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on-my-vigilante-sht · 1 year

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Capitol Punishment IV

Haymitch x Reader

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships.

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol.

Warnings: Canon level violence, rape (though never explicit), alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book, suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 3.9K

Part III | Masterlist | Part V

Your head rested on Haymitch’s lap as you stoically watched the girl from District 1, Glimmer, kill the girl from District 4.

As the careers began to walk away, Haymitch took the remote, shutting off the feed. “Hey!” you protested.

“You’ve seen enough— we’ve both seen enough,” he insisted. “Y/N we watch these games every year and have to endure seeing our kids get slaughtered. And you get upset every time.”

“But these kids have an actual shot at winning!” you insisted. Both were already adored by the Capitol and Peeta, being the son of a baker and having the strength to show it, resembled the careers more than previous District 12 tributes. As for Katniss, she was a hunter and a survivalist. If she could get her hands on the bow Glimmer was fumbling with, the odds of this game would drastically change. “You don’t need to protect me like I’m a child.”

“I’m just trying to protect you because I love you and it hurts me to see you hurt.”

You stopped, unable to respond to that. He was right, every year you invested in these kids and no matter what, whether they ignore your advice or not, the end up dead and it was taking its toll on you. A toll only Haymitch saw because you refused to show weakness to anyone who may hold power over you.

Before you could respond the elevator dinged open and Effie fluttered into the penthouse. “Haymitch! Y/N! Haymitch! Y/N!” she squawked. “Turn on the games!”

Annoyed yet confused, Haymitch complied. Your eyes widened as you saw what was happening. Katniss was running through a forest fire. You audibly gasped when you saw a fireball be launched at her, sending her to the side. You held on tightly to Haymitch’s sleeve as the fire continued to surround her, a projectile burning her at one point.

The gamemakers’ disaster didn’t end until she jumped into a small pool of water. Unfortunately for Katniss her relief didn’t last long before the careers spotted her. Glimmer was the first to spot her, pointing and shouting. The others began to shout after her, running towards Katniss with smiles as if they were hunting turkeys. Peeta followed after them, carrying a spear, looking reluctant.

Katniss looked exhausted but she made her way out of the pond, running into the forest until she found a big tree. You held your breath as she scaled the tree and the careers approached. Fortunately she was a couple feet up in the air by the time the careers reached her.

Cato, from District 2, began climbing the tree after her but broke a branch only a couple steps up. And by now Katniss had settled on a thick branch about 70 feet in the air. A camera locked in on Peeta’s face, showing his concern for his years long crush.

“I got this,” Glimmer declared, notching an arrow. Judging by the clumsiness of her movements she wasn’t very experienced with it. She aimed up at Katniss, releasing the arrow which missed her by a long shot.

“Why don’t you throw the sword,” she taunted, eliciting a laugh from Haymitch.

“Got any ideas, loverboy?” Cato snarled.

“Why don’t we just wait her out?” he suggested. “It’s either she comes down or starves to death.” The careers all looked surprised, as if a non-violent strategy had never occurred to them. Seeing as that was the only real viable option, they began to set up camp.

The camera turned up to Katniss who by now was settled on her branch, assessing her burn wound. You cringed at her pained expression as she tried to soothe the burn. “Haymitch she’s going to die of infection if she doesn’t get medicine.”

“I know,” he said, already standing up. “I’m going to kiss come Capitol ass.” You stood up with him but he quickly stopped you. “No, Y/N I love you but this will put you right in their palms.”

Grateful for Haymitch’s concern for you, you cupped his jaw gently, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“I’ll go with him,” Effie said, scrambling to the elevator with him.

Once they reached a viewing room for the sponsors Haymitch grabbed two glasses of champagne. Spotting a sponsor who was intently staring at the screen, and more importantly, not speaking to anyone else, he headed over. “She’s a tough one,” Haymitch caught the man’s attention. “Kind of ironic that the girl on fire got burned. Champagne?” he offered the peacock of a man.

With a smug look he took the glass. “Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss is yours right?” he asked, gesturing to the screen.

“Yeah she is. Gotta say it’s really nice to have two kids make it this far.”

“Ah right, loverboy is also yours,” the man chuckled. “Let me guess, you want medicine for Katniss.”

Haymitch smiled dryly. “Yes, she needs it. I’ve seen what your medicine can do and once she’s healed up, she’ll be back in the game stronger than ever.”

“Is she half as ruthless as Y/N L/N was?”

Inside Haymitch froze at the mention of your name but seeing as the man didn’t talk about you further, he pushed through it. “Half is a good estimate,” Haymitch laughed. “What I can tell you is that she’s a provider for her family and she’s got that sweet little sister she volunteered for back home. If anyone has a reason to get out of that arena, it’s her. She’s got no one else to take care of her family.”

The man thought for a second, nodding before reaching out his hand to Haymitch. “You’ve got a deal. 200 for the medicine and I’ll place a thousand on her to win.”

Haymitch grinned eagerly, shaking his hand too. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” Haymitch ensured that the man reached the betting/sponsor booth to get the medicine to Katniss before turning towards the elevator, intent on heading back to you.

“The Victor of District 12.” A hand clamped onto his shoulder along with the words stopped Haymitch in his tracks. He turned, finding a man with orange skin and bright red hair, grinning at him.

“Can I help you?” Haymitch asked as kindly as possible.

“I wanted to ask about Y/N L/N, the other District 12 victor.”

Haymitch tried to swallow his disgust. “What do you want to know?”

“Is she available anytime soon? A friend of mine got a taste of her, said she felt heavenly. I wanted to give it a try, take her for a spin, you know,” he laughed. “See if she’s tighter than Capitol girls.”

At that comment Haymitch couldn’t hold it in any longer. Seven years of watching you be used and abused were released in a single punch, sending the man to the ground. Before Haymitch could kill the redhead, peacekeepers were dragging him out of the room. “Keep her name out of your fucking mouth!” he yelled.

He was dragged off into a van and then had a bag placed over his head.

He wasn’t sure how far he went, only that he was manhandled out of the van until he was stood in a building. When they pulled the bag from his head he realized just how screwed he was.

“Hello, Haymitch,” President Snow smiled evilly.

“Y/N! Haymitch has been arrested!” Effie burst into the room.

“What?”

“He punched a man. Come on, we have to find him,” she said, tugging on your arm. You were surprised that she was so eager to help Haymitch but went along with her.

You rode the elevator down but as soon as the doors opened you were met with Peacekeepers. “Y/N L/N, please come with us.” Figuring they’d take you to Haymitch, you followed them, not screaming in protest for once.

You were placed in a luxurious car, Effie having been barred from coming with you. She was currently shrieking, demanding to know what was going on but you just ignored her, eager to get to Haymitch.

The car drove you a couple blocks down the street before you reached a very grand building. The President’s building. You were led inside and up the stairs to Snow’s office which you had only been in once before. The grand doors opened, revealing Haymitch kneeling on the ground, facing Snow with a gun pointed at him. “Y/N how nice of you to join us,” Snow welcomed.

You ignored him, lunging at Haymitch until a peacekeeper caught you around the waist. “Let him go,” you protested. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He punched a man in the face. That’s punishable by death for the district citizens.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. “Please don’t, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” a man with orange skin and bright red hair, stepped in from the side of the room. He had on a devilish and excited expression. Despite his fire spirit like appearance, you hadn’t noticed him. Too focused on Haymitch and Snow.

“Yes, anything,” you agreed. “If you want me you can have me. Please just let him go.”

“Y/N-”

“That’s not up for you to decide,” Snow cut Haymitch off. “Whatever punishment must be fitting for Mr. Abernathy’s crimes. Whether you take the punishment or he does. Mr. Summer, what do you think?”

