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errantnight · 8 months

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Sephiroth assumes Genesis and angeal had a similar upbringing to him (experiments of Hollander instead of Hojo). He finds out otherwise when they're both horrified at some aspect of his childhood that he just casually mentions without thinking anything of it...

Sorry this took SO LONG I just am unable to make things short sometimes and this one grabbed me and wouldn't let go!

I am doing all of these that I get, I just got a LOT of them and I'm working through them chronologically as I received them!

This is the first time I've written ABO! Please let me know if I did okay?

"Bad Medicine" <-- one AO3

After Sephiroth’s customary round of injections and the tests to be certain that they were taking and absorbing correctly were finished, he’d fought to keep himself in control as something registered on the edge of his senses.

The scent of fear and pain nearly made Sephiroth retch as the scent of an omega in distress made him want to hurry his steps, to run to his side, but he had to keep his stride to slow and measured steps. An impersonal, blank, expression was a careful mask as he passed from Hojo’s lair and into Hollander’s domain.

Hojo had waved him off earlier than usual, without the usual pain and healing tests, and ordered him to “Go get your pet omega, he’s distracting my assistants.” He’d been expecting Genesis to be causing trouble on purpose during his own Mako injections, using his often abrasive wit to hide the anxiety and pain that must have come from the treatments - Even Sephiroth, generally inured to pain and well practiced in hiding any discomfort during what a normal person might call ‘torture’, occasionally slipped up and showed his true feelings.

For the omega, it was impossible to hide his scent as he might usually do - his scent blockers had been slated to be renewed and clearly something had gone wrong… or ‘right’ as far as whatever procedure Hollander had decided to test out on the other man.

Angeal was the stoic one, the one who came back from the labs and insisted that nothing was wrong, he felt just fine, and to please not concern himself with his discomfort when they all went through the same thing. Genesis always made a fuss, refusing to keep his mouth shut while being treated - Sephiroth had heard him repeating Loveless on an endless loop from behind the closed door of Hollander’s personal lab whenever the pain became too much.

For himself, he’d learned long ago that any reaction to painful stimuli or what most people would think of as humiliation, would make everything so much worse. Angeal was more like him in that way and sometimes Sephiroth envied the other alpha’s ability to come out of the science department with a smile of encouragement for anyone else waiting for their turn. No matter what it was that Hollander did to him, it seemed to have no lasting effects. Sephiroth himself usually secluded himself in his rooms until he had complete control over himself, usually too ill to eat or accept a mission for three days or so. How did Angeal do it? How did he go back to teaching and training his new apprentice while suffering the aftereffects of Hollander’s experiments? He was so much stronger than Sephiroth, no matter what anyone said about his prowess in battle.

Sephiroth knew the tests and procedures were necessary for the progression of the SOLDIER program, to further the field of science as a whole, and to make certain various potions and curatives would be the correct dosages for the enhanced men under his command. He suffered through them, desperately trying not to show anything but calm acceptance and the expected silence as Hojo rambled about what he hoped to accomplish. If he had to have the flesh on the back his hands be flayed open to test how quickly it took to heal itself with various new potion formulations, or be forced to hold himself still through a spinal tap to check how much Mako made its way into his spinal fluid versus in his blood, he knew he could get through it as long as he had three or four days to recover.

He stepped through the door into the other scientist’s examination room and fought the urge to cover his nose with his hand as the scent of pain-fear-stress hit him full force. Genesis wasn’t usually like this, even though he was the worst of the three of them to be able to handle what they suffered in the name of science. Genesis wasn’t supposed to be lying curled on his side covered in sweat and reeking of distress and misery, totally silent with glazed eyes. His usual scent of apples and spice was both sickly sweet and somehow bitter all at once. Sephiroth didn’t bother to ask permission to pick up his friend and carry him out, ignoring the spluttering Hollander and stepping past him without a word. Genesis didn’t finch, didn’t insist that he wasn’t a child or a lapdog to be scooped up and carted around, especially by Sephiroth of all people. That was so intensely wrong.

In the elevator, Sephiroth pressed his lips into a thin line, his mask breaking completely when Genesis reached up and weakly clutched at a strand of Sephiroth’s hair. He lowered his head, a curtain of silver blocking Genesis, and incidentally his own pale face, from view as the elevator opened and admitted a handful of office workers. They were clearly curious, but it was absolutely none of their business. Let them gossip about the two of them being lovers all they wanted… Not that Sephiroth would mind it if it were true, and he ignored the pang of longing that he’d never let Genesis see - the other man had enough to deal with and had his choice of anyone he wanted.

He shook off his own spiraling thoughts as he carried Genesis into his own apartment, rushing into his bedroom once the door was closed behind them with no more chances for someone to catch him doing so. Genesis listlessly clutched at the pillow Sephiroth laid him down on, dragging it from underneath his head to cuddle it against his chest.

Sephiroth rarely swore, and never where anyone would hear him, but he muttered a soft curse and ran into the hallway to fling open the door to the linen closet. He wished he could find Genesis’ key-card to get into his apartment, surely the omega had an abundance of blankets and pillows, everything he would need to make himself a nest to curl up and recover in. Much like purring, the nest itself helped to relieve distress and mute pain, although he’d always wondered if they weren’t perhaps psychosomatic.

He’d never felt the strange sort of panic that began to well up in his chest, the knowledge that Genesis was miserable and radiating pheromones that had never affected Sephiroth in quite this way. He’d scented omegas in distress and pain many times, the infirmary tents in Wutai had often stank of it. But this had a quality he couldn’t explain… It made his hands begin to shake and his mouth was dry as Genesis shivered and curled into a ball on the bed.

“Mn,” Genesis whimpered out a soft sound of discomfort from the other room that set Sephiroth’s every nerve on edge, the need to do something becoming overwhelming, “m’cold…”

Dragging out every extra blanket, sheet, and pillow, woefully limited the selection might be, he dragged his armful back into the bedroom and began to arrange it all around Genesis to cocoon him in the warmth. He didn’t know what was driving him on, he’d never done any such thing, but it seemed to come naturally to build up small walls of comfort around Genesis’ curled up form. He tossed the softest blanket he had, something Angeal had given him he was certain, over top of everything and tucked it in around the other man.

Sephiroth hovered by the bed until Genesis reached a hand out from beneath the blanket and mumbled out, “More…”

Uncertain what else to do, Sephiroth sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his boots off, stripping out of his coat and harness before gingerly climbing into the circle he’d made around his friend. Very hesitantly he wrapped one arm around the other man.

Genesis shifted back against him, sighing as he seemed to bask in the warmth of Sephiroth’s body. One of his feet reached back and hooked his heel around Sephiroth’s knee, guiding it over his thigh to get more warmth enveloping him. The other man’s skin was hot and unpleasantly sticky from mako-fever sweat. Sephiroth knew he’d be replacing everything in here when Genesis was well again, including the mattress if the mako made its way through the sheets and blankets. He didn’t care though, not if it made his… he shook his head, as long as Genesis was comfortable while he recovered that was alright.

Sephiroth sighed, a low shivery breath, and leaned closer. He would never take this liberty in any other circumstance, hoping Genesis didn’t firaga him right in the face as soon as he was well. He nuzzled into the sweat soaked hair at the back of Genesis head, moving down just a little bit, until he could scent him. The pain and distress was still there, but the fear was gone. He rubbed his cheek against Genesis’ shoulder, pressing his own scent into his skin, then went still as he realized what he had done.

He’d never done that, not to anyone, and certainly never to one of his only friends. He thought, ruefully, that he would deserve that firaga…

He startled as he heard his own door open and close, heavy steps making their way quickly to the bedroom. Sephiroth pulled his face away, uncertain when he’d drifted down to touch his forehead to Genesis scent gland, feeling as though he had been caught doing something even more intimate and forbidden. Unexpectedly, the worry on Angeal’s face softened to some other expression he couldn’t name. Watching them for a moment, Angeal ran a hand over his hair, muttering something that sounded like ‘Finally,’ in an exasperated tone that made no sense.

Sephiroth didn’t know why it bothered him so much when Angeal sat down on the edge of the bed and touched his fingers against Genesis' pulse, so close to the place on Genesis' throat where he had just been rubbing himself against. Shame washed through him, leaving him feeling cold and hot in turns as Angeal cupped Genesis’ chin in a gesture that showed he’d done it many times, “Gen, can you wake up a little?”

Angeal looked over Genesis’ shoulder to Sephiroth, still touching Genesis, which still made Sephiroth feel upset in some unexplainable way, “It helps if you keep talking to him when he’s, um, like this.”

A pang of his own distress stiffened Sephiroth’s shoulders as he turned his attention back to his, to their, friend. How many times had this happened and he’d never known? What had Hollander done to him? He couldn’t smell blood, so either he’d healed Genesis to a point he’d stopped bleeding or whatever he’d done hadn’t been particularly invasive…

“I…” he began and then trailed off, uncertain what he was supposed to say to help Genesis, “it’s going to be alright, Gen, please wake up?” He cringed slightly as Angeal’s lips turned up at the corners, knowing he sounded more than a little awkward and pathetic.

Quietly, they both called Genesis back until he half turned in Sephiroth’s hold and blinked up at them, bleary eyed and still sweating. His body language, curling back against the warm body flush against him, and his scent were still tainted with distress.

“What happened?” Sephiroth asked quietly, pulling the blanket away from Genesis and receiving a plaintive mew of sound like nothing he’d heard from the omega before in his life. Genesis shook his head and deeper concern sped Sephiroth’s heart rate as he rose up, “I’m sorry but you know I have to do this if you don’t remember.”

He looked up at Angeal, “Will you help me? I don’t know what your usual routine is after your appointments, but I usually start checking my abdomen if I can’t remember what was done - I can’t smell blood but that doesn’t rule out any exploratory surgery and he’s been favoring around his stomach the whole time.”

He had to gently turn Genesis onto his back, pulling up the sweat soaked t-shirt he was wearing and began carefully palpating his stomach and watching the other man’s face for a reaction as he checked all the usual places, moving up to check his throat even though he’d been so close to it a moment ago.

“Does that feel alright, no tenderness or pain?” he asked, wondering why Genesis was looking up at Angeal with one of the odd expressions Sephiroth had always had trouble figuring out. The other man was looking more and more alert, and somehow more and more alarmed at the same time.

“Are you certain it doesn’t hurt, is your throat alright?” It wasn’t like Genesis to be so quiet, especially when he was injured or ill and he felt a burst of genuine panic rise as he asked, “he didn’t cut your vocal chords did he?”

“Does…” Angeal reached out a hand to him, unexpectedly, and Sephiroth pulled back before his friend could touch his face as he’d done Genesis a moment ago, “does that happen during your appointments?”

“Does what happen?” Sephiroth asked, confused, as he resumed checking Genesis for injuries, making him sit up and checking the back of his neck and touching each inch of his spine for damage, “no spinal tap either…”

“Does Hojo cut your vocal chords?” Angeal elaborated and Sephiroth realized that the strange expression on Angeal’s face was concern. He must have worried that Genesis had earned such a punishment.

He shrugged, “Not for years. I learned to be quiet through any of the tests and procedures.” He waved a hand toward Angeal, “You’re quiet enough as well to not need to be corrected, I’ve never heard you when I know you’ve had the same slot as I did, but I’ve heard Genesis enough times that… I wondered… I worried about when Hollander would get angry enough to do something about it.”

“I’m alright,” Genesis said carefully, his voice rough but otherwise seeming alright. It made more sense if he had been screaming, and Hollander had merely cast silence on him, “he did try something new, but I’m not… I’m just…” Genesis stumbled over his words, which again was unlike him, “I’m not injured.”

“Are you ill then?” Sephiroth asked, reaching up to lay his hand on Genesis’ forehead, although he could already feel the heat radiating from the man through his side, still pressed up against him, “poison resistance tests?”

“No!” Genesis rolled over, wincing, and Sephiroth went stiff as the omega wrapped his arms around his neck and twined their legs together in one sinuous movement.

Genesis rubbed his cheek along his own and Sephiroth’s breath hitched in his chest, the sensation so unfamiliar he didn’t know how to process it. The alarm and fear was back in Genesis scent, mixed with that sweetness that was no longer as cloying as it had seemed earlier. He hesitantly reciprocated. Having never done so before, he hoped he was doing it right.

“No…” Genesis said again, his voice growling in his chest. He raised his head, turning enough to look into Sephiroth’s face, “that doesn’t happen to us, that has never happened to either of us. That isn’t normal.”

“It isn’t right” Angeal’s voice was lower and deeper than usual, radiating sheer fury, and Sephiroth stared at both of them in turn. Angeal ran a hand down his face, abruptly leaning closer, one hand in the nest and the other reaching out to curl his fingers through Sephiroth’s hair and cup the back of his head. Too startled to move, Angeal pulled him closer to touch their foreheads together, Genesis trapped in between them, “it’s so fucking wrong.”

If Sephiroth never swore, Angeal had always seemed as though he never even thought of it. He felt something tight in his chest loosen, then swayed into Angeal’s grasp as Genesis broke out into a low and comforting purr. The sound radiated into his chest from Genesis wrapping their bodies together closer. He’d heard that this could happen, that an omega’s purring had healing properties, but he wasn’t injured. Why did he feel so dizzy and strange?

There was a small space of quiet and he realized he’d said the last part out loud. Genesis’s low purr hitched for a moment, then grew into something so strong Sephiroth felt he might be vibrating.

A matching rumble spread from Angeal, dragging him and Genesis closer until he tumbled into the nest and curled himself over both of them. Sephiroth should have struggled - should have wanted to, but their weight and the purring, and the… protective… it was protective, the growl thrumming through both of them was seeping somehow into Sephiroth.

“No one has ever fucking purred for you in your godsdamned life, have they?” wetness was dripping down Sephiroth’s neck, soaking into his shirt. “Goddess, fuck!” Genesis sounded as though he were choking.

Angeal’s hand gripping the back of Sephiroth’s head loosened, his fingers petting through the silver strands as his head hit the edge of the nest and he felt like he would melt right through it. Whatever was happening sucked all of the energy out of him. He went limp as both men began to speak quietly, in turn.

It was all wrong, they said, that Hojo was a monster, that none of that should ever have happened - they were both so sorry they hadn’t known, hadn’t understood that something so awful was the reason he often sequestered himself in his rooms for days after his appointments.

“I will never,” Genesis hissed viciously, arms still wrapped around him and gripping handfuls of Sephiroth’s shirt, “ever, let you go alone again. Never.”

The growl in Angeal’s throat grew even lower, somehow, “I don’t think that’ll be a problem, not if I have something to say about it.”

A laugh, a very small, strange laugh, was huffed into Sephiroth’s throat as Genesis nuzzled against him, “oh, good, I don’t think I can stand up long enough to do something about it just now.”

“You’re still ill,” Sephiroth whispered, unable to so much as raise his head beneath the two men, still confused and curious at once why the sounds they were making were both affecting him so strongly, “you’re burning up, you’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m not sick,” Genesis insisted again, “I’m in heat. Hollander tried to give me some experimental drug he formulated to stop it, it just made it worse.”

“Excuse me,” Angeal said, faintly, rising from his perch on the edge of the bed, “I need to go down to science for a while, I’ll leave the two of you, ah, to it.”

“Do you want me to go?” Sephiroth asked, uncertain that he would be able to move if Genesis wanted him to leave, “aren’t heats… private or something?” He didn’t know much about it, his biology textbooks had never gone into the social aspects of such things save the bits he’d assumed were theoretical about purring and nests - but now knew had some validity.

Genesis hooked his leg over Sephiroth’s hip, turning his face into Sephiroth’s shoulder again, “Don’t you dare,” he said, “I don’t want to be alone.”

Still unable to so much as raise his head, feeling light headed and just.. somehow… light, Sephiroth held Genesis a little more tightly… “I think… I don’t… either.”

Genesis somehow began to purr even harder, “Oh good,” he said, sounding choked again, “I wasn’t going to let you anyway.”

#ffvii #ff7 #sephgen #genseph #whump #writing prompt #referenced medical torture #referenced torture #misunderstandings #abo #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #non traditional a/b/o

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liminalpsych-in-teyvat · 7 months

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How Genshin characters deal with skin hunger: An ongoing series of headcanon drabbles

Childe isn't used to a life without touch. His childhood was all roughhousing and hugs, sprawling across his siblings, sitting in a family member's lap, carrying Teucer on his shoulders. Touch for Ajax was frequent, casual, caring.

