built back against the mountain, the one even Lan Wangji, who loved the quiet, had to be slowly acclimated to, the one that served as a means to strengthen cultivation and discipline the mind. He’d asked her once why she called it that, since it wasn’t a proper jingshi at all – it only had the basic arrays for privacy set at the windows, plus a few others he didn’t understand set into the floor, but those never seemed to be working when he was there.

She’d laughed weirdly (unhappily) and said that the sect’s quiet room was meant to discipline the mind and her quiet room was meant to discipline her. He didn’t understand, which he didn’t like – he usually understood mama, not the way he sometimes had trouble with other people – but she didn’t say anything more.

(That was the only time he’d ever seen the floor arrays active, the whole time he’d known her.)

He took to calling his home the jingshi, too, long after she’d left it. After all, the Lan sect rules demanded ‘Maintain your own discipline’, and quiet was discipline, and Lan Wangji always tried to do his best to follow the rules because following the rules made you happy. Right?

His older brother hadn’t liked that he called it that, but the name stuck – it’d been called it for so long, after all – and in the end he used it too. And so Lan Wangji lived in the quiet, even when it isolated him from the other boys his age, and he liked it that way.

And then, of course, he met Wei Wuxian, Wei Ying, who was the very opposite of quiet.

A bit like mama had been, actually, and for the first time it occurred to Lan Wangji that it wasn’t the quiet that he had liked so much.

When Wei Wuxian was gone, and he was hurt as much by his absence as he was by the whip marks that tore open his back – a punishment so dire he had scarcely believed it would actually be implemented until it was, and where before he might have accepted it as being his proper due he wasn’t so sure now – Lan Wangji turned to the quiet again, seeking the strength he gained from cultivation. Seeking comfort.

He found none.

He found –

Nie Mingjue was a heavy weight in arms that had begun to atrophy from disuse no matter how much Lan Wangji tried to train them, trapped as he was by his injuries, but Lan Wangji ignored the pain as he helped him back to his own quarters, his own jingshi, away from the other one.

(He ignored the way he took the lesser-used pathways to do it, making sure no one saw them.)

There was a lot of blood on Nie Mingjue, his hands nearly battered to bits, his throat abused by the silence spell, his face and ears covered in scratches caused by his own nails, and his eyes and ears had begun bleeding in the tell-tale sign of disorder qi wreaking havoc on his body from the inside as well.

It was not that Lan Wangji did not know of Nie Mingjue’s familial affliction. The man was his brother’s lover, after all, and they had all known each other since they were young. It was true that Lan Xichen no longer turned to Lan Wangji to confide in him his fears about Nie Mingjue, not after everything that happened over Wei Wuxian – it wasn’t necessary since he now had Jin Guangyao, some cruel part of Lan Wangji whispered, feeling jealous that his brother should have two great loves in his life while Lan Wangji had none – but it didn’t mean that he didn’t know.

“Why did you go to the quiet room?” he asked. He had always thought Nie Mingjue had hated the idea of it – it had always made sense to him, even if it didn’t to Lan Xichen. Nie Mingjue was a man of movement and noise, always loud in presence even when he did not speak; what succor would he find in the quiet, he who had never known it? “What happened?”

Nie Mingjue was weeping into his bloodied hands, salt tears mixing in with the tear tracks of blood on his face. Lan Wangji suspected it was the sound of Lan Wangji’s voice that affected him so – the voices of others always seemed to ring loudly after some time spent cultivating in the quiet room, almost deafening, and yet every time the din acted like a balm on his tender nerves.

And that was him. Lan Wangji couldn’t even imagine – for someone like Nie Mingjue, who didn’t have Lan training nor practice Lan techniques, who was notorious for lacking any skill in music and who couldn’t even protect himself by playing melodies in his head –

“What happened?” he asked again, more determined this time – there was a sick feeling in his stomach, a feeling not unlike the sick he had felt at the Nightless City, seeing his beloved do so much wrong. “Tell me.”

He got the story out of Nie Mingjue in bits and drabs, confused in sequence and time and not – not well – and –

Lan Wangji threw up into the small basin by the bed that he kept just for this purpose. It happened moderately often after he overexerted himself, whether in cultivation or movement or otherwise, and sometimes just after a particularly bad nightmare – and this felt like that.

A nightmare.

His brother – his brother – who always meant well, who tried so hard to do the right thing, who was kind and gentle and approachable the way Lan Wangji wasn’t – who was dutiful, who followed the rules, who had two loves in his life, each of them appropriate and approved of by the clan elders –

“He didn’t mean to hurt me,” Nie Mingjue lisped, his tongue still swollen from having been nearly bitten through, his voice hoarse and torn from his silent screams. His eyes and ears were still seeping blood. “He just wanted me to get better…he thought I wasn’t listening to him…being irrational…”

He nearly killed you, Lan Wangji wanted to scream. He didn’t trust you.