“I think a whole night with Mr. Abernathy’s district partner would be fitting,” he said smugly, sporting a black eye.

“I’ll do it,” you eagerly agreed.

By now the gun has been put away and Haymitch was turned to face you. “Y/N you don’t have to.”

“No I’m not going to let you be killed. Especially when I only have to spend the night with someone. I’ve been doing that for the past seven years for nothing. Right now it’s actually worth something. Please let me do this for you,” you were begging.

Haymitch looked down nodding before looking up to meet your eyes again, trying to convey that he loved you. No matter how obvious your relationship may seem to those who watched you, you both had agreed to never utter your affections for each other in front of Capitol people.

The man who Haymitch had punched was now eagerly waiting by the door. “Go on Ms. L/N. You’re the one who made the deal.”

You once again looked at your lover, trying to convey your love for him before standing on shaky legs. Following the fire man out of the room.

Haymitch had been released by Snow almost immediately after you left. He was dragged through the building, into a car, and quite literally pushed out of said car when they arrived at the tributes building. He wanted to run back to the President’s building to find you but he knew how furious you’d be if he put his life in jeopardy again. So he swallowed his anger and stomped into the building and back up to the penthouse.

You didn’t return until noon the next day. When you entered your room Haymitch was passed out on the bed with two empty wine bottles. Whenever you were taken it was typical for Haymitch to drink himself into a coma but it was less common while you were in the Capitol. You immediately went to the bathroom, turning the water as hot as you could possibly stand, wanting to cleanse yourself of such a vile man. But even when you stepped out of the shower after a solid 10 minutes of scrubbing you still felt unclean. You had never been with someone that long.

You walked past Haymitch who was still passed out, probably for the night. You didn’t want to have to look into his eyes that you knew would be full of pity and anger. So you headed to the only person you knew would be able to help you. Getting onto the elevator you hit the number four, descending down into District 4’s floor.

Once the elevator opened you were greeted with a living room decorated exactly like yours 8 floors up. “Finnick,” you called, stepping in hesitantly. You felt weird just walking into someone else’s “home.”

“Yes?” you could hear Finnick’s confused voice call from another room. He appeared in a hallway a second late. “Y/N, what are you doing here?” he asked. You swallowed, feeling tears prick your eyes. Seeing your reaction, Finnick knew exactly what that meant. “Oh I’m so sorry,” he empathized. He came over, giving you a hug. At the first gentle, comforting touch you’ve felt all day, you broke down into sobs. He quietly tried to soothe you, leading you to the couch while you sobbed into his chest.

When your sobs finally subsided he spoke. “What happened?” he had comforted you many times over the years but you only ever cried like this when something new or exceptionally cruel happened for the first time.

“Hay-Haymitch got arrested,” you slowly choked out, “for punching a guy that said some things about me. Snow was gonna kill him. But instead I agreed to sleep with the guy so Haymitch would be let go. I spent over 12 hours with him, Finnick!” you cried.

“Oh Y/N,” he spoke gently, stroking a piece of hair behind your ear like parental figure. “I’m sorry that happened to the both of you. But hey, at least you have someone fighting in your corner… literally,” he laughed gently. You laughed with him, sniffling. “I’m sure you were scared for him but if I know anything about Haymitch, its that he loves you more than anything in the world and he’d much rather punch anyone in the face and die for you than allow you to be hurt. And if I know anything about you, its that you’d sleep with everyone in the Capitol before you let anyone hurt him. So just remember that you both have each other in your corners… and me of course.” You let out another laugh. “I’m surprised you’re down here. I’m sure Haymitch is terrified.”

You shook your head. “He’s passed out. Drank at least two wine bottles, probably more. That’s usually how he copes. I just wanted to talk to you then keep my mind off what happened,” you changed the subject. “What’s going on in the games?”

“Uh well Katniss killed the girl from District 1 by dropping a tracker jacker nest on the careers and now she has a bow. Cato, the kid from District 2, wounded Peeta. Last anyone saw he was disguising himself into the rocks by the river. And Katniss has formed an alliance with Rue, the girl from District 11.”

Your hope for Peeta was dying now. Like you feared for Katniss before, you knew his wound would get infected, especially since he was probably covered in dirt and mut in order to hide.

Finnick turned on the television so you could watch the games. Immediately it was on Katniss, perched just inside the clearing where the cornucopia was and where the careers had set up camp. Before you could even figure out what was happening she let an arrow fly, sending a bag of apples tumbling, triggering the mines you has watched the kid from District 3, Byte, use to protect the mountain of supplies. It all went up in one glorious blaze, sending Katniss flying back into the tree line. Fortunate seeing as the remaining careers all quickly returned, Cato breaking Byte’s neck. Well there goes Beetee’s bet, you thought to yourself. He had probably thought the same about you when Peeta was wounded.

The camera then shifted to little Rue who was running through the forest until she tripped, falling right into a trap. A net quickly fell down upon her, trapping her on the ground. “Katniss!” she yelled.

You felt your heart break at the sheer terror in her voice. You let out an audible breath when Katniss came running, quickly cutting the girl out of the rope. As she was checking up on the young girl, you could see the boy from District 1, Marvel, appear with a spear.

“Katniss,” Rue caught your tribute’s attention, pointing behind her at Marvel. Katniss quickly whirled around, notching an arrow and firing straight into his chest, killing him. Unfortunately it was too late after he released his spear, sending it into Rue’s abdomen.

You felt more tears well in your eyes as Rue fell, Katniss catching her. You could barely watch as Rue took her final breaths and again when Katniss buried her in flowers.

Finnick got up from beside you, immediately going to the bar cart. He poured two of some sort of cocktail, bringing one over for you. “My own creation,” he explained, handing it to you. You took it, realizing that it smelled and tasted like pure alcohol. Nevertheless you downed it. “Do you ever think of a world where there’s no games?” Finnick suddenly asked.

You shrugged. “I guess.”

“What about no Capitol?”

“Finnick…” you warned. You and he were the most closely watched Victors, neither of you could afford to think about stuff like that. Especially with Annie and Haymitch in your respective lives.

“There are rumors,” he continued. “Even some of the most powerful are done with this,” he gestured to the screen and the lavish wealth in the room.

“We can’t afford to be hopeful. Not with Haymitch and Annie.”

“Haymitch approached me.” You were taken aback. You had never heard of anything like that from him. “People tend to slip around him because of his alcoholism but he’s been approached about revolution.”

There it was… the dreaded yet long awaited r-word. You were about to get up and leave, not wanting to deal with the repercussions of this conversation, even if Haymitch was the one to initiate it with Finnick. As you were headed for the elevator a Seneca Crane’s voice came over a speaker. “Tributes, may I have your attention? A new tule has been instated. Two victors may be crowned so long as they come from the same District. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor.”

You immediately rushed up to your room, eager to find Haymitch but when you arrived there was no sign of him. Unsure of what to do and reluctant to leave the “safety” of the penthouse you decided to wait. You sat down on the couch, continuing to watch as Katniss finally found her district partner.

“Peeta!” she called in fright as she began to dig him up from his own handiwork. “Did you hear the announcement?”

“I did. We could go home,” he said optimistically.

“We could go home,” Katniss agreed, showing hope for the first time ever. The only ones left, except for the tributes from 2, were singles. As much as you wanted your tributes to finally come home you knew there were several issues. 1. Peeta was severely injured and would be holding Katniss back if anything. 2. Clove and Cato were both relatively healthy and you could see them rejoicing on another screen. 3. They’d have to somehow outsmart the girl from District 5 who was always lurking yet never came out to fight. And 4. After Rue you knew Katniss would never willingly kill Thresh.