And then he fell into a hole in the world, and everything changed.

It was all right for a while as a soldier. There's a kind of companionate affection that happens among comrades, but he was a feral thing in those early years, all teeth and blade and temper, and people quickly learned to keep their distance. Then he became a Harbinger and it got worse: you don't sling an arm over your commanding officer during a drunken fireside singalong, after all, and the Harbingers don't touch each other. They're strange and prickly, distant and guarded, all brittle smiles and armor that no one ever removes.

So there's Tartaglia, itching out of his skin, restless for any kind of contact. A brawl or a battle is as close as he can find. A punch is still a touch, isn't it? And a blade can give an embrace all its own. There's intimacy in the fight, and it's the only intimacy he's given.

Zhongli has held himself apart for so long, in stone and solemn vows, in bonds of word and deed, that he has forgotten the warmth of connection. He hasn't known it since the Archon War. Not since the Guili Assembly.

But Rex Lapis has become Zhongli, folded himself into mortal guise. Now he has given up his gnosis and orchestrated the death of his godhood. Now he is mortal, and mortals need touch to thrive. Now his heart beats with more blood than magma, and he finds himself curiously yearning for contact, a strange hollow behind his breastbone and an ache under his skin.

He seeks satiation in the senses: music and fine tea, soft fabric and rich textures, spiced food and bold colors. He sinks into his mortal form through sensate experience and tells himself it is all he truly needs.

Xiao won't seek touch. he can't. he can't. he is poison he is damaged he is unworthy and he is alone. Karma writhes under his skin, tendrils out from his soul, seeks any living thing to latch onto. It's all he is and all he does: devour, maim, destroy. All he can do is prevent harm to others by keeping well away from them, and turn his darkness onto the things that would threaten Liyue's people.

Once, he could relax into his brothers and sisters, his yaksha family. They all carried the same karma, they all carried the same poison, and could not poison one another with their touch. But they're gone, now. All that's left are adepti who are too pure for him and humans who are too fragile for him and Rex Lapis who is too far above him to even think of touching, and so he buries himself in battle.

Karma pulses against his flesh, an agonizing kind of touch and the only one he can accept.

Baizhu remembers a time when touch didn’t hurt, but that was before his teacher’s passing, before the contract came to him, before the first burn of sickness in exchange for the first drain of his life force. Now, touch hurts. (Now, everything hurts.) But he rarely feels the craving because Changsheng is always there, a gentle warm pressure around his neck, a calming weight across his shoulders, an acerbic tongue to ground him into the here-and-now.

(He doesn't need more.)

He is consumed with his quest, his work, and the inside-out cataloguing of endless symptoms interwoven, the cough that never leaves his chest, the fire in his nerves.

(His body is a cacophony of sensation.)

Accepting touch, letting himself feel and appreciate contact, brings him down from the distance of clinical observation and into full awareness of the pain. Some days, touch might be a pressure that calms the tremors: a distraction, a soothing warmth. But some days (more days, more and more with every new malady he breathes in), he cannot even tolerate the touch of his own clothing or the weight of a light blanket or even the electric strands of his own hair, searing across his skin with every subtle movement. Some days, he can scarcely bear Changsheng’s smooth scales, much less the callouses of a well-meaning human hand.

He closes himself up in his room (the warmth squeezes him like a vise until his pulse throbs in his vision and pounds in his skull but it’s better than the risk of a breeze flaying him alive in sudden scorching agony), he wraps his arms around his aching knees, and wrings the need from him until his muscles give out.

For Kazuha, there was home, and family, and then there wasn't. There was his friend, his lightning-bright companion, and then there wasn't. The crew of the Alcor is a rowdy bunch, free with contact around the fire; Kazuha is one of them and yet not. He perches alone on the rail despite Beidou's attempts to pull him in. He wraps himself in wind and whistling song. Any touch is too much. (Any touch is not enough.) He'll take his solace in the breeze, the brush of leaves against his skin like the ghost of a lost friend.

And sometimes, when the longing aches down to his bones, he awakens to all three of the Alcor's cats piled on his cot, pressing against him with softly vibrating bodies.

It's enough.

(It has to be enough.)

Freminet sinks into the ocean's embrace. The water holds him like his mother never did, wraps around him with gentle pressure and beckons him downward. It's an embrace that only tightens when he sinks into the depths. The sea listens without judging, holds him through a storm of sobbing, and releases him reluctantly to the surface world. Underwater, he forgets the void of lonely inside his chest.

Above, exposed to corrosive air, his emotions threaten to drown him. He seals them inside a clockwork heart and freezes them to silence. He withdraws deeper into himself, tangled in his fears until Lynette notices, as she always does, with her silent watchful gaze.

She and Lyney pull him out of it with tea and teasing. They coax him into the couch by the hearth, and they sprawl across each other in a companionate pile while Lyney spins his latest tale (performing even here, even with only his siblings for an audience, always performing) and Lynette smiles her sad, knowing smile. He shivers in the warmth that he can scarcely let himself accept (but it would be rude to refuse), and he begins to believe that maybe, just maybe, he is not entirely alone.

(Obviously these headcanons assume the characters are in a situation where they are not getting the physical contact they need. Exact situations may vary from canon or fanon.)

#genshin skin hunger #liminal psychoanalyzes #my writing #drabbles #genshin fanfic #zhongli #childe #tartaglia #freminet #childe tartaglia #lynette #lyney #kazuha #baizhu #xiao #actually disabled #disabled writer #chronically ill writer

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varverine · 2 months

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MLORVY

There are four saber-toothed feline species in Mirolapye: they are called mlorvies (“Mlorvy” meaning “fang” in some feline languages).

Esbekas are considered mlorvies too, even though they have no visible fangs!

Foxeaters are currently an extinct species, due to Kvolke-Ho’s endeavors. Distinctive features of foxeaters included tufted tails, large pointed ears, long fangs, a variety of colors, and horse-like manes. The males had stiff manes that usually stood straight up, while the females had softly flowing manes.

They settled in dry light forests, disliking dampness and thickets. They did not build complex structures, and used caves as dwellings, or built simpl dens.

These mlorvies did not recognize predator solidarity, and that is why they got their name, having chosen foxes as their favorite prey.

Seeing such blatant behavior, Firstfox came to Firstmlorvi, asking her to keep her children in check. But the proud fox-eaters would not obey their foremother, and Firstmlorvi refused to force them. This led to a battle between Firstfox and Firstmlorvi in the Skynesting.

But Kvolke-Ho, Firstfox's son, was a beast of imagination. He quickly realized that the proud temper of the Foxeaters could be turned against them and they could be justly punished without incurring the wrath of the Stars.

Kvolke-Ho, who had already become a Sunchaser, came down to Mirolapye in the form of a small solar disk and appeared before the fox-eaters as a solar messenger. Carefully and persistently he began to poison their minds with the ideas that there must be someone in charge in a family, or serious conflicts were inevitable in the future.

"You're getting bogged down in strife, time after time. Wouldn't it be better to decide once and for all, whose word and whose fang you weigh more? Only those who find out once, will preserve their union for years to come," he said.

The Mlorvies did not listen to him at first, but graphic speeches of the deity seeped into their superstitious hearts. The foxeaters agreed and mates held duels, most often right on their Bepawment days, to choose the head of the family whose word would be the law. And at first all went well, but soon the proud spirit of the losing feline began to rebel, unwilling to accept the humiliating second role. Couples broke up and cubs were never born.

And Kvolke-Ho only fueled their conviction that this was the best and only option, because with equal rights for both mates came endless squabbles, fights and even murders! He gave dozens of fictitious examples. And if the losing fox-eaters happened to accept their secondary role, Kvolke-ho immediately, as if unintentionally, stirred up their wounded pride.

Shattering their values and replacing them with destructive ones, Kvolke-Ho ensured that within a few generations, the fox-eaters became completely extinct as a species because they stopped reproducing. The poisoned tradition had taken too tenacious a root in their culture, but the freedom-loving beasts could not live in such a relationship.

Already on the verge of extinction, the fox-eaters tried to form families with other Mlorvies, but the dueling tradition displeased other subspecies. And if they ever did agree to abide by the traditions, the fox-eaters were always defeated, for fox-eaters are the weakest of the saber-tooths.

So the predators, who despised predatory solidarity, paid for their irresponsibility. They paid the price with their own lives.

#mirolapye #mirolapye:Kvolke-Ho #mirolapye:mlorvies #worldbuilding #xenofiction #animal fiction #art #artists on tumblr #writeblr #writers on tumblr #saber-toothed cats

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skyward-floored · 1 year

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Great fairy bad times. Since this'll be easier than Dming you cuz everything has a character limit. ugh.

Link is in the bottle for 9 days, he is not vibing

The battle was growing more and more exhausting as the days went on. The amount of enemies the Hyrulean army had to fight felt endless, and the soldiers were beginning to falter. The feeling that they haven’t made a dent in the dark forces dropped their morale, and Link couldn’t seem to do anything to raise it up. He was sent with his own army to eradicate a group of monsters, but little did they know that it was a trap. Soon they retreated to the stronghold keep, trying to regroup to figure out a new strategy, but Link was at a loss. A small group of soldiers were captured near the enemy base, while the soldiers that were defending the boulder keeps were captured as well. Their numbers were dwindling, and Link didn’t know how to come on top.

He’s tried to get reinforcements, but the messengers were never able to make it to their destinations. Soon they would all be captured and possibly killed, which frightened several soldiers.

Link sighed as he skimmed over the map for the hundredth time. There was nothing he could do. He looked up at the wary soldiers who were eating the last bit of their rations. The thought of having to surrender to the enemy made him sick. These men would probably get executed or tortured, and him, being the commander, would most likely have to watch. He silently put the map away and walked near the exit of the base. He watched as the sun began to settle behind the mountains solemnly. Proxi popped out of his scarf and hovered near his face.

“Link? What’s wrong?”

Link looked at his fairy companion sadly. He swallowed hard and began to quietly explain the situation to her.

“Proxi, I don’t think we’re gonna make it out of this…”

“What?”

“Shh, I don’t want to worry the soldiers, but we can’t escape, we’re cut off and can’t call for reinforcements, the soldiers are tired, we’re almost completely out of rations… I… I don’t know how to win this.”

“Oh Link,” Proxi rested on his shoulder near his head, “are you going to surrender?”

“That’s what I’m worried about. If I surrender, what will they do to us? They’re not necessarily civil.”

Proxi flickered for a moment, then sighed. “Yeah, it can’t be anything good… I’m sorry Link. You think we could try to escape?”

Link shook his head. A messenger attempted to escape out of Death mountain, but he ended up getting captured along with the other ones, all options of escape were not possible.

“I should tell the soldiers,” Link said, after a moment of silence, “They deserve to know.”

“I can do it for you!” Proxi offered. Afterall, Proxi was his voice in the beginning of the war, it was only because of her that he gained the confidence to use his own, but he didn’t need her now. He needed to personally deliver the news.

“Thank you Proxi, but I need to do it myself.”

And with that, the hero of Hyrule, the last hope for them all, faced his soldiers, and delivered the news. The soldiers overall took it well, Link assumed that they accepted their fate as hope began to fail, but he could still feel the fear in their hearts. He couldn’t help but be afraid as well. But he had to be courageous, for them.

When night came, the soldiers all enjoyed their last good moments, sitting around a fire, talking, laughing, and trying to lighten the mood. But Link couldn’t help but watch with a sinking feeling in his stomach. This was all his fault, he was the commander and he failed his men. Now they were going to lose everything because of his inability to lead. The men laughed and Link turned away, a lump in his throat beginning to form. He walked to his tent and set up for the night.

“You’re going to bed already?” Proxi asked, floating near him.

“Yeah, I’m tired,” Link said quietly, he got into the covers and turned away from his fairy companion. She floated around him for a moment but decided not to pry.