Just like he didn’t trust me.

“You need to go,” Lan Wangji said, seized with a sudden urgency. “Before –”

He didn’t know how to verbalize it. He didn’t want to verbalize it: he didn’t want to say that his brother’s lover should leave and never return, never trust himself again into the hands of the man (his brother) who did this to him, who put him in a room of nightmares and left him there unsupervised, who was probably at home having tea with his other lover while his childhood sweetheart died by inches in torment.

(Did Nie Mingjue even know about Jin Guangyao? Lan Wangji wondered for the first time. He’d thought they were a triad – Lan Xichen certainly spoke as if they were, confident that his sworn brothers’ troubles with each other were temporary, because love would eventually conquer all; he’d said that Jin Guangyao had told them that they were once lovers, attracted despite themselves, that it was a lover’s tiff that was sure to pass – but Nie Mingjue didn’t speak like that at all, distant and wary and even a little hateful towards the man he only reluctantly called his brother. He spoke of Lan Xichen as his lover, his beloved, and Jin Guangyao as someone who had betrayed him and who he was trying to force himself to get to know again, to tolerate, all on Lan Xichen’s say-so, and that was wrong, that wasn’t the relationship Lan Xichen seemed to think they had, and if Lan Xichen was so horribly wrong about that, then what else was he wrong about?)

“What happened to you?” Nie Mingjue asked instead of leaving at once, his hand raised and pointing as best as he could with broken fingers at Lan Wangji’s back. “Why…?”

Lan Wangji wet his lips. He knew, of course, that the Lan sect had not disclosed to outsiders what had happened to him – his betrayal of the sect, his punishment – but he had assumed Lan Xichen would at least tell Nie Mingjue.

“He said you were punished, and that you went into seclusion after,” Nie Mingjue said, before turning and spitting out some blood into the basin Lan Wangji had just cleaned. “But not – details. Why? What could merit that punishment?”

“I aided Wei Wuxian in escaping the Nightless City before he could be executed,” Lan Wangji said, because while he wanted to help Nie Mingjue he didn’t know if Nie Mingjue wanted his help – he didn’t know if he would turn away from him the way everyone else in his family had turned away from him. After all, there had been plenty of Nie sect cultivators who had been wounded or worse by what had happened there – and Nie Mingjue had been one of the ones who’d heeded the call to go to the Burial Mounds to lay siege.

But Nie Mingjue just nodded. “Should’ve had a trial,” he muttered through bloody lips. “Should’ve had a chance to explain what happened. Might’ve died anyway, but not – like that.”

Those were the kindest words on the subject that Lan Wangji had heard since it had all happened. They were probably true, too; Wei Wuxian should have had the chance to explain, to meet justice on his own terms, even given what the outcome would likely have been…Lan Wangji might not have even been able to tolerate that much. Like his father before him, he couldn’t bear to see his beloved executed for their crimes, though at least he’d kept himself from imprisoning him against his will until he lost all will to live.

(Not like Lan Xichen, who put his lover inside the jingshi just as their mother had been put inside a jingshi and left him there alone –)

“You need to go,” Lan Wangji said again. “It’s not – safe. Here.”

He hated to say it. He hated to think it.

Nie Mingjue looked at him, the same shared sorrow in his eyes. “Is it for you?”

That night, Lan Wangji went to children’s quarters and collected a very sleepy A-Yuan, who had been reluctantly named Lan Yuan by elders who didn’t accept him and sometimes resented him and who would not live well here without Lan Wangji to protect him –

Collected an equally sleepy Lan Jingyi, a little orphan who hadn’t yet been assigned a guardian, who liked noise and play a bit too much for the elders’ liking and who screamed for days after even the smallest introduction to the quiet room and no one seemed to care because surely he’d get used to it eventually –

Collected Bichen and Wangji and all the things he thought he might miss, which turned out to be far less than he’d thought –

He ignored the pain on his back, mounting on Bichen with Baxia under Nie Mingjue’s feet as well for all that the man was still bleeding and couldn’t stand without leaning on him, though he held Lan Jingyi securely in his arms like a man who knew his way around children –

He left.

Lan Wangji did not think he would return.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #lan wangji #lan xichen #my fic #my fics #no. 24 #the quiet room #LXC is not evil he's just misled #but at what point is that no longer an excuse?#this point #I wrote all of this this morning #and I suspect there will be more #why do I do this to myself

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