The camera then changed to the District 2 tributes hiking through the forest, looking for either food or other tributes. You watched as they clumsily tried to kill a squirrel, both throwing blades at it. You knew Clove was an exceptional knife thrower but the squirrel was too small and quick for her to hit. Having never gone hungry a day in their lives they weren’t coping with the loss of their supply stash well.

The cameras moved to Thresh who had a decent assortment of plants stashed in his bag as well as a scythe. As for the girl from District 5 she was currently curled up near some rocks, decently hidden.

You had to admit that if Katniss and Peeta didn’t win you’d want it to be Thresh. From what Chaff had told Haymitch he was a good person who had looked out for the people in his district, including young Rue when they had been reaped. Similar to Katniss.

Katniss and Peeta had staggered into a cave setting up for the night, trying to figure out what to do next. “We’ll get you some medicine,” she said.

“I don’t get many parachutes,” Peeta protested.

“We’ll figure something out,” she promised. You could see the cogs turning in her head before she pressed a chaste kiss to Peeta’s cheek. You could practically hear the cheers erupting from the Capitol people who had become enthralled in the romance.

Seeing the relative state of calm the game makers had decided that not much would happen and they dimmed the lights, creating night.

Soon enough Haymitch was entering the room. “Did you hear?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he smiled, “and I made that happen.”

Your jaw slackened in shock. “What?” How did he get an audience with someone powerful enough to amend the rules? “How?”

“My incredible persuasion skills,” he teased, wrapping his arms around your waist. “We’re gonna bring them home.”

You wanted to cry you were so overwhelmed with emotion. “We’re gonna fight to bring them home,” you agreed. “Peeta needs medicine. The stuff we sent Katniss for her burn isn’t doing anything.”

“I know the sponsor booth is closed for tonight. We’ll go first thing in the morning.” He punctuated the sentence with a kiss to your forehead.

The games stayed on all night as Haymitch and you slept. The camera switched between District 2 and 12 since that was the closest thing they had to interesting content. You woke up the first time to the beeping of a parachute. “I thought the sponsors booth was closed,” you groggily asked an even more so groggy Haymitch.

“I managed to convince some people to get them something right before the booth closed. I don’t know why they’re just now sending it,” he explained, face still half pressed into the pillow.

“Do you know what they sent?” you asked, hoping for medicine so 12 would have a fighting chance.

“I don’t. Hopefully medicine,” your lover said as if reading your mind.

“It’s soup,” you answered, slightly disappointed as Katniss opened the container. “At least it’s something.” Haymitch pulled you down closer to him as he fell back asleep with his face pressed into the crook of your neck. You still watched through hazy eyes as Katniss fed Peeta the soup, kissing him occasionally. They’re going to have to make out if they want to get medicine you thought as you drifted off to sleep reluctantly.

The next time you were woken it was due to Haymitch shaking your shoulder vigorously.

“…feast at the cornucopia for something each of you need,” was all you heard before the typical Capitol sign off.

“What’s going on?” you asked, still reluctant to be awake.

“They’re gonna give them medicine.”

Part III | Masterlist | Part V

#haymitch #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy #thg #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #capitol punishment

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eetherealgoddess · 5 months

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ꨄOur Beta 2ꨄ

Yandere Omegaverse Au

Sano Manjiro, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Read the first one for context!!

Part One

Not fully proofread!

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

Japanese language is red

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There will be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Our Beta 2

“Koko, I… I didn’t sign up to be a sex slave or a cuddle buddy. I c-can’t take this anymore!”

Y/n sat on the bed with her back leaned against the headboard, eyeing the executive in front of her with a pleading gaze as he could only stare back with pity and crossed arms. It had been two months since the additional heat and former executive Y/n has been entangled with a web of arms almost daily.

“I understand, but there’s nothing I can do. Trust me, I do feel sympathetic towards your situation, as this was an unexpected circumstance, but you know as well as I do that no one can go against the Boss's orders.” He sighs. Her head falls on her hands before she glares at him once more.

“I’ve been locked up in this room for, I don’t even know how long without a phone, and with stupid journals and board games as a means of entertainment. I’ve seen all channels and have streamed hella shows on the tv. Koko, just please help me escape. They-!”

“Stop right there. You know that either one of us could get killed if I help you. Just hang in there and be patient. I-I’ll try to find a way to at least talk you out of being stuck in this room. You can’t try anything, Y/n. It’ll only get worse.” He states as he begins to walk to the doorway.

“When are they coming back?”

“They’re on a mission right now. I don’t know when they’ll be back.”

She nods in response as he leaves and shuts the door.

I’ve gotta get out of here. I can’t be here if I’m not going to be an executive. This is torture. I’m not even an alpha.

Y/n might’ve more inclined to have accepted the terms if she would’ve been told about it before becoming an executive, having had a crush or two at the beginning, though her beta instincts not being affected as much as an alpha would to their attraction. Keyword, ‘might.’ She’s not really the type for that kind of job anyway, but it would have been nice to have had the option instead of being forced to do this. Especially with the lack of freedom.

Not to mention, she never consented to any of that, embarrassment still lingering as she thinks back on the events as she rubs the scar caused by one of the Haitanis biting her shoulder. It’s been a while so it’s fading but it was inflicted enough to last this long.

Finally deciding to make a move, she thinks of a plan to escape. Koko is probably in his designated room, face planted on his laptop screen so she shouldn’t have to worry about him, nor the alphas and omegas who are on a mission. Yes the security cameras will capture her leaving, but if she’s gone it won’t matter anyway. They’ll see the empty room. That leaves the guards. Fortunately, she gained some physical skills from her time as an executive so she wasn’t worried about fighting them off. She can find a hotel to stay in and get a new card from the bank. She’ll figure out her phone later.

She hops from the bed as she makes her way to the door. When she knocks on the door, she moves a step back to get ready for her attack. Once she hears the door click she takes a deep breath before blowing it out, jumping on the first guard that opens the door, both of them falling with her landing on top.

She punches him until he’s knocked out just in time for the second one to come behind, her standing up to grab his wrist near the shoulder that his hand was planted on, and swings him over, his body landing on the floor before she knocks him out as well. When that was over, she took a breath once more, eyeing her shaky hands as she headed to the exit. Adrenaline pumps as she runs, anticipating her freedom as she gets closer.

Once she makes it, she grabs the door and snatches it open, expecting guards to attack but only being met with icy blue eyes glaring at her.

“Fuck!” She tries pushing past him, only to be snatched painfully from the wrist as he drags her in, shutting the door behind them.

“S-Sanzu! Wait, please!” When they make it in front of the designated bedroom, he crosses over the bodies with a look of disgust.

“Pathetic. You can’t even do your job.”

He shoves her into the room. She turns back to him and grabs his arm before he can leave.

“Sanzu! P-please don’t tell Mikey! I just…!” He holds his hand up with narrowed eyes. She releases him and steps back. Pulling out his phone, begins dialing a number. Putting the phone to his ear, he begins speaking in his language. Y/n could only stare wide eyed in fear as to what could be planned for her. The only word she recognized was ‘traitor’ and that didn’t make her feel any better. When the call ended, he placed his phone back in his pocket before pulling out his gun and pointing at her. She froze as he walked closer to her. Before she could process anything, he pulled it back before landing a blow on her head with the butt of the gun, knocking her out. He catches her body before it falls and places her on the bed, leaving the room once he is done.

When she awakens, an excruciating pain in her abdomen catches her attention as her face scrunches and grunts leave her mouth. She attempted to move her arm to wrap around the pressure but she looked over to see that a cuff was connected from the chain hanging from the post. Her arm failing to budge caused her to move her leg which is also restrained against the bed tightly.

A wet liquid gushes out of her uncontrollably causing her to squirm in discomfort, the sensation of it dripping down her bare ass making her sick as she’s never been used to this kind of slick forming from her own body. Finally, she’s aware of her surroundings when she hears a loud scream in the room.