“I’m sorry Link,” Proxi muttered, then he felt her warm presence rest near him, and he closed his eyes, holding onto the happy laughters of the soldiers, that may be their last.

~~~~~~~~

“Hey! Link wake up!”

Link groaned as he felt Proxi hitting his shoulder, waking him up. It took him a moment to fully wake up and comprehend Proxi’s ramblings, she seemed desperate and almost out of breath (though Link didn’t know if fairies even ran out of breath). He blinked hard and grabbed his sword, assuming they were in danger. He stood up and looked at his empty tent, the night silent except for Proxi. He looked at her.

“What’s wrong Proxi?”

Proxi floated around his head, and Link noticed that she was excited.

“Link! I heard a voice! It was a great fairy! A great fairy is nearby! She can help us!”

Link gasped. He didn’t know a great fairy was near death mountain! With her help, they might have a chance of winning! Link ran to his things and quickly got dressed with Proxi basically buzzing with excitement. He ran out of his tent and marched over to the guards on watch. He explained the great fairy to them and the hope in their eyes was enough to get him going.

Link ran out of the base with Proxi leading the way. He snuck around Death mountain, not wanting to be caught and losing their one opportunity at winning, but luckily, he was able to slip away unnoticed. That was until he reached the great fairy fountain, which was closed with a group of monsters, one of them being a gatekeeper, Link assumed. He quickly made work of them, grabbed the key the gatekeeper had, and opened the door to the great fairy fountain. He ran inside, panting for air in the quiet and serene room. Even with the chaos of battle, the great fairy fountain never failed to calm him down. He looked around, and then got on one knee. He couldn’t make a magic circle like Zelda or Lana, but he hoped that his plea would be heard regardless.

“Oh Great Fairy of Death Mountain,” he started, looking up to see if she was there. She was not, so he kept going. “I beg for your help. We have been fighting for days and there are no signs of victory for us. I beg that you help us. There are good men down there that could die, good men that have been captured, and I want so desperately to help them. Please… help us.”

He bowed his head, and he felt a warm tingling above it. He looked up and saw the Great Fairy smiling down at him, however something about her smile made his skin crawl. This great fairy seemed different from others. Though it didn’t matter, he needed her help.

“If you could weaken them for us, we could drive them back and gain another victory for Hyrule!” Link began again, and the Great Fairy just kept smiling at him. He swallowed and looked at Proxi. Why was she staring at him like that? He took a step forward. “Will you help us?”

The Great fairy tapped her chin with her long nails, and gave a hum. “You want me to weaken the enemies, yes?”

Link nodded, growing impatient, the night was slipping away, and soon the soldiers would be on their own. He had to get back to them.

The Great Fairy left the pond she was in and got closer to Link. He instinctively took a step back, his heart nearly jumping to his throat as she leaned forward, her face inches from him.

“How about I fight the enemy for you?”

Link blinked. “F-fight? For us? That-that would be amazing!” He let out a bewildered laugh. That was the best possible scenario! With the extra help of fighting, from a powerful being too, winning would be easy! The Great Fairy gave a laugh at his reaction.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” She teased, poking his hair with her finger. His smile faded slightly at that, but didn’t want to seem rude. He nodded.

“Your help would mean everything to us.”

The Great fairy smiled laid down next to him.

“There is one thing however,” she started, running her fingers along the floor near him, “I don’t know what your strategies are, and I’ll need your help to tell me where I need to go and who I need to fight.”

Link nodded. “Of course! If you stay next to me, I can lead you to the enemy bases!”

The Great fairy giggled. “Oh, no, I have a much better idea. I’ll help you, but only if you’re in a bottle for me.”

Link was taken aback by that. Was she… negotiating?

“But I can’t fight if I’m in a bottle.” He tried to explain, the idea of being in a bottle sounded miserable, but the great fairy hardly listened and got way too close for comfort.

“With me there, you won’t need to fight love.”

Link couldn’t help the scream that escaped him as his feet were sweeped out from underneath him, and he fell backwards. He landed with a harsh thud against thick glass at the bottom and he tried to scramble to his feet, but the movement was limited. The bottle the Great Fairy put him in was so small, he could barely shift around. He stood up with a struggle as the bottle was carelessly jostled around and banged on the glass.

“Wait! Let me out! There has to be another way!” He screamed, but the Great fairy didn’t listen. Instead she burst through the door and stared out at Death mountain, the sky turning a beautiful orange as the sun began to rise, but Link didn’t feel any peace as it came up. He let out a yelp as the bottle jerked, causing him to fall. The great fairy gave out a laugh and began attacking the nearest keep. This was going to be awful. Link only prayed that he wouldn’t be in here for long.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Link’s hope for getting out of the bottle soon was short lived, he didn’t know how long he was in there, but it was over 3 days now. He couldn’t tell however, since he was passing out at random times whether due to dehydration, being jostled around carelessly, or even almost suffocating. The bottle was not fit to contain a living being, that’s for sure. Link wondered with a sick feeling in his stomach if it was this bad for fairies, but he couldn’t ask Proxi about it since she wasn’t in the bottle with him. He didn’t know where she was, but he prayed that she was safe.

Link was growing more and more exhausted as the great Fairy dumped him out of the bottle to wildly attack the enemies. Even though he was out of the bottle, this wasn’t a pleasant break, he had to use all of his energy and strength just to dodge or deflect her attacks, but as soon as she was done and he could catch his breath, she would come up behind him and scoop him up into the bottle again. It felt like he was always on edge.

What made him most upset about this whole thing was that he didn’t help her out at all. She went to the keeps on her own and knew who she needed to fight. He was completely useless to her. Not to mention, the glass was so thick that she couldn’t hear him. No one could. His hoarse voice caused him to give up on screaming for help.

Link sat down in the tight space with his knees up against his chest, using his arms to keep his head from smacking against the glass. He watched as soldiers fought hard against the enemy, and he wanted so desperately to be with them. Being in this bottle was humiliating enough, but it was torture not being able to help his fellow men, watching as some are cut down and unable to win their battle with the monsters. He tried so many times to get the Great Fairy’s attention, but she paid no mind. She just kept on fighting and laughing.

Link yelped as the bottle jumped and the back of his head smacked the glass. He blinked back tears and rubbed the spot, his vision going blurry for a second.

“Oh, did you hit your head too hard?”

Link opened his eyes and glared at the Great Fairy. No matter what he did, she was always somehow watching his every move. He looked down.

“I’m fine.”

The great fairy laughed and she once again continued to fight. He sighed in frustration as he watched the battle happen before him. It was difficult to see what was going on amongst the chaos, but he knew that the Hyrulean soldiers were fighting back valiantly. He was proud, and happy that they were finally winning the battle.

Maybe if I stay in here, we will win… it shouldn’t take long, he thought, trying to find a positive in this situation, however, being bumped around here almost didn’t feel worth it.

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

Link landed with a grunt as he was dumped out of the bottle for the hundredth time. It took him a moment to stand up, but he was snapped to the situation when a monster swung their weapon at him. He clumsily rolled out of the way and grabbed his sword to fight back. He wobbled a bit, his legs feeling like jelly, and his entire body being in pain. He felt weak, and fighting that monster took a lot more energy than it should’ve. The Great Fairy was dropping bombs from the sky on the monsters around her and he brought up his shield to protect him, grumbling about how careless the great fairy was being. He put his shield down for one second until his legs were swept from beneath him, and he was falling back into the bottle.

He couldn’t hold back the scream when he landed. His back flared up in agonizing pain and his hand instinctively went to it, pulling back to see if he was bleeding. He was not.

“STOP! STOP PLEASE!” He screamed as loud as his voice would allow him, and by some miracle, the great fairy did.

She inspected him from inside the bottle as he laid there in pain, tears streaming down his face and gasping desperately for air. He heard the great fairy let out an annoyed sigh, and she opened the bottle, letting him fall out into her hand, which made the pain worse. He tried not to move as she wrapped her fingers around him, to keep him still as her pointer finger touched his stomach area. He whimpered as a bright light appeared, and the pain was gone.

“There we go, you feel better?” The great fairy asked, a smile on her face.

Link glared at her in response and she giggled, once again throwing him into the bottle. He yelped as he tried to land on his feet this time, and he looked back, where the great fairy resumed fighting.

She healed him. She healed him and she doesn’t even care that she caused him pain. He rubbed his back cautiously, trying to be extra careful as he was thrown around within the bottle. Clearly she could do whatever she wanted with him. She could be as careless as she wanted, because she was a great fairy, and great fairies have extraordinary healing abilities.

He sighed and curled up into a fetal position, praying that he’ll be let out soon, because these past few days were torture for him.

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

Link didn’t see a single monster in sight. The Great fairy was looking around as well, seeing if there were any stragglers she needed to take out. There were none. She hummed and uncorked the bottle, and for the last time, Link was dumped out onto the ground. He stood up shakily, wondering if he would be able to walk again, but felt a gust of air from behind him. He turned around and saw nothing. He frowned and nervously turned his head, seeing where the great fairy went. When he looked behind him again, he nearly fell back as her large face was inches away from him. She giggled and nudged him a bit.

“Thank you so much for your help commander!” She said in a sing-song voice. “We won the battle thanks to you.”

Something within Link snapped, and he spun around, seething with rage as he was about to scream at her. Scream at her for treating him like a play thing for no reason. Scream at her for making him useless during this battle. Scream at her for causing him pain and not caring for it. But he stopped himself when he heard cheering from his soldiers.

“Commander! That was incredible!” One recruit shouted.

“Getting the help from the Great Fairy saved us! Thank you!” Another cheered.

“All thanks to you we won the battle,” a captain said, patting Link on the shoulders. The captain looked up at the great fairy with a smile, and she giggled in response.

Everyone was happy and cheering, they survived, they won against all odds. He couldn’t scream at her about what happened, not when everyone was happy. He swallowed down his anger and said nothing as the soldiers were all chattering amongst themselves.

He should be happy. He should be relieved. Afterall, the great fairy did what he asked of her. He shouldn’t feel upset, or violated, or offended that he couldn’t fight. He had to endure that in order to save his men, right? It should have been worth it in his eyes. And in a way, he was happy that the great fairy helped. But he couldn’t smile. He couldn’t cheer, because he was so angry, and he felt violated, and he felt offended. He felt like a toy the great fairy wanted to play with, wanted to tease just because he is the way he is. Just because he has a pretty face.

He couldn’t do or say anything either. She was a great fairy, a powerful being that saved everyone’s lives. If he said something, he was afraid that people would call him ungrateful, they would be upset that he was insulting a powerful being. A heavy feeling grew in his chest, and he began to walk away to the best of his ability.

“Wait.”

He turned around to see the Great Fairy smiling down at him. He braced himself for what she was about to say or do. She got close to him and poked his cheek.

“You are a brave one,” she said. Then she flew away, laughing like a maniac. Link turned around, the rage within him boiling up again. He ignored the soldiers who tried to talk to him, and he ignored the concerned cries of the captains, he even ignored the concerned voice of Proxi. He was just tired. He needed rest, a bath, a meal, whatever. He just didn’t feel good. So he walked to the hot springs that Darunia would talk about constantly, hoping he could at least clean himself off.

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

Link was sitting by the hotspring for possibly hours, his feet inside the water. He’s cleaned himself off, surprisingly had a lot of monster blood on him for not fighting a single one, but he felt a little better being clean. He didn’t make an effort to get food or anything, even though he was starving. He didn’t have an appetite after that all happened. His trousers were on, rolled up so they wouldn’t touch the water, but his chest was bare. He was carefully observing the bruises and cuts he had all over him. Mostly bruises on his torso and arms from being thrown around a lot. Conveniently, the Great Fairy healing his back didn’t bother to heal the other little injuries on him.

Link rubbed his head that’s been killing him for days. He knew that getting food would help a lot, but he couldn’t stomach the soldiers, not now. Not when they were so happy and he was so upset.

“Hey.”

Link spun around and gasped to see Princess Zelda standing there, a smile on her face. He jumped up and saluted, and she responded with a small laugh.

“You don’t need to do that, Link. Especially right now.”

He looked down embarrassed, lowering his arm. Oh goddesses he was shirtless in front of the princess.

“I–! I am so sorry Zelda! I’ll cover myself up right away!” He sputtered out, grabbing his undershirt so he could throw it on, but Zelda stopped him, a concerned look on her face.

“You’re injured, Link.”

He stared at her for a moment, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to have bumps and bruises everywhere.

“I… I am…”

Zelda went to lightly touch the bruises around his chest, and he watched as her hand slowly got closer, and an uncomfortable feeling grew in his stomach. He covered his chest quickly with his bundle of a shirt, stopping her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I don’t want to be touched right now.”

She gave him a look that he couldn’t read. He got worried that he offended her. She was the princess! She can do whatever she wants! But she backed away and leaned against a rock, a sympathetic look in her eyes.

“What happened, Link? The captain and Proxi said that something happened to you during the battle.”

Link’s head shot up at Proxi’s name.

“Proxi is ok?” He blurted out, stopping Zelda. She nodded with a smile.

“She’s alright. She and the captain came to me worried about you. Said that you were upset over something…” She paused, watching Link’s face. He looked exhausted, had dark circles under his eyes, his hair was a mess, and it was hard not to notice the many bruises that littered his body. He didn’t look back at her, however, so she kept going. “They said you were in a bottle? While the great fairy was fighting.”

There was a moment of silence between them, and Zelda was about to keep talking until she heard Link sniffle.

“It was awful Zelda…” He whimpered, clutching his shirt tightly. “It was so small and tight, I was thrown everywhere, I’m pretty sure my back was broken at some point. I couldn't breath sometimes, I tried to break the glass, I-I tried to beg her to release me, I tried to run away but she wouldn’t let me go! I couldn’t fight with my soldiers, I couldn't do anything I–” He sobbed, stopping himself. Zelda didn’t know if he wanted a hug or not, so she sat there in silence, watching him as he cried. She never saw him cry before.

He sniffed and took a deep breath before continuing, “I don’t know what to do. I-I thought she could help us. We were going to lose, I knew it. Proxi said that she sensed a great fairy and I just… was so happy and relieved but…. She threw me into a bottle… I don’t know how long I was in there but… It was humiliating and exhausting, and I’m so angry at her!” His voice was raised at the end of saying that, rage plastered on his face, but it dropped and he slumped over. “I can’t do anything. She helped us. She saved all those soldiers. I shouldn’t be upset with her, my life is small compared to theirs but… I just… I don’t know.”

Zelda stared at him for a moment, anger beginning to grow within her as well. Seeing the hero this broken over something like that, it disgusted her. And it disgusted her that the person who did this to him was on their side.

“Link, did you two strike a deal?” She asked, hoping there was a reason the Great Fairy decided to do this. Link shrugged.

“Sh-she asked me to help her… to know where she needed to go. I-I told her I would help. I just… she said she wanted me in a bottle and I didn’t say yes. Not that it mattered. I didn’t even help her at all! I know what she was thinking and I hate it! I’m so sick of being treated like a toy to be played with as if my feelings don’t matter! I just–” He pulled his knees up to his chest and burrowed his head in his arms.

Zelda sighed, wanting so badly to hug him. She got closer to him as he cried, trying to be a calming presence to him. She looked at his torso and noted how thin he was.

“Link, you should probably eat something, or go to the medic,” she suggested, but he shook his head.

“I don’t want to see them. The soldiers. I don’t want to ruin their celebration.”

Zelda’s heart hurt from hearing that. Even when he was suffering, he was still thinking of others. She got even closer.

“Is it ok if I hug you?” She asked quietly. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but slowly leaned against her, and she wrapped her arms around him, rubbing his back, which seemed to relax him.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he whispered after a minute.

“I don’t care, Link. I want you to know that I care about you, and you don’t have to hide your feelings from me.”

He sighed, relaxing more and more, leaning up against the princess. They were silent for a long time, with her holding him, until Link said one final thing.

“Thank you, Zelda.”

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

Link woke up groggily in a cot. It was dark outside, however there was some light, possibly peeking out from the horizon. Was it nighttime? Or… morning? How long was he asleep? When did he fall asleep? Did he… oh goddesses did he fall asleep on Zelda? He sat up and looked around, no one seemed to be in his tent. Suddenly, a bright light appeared from his left side, and Proxi came into view.

“Link! Oh thank goodness! I was so worried about you!”

Link stared at her for a moment, then smiled, holding her close.

“Hey Proxi, I’m so sorry I didn’t look for you. What happened? Are you ok?”

Proxi rested in his hands and nuzzled his chin. “I’m fine! When the Great Fairy put you in the bottle, I flew away to get the other captain! But then she started fighting, and so did everyone else, and…” she stopped and hugged his chin tighter. “Are you feeling any better?”

He smiled, relieved that she wasn’t roped into that nonsense. “I’m a little better… Um… what happened? What time is it?”

Proxi rocked back and forth, humming mischievously. “Weeeellll, I didn’t know where you went, so I talked to Zelda when she arrived. Apparently one of our messengers was able to get through for reinforcements! So she arrived but we already won, and I told her about you, and she went to find you and….” She stopped and giggled for a moment, which worried Link.

“Why are you laughing?”

“She came back a little bit later carrying you to the medic tent.”