“P-PLEASE…!” The sound of an object making contact with flesh caused her worse pain as she recognized the word, meaning someone’s demise had been completed.

“Boss! I won’t let it happen again! Sp-spare me for my fam-!”

“Shut up.” Mikey hissed. The same sound made an impact once more, interrupting the victim causing her to flinch as tears built.

That must be the guards. I’m really going to die like this.

“Ah Beta, you’re finally awake.” Ran says as he walks over with the bloody baton on his shoulder, smirking as he looks down at her.

“Hey, you’re looking a little warm. Let’s fix that” Rin says before snatching the blanket that’s covering her naked body away. She gasps as she tries to use her legs to cover herself in reflex, failing miserably. It doesn’t matter how many times they have seen her naked, she will always feel humiliation considering they were her partners in quite a few missions. Also to be in such a vulnerable state, sweaty, hot, her own aroma filling up the air, and in straight agony, bare in front of the psychopaths she used to look up to, her being the newest executive after all.

She groans when another shot of pain surges through her body after another gush of slick falls out, gritting her teeth as her hands turn to fists. She breathes heavily as she tries to contain the new urges, her body surviving through an experience she has never had to deal with before. A hand grabs her chin, forcing her to look towards the opposite side of the bed, Mikey standing above her, his hair hovering over as he leans over.

“This is your fault.” He states with a stoic expression before releasing his grip and walking away from the bed, towards the exit. On the same side, Sanzu gets closer with a smirk on his face.

“Enjoy your heat, Beta.” They all walk towards the exit, shutting the door behind them as they leave Y/n and the dead bodies in the room.

After a while of suffering through the process with tears, slick, and agony, the door clicks open as a few footsteps make their way in. Koko came into view with a concerned look on his face, shaking his head.

“Y/n, I told you not to try anything.” He groans, palms rubbing down his face. She could only respond with whimpers and sniffs as she couldn’t form the words to express her distress.

“They’re planning to keep you here for the entire duration of your induced heat. I’m sorry, Y/n but it’s unknown as to when it will be over.” He resists the urge to cover her with the blanket, not wanting to deal with the repercussions that would come.

“K-koko please…! Unchain me f-for just a m-minute… I need t-to…t-take care of myself!”

“I cannot risk my own safety, Y/n. You will have to endure.” He sighs in pity. He looks over as the employees drag the bodies out and clean the evidence.

“Next time, please don’t let this happen again. For your own sake.”

Y/n’s heat lasted for a week and a half before she finally ended with no release or anyone to help her through. The omegan urges haunted her throughout the process of trying to survive. Nobody was allowed to check on her after the cleaners came. She wasn’t given food or water and had to endure with an empty stomach and dry throat, not that she would’ve been able to eat or drink anything anyway with her discomfort.

When it was over, she was too weak to speak or move, her eyes hollow as she could only take breaths and lay there. Finally, employees cleaned and fed her, a slow process before they left after chaining one of her ankles to the bed. She spent the next week becoming healthier, only allowed to get up for the bathroom. There were no signs of any executives until Mikey slept in the same bed one of the nights after it was over, holding her. The other omegan executives getting their own time with her when their boss allows it.

When Y/n was completely healthy, she was used once again as a heat guide for them as they shared the bed, bundled up in different nests made of clothes and blankets. She reluctantly accepts her fate, having no choice but to comply and survive.

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gumnut-logic · 2 months

Text

Raindrops

This was sparked by a prompt from the wonderful @womble1 :

Falling asleep on a balcony and getting woken up by rain.

It is rather random and fluffy with just a touch of hurt, with lots of comfort. Earth and Sky, big and not so big brothers.

Many thanks to the amazing @onereyofstarlight for reading through a one shot that should have taken a couple of hours, but since I didn't have a couple of hours, took three days instead, so was read through twice. You are so kind to me.

The first bit of this was posted in the last few days for WIP Wendesday, but there is plenty more after those little bits. Sky had a mind of his own and took over the fic.

I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

“Virgil.”

Something tickled his nose.

“Virgil.”

Something wet landed on his cheek. Another followed it. And another.

“Virgil!”

“Wha-?”

“Virgil, there is a weather system tracking across the Island, you might want to go inside.” John’s voice was achingly patient.

Virgil, sprawled across a lounger on the residential balcony, blinked only to have water land in his eyes. A blurry hesitation and the decking beside him took up percussion as rain swept in with its full tropical intentions.

The weather changed faster than Virgil’s brain could boot from a dead sleep. So when he leapt up, his faculties were not at full function.

Fortunately, he was well practised at moving fast with zero thought.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t usually on a wet balcony in the rain, and a misplaced foot hampered by a moonboot was enough to send him reeling.

He was faced with the split-second realisation that he was going to fall and there was nothing he could do about it. Gravity took over and he was going down.

Except he wasn’t the fastest moving person in the house.

“Woah! I’ve got you!” Two familiar and strong arms wrapped around him, preventing yet another collision with something hard..

After all, that was how he ended up with the broken foot in the first place.

“I’ve got you.” The repetition was as reassuring as it was annoying. “Are you okay?’

Virgil looked up at his brother. The rain was really coming down now and Scott’s hair was beginning to drip into his eyes. Worried eyes, damnit.

“I’m f-“ The ‘ine’ was stolen by a sudden clap of thunder. What the hell?

Scott shook his head and lifting Virgil’s arm around his shoulder, hurried him into the safety of the residential villa.

Stepping out of the rain was a relief. Tropical rain was a species all of its own, heavy, sudden, and determined.

“Sorry, guys, I should have used an airhorn.” John’s voice bounced down from orbit with exasperation.

Virgil grunted at that, not entirely in disagreement, but not willing to give in, or to use the brain cells required for a comprehensible response.

“Or perhaps alerted us earlier.” Scott’s voice was disapproving.

Virgil sighed. Scott was still in post ‘brother trying to get himself killed’ alert mode. “It was a little rain.” He was pointedly ignoring the waterfall on the glass windows. “It wasn’t going to kill me. John’s busy. Let him have a life.”

“He’s right, Virgil. I should have woken you earlier. Or alerted Scott earlier.”

“What?” He really didn’t have the energy for an argument. “Whatever. I’m going to bed. Thanks for the save.” He pulled away gently from his big brother and stepped in the direction of his rooms.

Only to lose his balance again and nearly land on his face.

But, of course, big hero brother swooped in and caught him. “Take it easy.” Again with the arm around Scott’s shoulder and ignoring Virgil’s half-assed protest, his big brother began helping him towards his rooms.

“You know I can walk.”

Scott sighed. “I’m basing my decision on your last two attempts. You don’t get a third to try and break yourself further.”

Virgil grunted, annoyed at himself more than anything else.

They hobbled their way through Virgil’s door and into his living space. “Couch or bed?” Scott’s eyes bounced between the two options before latching onto Virgil himself.

“Bed.” He had been asleep because he was tired. “Want to finish what I started.”

“FAB.”

There was some more hobbling, this time through his bedroom door, and finally, his brother lowered him to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Sit there for a second and I’ll go grab a towel.”

It was only then that Virgil realised his hair was dripping into his eyes and was much to blame for the blurriness of his vision.

“Here you go.” Scott emerged from the bathroom with a handful of towel. But instead of handing it to him, he made an attempt to wipe Virgil down himself.

Apparently, the laser beams shooting out of Virgil’s eyes must have missed their mark, or been completely obliterated by Scott dumping the towel on Virgil’s head and drying his hair.

Virgil waved his hands about, trying to swipe his big brother away, “You do know I’m a grown up.”

Scott wasn’t fazed. “Sure do.” The towel was rubbed through Virgil’s hair, haystacking it, down his neck, and wrapped around so Scott could wipe his face dry.