Heat rose up to his face. “She-she what? I… uh…. How could she do that? I’m not light!”

“I don’t know but it was very romantic,” Proxi teased. Link huffed, and Proxi got more serious. “You were completely passed out, I was worried about you. You woke up for a little bit and we tried to feed you and stuff. I’m really glad you’re feeling better. It’s almost morning now.” Proxi nuzzled in more and Link smiled. He did notice that he was less fatigued from before. He was just thirsty and hungry.

“Is there still food around?” He asked, he certainly felt the hunger pains. Proxi floated around him and flew over to where bread was covered with a towel. He went to walk over there, but his knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

“Link! Are you ok?”

“I’m fine Proxi… haven’t used my legs in a while, that’s all.”

He stood up and wobbled over to the bread, grabbing a piece, and then sitting down with Proxi joining him.

“I am happy that we didn’t have to surrender,” Proxi said quietly, snuggling up against Link’s arm. He grunted in response as he ate the bread. “But I am upset with what you had to go through. That wasn’t fair.”

Link patted the tiny fairy’s head with his finger, his mouth too full to respond.

“What are you gonna do tomorrow?”

Link swallowed and thought for a moment. “Well, I guess all of us that were fighting will return to Hyrule Castle. I’m sure I’m not the only one exhausted. And I guess I should… uh…” he could feel his face getting red, “I should really thank Zelda for uh… yesterday.”

Proxi giggled and curled up into the shirt he was wearing.

“Sounds like a plan,” she yawned. Link smiled down at her and shifted to make her more comfortable. He looked around the dark tent, the sinking feeling in his stomach again, and a hint of fear too. The thought of the Great Fairy returning frightened him as he sat in the dark. But he shook his head. The Great Fairy wasn’t Cia, besides, Zelda was here. And even though he felt alone in this endeavor, he was proven wrong with her, Proxi, and the captain. He needed to depend on others at this time, but he wasn’t scared to. He knew someone would listen to him. He rested back when he finished the bread and smiled. It was all over for now.

[bruh] end

YOOOOOO SMILES. SMILES I LOVE THIS SO MUCH THIS IS SO GREAT AAAAAAA

He’s in there for so long getting thrown around and getting hurt his back gets broken and the Great Fairy barely even cares about it and then he feels like he can’t be angry about it because they won? He should be happy yeah? Right??? But then Zelda talks to him and he gets to yell and they HUG and SHE CARRIES HIM BACK AAAAH and that ending too aaahgdhggggjfdjhf

#I loved it thank you for showing me #answers from the floor #smiles my beloved #hyrule warriors #fic #legend of zelda #Great Fairy #long post

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awhitehead17 · 2 years

Text

Whumptober 2022: Day 15 - Emotional Damage

Prompt: New Scars

Summary: When Tim gains a new scar to his already elaborate collection on his body, his old insecurities and strong feelings of self-doubt come rushing back. Thankfully Kon is there to help him chip away at the negative thoughts encasing his mind.

Enjoy! :D

It’s funny how he thought he had gotten over his insecurities by now.

When he thinks about it, he supposes it’s been long enough to almost have forgotten how it feels to be drowning in his own self-doubt and negative thoughts. Tim knows that these feelings are only resurfacing because of recent events that have happened.

Tim’s had long conversations with many people over the years about it, ranging from his family to “professionals” and to his boyfriend. Sometimes they helped to ease his mind and to slowly overcome those mental barriers which prove to be difficult for him to conquer. Other times not so much, they occasionally had the opposite effect and made him resent himself even more.

It’s probably one of those things that won’t ever really go away, it’ll only ease with time before coming back with full force and making his life difficult until it eventually fades again. Then the cycle repeats.

It’s been a week since the most recent event and this is the first time Tim’s really got to sit down and reflect on what happened. The last week has been busy consisting of report writing, damage control, analysing strategies, and most of all recovering.

Now he stands in front of his full length mirror, wearing only some loose jersey shorts, staring at his skin and judging everything about himself with a critical eye.

Most of the time he tries to avoid doing this, especially after a mission and battle where he’s ended up wounded, but he couldn’t help himself this time. The need to look was too great to ignore. Looking was supposed to be one of those things he tries not to do because it happens to be a trigger, it starts off an endless cycle of negative thoughts which only grow increasingly worse in a short space of time and keep growing until they’re all but consuming him, making him uncapable of anything else until the chain somehow breaks.

His gaze moves from one body part to the next, taking in every little detail visible on his person. 99% of everything he sees isn’t new, every lump, bump, spot and hair on his body he already knows. That other 1% is exactly what his eyes keep drifting back too as he stares at the mirror. A recently healed wound has left behind a new scar across his lower stomach over his belly button. It’s two inches long and the pinkness of it making it stand out against his pale complexion.

Tim couldn’t keep his eyes away from it, even after he stares at another part of his body, his eyes eventually always drift back to that spot in particular.

He hates it.

The new scar only adds to his already elaborate collection on his person. He knows that the vigilante gig comes with consequences but it’s still difficult to see the negative impacts it has on his body. When he sees scars on the other members of his family, he doesn’t think anything of it, they somehow suit them (of course ignoring how the scar got there). But with Tim, they look wrong. He can’t accept them.

That’s something his family have pointed out to him previously, if Tim can accept the scars on them then why is it any different to accept them on his own body. They’re sure he’ll learn to accept them on himself if he can do so for them. Tim shakes his head at the thought, that just isn’t possible.

“I’m going to smash that mirror in a minute.”

Tim’s startled out of his thoughts when a voice speaks up behind him. Eyes not straying away from the mirror, he glances behind himself to watch Kon walk out of the bathroom with his eyes narrowed. Tim huffs and raises an eyebrow.

“By all means,” he says, “but don’t come pleading your case to me when Alfred goes after you.”

Kon sends him an amused look, his boyfriend leans against the doorway and crosses his arms over his chest. “What? No comment about giving myself seven years bad luck? Nothing about how ‘Bloody Mary’ is going to come and scratch my eyeballs out of their sockets?”

Tim shakes his head and rolls his eyes at the ridiculous notions. Finally broken out of his self-torment spell, Tim moves away from the mirror and steps forward to grab the t-shirt he had abandoned on his bed and puts it on. Once he’s dressed he sends Kon a small smile which his boyfriend returns but it doesn’t stay as Kon quickly sobers up, now looking at him with concern.

“What’s going on Tim?” He asks the question like he doesn’t already know. Tim appreciates that Kon is giving him an option to either accept the invitation to talk about what’s bothering him or to reject it.

Sighing Tim shrugs dejectedly and sits down on the edge of the bed. His hands fall to his lap and he looks over at Kon, observing the way his boyfriend watches him back. After the whole mirror thing Tim’s left feeling slightly disconnected from himself, in a way he doesn’t where to go from there. His headspace isn’t in the best place right now and he knows it wouldn’t take much to plunge back in deep where his negative thoughts lay, by now he’s tired of it but he doesn’t know how to stop it from happening.

Letting out a dramatic moan Tim falls backwards on the bed and covers his face with an arm. From the side he hears Kon chuckle. After a moment he suddenly feels a heavy weight appear on his thighs and he feels the mattress dip by his hips. Removing the arm from his face he looks up and finds Kon’s smiling face looking down at him.

Kon braces his forearms on the bed besides Tim’s head and if it was any other time this position would make Tim feel all giddy with excitement, sadly now is not the time for that.

He pouts at his boyfriend. “I’m not in the mood for sexy times Kon.”

Kon tilts his head to the side, his smile falling from his face. “I know, that’s not what I’m doing here.”

“Then what are you doing?” Tim questions as he smooths his hands along Kon’s sides, feeling his boyfriend’s warm and firm body. At some point his hands wonder underneath Kon’s t-shirt and Tim is stroking the smoothness of his skin, feeling how unblemished and perfect it is. It’s so unlike his own imperfect and marked body…

Tim scowls at himself. There he goes, again with the negative and self-hating thoughts.

“What I am doing,” Kon begins as he leans down to press kisses to Tim’s lips between words, “is showing you why your thoughts are wrong. Proving to you that it’s possible to like yourself for the way you are.”

Tim pushes Kon back to look at his face, unimpressed at the corniness of how his words sound. Kon simply smirks and dives back in and claims his lips in a deep kiss. Tim sighs into the kiss, he closes his eyes, tilts his head accordingly and runs his fingers through Kon’s soft hair.

When Kon breaks the kiss the two of them are breathing heavily but neither of them mind. That’s when Kon shifts on the bed, he sits up right and moves his hands underneath Tim’s legs to move them around until they’re wrapped around Kon’s waist instead.

“Kon what are you…” Tim starts to ask his boyfriend what he’s doing because he just stated that he didn’t want to have sex despite the passionate kiss they just shared and Kon’s current actions seems to be heading in a direction he doesn’t want.

“Hey!” Tim suddenly lets out a yelp when Kon slides his arms underneath Tim’s back and lifts him up without a word and drops him down further up on the mattress. “Conner!”

His boyfriend confuses him even more when Kon forces Tim’s t-shirt off his body and throws it off to the side. Tim glares hard at Kon when the Kryptonian once again straddles his legs, he told Kon he didn’t want this…

Pushing himself up so he’s leaning on his hands, Kon stares down at Tim with a determined look. Tim is now on edge, unsure on what is going through Kon’s mind but he tells himself he has nothing to be worried about when Kon starts speaking again, finally explaining what’ he’s doing.

“You and I, mister, are going to have a conversation. I’m kinda forcing your hand right now because you’ll just avoid it for as long as possible and be entirely disagreeable about the whole thing. Call it tough love.”

Tim scowls at him. Before he could protest however, Kon places a finger over his lips to stop him from speaking.

“I figured we could try exposure therapy. Together we’re going to go over your scars and one by one go through them and talk about each and every one. We’re going over your chest because they’re the ones that cause you the most distress.”

The scowls disappears from his face and is replaced by disbelief. “I don’t think that’s how exposure therapy works Kon. And we really don’t need to do this.”

Kon shrugs, seemingly unbothered by it. “Eh, if this doesn’t help we can try something else next time. I’m not a psychologist, I’m only guessing and simply trying to help.”

Tim shifts uncomfortably underneath him. “I appreciate that Kon but I really don’t think this is going to help. So thanks but no.” He starts trying to escape from underneath Kon but his boyfriend doesn’t move. Instead he simply pushes Tim back down onto the mattress and pins him there with his weight.

“Please, do this for me.” Kon says quietly, almost pleadingly. “We haven’t tried this way yet, I think it may help. If not we don’t have to do this again.”

Kon lets out a sigh and ducks his head, his expression goes almost sorrowful and it pains Tim to see that look on his face. “Seeing you look in that damn mirror with the most hateful look on your face as you stare at yourself… Tim I want to try and help, to try and get you to see the way I see you. Handsome. Appealing. Wonderful. Perfect.”

Tim immediately feels his cheeks warm up at the words Kon use. His boyfriend’s told him that all before but it doesn’t stop Tim flushing at the blatant admiration Kon is showering him in. Kon’s outspoken love for him, makes him pause in his protests. Maybe he could try this for Kon, he could give this a go despite how embarrassing and how difficult it’s going to be. If it doesn’t work out they don’t have to do it again.

Tim swallows thickly and nods. His voice is quiet when he speaks but he means what he says. “Yeah okay. We can try this.”

Kon sends him a mega-watt smile. His boyfriend ducks down and captures Tim’s lips in another heated kiss. “I’m proud of you, you’re so brave. Please believe that.”

In response to that all Tim could do was kiss him again.

#Whumptober 2022 #new scars #Tim Drake #Kon-El #timkon #hurt and comfort #body insecurities #self-doubt #self loathing #kisses #soft boyfriends #supportive kon #hints of depression and anxiety #communication #dc comics #fanfiction

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ao3robin215 · 1 year

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Chapter 22/22x

Eliwood talks to Mark after a battle. However, establishing a friendship with him proves difficult.

Some light angst for the soul.

Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword. Eliwood/Mark.

Lord Pent was like a godsent. He’d acted so humble about the entire ordeal, but truth was that if he hadn’t been there, things would’ve taken a turn for the worse in the desert. But how? How could that be? Mark had been working so hard to keep everyone atop their training. He liked to think that it was the hellish weather, the lack of movement, and the strong enemies, but truth was that he was a lousy tactician. And it hurt to accept it.

That was why he was working, working, working on his strategies, plans, and tactics. There was no rest for him. After all, he was the only person who could see the battlefield in the way he saw it. And there was no explaining it. There was no explaining all the numbers about every single unit in the army he saw. They’d take him for a loon.

Still, it didn’t matter how much data he had that no one else did. If he didn’t know how to use it, it was all useless. No. He could not waste such an ability. That was why he studied day and night, restlessly, running the battles in his mind on repeat to spot what went wrong and how he could fix it. Following the altered path, he spotted mistake after mistake. And then, he fixed them all. Making his mind and his papers into a mess of scribbles, hypotheticals, and possibilities.

Studying the past was the best way to not fuck up the future.

A knock on the door interrupted him.

Odd… No one comes in at this time… No one comes in, period.

Without waiting for his answer, the door opened, giving Mark merely a few moments to compose himself. He had the impression that he looked like a desecrated corpse while he studied.

“Hello, Mark. You’re still awake, I see.”

Lord Eliwood! Mark stood up, pushing his chair back with enough force for it to fall over and crash against the floor. With a pit in his stomach, Mark bowed. Then, he grabbed the chair and put it in place.

“You needn’t be so formal, Mark. I am sorry to have startled you. Please, take a seat.” He closed the door behind him and Mark did as he was told.

What could Lord Eliwood possibly want? He had never come to talk to me about… Anything.

As Marked looked at him, the numbers started popping up in his mind’s eye. He’d come so far. To think building some experience for him had been a pain in the beginning. Now, Eliwood was one of the stronger units he had. Dependable. Not as able to take hit after hit as Hector, for example, but his offense was great, not to mention that he could land a blow when his mind was in the right place. Putting him in the front lines did not risk a lot. Mark guessed it reflected his character, overall.

“I came to ask… Do you know Bern well?”

Mark limited himself to shaking his head.

“I see. Nor do I. Nothing more than what I have heard in court, really. I know that a traveler such as yourself ought to know more than I.”

But he didn’t know that much more. Bern had always been on his bucket list. Not during a war but…

“By the way, Mark. Where were you born? Before you met Lyndis in Sacae. Where were you?”

Huh?

Why would Eliwood ask such a thing? In the endless months they had been traveling together, he had never expressed interest in him. Neither had Hector nor Lyndis… Beyond the conversation they’d had when she found him… She’d become so enthralled with her own problems… Mark couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t blame anyone. After all, they had a lot on their plate at the moment. Dragons, Lords, dead parents, spies…

Like a bucket of iced water in winter, realization crashed on Mark.

Of course.

Who else better to be a spy than him? The quiet tactician tasked with keeping them alive, but most important of all, keeping them moving forward. If a trap lay ahead, the blame could easily fall square on his shoulders.

A redness overcame his cheeks and as his shoulders tensed, the tactician pulled out a large map of Bern. Setting it on the table required some things to be shoved off the table. Little did it matter. Then, he pulled out a couple of books with specific bookmarks. Books that talked about dragons and ancient magic.

“Mark. What’s wrong?”

“This is all the information I have found. Black Fang is elusive, but Lagapult has said that they have a base here.” He pointed out a place on the map. “Most people around are good swordspeople, so the stories tell. So we can expect those in our coming battles. If we approach through-”

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“This is all useful information, but I believe it would be better brought up at a meeting with Hector and Lyndis, don’t you think?”

“I am not a spy.”

“What?”

“You have your reasons to distrust everyone, Lord Eliwood.” Mark took a step back. “However, this is everything I know. I am not keeping secrets.”

Eliwood took his hand back. “Mark!” Seldom had he ever heard Eliwood raise his tone like that. “No one is accusing you of anything. It didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Then… Why do you ask where I come from?”

“If it’s hard to talk about you needn’t tell me. It’s just that… We’ve been traveling together for so long, and I know little to nothing about you. I would like to know more about you.”

Mark’s confusion was such that the numbers in his head started to scramble up and make little to no sense. “B-but… You’d never been interested in me.” He had to break eye contact for a few moments. “Wh-why…? Why now if not because I’m under suspicion?”

“I don’t think we’d be where we are if it wasn’t for you. I could never think of you as anything less than a friend.”

Mark shook his head. “You shouldn't lie to me, Lord Eliwood. Hector is your friend. Lyndis is your friend. I am your tactician .”

“How can you say that? You’ve saved our lives countless times. Does none of it matter to you?”

“It matters the world to me! It matters the world to me because that is what a tactician does.” Had Eliwood's speed and defense always been in three digits? No… Impossible… Humanly impossible. “I ensure your survival. Everyone’s survival. Whether or not you involve me in your interpersonal matters was not my call. It was yours.”

“That’s why I am asking you-”

“It was . It is not your call anymore, Lord Eliwood. It is not anyone’s anymore.” Mark took a deep breath. “It is not your place to attempt a friendship with me. Sure… You listen to what I say to the footnote when we’re on the battlefield but outside of that? I am as visible as a pebble on the rocky road to every single one of you. My existence is barely acknowledgeable.” Saying it out loud was freeing, to a certain extent. The mayhem in his head calmed down and the numbers and data in his mind’s eye fell in order once more. “I have accepted my role in this army. I will continue to ensure everyone’s survival, Lord Eliwood, that I swear. But if it is friendship you seek… I can make sure you have plenty of opportunities to engage in idle chat with the rest of the units. Little more.”

“Units?”

Mark shook his head, a pity that none of them would ever be able to understand how he saw the world. “You should get some rest. I ought to go over the inventory before the sun rises.”

No one had ever dismissed him like that. However, Eliwood did not have anything else to say. After all, Mark made himself clear. Friendship was not an option for them. It had never been.

----

I am still working on my big fanfic. I've been working around some rough ideas. It is going to take me a while longer, though. So, here you have a Blazing Sword fanfic I wrote to wind down.

You can find the fanfic on ao3.

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inkwellkingd0m · 1 year

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{ Phantasm Butterfly } The Legacy of Nike

Once upon a time, she was once a human.

Once. . . upon a time. . . A time that's far too long to actually recall.

In truth, her history as a human has been long lost to time, even to herself, as she is certain she was not born with pale pink hair, nor did she have bright vibrant red eyes, but if she tries to think hard on these facts she cannot put together a clear picture of who she once was for the will of the Goddess of Victory consumed her whole. If that was her actual choice or one forced upon her, no one could actually know.

Did it truly matter at this point?

She was victory incarnate now.

And so, it was her responsibility to defeat Hypnos and prevent the fulfillment of humanity's longing for the eternal slumber.

She fights again and again, generation after generation, without rest. She defeated every nihilistic cultist follower of the Great Sleep, finding her own followers in what was almost an endless cycle as the cultists slowly chip together a plan to bring forth their lord. She finds followers, who in turn became her closest friends and allies, who she bestowed elegantly cut gemstones as a sign of this bond but they too would lose their humanity, becoming gods themselves or the embodiment of higher quality sought out by humanity.

Again she was alone.

Again it was not enough.

This endless battle would come ahead, to a disastrous point, where the cultist would nearly succeed in bringing forth their beloved lord and those she loved so deeply would use all she gave them to trap the incomplete Hypnos in a prison of gemstones.

It was victory.

A battle won.

But far too much at the cost to the girl who became Nike.

Too many lives were lost. Families destroyed. Far too much pain and suffering for a victory she could not accept. . . but she had to. Those she loved gave up all they had to seal Hypnos. To honor their memory, she had no choice but to push forward. So, using what godly strength and magic she had, she took the crystalized sleep and carried his frozen body far away. To the depths of a dark cave. With her magic, she places seals upon the crystal, to keep the enchantments in place and rapidly altered nature outside the cave to keep it hidden.

And perhaps, her greatest sin was taking the memory of Hypnos and the destruction he brought upon the world. If the people could not remember the desire for the Great Sleep, surely, a tragedy like this would not happen again. So, she repaired all the damage in ground zero that could with her magic until her hair lost its pink luster and her eyes became a mute brown. Uninteresting. Unassuming. Ordinary.

She never left the hamlet as survivors cleaned up the mess under the false memories of a natural disaster, which became a village, to a town and then a city -- Sea Shoal City -- taking up new names and identities again and again. She never bothered to mingle with people beyond what was barely necessary until one day, she simply tripped. She made no scene of it as she knew it wouldn't hurt her in the end -- perhaps she was numb to all of this by this point but she could not simply ignore the sacrifice those close to her made but it was a weary existence no less.

And yet, without hesitation, a young man grabbed her by her wrist and pulled her to her feet before she fell on her face. He was unremarkable like her, despite his worried red eyes as he questioned if she was okay. Years later, he would admit her quiet and despondent responses had worried him all the more as she tried to shake him off and pushed him to ask her name, if only to try and find her again and make sure she was okay.

With only burying her most recent false life away that very day,'she had yet to chose a new one so she said the thing that came to mind, all thanks to the potted plant in the young man's arms. Rose. The young man named Cloud Radcliff, who, despite all her attempts to avoid him, ran into her again and again. His warmth and kindness filled her heart with a feeling she thought she had all but lost. . . and little by little, she lost herself to the delusion and dream of being a mortal once more and, together, they built a family. Their first child was an adorable little daughter named Melody and three years later was a wonderful son named Asher.

But. . . it all fell apart as she realized a new cult that adored and called for Hypnos had buried their roots deep in the infrastructure of the city and they knew who she was and what she could do. How unfortunate that such realization came to her after an attempt on her and her daughter's life as the child's hair began to turn a pale pink and her eyes became a vibrant red.

She could not return home and dare endanger her husband and son.

No.

So victory fled with her daughter in hopes of returning stronger to pull this cult out by its roots. But all her labor bore no fruit. Day after day, she checked her daughter's palm in hope she would find the very same gemstone she cut for herself -- a stone meant to compliment the ones she bestowed among her closest friends and followers, but it never appeared. She did not know what this could mean so she tried to push it aside and continued to train her dear Melody.

And yet, years later, she would return to the city only to learn that her dear son had defied all expectations by inheriting both of her gemstones, even passing one along to a boy he held dearly to protect him, and many more of the boys he befriended inherited the stones she crafted centuries ago for those she loved dearly.

Everything was for naught.

Her husband and son were in the direct line of action by remaining in the city. A cultist escapee, a mere child, was living in their house. Her daughter had no way to traverse dreams to directly protect those personally afflicted by Hypnos and his cult. And she was without power all the same except the base immortality she was forced to bear.

In the end, she could not help but wonder what was the point of this horrid existence as she too fell under Hypnos's thrall and longed for the Great Sleep.

#phantasm butterfly

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pepperonibread · 1 month

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confessions or complaining - you decide!!!

I am constantly in pain, and whether it is from my mind or something actually being wrong, I have no idea. Perhaps the two are the same. Regardless, if I were to assign a score on a scale of one to ten for the amount of agony in any given hour, the number would never fall lower than a three.

I am constantly being examined, scrutinized by my peers for something that I cannot control. At least, I would assume I can't control it. It must be my mind at fault, fearing the worst - like I've entered some kind of morality battle that I have already accepted I cannot win. I haven't got the will, energy, drive or inspiration. The amount of energy it would take is exponentially more than the rest of my week combined. Every time my phone buzzes, every time a bell goes off, the whole world is reminding me that there is something else to worry about and that, once again, this must have been me at fault. I know, of course, there is no way this could be possible, but something inside my brain still wants it to be so.

It's just too stressful to go out in the world, too dangerous. I don't have the motivation to go out and do the things normal people are supposed to do and go get groceries, run errands. But every weekend has been the same. I sit at my computer and attempt to write, as though all the things wrong with me are a barrier to the sheer fun and exciting parts of creating a world on a page.

I cannot focus, my mind wanders too far from where I'm supposed to be writing and suddenly the words, my will, my ability all flies away and leaves nothing. Because I was never praised as a child, never in the way a child should be praised. Nobody ever told me they were proud of me. My boyfriend says it now, but I don't believe him. How can he be proud of someone who is chronically ill and doesn't get anything done in the real world? All my hard work goes towards a single piece, and even when that's done I am only guaranteed enough support and approval from people that do not truly love me, and the joys of success are brief. And all those eyes staring, taking in whatever they can see of me, ready to criticize and judge. And in a single, quick flash of pain, I will remember it again. I'm not good enough.

I'm not good enough to play video games or watch movies or write, or enjoy things. I'm not good enough to sit at my office job and do work, not good enough to work when my brain gives up or my body won't let me move. Everything feels heavy and slow and numb and every second hurts, each breath and each heartbeat an uphill climb I can barely push myself through.

Sometimes it feels like I'm trapped in a cycle, and for my ADHD brain, this feels like a nightmare - unable to focus and being forced to re-learn these lessons time and time again because they fly by when you're distracted, and each new week, month, day all start to blur together into an endless, horrifying spiral. Sometimes I forget what year it is. And in a world that I could only ever imagine having people who do care, love me for me, a world where I was never harmed by people's perceptions, my mind spirals once more - because maybe I'm still not good enough.

Who is there to blame here? The internet? My mother? My boyfriend? The teachers? There is so much hate, so much vitriol, the most damaging thing is a neutral "love you" to be passive-aggressive in its tone, or the ones that are full of praise but void of true emotion or feeling. There is so little I know of kindness, and I think a kind act is me deciding not to tell the world about how much I suffer. Yet here I am, displaying it on a public forum and thus will probably be labeled as "reaching" for attention in one way or another. Perhaps people are right, and it is the internet, or people, the words. After all, that's all a writer has, is their own words - to write, to dance, to love, to cry and despair.

My heart and soul are numb, tired. A heavy, impenetrable fog over my entire life, trying to leave myself out of all the experiences that were robbed from me.

#personal #not a cry for help #confessions #delete later

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imingrief · 1 year

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Darth Maul short fic (?) :

A flash of burning light.

It might have met him somewhere in the middle, burning an endless, searing mark across the skin of his torso. He had no time for one last reaction, only a fleeting moment of shock before his head was tilting backwards and the blur of the other half of his body was toppling after him.

Numbness came with the fall. Hitting the bottom brought nothing but darkness. The jedi stood miles upward, encompassed with so much anger and pain that he could almost feel it through his own veins. He had failed. They had both, in a sense, lost.

Yet, somehow, he was still alive.

Rage. Revenge. Agony. They were patching up the ends of his messy mistakes, twisting strands of purpose with the strongest fibers; a stitch that healed everything but the damage inside. It would not always be like this. The world around him was finally speaking, and he was seeing flashes of yellow - of burning fire and red, twisting lightsabers.

And then one face: blue eyes, sorrowful yet calm in its acceptance. Obi-Wan Kenobi was always looking down at him from the higher perspective, and something told him that he could have asked for mercy if he so wished.

That would never be - he would destroy everything about that man first. He would find a way out of this bottomless pit and seek his revenge, bringing a future that he could see already welcoming him back inside. There would be so much of him missing, the halves of his soul cut away from him like discarded waste, but Maul found that it did not matter; he could make himself anew. He could build the unstoppable force he was always meant to be.

Maybe one day it would all be for nothing. Maybe one day he'll realize he should have died back on Naboo, settled into the cocoon of a void that almost now seemed too peaceful to yearn for. All those years of battles, of loss and betrayal - surely it would have been better when it was just half his body that he was missing.

Except he had lived. He had been kept alive by nothing but the sheer rage he had felt rattling deep inside his bones, gravitating the pieces into action, but now he was missing something far more.

He could not even say what that was.

A flash a light burned his vision once more, quicker than a blaster, and Obi-Wan remained above him. It was like Maul was standing by the man's side, looking down at the pitiful creature he had become.

There was still hope.

"Tell me... is he the chosen one?"

"He is."

#star wars #darth maul #writing #short #fanfiction #obi wan #just free wrote this for fun idk #my writing

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lantsovsupremacist · 3 years

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i saw that you asked for requests and i also saw that you wrote some nikolai stories based on taylor's songs (i loved). so you could write something based on wilders dreams or you are in love or call it what you want, you choose pls

MY BRAND yes of course i can.

nikolai lantsov: you are in love

and you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars...

“marry me.”

you shook your head. while any other girl would likely collapse onto the cobblestones had they the pleasure of hearing those words from the king, you would not. you could not. the possibility of accepting his proposal was a lie you no longer could afford.

“i have a certain inclination to your use of words, darling,” nikolai caught up to your strides easily, “without them, you answers are so very unclear.”

you stopped your pace, shutting your eyes. obviously, nikolai only meant to try and persuade you of his reasoning. he was unaware of how the repetition further shattered the pieces of your heart.

“stop asking,” you requested unevenly, “i cannot marry you because i cannot be a queen.”

“cannot or will not?” nikolai dropped his calm disposition. his words now swam through endless seas of exasperation.

eyes widening at his assumption, you glared, “your people will not accept a grisha on the throne. they will not make an exception for love because they cannot understand how such a thing between you and i could exist.”

albeit offended, nikokai softened, “and i wish i could do more to protect you but even i am unable to offer you reprieve from your own doubts.”

however bold or brash his words seemed, you took them because there was no other conceivable explanation. you refused to argue with him further, not when your remaining moments were already beginning to slip away.

“you have too much hope in the world.”

nikolai scoffed, knocking his shoulder into yours. you saw through his sly smirk and glowing grin, and he knew it. the fox could hide away from just about anybody but never you—not that he ever wanted to.

so, he would pretend for a minute or two, rile you up with his plethora of personalities. then, he would sober up, resounded to your ability to penetrate his defenses. your keen awareness of every notch in his armor, every foothold to climb his fortress, both aggravated and comforted him simultaneously.

“somebody has to,” he chided you, content to snake an arm around your waist and pull you flush against his side, “i don’t want to forget.”

“forget what?” you questioned, turning to face him more fully as a soft pout formed on your features.

“that i have this,” he motioned to your entwined limbs, “you,” he kissed your forehead, “to come back to. i only ever hoped my heart would find its home.”

you stilled. surely, an artist from above could have captured the moment perfectly because of it. they would have to gently shade your individual silhouettes into one, execute the softness of his gaze, and reproduce the muted lighting with watercolor.

you liked to organize your life into two categories; there was the before nikolai lantsov and the after him. before saltwater became the first thing to invade your senses in the mornings, you would have set fire to the bridge of any desperate man’s creation. after you learned to never assume anything impossible, you willingly gave up a piece of your heart to the most lovesick of them all. the one you simply could not have.

gingerly grabbing ahold of his fingers, you aimed to kiss the tip of each one. as always, he pulled away before allowing you to complete your objective. with a frown, you ran your thumb over his cheek.

“i only got to six. none of that,” you minded him with a calm look, “sobachka,” you began to warn him.

“it’s more than five,” he commented with a reference to the day before. quickly, he kissed you to remove any possibility of a retort. you could not escape his lips even if you intended to try, which you did not.

the need for air ultimately pulled you away from nikolai. you frowned discontentedly his way, still frustrated by his actions. you understood his insecurities and accepted the validity of his feelings, but it did not ease the pain of watching him crumble before your eyes.

“my love,” you urged, “i have never understood many things and ended up running,” you held him off with a look, “but i want to stay and learn every part of you.”

bashful, he tucked his head into your neck.

“you have to spare some hope for yourself,” you said softly, leaning your head onto his.

he groaned, indicative of him sourly acknowledging your truth. you turned to kiss his temple, giving your lips the respite to linger just beneath his curls. you sucked in a breath when he responded with one of his own, planted upon the column of your throat. tender yet unexpected.

“but i want you to have it,” he responded, careful to inject the appropriate dose of his personality to make you smile without doubt of his sincerity being a means of withdrawal from the subject.

rolling your lips into your mouth, you melted under his gaze and into his arms, “okay.”

he smiled as radiantly as the sun, with a blush to match the artistry of it setting. you thought you could stay in that moment with him, that not even he could carry you to the next quite yet. you should have known better to predict his unpredictable behavior.

“so,” he drew out, “marry me, then.”

“nik-,” you breathed, fighting a losing battle with a smile of your own. his persistence did not force you to agree, rather charmed you to.

“no!” he cut off deliberately, “no,” the delivery of his words now intentionally softer.

“nikolai,” you enunciated, “if i’m a queen,” you caught the exact second light filtered back into his eyes, “i will never have you again in the same way—not how i do now, at least.”

“i don’t understand,” he frowned between his mumble of the phrase.

“we will be closer than ever before,” you voiced, “but i fear that could push us further apart than we have ever been,” you expressed with a sunken tone.

not letting you pull away either emotionally or physically, he took you into his arms. already feeling more grounded, you breathed in his scent of sea and pine. he was all around you, and it was enough.

“i could never not love you,” he countered.

“that’s not what i’m saying,” you refuted, “but what if you don’t like me anymore? after we are stressed and overwhelmed and stubbornly disagreeing?”

nikolai giggled, kissing every inch of your face, “i like every single piece of you,” his thumbs slipped down your cheeks and onto your throat, pushing your head back for further access, “i like you more than any travel i have been on, any adventure i have sought, and more than any squabble we might face.”

looking up at him under a thick set of eyelashes, you quirked a crooked smile, “really?”

“oh, yes,” he divulged, “i like you more than anyone else—even myself,” he began to taunt you, “and i happen to like myself quite a bit.”

“fine,” you relented with a light sigh, “let me show you just how much i like you and i’ll be your queen.”

a smirk stretched across his face but before he could dip his head to yours, you grabbed his hands away from your neck.

“i like you,” you began with a breath, leaning forward to kiss each of his fingertips, “one, two, three,” you continued as he watched you delicately, “eight, nine, ten.”

blinking rapidly, his gaze softened, “don’t be my queen,” nikolai mouthed, a single breath away from your lips, “continue to be my best friend, the woman i look for in every room, the reason time moves way too fast.”