“Scott-!” The towel muffled the rest of his protest.

“What?” Scott had finished his face and started on his shoulders, but he frowned, tossed the towel aside and began unbuttoning Virgil’s wet linen shirt.

That was enough. Virgil caught his brother’s hands and held them still, glaring up at his older brother. “What are you doing?”

Blue honesty shone back at him. “You’re wet.”

“I am fully capable of looking after myself.”

“Of course you are.” A twist of his lips. “When you’re awake.”

“I am awake.”

“That is up for debate.” Scott sighed and sat down in the chair beside Virgil’s bed. “Fine. Be my guest.”

When did that chair get there? That chair wasn’t usually there, but on the other side of the room.

He sat there pondering the fact for the moment.

“Virgil?” A hand waved in front of his eyes.

Virgil whacked it.

“Ow.”

“You earned that.” Virgil undid the remaining buttons and shucked the linen shirt off his shoulders. Of course, every bruise bitched at him for it, but he was determined not to show any reaction.

He didn’t miss his big brother’s eyes landing on those bruises, though.

“Scott, it wasn’t your fault. Shit sometimes just happens.”

Quiet. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.” But his eyes were still tracking over Virgil’s chest.

“If you don’t stop that, I’m putting the damned shirt back on.” Or grabbing another one. He pushed himself to his feet and carefully, and stubbornly, made his way over to his dresser. He shoved open a drawer and dug out an old t-shirt. He threw it on, not even bothering to towel himself dry.

He leant on the cabinet a moment, back to his brother, ever so aware of the eyes still tracking him. “Scott-“

“I want to help you.”

It was said calmly, but with just that hint of Commander combined with worried big brother desperate to make amends.

Virgil turned slowly. “Scott-“

His brother shot to his feet and stepped into Virgil’s personal space. A hand landed on Virgil’s arm, his other…hovered a moment before resting on his opposite shoulder. Blue eyes pinned Virgil where he stood. “I couldn’t prevent it. It was my responsibility to look after you, and I couldn’t. The least I can do is look after you now.”

Virgil’s heart hurt. “You look after us plenty, Scott. I’m going to be okay, I promise.”

His brother’s head dropped a moment, looking at his feet. “I know. Just…” He looked up with a crooked bit of a smile. “Let me help you.”

Virgil stared at him some more, worry gnawing at the edges of the fog that was his brain. “Okay.”

Those hands squeezed gently, before one let go and brushed the wet hair out of his eyes.

Scott stared at him a moment longer before pulling him into a hug. His brother didn’t say anything, but he did have his own set of muscles quite capable of squeezing tight.

I’m sorry. It wasn’t said, but it was communicated, nevertheless.

Virgil let out a breath and, wrapping his arms around Scott, rested his head against his big brother’s shoulder. There was nothing he could say to make it better. That was clear enough.

Scott needed to do this.

It wasn’t his fault. Perhaps intellectually he knew that. Emotionally was entirely a different matter.

Virgil had a thought and pulled away, just a little. “You wanna sit and watch the rain with me? I could grab that Scotch Gordy thinks he is hiding.”

Blue shone in the dim light. “Sounds good.” And there was the soft smile Virgil was seeking. “Gordon is going to be…upset.”

Virgil straightened. “He owes me well into the next decade, I’m calling it in.”

“He’ll make you suffer.”

Virgil carefully hobbled over to his bathroom and grabbed another towel to finish wiping himself down. “That is nothing new.” A sigh. “I’ll buy him some more on the next supply run. Top it up with a few of his favourites. He’ll be fine.” And to be honest, if Virgil divulged to Gordon why he was stealing it, he was sure his brother would eagerly donate to the cause.

After all, they all loved their big brother.

Virgil chucked the towel aside and held out a hand. “Help me back down to the balcony?”

Those blue eyes stared at his for a moment before taking his hand and gripping tight.

“Sure.”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #earth and sky #nuttyfic

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eluxcastar · 1 year

Note

*slaps my brain* this bad boy can churn out so much angst. Greetings, i arrive with pantalone x male reader : -- reader + a group of agents are sent on a mission. They're ambushed by the enemies (some rebellion group against the fatui) and everyone is killed except the reader. -- reader begs for their life and agrees to join their side and give out info about the fatui (But in their head, reader just comes up with an improvised plan to use this opportunity to lie and double cross the enemies) -- (un)fortunately, one agent survives... and delivers the news that reader has betrayed the fatui... to both Pantalone and Arlecchino. -- Poor banker man has a short breakdown before realizing that the Knave would be sent out to hunt down the traitor. (ouch) -- Perhaps it was just a few crumbs left of his love and trust for you, that convinced him to take over the duty of hunting you down. Perhaps he just wanted to see you one last time. -- He faces the brunt of Arlecchino's mockery and amused pity when he tells her that he's gonna kill you himself. -- Reader thankfully succeeds in escaping the enemy's headquarters. So imagine their panic and surprise when halfway into returning, pantalone pulls up and aims a gun at their head and demands an explanation (congratulations! both of them have trauma now! Reader is now paranoid in every way to never disappoint Pants every again! Pantalone now has paranoia for betrayal!) -- for roughly a month, reader moves out from their shared bedroom and occupies a guest room(fun!)

Super (un)happy (un)fun times with Pantalone ❤️

── ୨୧：pantalone x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: an expedition gone wrong as you are attacked by a group of rebels who win only by catching you off guard, they wipe almost your squad out, at least so you thought, and will little other option you decide it's best to choose the humiliating one and get on your knees to grovel and beg for your life like some poor dog

୨୧﹑genre :: angst

୨୧﹑content :: masc reader, mentions of blood, injury, death, reader does technically get kidnapped, the root of their problems is a lack of communication fml

୨୧﹑words :: 7.2k

nom nom nom this THIS this has eaten my brain since it was sent to me, this little thought that I wanted to do right away but was in the middle of Capitano and didn't wanna make that anon wait longer than the like two months they already had which was like two months BUT I SAID IN THAT ARLECCHINO POST that it was coming directly after Capitano so now I am LEGALLY obligated to do it (I have literally put off the Pierro request I said I would do since December) (I just want an excuse)

there may not be a post tomorrow because I'm tired and in pain so if that's the case the requests will resume either Monday or Tuesday

I also just liked that this request was like "These events, this order" cause it's so easy hmu anytime this literally ended up my longest post. also this kinda seems like it could even be the predecessor of the events of the previous post if only for a few details which tbh is an interesting thought

Somewhere along the road, you got to the point where you were surrounded by corpses; those used to be your comrades. You stare through bleary eyes at your weapon tossed aside on the ground. If only you could move freely, you could reach it. You might be ok if that was possible, but it's not. You lay surrounded by enemies who kicked at your comrades' feet to finish off whichever of them wasn't already dead. Quickly you have to think, lest you become the next one to get a sword to the back of the neck.

Ignoring a nasty knock to the head and some shallow scrapes, your health is the least of your worries. You have a splitting headache and a bit of trouble focusing. You can make out your weapon enough to reach for it; it's close enough if you're not mistaken, but if you're wrong, you'll likely end up as a red stain in the snow.

Your hand finds the hilt of your blade as a boot crushes the backs of your knuckles, barely able to cry out when the weight leaves your head. There's a relentless kick to your ribs, wedging a foot under and flicking you onto your back. The tip of a sword finds your throat, sharp like a prick against your skin; the wielder is clearly not worried about making you bleed as you are.

"Do you believe you've achieved something?" You ask, slowly smiling up at the man who looms over you. His foot rests on your stomach just enough that it doesn't hurt, though you suspect it will change quickly. "Killing only grunts, you're so impressive."