“thank you for sharing your hope with me,” you spoke and drew your lips in a straight line, “thank you for letting me be in love with you.”

“i never let you do anything,” he began to sway, “could only hope you would keep coming back.”

“i’m in love with you,” you insisted, “and i happen to like that very much.”

#nikolai lantsov imagine #zoya nazyanelsky #nikolai lantsov fluff #nikolai lanstov imagines #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai lantsov #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone #grisha netflix #the grisha series #grishaverse #ruin and rising #siege and storm #genya safin #rule of wolves

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80s4life · 3 years

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Little Dove*

Word Count: 3,949

Status: Not Requested!

A/N: Had a thought lol

Fandom: Karate Kid 1985

Relationship: John Kreese x Student!Female Reader

Summary: You had stayed around throughout all of his bullshit. Throughout the beginning of a forever-long battle with Daniel LaRusso, throughout losing all of his Cobra Kais, going through crippling debt, and now, more than ever, as he tries to put himself together. You’ve been there, the whole time. So why is it, that when a random man from his past appears, all of his problems are fixed without a glance your way? What does this Terry Silver have that you don’t (besides endless money and a history)? It’s unfair. It’s selfish. It’s Kreese.

Taglist: @intersellars-the-alien-of-human @snapessecretdiary

Warnings: smut, teasing, jealousy, age-gap paring, language, Terry being an overprotective cockblock, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), slight dubcon, daddy/little girl kink, degrading kink

Masterlist Karate Kid Masterlist

{not my gif, credits belong to @atmostories}

I just love how innocent he looks here lol ^

Staring into the window of his office, you make no attempt in engaging in the conversation your peers were having, the people on the other side of the glass proving to be more interesting at the moment. Besides, it’s the same conversation over and over again, “Terry’s so great,” “The money,” “The brawn,” “The elegance,” you snort. All that Terry was anyway was trouble with enough money to pay off his stupidity.

The other man, however, was different. He did not become as fortunate as his younger companion. He went through many hardships that Terry would simply never understand. The proof: you. You had been there, through thick and thin. You can still remember the fights, injuries, and brokenness of a man like a slideshow constantly playing in your head, haunting your dreams. You should’ve left a long time ago, but you didn’t. There were points in your life that made you consider dropping him and everything he was in contact with at one point. But, yet again, you never did. All you did was forgive and forget, most of the time without apologies.

But no matter how much you’ve tried, there was always one outlier that couldn’t be erased.

Holding onto your brothers shoulder, you congratulate him on how well he’d done. He lost the tournament, but it was his heart that shined through it. Johnny was the one who handed LaRusso his trophy even as they were beating each other senseless moments ago. Pulling him in tightly, you whisper, “You did good, Blondie. We’ll get ‘em next year.”

He smiles broadly at this, returning the favor, “You didn’t do too bad yourself, Tiny. Hell, maybe next year, you’ll be the one to beat his ass for me... That, or you’ll be the same height as him,” he ruffles your hair.

“Shut up!” you swat his hands playfully, shouldering his side, then making your way over to the man of the hour. “Congratulations,” you outstretch your hand, “You were tough to beat! I’ll get ya one day though!” you point to him smiling as Johnny pulls you out of the arena with him.

“Thanks...Oh, and I’ll hold you to it!” he yells back, lifting his trophy high above his head. You leave with a sly smirk and playful roll of the eyes, not bad LaRusso.

Walking outside, you smile at Kreese nervously, knowing that he wasn’t going to take the loss lightly. Ignoring you completely, he snatches your brother from your grasp within moments, pinning him the the nearest car in the parking lot. With Johnny under the weight of Kreese, you try to yank him off, no longer in fear of your actions but what could happen if you don’t act fast. Shoving you out of the way with a hard jab of his elbow to your eye, Kreese goes back to harming your brother, switching positions as he goes to tighten his arm around Johnny’s neck.

Tommy, fearing for his life, stands still, on the verge of passing out. Dutch goes to help you up, pulling you away from Kreese’s proximity, but not for long. Full of anger and disappointment, you tear you body away from Dutch’s, giving him a stern look that he acknowledges and respects, stepping back. You run towards Kreese once more, putting more force into your pushes and shoves. He catches your eyes for a moment, anger glazing over his own as he gets a good look at the utter helplessness and determination within your own. He doesn’t loosen up though, tightening his hold even more so as if to test you.

Lunging once more, he blocks you from him and counters with a hard blow to your face. You fall again at Kreese’s feet, Johnny’s purpling face looking down at yours in fear and worry. As you go to make a final attempt, your prayers are answered, a man about your height grabbing Kreese’s fist in a vice grip. In a daze, Johnny is able to slip from his hold to the ground beneath him, falling into your outstretched arms as you lunge, again, to protect his head. Kreese, now turning his fury onto the short man, goes for a punch, missing and smashing the glass beside his target.

As the fight starts to get worse, Dutch gets a hold of Johnny, taking his weight off of yours and dragging him to safety. Jimmy and Bobby, going to help Dutch, leaves Tommy to help you up. Taking his hand gratefully, you are able to see Kreese’s demise clearly, a burning crimson decorating his now busted fists, no doubt shredded and in need of medical care. You turn back just in time for him to look your way, grief washing over your figure as you feel a sense of uncertainty.

The boys get into Johnny’s car quickly, pulling out of the car lot. Tommy, silently turning his calming body to yours, questions you with his eyes. Shaking your head lightly, you signal for him to go with them, your head hazy with the brute force of numerous blows previously clashing with your face. He nods knowingly, smiling weakly, as if questioning your motives or even why you were considering the choice you’d made up. Johnny looks back at you too, but is reassured as the short man, Mr. Miyagi, places a hand on your shoulder. As they peel out of the lot, you sigh and all the strength you’d conjured dropped instantly.

“You need checkup,” the older man states, looking you over.

“Yeah, but I need to take care of him first,” you point at the man.

“Ah. Good heart always forgives. You come by dojo sometime.”

“I’ll think about it,” you answer, kindly excusing yourself as LaRusso runs over to Miyagi, leaving just you and Kreese left in the parking lot.

Slowly, you pace yourself as to not speed too closely, too quickly to the man, walking lightly and quietly. Upon entering a close proximity, he looks up, neutral expression catching you off guard. Blinking once, he looks back down at his continuously bleeding hands, acknowledging your presence but not daring to step the line of communication. He never does.

“Do you...Do you n- ...?” you start, at a loss for words as you try to rephrase the question in a way to still make him feel superior without appearing weak to himself, “Do you want my help?”

He doesn’t say anything as an answer, just simply stares at the reddening hands.

So, following his chosen behavior, you adopt it and act the same. Slowly, you take off your fleece sweater, soft and warm to the touch, and move closer to Kreese. As you move into his personal space, you don’t dare look him in the eyes, and go to rip a piece of the sweater in half. Silently, you carefully take one of his hands in your own, them swallowing yours in turn. Wrapping the now torn cloth around his fists, you slightly tighten the material around the injury to prevent further bleeding, tying off the ends to keep the sweater where you want it. Turning to do the same for the other hand, Kreese never winces, or sucks in a breath, or even grunts in anguish.

As you finish your duty, you step back, parts of your hands and some of your pants now coated in differing amounts of blood from the constant dripping mess he’d left it in for a while. Taking in a deep breath, you look at him directly for the first time of the night, “Get in the car.”

That was the first of many nightmares that litter your mind. You grew into a tough, headstrong, and independent woman not only physically, but mentally as well. You were no longer the child looked down from the tip of Kreese’s nose, and despite your height not making much of a difference, you had filled into your body, soul, and mind. You were a woman nonetheless.

You were understood by Johnny, but to an extent. As you had continued to serve Kreese, it was only right that Johnny distanced himself from him, and with that, came you as well. You accepted this, and knew that you were not at war with him, settling for calls and texts when you missed him most. Johnny still allowed you the time to talk about your problems like you did in high school, and even let you rant about the newest situation with Kreese. Everyday, he worried for you, but he knew that this was what you wanted.

He knew you fell for him before you even had.

After that night, you went through phases with Kreese: sometimes he was happy and nice to you, other times was full of anger, arguments, and nonstop screaming at one another. You were like an old married couple without the ring, matrimony, and age. You didn’t pay any mind to it, the mixture of feelings for him stronger than the will to leave as you’d wanted to in your youth.

But overall was the feeling of betrayal, or at least a form of it. For 4 years, after the night of the failed tournament, you were with Kreese, and finally, when things started to clear themselves out, another problem arose. Although shit out of luck, Kreese was ready to give up the dojo, give it to the owner, and move on in hopes of wiping the slate clean. You were ready to forgive him. And then, Terry Silver, unable to let the past be the past, convinced Kreese to give it a second try.

Now as you sit in a circle with Dennis, Mike, and Snake on the mat of the dojo, doing some stretches before training starts, you couldn’t help but look at the men excluding you from something you had tried to keep alive as long as they had. Longer than Terry at least.

Snapping sounds through your frustrated haze, knocking you back into reality by Snake’s fingers. Scrunching your nose in confusion, you look at him, anger now turned towards him instead. “You keep drooling like that and we’ll all be slipping around and breaking shit. Then how would we be at the tournament?”

“Fuck you, Snake,” you get up, stomping to the office without another word. He just turns a mock-offended expression to the boys who give confused ones in return.

Storming into the small cubicle deemed an office, you turn to the men standing side-by-side. “Aw, what’s the matter sweetheart? The boys not playing fair?” Terry teases, trying to push your buttons.

Face now reddened with anger, you spit, “We don’t pay for you to sit around in your office and play with each other’s dicks. You can do that on your own time.”

“You don’t pay period as far as I’m concerned. And last time I checked, you weren’t of much use here anyways, Shortcake,” Terry rebuttals.

“And last time I checked, you're just here to tie your hair back, paint your nails, torture a kid half your age and an man even older than you.”

“Why you-!”

“Terry!” Kreese warns, a hand placed on his comrades’ chest, “It’s not worth your time, just go get the boys readied up for practice.”

“Sure...sure Johnny, I can do that,” he says eagerly, leaving the room with a side glance your way and elbow to the shoulder as he passes by.

Getting up from the back of the desk, Kreese loops around to close the office door, going back to where he was previously. “Wow, you really have that dog under wraps huh? Ready to bark when you say ‘bark’ or growl when you say ‘growl’?”

“Y/N, not now. You better cut this shit out now or I’ll kick you out,” he warns.

“Oh, so now your protecting him?! You’re going to sit here, right now, and threaten me for what? Because he served with you? Because you saved him?! What a load of shit!”

“Watch your mouth! You have no right to raise your voice to me! What I do with this dojo is none of your damn business, and will certainly never concern you. Ever.”

“Oh yeah! For sure! What did he even do, huh? What’s so great about him that is worth protecting his ass for when he’s never had to do anything in return?! I was there John! I was! I dealt with your shit for 4 years! Not 1! Not 2! Not even fucking 3!”

“I never told you to! No one was stopping you from walking out that damn door when everyone else had! I would’ve done perfectly fine without your ‘help’ when all it did was provide extra shit to take care of!”

“Really?! That’s what it was? Nothing? I dealt with your anger issues, your screaming! The god damn punches, kicks, spits, screams, hell anything you wanted to do in order to harm someone else to make you feel better! But that wasn’t me... No... Of course it wasn’t, right?”

“I’ve got no time for this. Stay in this fucking room and don’t move. You even dare come out into that dojo and you’re out. I have a winner to make and not some little girl to argue with.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, tears pooling at the bottom of your eyelids as the door hides you from view.

For hours, you sit in boredom, listening to the repetitive “hut” or “ah” as blow after blow is thrown into the dummies and punching bags. If only they could do that to me, take me out of my misery for fuck’s sake. But, despite the utter pissed state you were in, you did not move from the desk, even deciding to take a nap. It wasn’t until Dennis’ unusually loud laugh is echoed within the whole dojo do you finally wake back up. Looking through the blinds, you see the boys getting packed up. Doing the same, you walk out of the office just in time for Terry to leave with the boys a few moments later.

Speeding across the length of the mats, you take long strides in order to storm as fast as possible out of the cage that holds the biggest chains around your neck. Going for the door, you are unable to catch yourself as Kreese grabs your hand and flips you onto your back, splaying your body on the mats beneath you.

Groaning, you move to sit up, watching as he goes to lock the door to the dojo, throwing the keys somewhere and closing the blinds of the big glass panes adorning the front wall. Getting up, the harbored anger floods your being once more, “I’m done with your bullshit Kreese. Let me the fuck out so I can leave this place once and for all. You seem to be doing ‘perfectly fine’ with your boyfriend, so let me go!”

Without answering, he grabs you by the neck firmly, but not enough to choke you. The memories of Johnny instantly flood your mind, causing you to grab his hand just as tight, eyes peering straight into his. Noticing your change in demeanor, he loosens his hold a little and pushes your back up against the closest wall to your back. As your back collides with the wall, his lips clasp yours.

Whining in surprise, you go to pull back only for him to pull you closer by the neck. Realization dawns on you after a moment, and within seconds, your leaning into his touch absentmindedly. You only break apart once your lungs beg for more air. “There. Is that what you wanted?” he asks you, voice gravelly.

Ignoring his comment, you grab him by the nape of his neck, pulling him into you once again, tongue battling his own. Your tongue dances around, observing every crevice and tasting every bit of his mouth, grazing his teeth, biting his lips, and even tangling it with his. Taking control back, he shoves your body back into the wall, separating your mouth from his, a trail of saliva the only thing connecting your bodies.

His hand, long forgotten and hanging loose on your neck, tightens the grip back up firmly once again and moves his other to pin your arms above your head. Now basking in dominance, he kisses you once more, pinning his knee between your legs in the most delicious way. Taking advantage of the placement, you attempt to grind your core against his thigh to relieve some tension.

“Ah. Ah. Ah,” he warns, pulling his knee away and moving to unbuckle his belt instead, “On your knees, Slut.”

Obeying instantly, you do as he says and place yourself on your knees. Finally undoing the tie of his gi, he pulls his pants, alongside his underwear, down just enough to let his dick spring free. Gulping in admiration, you take in the view of his girth and length, precum oozing at the tip.

“Looks like your happy to see me,” you joke, loosening your tension in your shoulders.

Stepping closer, Kreese edges closer to your mouth, and, taking the hint, you wrap one hand around the base of his shaft. Your other hand, deciding teasing is the best get-back, wraps itself closer to the tip, thumb grazing the slit. Earning a shudder of pleasure from the man, he goes to move in closer again. Pulling your head away, you squeeze the tip loosely, staring up at Kreese.

At your locked gaze, his cheeks burn bright pink, enabling you to give the man what he wants now that he’s at a loss for words and flustered for you. Taking him into your mouth little by little, you stop just before the barricade of choking. Eyes locked onto his, you place your hands on either side of his hips for support, then take him in as fully as physically possible. Instantly, you are met by struggling moans of relief.

Swirling your tongue around and lapping at his veiny member, he struggles to control himself, the undying need for more consuming him. Pulling away just enough to keep the tip in your mouth, you nod at him, giving him the okay to do as he pleases. That was all he needed to start going, pulling your mouth around his cock again, and tangling his hands in your hair for a better grip. Thrusting into your mouth now, you try your best to breathe as you feel him start twitching, knowing you will be fine in a few minutes.

The closer he gets to ecstasy, the louder he gets, hips thrusting in any possible direction as his pleasure threatens to bubble over. “Look at me,” he orders, looking you in the eyes. Slightly confused, you do as told, looking at him through your eyelashes as he continuously uses your mouth. “That’s it, Good Girl.”

Without warning, he unleashes his load into your mouth, the hot and sticky cum shooting to the back of your throat, forcing you to swallow. Licking up the remains, you make a show of swallowing the contents as well, getting back onto your feet with a help of his hand. Pulling your body into his, he kisses you deeply, tasting himself.

You whine as you are still left in uncomfortable need for him, having not gotten your share just yet, the feeling of being filled a painful reminder. “Don’t worry, Daddy’ll take care of you.” And that, he does, getting to work on untying your gi and throwing the long-sleeved shirt over you head. Doing the same to him, you match his enthusiasm, pulling his shirt off and throwing it somewhere in the room.

Playing with your clothed breasts, Kreese slips a hand under your bra to pinch your nipples, twisting them between his middle and fore fingers. Moaning, you pull him into your chest nibbling his ear. Gliding his hands down your sides and to your waist, he slowly edges his fingers slightly underneath your pants, pushing them down with your panties. As he busies himself with your clothes, you move your hands behind your back to unclasp your bra, breasts springing free and instantly hardening at the new temperature of the room.

Fingers, teasing your entrance, catches you off-guard, moaning again at the first shocks of pleasure. “Kreese,” you start breathlessly, “Enough is enough. Mgh... Stop teasing me,” you try to order, impatient and horny.

“As you wish, Princess.”

Lifting up one of your legs and wrapping it around his hipbone, he lines himself up with your entrance, entering slowly. Together, you sigh in ease simultaneously. Nodding once, you lean your forehead underneath his chin, starting to thrust slowly. Knowing this isn’t the pace he prefers, and body adjusting to his shape, you pull him in closer, whispering in his ear, “Faster, Daddy.”