He knows you're mocking him; you can tell he knows as he presses his foot down until you grimace from the pain and then some.

Your ribs still hurt, and they'll probably bruise later.

You just aren't thinking about that because you don't want to die.

You don't understand why you're, for some reason, not as willing to die as you promised you would be. When you set out on this mission, you were prepared for the idea that you would be happy to go out in the name of the Tsaritsa, but...it felt much different when faced with the situation.

It would be the end. Never again would you see anything you love in this world. You would never see your lover or your family. You'd never get to train another new squad of rookies and never go home to eat a warm meal, to feel how stupidly soft Pantalone's hair is, or get to kiss him. You already know you won't see your squadmates again, and they wouldn't see you no matter how shameful you become for the sake of your life.

If nothing else, you would escape, and with all hope of saving everyone else long gone, that much is all you could ask for.

Your dignity isn't worth dying for.

"Wait," you speak out, placing your aching hand around the blade of the sword to stop any sudden movements, not fully registering the choice as strange. "If you spare my life, I'll give you information about the Fatui." You're relieved to feel the sword pull away ever so slightly, though the sting doesn't subside.

The man looks sceptical of you, rightfully so, considering your actual plan. "How do I know your information will be worth sparing you?"

"I'm the captain of this team, I'm very useful."

He appears to consider your offer for a moment before abruptly snatching the sword away, running a shallow cut across your palm, making you once again cry out as that poor hand has seen much better treatment. Immediately it blooms with fresh blood that pours down your hand as you roll yourself over to clutch it with your good hand.

Tears prick at your eyes, your vision blurring, no doubt the result of the cold making your wound hurt like hell.

"I'm not convinced you're really so dedicated to living since you seem to be able to run your mouth so much." Now he's taken to mocking you, wearing a smug smirk like he came here to see a fatuu on his knees kissing his boots for a chance at redemption. He wants to watch while his comrades just watch him pull the poor little fatuu's strings. "Get on your knees and beg for it."

In your mind, you know this is what survival demands, but you resist solely because of your stubborn pride, which tells you that it is not something you are willing to do. You tell yourself this is necessary for your plan to work, for Pantalone to not receive the news that you've been killed in an ambush attack on your squad. If you can prevent even just that, you will gladly get down on your knees in the snow to prove a false promise that you will supply information to them, if only to buy time to find an escape plan.

You push yourself onto your knees, crawling a few feet ahead before placing your forehead to the snow and trying to ignore the burning pain in your palm that tells you to move it now. You can't, so you must endure it with a shaky voice.

"Please spare me… I don't want to die. I'll do anything you ask if you spare me, I swear, I'll betray the Fatui, give you any information you want! Please just spare my life."

someone grabs you by your hair, and when you're jerked up to see who it is, a different person from the man who was previously hurting you, this time a woman. You doubt she's eager to let the chance to beat a poor little fatuu slip away, either. How she smiles down at you so tenderly yet so sadistic tells you so. At the very least, you seemed to please her, and what more could you ask for? If even just one wanted to, they would likely spare you.

"He's so eager to please…." She lets go, and her hand travels down to stroke your cheek, making you fight the urge to pull away. "Let's keep him."

Those weren't exactly the words you aspired to hear when you joined the Fatui; you won't complain now that they're saving your life.

It was only supposed to be a simple mission. Many hours of silence proved that to be incorrect. Some time since your team set out, only one fatuu returns to Pantalone's awful habit of pacing like the floor owes him money. Worse still, that fatuu isn't you. It's not exactly a sight you see every day, Pantalone stuck in discontented thought as he stares blankly through everyone he looks at. You're supposed to be working under him. Why is nobody telling him anything? He doubts that it's as simple as not knowing.

Everyone must be aware of the undeniable fact that, right now, your life is in grave danger. The second thing everyone must know is that you will remain in danger for as long as he is not given the route you took when you set out to—

"Pantalone, a skirmisher from the expedition team has returned." Pantalone startles, his thoughts interrupted as Arlecchino approaches. She is tailed by a slow and trembling man, freshly home and the victim of severe frostbite. Blood still clings to his clothes from the wounds he bears. She brought him so quickly that he didn't even get a chance to have his condition treated. "He says that the news he came back for is important, so I've spared ending his life for desertion. It still doesn't explain why he chose not to die along with the others."

"Is that important?" a part of him is filled with dread as he knows you would never allow yourself or anyone else to turn tail and run away, meaning it does matter. it's a sign that on the other side of all the chaos, he will likely arrive at the site where this man last saw you all to your bloodied corpse. "Where did your Captain go? He was supposed to be leading this team."

"H-He…" clearly hesitant to explain, Pantalone assumes he's about to say you had died in the heat of battle. "He betrayed the Fatui so the enemy would spare him, and agreed to give up important information in exchange for his life."

Something about that strikes him cold. However, he turns searing hot as the worry sets in like dread, and he realises everything will end here. the Knave will be sent to kill the traitor, and in the end, he will never hear your sweet voice again like music to his ears. It was for nothing to have held out hope you were alive because he was right. In the worst way possible, Pantalone was right. As he stands here pacing in worry, you probably don't care. Rather, you are spilling every secret Pantalone has slipped you about the Fatui he wasn't supposed to. Somewhere out there, you're betraying every ounce of trust he ever put in you as you take advantage of whatever you have to save your skin.

if only he could go back and be there, you probably never would've had to do such a thing, but what if this is the Tsaritsa's gift? To know that you would be willing to betray all that the Fatui stand for? that is a cruel way of thinking. He can't force Arlecchino to unhear that, meaning he can't keep it a secret. Pantalone certainly can't stop this information from getting out as he might've liked to. You will be hunted by the Knave to the edges of Teyvat for your crimes.

"Pantalone." he looks up to Arlecchino's stone-cold glare like she knows the deliberations going on in his head as the more significant part of him questions your innocence. "He's a traitor. Don't spare your thoughts on him, just pretend that he died and I'll bring his corpse back and call him a hero."

"No--" At that moment, Pantalone's voice sounds so strained. he thinks he's on the verge of tears even if it doesn't feel like he is. Pantalone speaks without thinking, and he can't tell if it's because he wants you to come home or to ask you why. maybe he just doesn't want you to die, even knowing you probably betrayed them. "No, I'll go. I'll go, and I'll--" he hesitates momentarily, "kill him."

he can't even believe he just spoke those words out loud. Something about the entire situation is surreal, though he feels like someone has wrenched his heart from his chest and run off with it. That 'someone' would probably be you, off to present it to a new master on a silver platter. you took a piece of him and stole it, and now only an aching lingers. something in that aching longed for you to pay for your actions, but it also demanded an explanation. that part of him wants to hold you down and wring the life out of you with his bare hands so you can feel the pain he wants you to. it wouldn't be enough to let the Knave kill you, no matter if it was slow, drawn-out torture. he wants to see your face as you die, to watch the life drain from your eyes, and see if you hold any remorse as you see the point you've driven him to.

worry fades away into anger, frustration too, but mostly anger.

Pantalone is angry about many things, angry at you. He's angry that you made him fear for your safety. He isn't sure he can ever forgive that you had so carelessly become a traitor. He can't forgive that you would even betray him.

"Will you really kill your own loverboy?" He's angered that Arlecchino would say such a thing. The lilt in her voice makes it painfully obvious she isn't extending her greatest sympathies. "I thought menial work was below you."

he opens his mouth to retort but decides not to dignify that with a response.

it's cold out. it would be far too hard for you to survive without help. Pantalone is accompanied only by the skirmisher who returned from your squad with the news of your betrayal, though unbeknownst to him, he is taking his last steps as he has orders to kill the man once he has fulfilled all of his use. he also betrayed the mantra of loyalty, but perhaps he hasn't realised such a thing yet.

he and Pantalone arrive at the remnants of your last squad, the last place where you were seen alive and where enough blood was spilled to dye the snow red. he sees almost the entirety of your team strewn about and abandoned, only one of the attackers amongst them having succumbed to his injuries as he lay face down and lifeless.

this is far enough. he can die amongst his comrades.