Jolting at the name, he fastens the pace, grinding in rougher strokes, rubbing every part of you body in the best way possible. No one’s ever filled you the way he is now, and it leaves you stunned in a trance of utter euphoria. Tapping your other leg, you hop up to warp both legs around Kreese. At the new angle, he thrusts upwards, the overstimulation causing you to shake in a new sensation.

Squeezing his dick tightly, you try to hold your orgasm off for as long as possible, but the building want of release causes you to topple over the edge quickly, spilling all over the body still within your own. Without faltering, Kreese continues his assault on your body, causing you to scream out in the fury of pleasure being all too much for you. Shaking harder, you struggle to keep yourself around his body for long.

Seeing this, Kreese keeps himself sheathed in your cunt, laying you on your back against the mats of the flooring. Grabbing your legs, Kreese bends them until your thighs meet your chest. Then, thrusting at the same pace as before, Kreese is able to fuck you senseless without further issues. Moaning screams of ecstasy echo throughout the dojo, the combination of yourself and the slapping of skin being the only noises in the room.

As quickly as you’d built up the previous time, your orgasm and need of release forms again, your pussy throbbing in anticipation. “Kreese..” is all you manage, the older man quickly teetering towards the edge with you. Thrusting the hardest he had the whole night, he manages only a few more before you both come at the same time, screaming as you pull him down by the neck and into your chest, your name falling from his tongue in multiples.

Sucking in as much air as possible, Kreese and you stay in the same position panting before he unsheathes himself and collapses next to you. Catching your breath, you cuddle into his side in a naked heap of sweat and satisfaction. “Are you still jealous of Terry now?”

“It depends, am I still as useless as before?”

“I don’t believe so,” Kreese giggles, “but if you pull another crazy stunt like that, I will really have to give you a good beating. Huh, Babydoll?”

“I like the sound of that,” you say, going to straddle his hips as he lays on his back, “How about round two and I’ll consider not ripping his throat out?”

“Deal.”

#john kreese x reader #john kreese imagine #john kreese #martin kove #martin kove x reader #martin kove imagine #terry silver #tig #thomas ian griffith #mike barnes #sean kanan #kk3 #kk1 #kk #karate kid #karate kid imagine #karate kid 1 #karate kid 3

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blzzrdstryr · 3 years

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Generous offering

Yandere!Zhongli x gn!Fatui Harbinger!reader

Wordcount:1843

CW:Yandere themes

There are several simple things one should know before dealing with the archons - be respectful and polite, speak only when you’re allowed to and most importantly - never forget that archons aren’t humans.

The first two rules are instinctive - it’s natural for humans to simper and bow before the forces far greater than them, while the latter is not; on the contrary it’s counterintuitive and unexpected. People tend to project, tend to humanize - they see kindness when there’s none and make a huge mistake of assuming that archons see things the way they see it.

Tsaritsa, for example, lacks humanity, despite holding the title of Goddess of Love. The love that she holds for you is different from love mothers and fathers give to their children, or love that young sweethearts share at night, it’s cold and impersonal and undeniably cruel.

Tsaritsa says that she loves all of you and she loves Snezhnaya, yet she lashes out a harsh and gruelling punishments at every perceived failure and rules her land with an iron fist, one would think that the cryo archon is a liar and a hypocrite, who uses pretty, flowery words to hide the atrocities she commits, but this perspective is flawed. Tsaritsa loves all of you and she loves Snezhnaya, she’s just not human enough to properly express this.

That’s why it’s a bit jarring to see the ancient lord of these lands in his mortal form - he lacks the same otherworldly terror and grandiose that every of Tsaritsa’s move and word carry, yet he also possesses the air of wisdom and elegance so refined that rare person can reach it. It’s easy to assume that he’s human.

Rex Lapis, or “Zhongli” as he calls himself now invites you to the Liuli pavillion the second day after your arrival, for tea and local cuisine as he says, and who are you to decline a God?

Liuli staff hurries and dashes around, preparing their best room for you - Fatui are known for their seemingly endless finances, no wonder they’re in haste. “Please make yourself comfortable, dear guests”, the waiter curtsies and leads you to the dining room, which happens to be richly furnished and decorated with high-quality darkwood furniture and the hand painted wall panels further accentuating the luxury of the restaurant.

One of these panels illustrate different scenes from the Liyuen mythos - a battle of mighty and wise adepti against the horde of demons, Rex Lapis aiding his people in building the Harbour and the most spectacular one - a majestic dark brown dragon with golden fur and feathers descending to the devoted worshippers, who in turn present him with their offerings and gratitude.

He orders tea and meals for both of you, as you start to converse about the plan that he is determined to bring into life - the so-called test of Liyue, and the guarantee of you obtaining his gnosis.

“And what about your colleague?”, he sips a bit of his tea, intense amber eyes piercing right through you. He looks both human and non-human in this moment, both undeniably mortal softness and frailty seen in his figure and the barely concealed divinity, the sense of awe slowly seeping into air mixing in one person.

“And what about him? Tsaritsa and you have negotiated everything beforehand, I will make sure that he plays his part properly”, he hums at your answer, lowering his gaze deep in thought. You start on your own tea.

Ah, Childe, if only he knew why exactly he’s here - a distraction and a scapegoat. You even feel bad for him - it’s truly unfair to be lied to by your own Goddess. However, it’s also not a big surprise - Childe is the loudest out of all Harbingers in all senses. Infamous for his skills and battle obsession, his name is enough to have people both shivering in fear and cursing him.

“What do you think of your archon? Was serving her of any use to you?”Rex Lapis unexpectedly asks.

You lean back in your seat, thinking what to say.

“Tsaritsa is a gentle soul, she declared war only to protect us, her subjects and I am ready to aid her in whatever undertaking she starts”.

“Will you continue to serve Tsaritsa, if her action might put you in danger, make you suffer and bring unnecessary grief?”, he leans closer to you, his human features distorting enough to reveal the ancient dragon sleeping inside. His eyes shine a cold golden glow and accurate fingernails morph into sharp, dark claws.

“Yes”, you breathe out, mesmerized and terrified by the sudden change: “Her love knows no bounds, yet she always puts the needs of the nation before anyone else. If my suffering can help Snezhnaya, then I will accept it with open arms”, he moves back at your answer, all draconic traces gone in an instance, upper corner of his lips subtly rising - whatever you said must’ve pleased him immensely.

The conversation flows back into the territory of plans to be realized, yet the cold sensation of dread still clings to you, your gut feeling yelling at you to get up and run. You remain seated to the end of your meeting, politely conversing with the God that terrifies you.

***

Days slowly grow into weeks and Childe acts just as you have expected - the Eleventh Harbinger might be smart, yet even he wouldn’t be able to see what two of you are scheming. Still, you request Ekaterine, a spy you planted in Northland bank, to keep you updated on the Tartaglia’s actions - extra caution never hurts.

You continue to meet up with geo archon, as you two discuss your next actions. Tartaglia has started cooperating with that blonde foreigner Signora has warned you about, and while this union doesn’t pose any threat to your plans, it’s always good to have a plan B, just in case something happens.

Sometimes your conversation develops into a more unexpected direction, as you find the archaic lord more chatty and tending to ramble, than any of Liyuen historians would dare to picture him as. One on such occasion he talks with you about dragons - benevolent deities who protect and bless their people in an exchange of generous offerings.

His eyes devour you, as he retells you ancient folktales and you suppress your discomfort, preferring to attribute his honestly unnerving behaviour down to his lack of humanity - he was never human in the first place.

That’s why you also prohibit yourself from viewing him as anything but God - Rex Lapis in his “Zhongli” persona is genuinely attractive, he’s well-mannered and obviously handsome and far more knowledgeable than any mortal should be. If you didn’t know of his true nature you would have fallen for him by now - it’s hard not to.

Life, how strange that wouldn’t sound, goes as usual - you get Ekaterine’s report on what Childe’s up to and if it’s something unexpected you book a Liuli pavilion room and send an invitation to the funeral parlour consultant. You only need to wait until Childe gets desperate enough and decides to use the sigils of permission to unleash the well-awaited chaos.

This routine however is soon broken by the appearance of familiar ashy-white hair in the distance. She doesn’t wear her signature mask or dress, nor are there agents at both of her sides, yet you can still clearly recognize her. Signora leaves the Wangsheng building in haste, cape with the hood concealing most of her face and figure, except the long locks of hair, peeking from inside.

What is she doing here?

You thought that Tsaritsa sent two of her servants - Tartaglia and you, him to “test” Liyue, you to oversee the former’s actions and obtain gnosis, there’s no need to send her too.

Your mind races, as you search for a logical explanation of Signora’s presence as your memory supplies the piece of first conversation you had with “Zhongli” - could it be that Tsaritsa also sent you to play a role you have no idea of?

Cryo archon is a goddess of love and her love is cruel and unforgiving, she has sacrificed countless chess pieces before, so it wouldn’t be surprising if she did that again - you are nothing but a pawn after all, one of the tools she uses to exact her will and force her vision, all of the Harbingers are.

You want to believe that you can accept and resign to whatever hardship and fate your Goddess might subject you to. You can’t.

***

Adepti and Qixing converse at the pier of the seaport, as you hurry to the Northland Bank, a slight smile playing on your lips - Childe has finally done it - he summoned an ancient god to lure out Rex Lapis, ultimately proving that Liyue can stand without him.

There are sounds of heated argument heard when you open the building’s door and then you see it - Signora and Tartaglia exchanging barely concealed insults and “Zhongli” standing nearby.

“[Harbinger]? What are you doing here?”, the ginger shifts his gaze onto you, a rare emotion of hurt and disbelief flickering in his dead fish eyes. “Of course, Tsaritsa sent you too”, he smiles, angry and disappointed. “Seems that whole world wants to make a bad guy out of me”, he stomps out of the room, leaving you with Signora and “Zhongli”

“[Harbinger]”

“Signora'', you acknowledge each other, after she trails exiting Childe with her eyes.

“I am here to take the gnosis of Rex Lapis”, she says and you nod, accepting that your Goddess lied to you too: “Tsaritsa also asked me to give you this letter”, she extends her arm, a thick envelope with the familiar seal catching your attention.

With the trembling hands you snatch it out of her hold and almost rip the envelope - for what reason did Tsaritsa send you here?

She writes that you need to stay in Liyue for an undetermined period of time to upkeep “the agreement” made between her and Rex Lapis. You read her message silently, yet when your eyes trace over these words, the sensation of “ “Zhongli’s” eyes on you becomes ten times sharper and stifling. You don’t know what to do.

The other Harbinger leaves too, taking the gnosis with her, as “Zhongli” takes a couple of steps to you, touching your shoulder in a somewhat reassuring gesture. “[First]”, he starts, tone sympathetic and soothing. You don’t fall for it.

“You had your hand in it, didn't you?”, you hiss and accuse, throwing an angry glance at him, momentarily forgetting about the first two rules of dealing with archons.

He smiles, revealing two sharp fangs, his surprisingly scaly hands snaking around yours. “Yes”, Rex Lapis admits, and looks nothing like gentle and knowledgeable “Zhongli”. How could you forget? Archons aren’t humans, humanity is just a fancy dress they don to toy with mortals. He is the dragon, not the benevolent deity that is painted on the wall panels of Liuli pavillion, but a greedy and ancient creature, hungry for gifts and gratitude.

You are his generous offering.

#yandere genshin impact #Yandere genshin #Yandere Zhongli #Yandere Zhongli x reader #Yandere genshin impact x reader #Yandere genshin x reader #Male yandere #my writing #Yandere x reader #Male yandere x reader

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heloisedaphnebrightmore · 3 years

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Brilliant Plan [Anthony Bridgerton x Reader]

Title: Brilliant plan Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female!Reader Word count: 3.3k Published: 10 February, 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Notes: My first ever Bridgerton fic, please don’t be too hard on me :) Summary: Even as a new debutante you have your eyes on the eldest Bridgerton, Anthony and it seems he is just as interested in you. That is until he halts your relationship in the courting period, leaving you confused.

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You stood in front of the enormous, wooden doors leading you to the unknown. As one of the new debutantes of the season, you felt slightly pressured and nervous. It’s been an endless waiting game, or so it felt like one, but now that you stood in front of the entrance of your future, every little problem you ever had felt mediocre.

Taking a couple of deep breaths seemed to calm your nerves, but as soon as your mother placed her hand on your shoulder, all your worries came back at once. The event has been one that you have been waiting for eagerly, you were happy to be a part of such an elite society, but no one prepared you for the mental battle you were going to be having deep inside you.

“Shall we wait and take a seat, dear?” your mother interrupted your chaotic thoughts, gesturing towards a golden bench outside of the ballroom. A voice within you screamed for those additional seconds away from your grand entrance, but instead you shook your head.

“No, mama, let’s head inside,” a small, phoney smile spread across your face. Your mother nodded in agreement and gently nudged your back as if wanting to help you to take the first step.

As the gigantic doors opened, your gaze fell on the sea of people dancing in the middle of the room, each wearing their finest attires of the most expensive materials with the shiniest jewelleries. You felt slightly out of place even though you were just as stunning as anyone in the room.

First step, second step, it took a couple of them to finally make yourself present and when you finally felt more comfortable walking into the room, you felt as if hundreds of eyes watched every step of yours, making you feel self-conscious once again. It was scary to feel all those eager eyes on you, but after an inner monologue, you finally lifted your head high, straightened your back and forced a small smile across your face.

As you looked around you recognised quite a few people, for instance the Bridgerton sisters, Daphne and Eloise who were although younger than you, had found a dear friend in you, someone they could turn to if needed. Gazing around the room you found the Featherington sisters who you only knew through the annual dinners your family organised.

You were older than the usual debutantes as your mother wanted you to be highly educated before marrying you off. Although you couldn’t wait to be a part of these high society gatherings, you understood that your mother didn’t want you to marry just anyone.

Finally, the curious gazes felt less intimidating and as Daphne walked up to you, you greeted each other with a smile. “I thought you’d never join us,” she joked with you, but you just shook your head with the least lady-like laughter.

“I couldn’t have deprived you from my company. I’m delightful,” you chuckled at your own joke. Your mother placed her hand on your shoulder excusing herself as she headed off to the opposite direction.

“Are you excited?” Daphne asked with an innocent, but enthusiastic smile painted across her face.

“I have been waiting for it for quite a while. Of course, I’m excited,” you replied giggling.

“Shall we find you a husband then?” she chuckled joyfully. You cleared your throat, feeling slightly awkward, but Daphne wasn’t silly nor was she naïve. She immediately understood that her question made you feel slightly uncomfortable. “Do you not want to?”

“Daph, I really wanted to be a part of these gorgeous balls and chatting away with people throughout the evening, however I can’t picture myself getting married just yet,” you offered her a pleading look, hoping she would understand you.

Of course, it was a dream of yours to finally start attending these balls, but there was a reason or two for your hesitancy. You didn’t feel ready to marry anyone, especially not if you didn’t love your significant other, on the other hand, you already had your eyes on someone. Someone who was closer to Daphne than she could ever imagine.

“Sister, I have been looking for you,” his voice made you shiver, tiny goosebumps revealing themselves on the surface of your skin. His slightly messy brown hair and curious brown eyes wandered up and down on you, studying every inch of your body shamelessly as he joined beside Daphne, making you feel flustered under his intense gaze. “I don’t think we have met before,” he spoke to you finally, for the first time ever, reaching for your hand to leave a soft kiss on your silky gloves as you formally introduce yourself. “What a beautiful name,” he smiled confidently, a trait that seemed to radiate through his whole presence, almost knocking you over.

“Interestingly we have met before,” you added, trying to avert the subject, before you felt overwhelmed by a simple compliment to your name, which your parents decided on and basically had nothing to do with you. “But then you always seem busy when I visit,” the confusion across his face was evident, trying to organise the little pieces of the puzzle he seemed to be missing.

“My apologise, I don’t seem to remember and I’m sure I would have remembered such a pretty sight” he shook his head with a smile that sent your heart into overdrive. His words made you feel 20 pounds lighter, but instead of letting the compliment get to you, offering him a small smile, you continued the conversation confidently.

“Don’t you worry about it.I usually only catch a glimpse of you as I pass through the hall,” you lied. In reality you caught yourself not once staring at the man as he worked in his office and your steps halted just in the right spot to take a moment to admire his handsome features.

“I’m certainly glad to have officially met you,” he replied with a proud smirk across his face, leaving you gazing at him for a moment longer than it was deemed appropriate. The moment was quickly interrupted by Daphne who seemed to feel slightly out of place, but before she could have said anything, Benedict joined your circle, quickly dragging Anthony away who endlessly apologised, before following his brother.

“Hmm,” you heard Daphne, slightly lost in her thoughts. “And so, she said no to marriage,” she stated with a wicked smile.

“Whatever do you mean?” you asked furrowing in confusion.

“I might be younger, but I’m not an idiot. I saw the way you looked at my dear brother,” she watched you eagerly with a sceptical gaze.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” you replied casually, trying to disguise your embarrassment, which only confirmed Daphne’s suspicion.

“If that makes you feel better, I would gladly be your sister-in-law,” she chuckled loudly at the astonished expression on your face.

“Daphne!” you tried to scold her, but deep down you were imagining a future with the eldest Bridgerton, shamelessly planning each and every single detail of your shared life.

Throughout the evening you have caught Anthony’s eyes on you not once, shamelessly watching you as you danced with the most eligible men of the evening. You wished he was to ask you to dance with him, but he never attempted. He forgot his eyes on you at all times, making you feel as if you were a unique jewellery, one that everyone admired, but when it came to actions, he has taken none.

You walked out to the terrace with a glass of champagne in hand, watching the dark blue, night sky covered in a sea of stars. It was a beautiful evening, although slightly colder than you initially expected. Gently rubbing your skin, you tried to get rid of the small goosebumps that started spreading all over your body. You knew it would have been smarter to go back inside, but it was a slightly suffocating feeling, smiling at everyone, dancing with every other person. Whilst you enjoyed it, it was certainly exhausting.

Feeling two cold hands on each side of your arms, you jumped in the least lady-like manner, before they were replaced by a warm material. “You scared me,” you breathed, holding your hand in front of your chest, before you pulled the two sides of Anthony’s tuxedo coat together, enjoying the warmness engulfing you. “Thank you, you shouldn’t have-,” however before you could have finished your sentence, he interrupted you.

“I still don’t understand how I didn’t see you,” he spoke as he leaned against the terrace fence, gazing up at the sky. The confusion across his face earned a small smile from you as you placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Sometimes you don’t see what’s right in front of you,” you replied as he turned around, watching your hand rest on his shoulder, before you quickly removed it, hoping he didn’t think you meant to be disrespectful. However, the playful grin playing in the corner of his lips reassured you, making you smile just as well.

From that night there wasn’t a day you didn’t meet in his house or he didn’t come over to yours with an excuse, even though he needed none, your mother was delighted to see the Viscount in her house. Although he didn’t make it official that he was courting you, it was a known fact. He had his eyes on you and he made sure everyone knew of his unspoken intentions.

But Anthony was also a man of freedom. He had to take over the Bridgerton household, he had no place to object, but the freedom he practiced in his personal life was a necessity. You thought your relationship was going in the right direction as he courted you and you accepted his advances. However, after months he seemed as if he still had no intention of proposing to you, whilst he still kept other men as far away as he could from you.

You were tired of waiting. You didn’t want to marry just yet, but you have been waiting for his proposal for the longest of time and his indecisive manners made you doubt his intentions. Of course, you voiced your concerns to Daphne, who concocted a brilliant plan to make his brother jealous. Or so you thought it was brilliant.

As the next ball came and you walked inside the room with an innocent smile, dressed as beautifully as never before, many men gazed at your beauty, lips parting in astonishment. Surely, you enjoyed the attention, especially the one whose eyes seemed to burn holes into your body. But you didn’t look at him. You decided that if he couldn’t take your relationship a step further, then you would pay no attention to him.

“Miss, would you like to dance?” you heard from behind you as Benedict appeared in your vision with a mischievous smile. Although you were aware of Daphne’s plan, she was very secretive about the details.

“Daphne, isn’t it?” you asked, chuckling.

“Let’s just say I had no objection as soon as I heard that there was a way to irritate my brother,” he smirked proudly.

“Is this some twisted way to show your love towards your brother?” you asked, giggling as you felt Anthony’s eager eyes on you.

“I just enjoy seeing him sulking,” he shrugged carelessly.

“I take no responsibilities for any consequences,” you pointed your index finger at him with a mocking seriousness.

“Don’t you worry, miss,” he chuckled as he took your hand in his and led you to the dance floor. Eager eyes watched the pair of you, amazed by the bravery Benedict showed, even though everyone was aware of Anthony’s interest in you.

“If eyes could kill, I would drop dead at this moment,” he laughed, taking a peek at his brother as he led you around the circle, the quartet playing a rather slow song.

“I certainly feel daggers piercing through my back,” you snickered at the absurd situation.

“My brother means well, he is just an idiot,” he added.

“I wish I could object. I mean against the idiocy, of course,” you replied casually earning a heartfelt laughter from Benedict.

“Surely, he will open his eyes now,” he tried to reassure you which earned a sceptical look from you.

“I thought we had just established that he was an idiot,” you raised a questioning brow.

“I certainly think they are mutually inclusive,” he scoffed, earning an eye roll from you.

As the song stopped, Anthony walked up to you with a stern look and serious expression painted across his face, holding his hand out to you. You raised a questioning brow, before you placed your hand in his, letting him take you into the sea of people.

“What was that all about?” he asked as he pulled your body flash against him, his chest pressing against yours. Your breath hitched at the sudden closeness, his proximity clouding your mind. You could feel your body move to the rhythm of the music, but it didn’t register in your head.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you breathed, completely engulfed in his scent.

“Why were you dancing with my brother?” he asked in a stern voice, pulling you out of the mist covering your mind. You certainly didn’t like his tone, nor did you like the way he looked at you.

“Why wouldn’t I? You never ask me to dance with you nor am I engaged to you. I can dance whomever I would like to,” you replied with a straight face, hiding all your emotions.

“You know how important you are to me. Don’t play such games with my brother,” he hissed in frustration.

“Would you like me to play it with someone else?” you asked, feeling as if you were playing with fire, waiting for the moment he’d had enough.

“You very well know that’s not what I meant. You know of my feelings for you,” he groaned in anger, feeling useless, unable to find how to solve this problem.

“Do I? Have you ever expressed them clearly? As far as I know, we are just a man and woman in a close friendship,” you shrugged as the song finished and tried to pull away from him. However, he didn’t let you.

“There is no friendship between women and men,” he replied, clearly dissatisfied with your answer.

“We are acquaintances then,” you scoffed as you removed his hand from your waist and turned around, walking away from him. It felt as if your lungs were about to explode, as if you couldn’t breathe. The fact that he dared to say he had feelings for you when he clearly chose his freedom over you made you feel more upset than you wished to be.

“Where are you going?” you heard his voice as you headed towards the exit, trying to get some air into your lungs. “Where the hell are you going?” he tried again, his tone more frustrated this time.

“None of your business, Bridgerton,” you hissed in anger.

“B-Bridgerton?” he questioned, slightly stuttering, clearly astonished by your choice of name.

“That’s your name,” you replied with a groan as you headed down the stairs, grasping the side of your dress as the chilly weather hit your warm skin unexpectedly.

“Just stop for a second and let’s talk,” he attempted to catch your wrist, but you pulled it away just in time.

“I don’t want to talk to you, Bridgerton. You are the last person I want to see,” you scoffed.

“Surely, that’s not true,” he argued.

“You had months to talk to me, don’t come looking for me now,” you replied, but before you could have comprehended what was happening, Anthony got hold of your wrist and dragged you behind the building, away from the praying eyes, closing your escape route with his palms against the wall on each side of yours.

None of you spoke up, both of you studied one another as if waiting for what the other would say. You had the time to admire his handsome features, his messy hair that resembled more of a bird's nest as the wind blew it in all kinds of directions in his hurried steps.

“Why did you do this?” he asked, his tone finally calm and collected.

“I wanted to see your reaction,” you confessed, not even feeling guilty.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he frowned at your words.

“I thought there was something between you and me. I thought it was more than a friendship. I honestly believed you felt more. But you never attempted to talk about the future, you never wanted to discuss marriage, you never even mentioned wanting a family. I was certain that you would never look at me as a lady. I would always just be a friend,” you scoffed with a small, pained smile in the corner of your lips.

“What are you talking about?” his confusion sat clearly across his face. “I always tell you how madly I miss you when I can’t be around you. I keep saying how I wish to be near you more often. I couldn’t be clearer about my intentions,”

“You see, it’s still not clear to me. What are your intentions exactly?” you asked, cruelly ignoring his previous words.

“Surely, you understand,” he scoffed in disbelief.

“No, I don’t,” you replied, shaking your head.

“I- I just,” the stuttering mess he has become gave you the answer to your questions.

“You see, Bridgerton, you can’t even get yourself to say it,” you heaved a deep sigh and pushed his arm away from the brick wall, heading back towards the entrance. However, before you could have taken another step, he caught your wrist and pulled you back against the wall, his body pressing against you, the cold bricks making you shiver. You could feel his breath on your lips, one of his hands on your waist. You have heard so much about that first kiss and even though you knew it was wrong, that it shouldn’t happen, you waited in utter anticipation.

Anthony tried to control himself, knowing how important you were to him, but the proximity between you clouded his mind as he abruptly closed the gap between you, attaching his lips to yours, hungrily exploring the new territory.

It was wrong, so wrong, but the moment was bittersweet. The kiss was sweet and passionate, one you couldn’t even imagine in your wildest of dreams and you couldn’t even care about the consequences if anyone saw you.

The shock across his face as pulled away from you scared you for a mere second. “I sincerely apologise, I have no idea what came over me,” he tried to take a step back, but you got hold of his arm.

“Why did you kiss me?” you asked, still under the influence of his actions.

“Because I love you. Because I wish to marry you. I want you to be my wife,” he breathed in a sudden confidence. You gently slapped your hands against your lips, his words surprising you, making you feel as if it was a dream.

A small smile spread across your face. “You do?” you asked, uncertainty lacing your voice.

“I would like nothing more,” he rushed to add.

“Is that a proposal?” you asked, chuckling, but what came next was something you didn’t expect.

He dropped down on one knee, pulling a tiny, blue box out of his pocket, opening the lid as he looked up at you, admiring your astonished expression. “Would you do me the honour of marrying me?” he asked, his eyes full of hope.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you shouted excitedly, jumping in his neck, engulfing him in a hug, his broad shoulders barely fitting your embrace.

“Thank you,” he chuckled happily as he placed the ring on your finger, not expecting the quick peck you placed on his lips in the process. He stood up, wrapping his arms around your waist, before he lifted you up from the ground and spun you around with a happy laughter.

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Text

Rex and Anakin Raise a Family: Part Four

Part One, Part Two, Part Three – Chrono

Warnings: grief, resentment, lactation, animal death

----

For all that Anakin had said he could handle the twins, Rex still takes one in the sling as they go into town. They don't have a hoverpram yet, and neither of them could figure out a way to fold the fabric to securely hold the babies' heads up. Anakin takes Luke, and Rex takes Leia, and they ignore the whispers that still follow them.

The General keeps just behind his shoulder when they get to the hardware shop that carries the closest paint they can find in such a small town. It's not meant for armor, really, but speeder paint will do the trick for now. Rex's hands shake as he picks out the shades he needs, and the young Rodian at the register almost asks about it.

The issue isn't pressed.

They make their way back to the cottage, and Leia starts fussing fifteen minutes past the town's edge. Anakin looks like he wants to offer to take her back, but Rex is fine. He can comfort her. He can--

Anakin takes the paint, floating it along in the air before them, freeing Rex's hands to focus on the infant strapped to his chest.

"I'll feed her as soon as we get back," Anakin says, low and calm. "She's a little hungry."

Pacifier, then. They're only a few minutes out, by now. She can wait for them to get back to where exchanging the twins won't involve juggling.

Rex feels eyes on him, looks up and sees the soft, quiet smile on his General's face, and ducks his head back to Leia.

She glares up at him as well as a newborn can, sucking angrily on the paci in her mouth. Rex has no idea if she's actually upset or if her face just naturally follows such an expression, but it's adorable nonetheless. He hums to her, nonsense without words.

He's never learned lullabies; they picked up drinking songs in the field and from local soldiers, from their Jedi, war songs from their trainers, pop songs from the radio. A few learned lullabies, those who loved children and wanted their own, one day, brothers like Waxer who would have adopted Numa in a heartbeat if it had been an option.

He wants to learn lullabies. He wants to be able to sing children's songs to these tiny, helpless lives he holds in his hands, day in and day out. He wants to learn Mandalorian songs, real ones, not just battle chants and mourning melodies. He wants to be able to raise them with the childhood he didn't have.

"Rex? Door's open."

He looks up, and Anakin's standing on the porch, pulling the keys from the lock and gesturing in with his head. Rex hadn't even realized he'd stopped walking, subconsciously waiting for the blockage of the door to be handled. It's easier to focus on the children.

The paint gets sent to the backyard--trapped fumes wouldn’t be good for the children--and Rex lays Leia down in her crib. Anakin urges him to the backyard, says I’ll handle it about anything Rex uses to delay, and it’s only a few minutes later that Rex finds himself sitting on the grass, armor spread across a sheet of disposable flimsi, paints and brushes at the ready. He doesn’t quite remember setting it up, but he must have.

Anakin joins him, a twin in each arm and the Force laying out a picnic blanket. Leia’s nursing, swaddled up but content to suckle, and Luke seems happy to doze when Anakin sets him down on the cotton gingham. It’s a warm day, with a light breeze, and the babies are where the wind won’t carry the paint fumes.

“I’m here if you need me,” Anakin promises, though his attention drifts immediately to his daughter.

Rex begins to paint.

----

His remembrances are endless.

Every brother he’s ever known, every general he’s met, every small commander and random civilian, everyone he loved and knew. He lights a pyre, sings under his breath and tries not to break in a way that can’t be patched together. He mourns the tubies and cadets, the Jedi younglings, names he never learned and now never would.

Anakin gets Japor from somewhere, carves it whenever he’s too jittery to sleep and the twins are asleep. Rex recognizes a few symbols, like the open circle fleet, like Fives’ helmet eel, like Ahsoka’s markings. There are more, though, that are wholly unfamiliar, things he thinks are born of desert sands and binary suns, rough and painful and deeper in Anakin’s heart than even the Jedi.

He asks about the one for Fives, when he sees it.

He hides his anger.

Explanations, first.

“It’s an apology,” his General tells him, eyes distant. “I should have listened to him. I didn’t. The carvings are regrets, broken trust... that sort of thing. I’m part of why he died, and in that, part of why the rest is gone. He and his memory deserve a place of honor.”

Rex considers that, and accepts it.

Fives deserves an apology. The General recognizes that.

The General recognizes that he fucked up.

This is a good thing.

Rex lets go of his anger, still curled tight to his chest after months, as best he can.

He’s not very good at it, but he can try.

Luke starts crying, and Rex gets up to warm a bottle.

----

“I need to stay close to home until the twins are a little older,” Rex says. Teskarim, the woman at the childcare store, tilts her head to encourage him to continue. “I’m... I’ve never been anything but a soldier, and nobody here needs security services, but I can hunt. Do you know if there’s any kind of licenses required, or lists of which animals are legal hunt and which are endangered?”

“I... don’t,” she says, chewing her bottom lip. “But I think the butcher’s shop can probably point you in the right direction.”

Damn. He’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone new today.

“Thanks,” he sighs, and shells out some of the local currency for more formula.

----

The butcher has answers, and preferences. Rex isn’t much of a trapper, but he’s a hell of a shot, and decent enough scout and tracker. He listens to what there is to hear, and mentally takes all the notes he can. There aren’t any licenses needed in this hemisphere, but there are legally-defined hunting seasons for different creatures. The butcher knows when the optimal times of day are, which parts of the nearby forest and mountains are best to stake out, and so on.

Rex tells Anakin about his plan. He gets a slow blink in response, a cringe in what he thinks is guilt, and an offer to meditate for the best direction to take when he goes out. He accepts the offer in the spirit its meant, and sets out the next morning with the expectation that he may need to spend a few nights out under the leaves and stars.

The calm and quiet are their own kind of comfort. He’s loyal to Anakin, and he already loves the twins, but there’s a part of him that needs to be away from natborns right now. Anakin was a Jedi, a general, and fought in the metaphorical trenches with the rest of them, but he wasn’t a brother.

They grieve many of the same people, but they do not grieve the same way.

Rex needs the solitude. Not forever, not even for very long, but he needs it.

It takes two days, but he finds one of the in-season creatures, a creature shaped much like an Alderaan deer, but larger, and with longer fur. It’s darker in color, too, and he gives it a bit of time to wander about until he can be sure it’s a male, and he’s not about to leave some fawns without a mother. The shot is clean, and it doesn’t take him very long to tie it up and sling it over his shoulders to bring back to town.

The trek back takes hours, and the creature on his back is a pain to carry, but it’s almost worth the looks he gets from the civvies. Eyes bulge out the sockets at the sight of him, and he’s glad his helmet hides his smirk. He’s Kamino stock, hardened by over three years on the front lines, and there’s a pride in how easy the physical things are for him. It’s not impossible for a natborn to carry this kind of creature this far without help, but it’s uncommon.

He kind of likes the attention, now that it doesn’t come with the many prejudices that being a clone always had.

Anakin meets him at the butcher’s, one twin on his chest and the other on his back.

Seems he’s found a solution to that.

“Here to help me barter a fair payment?” Rex asks, and gets a too-charming grin in response.

“Well, I’ve been doing it most of my life,” Anakin says, cheery in a way that feels pasted on. “And I’ll have a trick to know if we’re being cheated.”

It’s a solid response, but Rex doesn’t like it. He takes note of the bags under Anakins eyes. “Have you been sleeping, sir?”

“Twins,” the man himself says. “And don’t call me ‘sir,’ Rex, we’ve been over this.”

“You need to sleep, General.”

Anakin pouts at him, probably because of the title. “I can handle two days alone, Captain.”

Rex rolls his eyes and sidles through the entrance of the butcher’s shop.

They’ve got this.

#Rexwalker #Captain Rex #Anakin Skywalker #Skywalker Twins #Luke Skywalker #Leia Organa #past Anidala #Phoenix Posts #Rex and Anakin Raise a Family #star wars #the clone wars #time travel #I have a couple tumblr-based ongoing fics but this one... meanders

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