"Lord Harbinger, they went in this direction." Though he has already begun to draw a blade, he turns his attention to see what the skirmisher is crouched before, noticing vague impressions left behind. It's been a little over half a day since he returned alone, meaning these would be your last traces. however, no matter how far you've gotten, he should tend to the bodies first. by the time he attempts to follow those tracks, they'll be covered in a new layer of snow. for now, he must deal with this skirmisher who decided that his fleeing was not a disgrace to the Tsaritsa's name.

Pantalone draws the knife he had tucked away out of sight. In the second it takes to turn around, a deep slash is carved into the fatuu's throats. He topples over himself to the ground, where he lands atop his slain comrades, struck by the shock more than anything.

"Tsk tsk, and to think this was a mere decoration piece."

Already another day and a half out, he stumbles upon the camp of rebels, as dead as your squad. They are all just as carelessly tossed aside as the last corpses he found, and much like the last group, only one is missing. it seemed to be the same one missing each time as suspiciously, you're nowhere to be found amongst the people you were betraying him for. gone with the wind just as you were the first time you hadn't come home. moreover, this certainly is not their primary base of operations as it lacks any semblance of permanence. It was put together in a hurry to survive the night without succumbing to exhaustion, not for a long-term stay. there's a freshly lit fire still burning by their sides, surrounded by the people who had likely been sitting by it for warmth before their lives were snuffed out by the sole survivor he knew of.

the cherry on top is that the bodies are still barely warm — you're nearby. You can't get far in that amount of time, and the snow gives you away quickly, even with the night falling. you're so close it's as if he can see you already, as the memory of your presence is left behind In the form of footsteps. most noticeably, however…droplets of blood trail beside those footsteps.

in the place of your footsteps, Pantalone begins to walk along the trail you make for him, following behind you like a dog that chases the scent of blood to find its master amidst danger. stepping directly into the divots left behind is the only way to feasibly track you in the dark, with no source of light yet coming into view. the wind is picking up, however, and as he focuses closely on the direction he walks, he begins to hear the faint sound of life at last. the singular life who managed to escape certain death not once but twice and who will not be so lucky the third time.

the glow of a lantern appears in the distance.

somewhere out there, the light ahead of Pantalone glows brighter as the distance between you grows shorter, and the silhouette of a man enters his view.

it's you, carrying a lantern you had likely stolen, bloodied bandages crudely wrapped around your hand, dripping bright red into the snow. more than anything, you seem ready to collapse from exhaustion from how slowly you move.

"Is someone there?" You must hear Pantalone as you turn back, hands shaking audible in the clattering of the lantern, a cut across your cheek.

You make eye contact with the gun he points at you. You are trapped in the middle of nowhere with no backup, little food, and barely any water, but you know it's him. if not for the gun, you might not worry, yet something about it sends chills up your spine just from the coldness of his eyes. You're not used to such a gaze on you. It's like steel and raw feelings cloud together into one terrifying man who feels the most profound form of betrayal a person could know. Even in the line of work of the Fatui, this is something different. Not due to circumstance but because he is a Harbinger. some shivers dance across you, spiking goosebumps into your skin, and you feel like you could collapse, but you know that if you do, all will have been for nothing.

"Pantalone--"

"I want to hear a thorough explanation for the things you've done."

You want to provide one, but…but how do you tell him you still betrayed the Tsaritsa's trust in you to die for her cause when the time came? Every lie that spilled from your lips, masked as information you provided, was shared out of self-preservation, not loyalty. That alone was enough to get you hunted and killed, especially in your position.

Now you stand small and weakened by circumstance before a man burning with rage, only a lantern slowly draining away as the minutes pass. You can't blame him, only able to imagine how he could've possibly heard that you hadn't returned and what it must've looked like to see you gone so many times from places you should've died. Does he think you killed your squad to desert the Fatui? Or was there someone who told him you had betrayed him? Maybe he just decided that for himself upon seeing the very place where you had thrown away your dignity for him thinking you could do it all alone.

"I wanted to see you…" you try to say, throat rough and voice quieter than you'd like. "I didn't want to die so I lied. I was just coming back, everyone else is dead! Everyone was killed, but there was a way…a way that I could live and come home." Without meaning to, you begin to tear up, met with only unwavering disbelief, not of shock but of an unwillingness to believe you aren't a filthy liar. "I didn't want you to hear the news that I had died." You choke the last part out on the verge of breaking down.

"Was it me you lied to or them? How am I supposed to trust you're being honest now when everyone you've come into contact with has died?" You didn't think you'd ever hear such venom in his voice, but more than that, he was hurt more than you could be by his words alone. You just can't think of a way to prove to him you're being honest, not when you're so tired and worn down and working against what is likely an order to kill you for your actions.

How are you supposed to tell a man overcome with grief and emotion that he's wrong? There's no way he'll see reason.

"You can observe the wounds," you say slowly, unsure if he would buy such a story, "they weren't made by a weapon like mine, and you know what I'm like — hopeless with other weapons."

will he wait that long? you doubt that, but you can make him wait even a moment for you to explain yourself.

"They were a hopeless rebel group who thought of me like a dog. why would I be loyal to them?"

"You were supposed to be loyal to me!" like a rubber band pulled to its limit, it's as if something snaps, the boiling anger bubbling over. "I thought we were trying to stop lying all the time; I thought we agreed not to run off and try to do things on our own. Maybe only I had agreed to those things because you seem to be fine doing both of them."

His words anger you, but you know that denying them will only anger him instead. You have spent the past few days lying to him whether you meant to or not, the past few days have been hell, and yet he has experienced greater suffering in the form of overwhelming grief. for the past few days, Pantalone has believed you were dead, then that you had betrayed him in your most excellent schemes. it was what people told him. it was what the evidence pointed to.

But your body, appearing so small and trembling from how cold you are, wrapped in the now tattered clothes you had departed in, tells a different story. Blood spilled over your collar, the furs of your overcoat matted, your hair tangled, and your skin bruised. The sight brings pity to Pantalone for you, such a pathetic little thing still begging for only his forgiveness, not even your own life.

Pity reasons with the side of him that, even now, holds his love for you close. You are closer to his heart than anything else has ever been. He finally asks what should've been an obvious question that whole time: when did he start believing Arlecchino over you?

With the possibility considered, more questions flood his mind: why were you walking closer to where the Fatui gather most if you were betraying them? What use would you find in killing them if they were your accomplices? there would be far more benefit in allowing them to cart you out to the edge of Snezhnaya then betraying them. even you would know that and which direction you were walking before he caught you — back to where you came from. when your shaking form is back in focus, he realises his gun shakes with the faint clang of metals like the bullet rattles in the chamber.

You are returning to Snezhnaya, he realises, you are coming home.

Slowly, he forces his hand to lower alongside his gun. The tension in his body runs high; he's surprised to hear the gun slip and fall to the ground, landing somewhere in the snow with a dull sound that he ignores. there are more important things. Pantalone moves, forcing his feet to comply with what he wants — you are cold and need a warm coat wrapped around you tightly.

Pantalone freezes in place rather quickly, however. He realises you are shaking violently, and not just from the cold. the look on your face spells sheer terror as if you're a little child face with the big scary monster in the dark. you don't know. Unable to hear his thoughts, you have no idea his intentions. Inching back to put some more distance between the two of you for your safety, your sense of self-preservation acting for you. would you believe a word he says if he tries to reassure you? or would you suspect his habit of using flattery to get the things he wants? either is a reasonable assumption on your part.

There is a silence that spells nothing but decisions for both of you, thoughts running wild with possibilities. It drags on for so long that it feels like an eternity before you move. Both of you impossibly still, too afraid to do anything lest you provoke the other with even the slightest wrong move.

the first to act so happens to be you, lips quivering and eyes watering as they sting with tears you've been holding back far too long. The lantern is lost to the snow. You crash into Pantalone's chest, almost toppling the both of you. You finally break, your emotions overflowing before you get a chance to catch up with them. you're terribly upset and worn down, exhausted, anxious and, most of all, more afraid than ever. Still, you are so happy to finally have a single taste of home back in your arms, even if he's gone stiff as a board, and you're scared he'll toss you aside. just a moment, and you'll be satisfied to have your love end then and there in a single gunshot because of your stupid decisions.

However, as soon as the action registers, your embrace is returned awkwardly at first. you soon both relax enough to hug so tightly you might suffocate before you make it home. you would be more than glad to spend your last moments that way, but thankfully that isn't the case. you will go home safe again tonight.

the guest room is a lonely place, even in your own home, but once your wounds were carefully bandaged and placed in front of the fire to warm up, you had more time to think than you should've. each time Pantalone approaches, even just to offer you warm tea and an extra blanket, you would flinch so violently it was as if he still held a gun to your head.

you tried so hard to spend the first night back in your shared room, but even with all the warmth and assurance you could ask for, you found yourself on edge. you've spent every night of the past three weeks sleeping in the guest room by yourself. can your relationship ever be repaired? from something like that, you're not sure. you desperately want to believe there is something that can be salvaged, even when you have seldom spoken to each other since your return. The two of you exchange little more than curt greetings before Pantalone leaves to carry on his work. Still unfit for active duty, you remain alone in the silence of your shared home. you thought the silence might make it better and give you time to think, but you know at heart that you would much rather be distracted.

You doubt in this state that you could convince even the ever battle-hungry Tartaglia to agree to spar with you and that plants you firmly in bed, unwilling to get up. If you got on your knees and begged, you might be given some paperwork to complete. You choose to ignore the helping of papers on the desk in the corner of your room, blank if not for your name. you were supposed to write a report of everything that happened during your stint as a rebel. spending several days AWOL isn't something the Fatui looks past, even when it's a Harbinger's lover doing it, though it certainly helps to have that kind of reputation.

In your mind, you've had thousands of interactions with Pantalone where you tell him anything and everything. In her fantasy, you say everything you want him to hear and spill all your thoughts and worries. However, when you come face to face with him, you freeze up and choke on your words until he's gone. Pantalone leaves the house earlier than he used to and doesn't return until later. Maybe he's shutting you out to think, or perhaps he's shutting himself away from you to let your physical wounds heal before thinking of your psychological ones. Clearly, only one of you wants to talk, and Pantalone's sudden turn to pulling away only worsens that.

You want to tell him that, but even that conversation gets stuck to the confines of your mind when you can barely say a quiet good morning to him.

All at once, it seems you've lost everything. First, your team and now your husband; next will probably be your job, and your life will follow suit if that happens. The Tsaritsa's benevolence must include letting those under even harsh scrutiny for their actions get medical care before they die. Otherwise, you're sure you would've heard something horrible about the verdict on that investigation Arlecchino threatened you with. Supposedly you would receive a letter including the conclusion, though you were warned it may take months to conclude. If a letter arrived, you certainly don't know about it.

You're not entirely sure what possesses you to check Pantalone's office. There's a sinking feeling in your stomach like he may have hidden it or innocently collected it and has yet to read the mail from this morning. Both options have you looking through the mail in search of the letter. Is it even there? Probably not. You simply convinced yourself that is it, and now you must find evidence to prove or disprove that idea.

You sort through the stack of envelopes left aside on his desk. You started with the unopened ones, but, finding nothing, you forced yourself to move on to the letters he had most definitely already read. You can tell by the way the ends have been cleanly sliced with a letter opener.

In no particular order, you restack them as you go, thinking there are too many envelopes for him to memorise their order.

Before you know it, you're staring down at the seal used in official — mostly only important — letters from high-ranking officers of the Fatui. You want to open that letter to be a request from the Jester. You'd also settle for a nag for funding from the Doctor or a written apology from Tartaglia for blowing an exorbitant amount of the Fatui's funding during his stay in Liyue.

However, you know that seal too well; it is used only by the Knave. Harbingers have customised variations of the official seal; some you've memorised more than others, as the differences can be slight.

Forget your words. Your breath catches in your throat as you reach into the opening to pull the neatly folded paper out. Please don't be a verdict. Your mind races with dozens of possibilities. As you read through the words as quickly as possible, the worst of your thoughts seems to be coming true. First, details of the investigation, including the validity of your initial testimony being validated by the evidence. Your men were killed by the blades carried by the enemy. Arlecchino then goes on to discuss the logic of your actions and the order the events took place. She mentions the physical state you were found in and examples of your injuries, noting many couldn't have been self-inflicted. She does not entirely dismiss the idea you may have had help, but you can probably work with that mindset.

Finally, however, she notes that, in all likelihood, your version of events is correct.

Arlecchino won't release the final verdict until she's sure, not one to put half-baked conclusions on official paper, but the fact Pantalone didn't even mention this much to you fills you with a rage you didn't expect. How could he hide the most crucial thing since you returned from you? He knows how much you've been fretting over this, even in the absence of proper conversation between you — the few words you managed around him were to ask about it.

You're unsure if your hands shake from weakness or a new influx of emotion you're not ready to handle. It's tiring being shut out; you're sick of being shut out. Even if you did move to the guest room, you still live in the same damn house. You still share everything but the bed you slept in, so why? Why is Pantalone keeping so much from you? Why did he suddenly stop speaking to you? he was the one going on about you lying, so what about—

"What are you doing in here?"

a voice from the doorway catches you so off guard that you jump at the sound, looking up to find Pantalone with a nasty look on his face. Judging by the state of your emotions, you imagine the look you're giving him to be equally rotten, pissed off, maybe. You didn't hear him come in; he must've done so quietly.

"The hell's wrong with you?!" Without meaning to, you raise your voice, half due to frustration and half the fault of that pent-up desire to communicate, spilling over in the heat of your breaking point. This is it. This is all you can take. This is where your patience and ability to keep your emotions in stops. "Three weeks! Three whole weeks I have waited for any sign that maybe, just maybe, I won't have my head sliced off my shoulder, and for—" you glance down at the letter to find the date, knowing Arlecchino marks the date of everything she sends as a precaution, "oh, about four days now— guess who has had an idea of how that investigation into his own husband is going?"

You barely even noticed you had blown a gasket until you were done, stood from the chair Pantalone should be sitting at, hands resting on the table. Your palms hurt; you must've slammed them down at some point, as the sting is dull but still there. More than anything, your breath is laboured, and you might start to cry again if you don't get a hold of yourself. You're so mad it makes you feel dizzy, like you might lose your footing if you're not careful.

Ah. That's not your anger. The realisation hits you hard as you lose your balance and topple back into Pantalone's chair. You got so tense and behaved carelessly, worsening your health. You're not used to being so fragile.

"Don't get yourself too wound up—" Pantalone made his way to your side at some point— "you'll make it worse."

You don't care if you make it worse. You really don't, but you know that throwing a tantrum is childish and solves nothing but making Pantalone worry for you more. It only pushes him further away from you and helps no one.

But Archons, you're just so irritated, your emotions at an all-time high. You've spent three weeks forcing them into a tiny box they don't fit in. You've spoken to nobody about it, said nothing of the kind of thoughts you had stranded out there alone, the only survivor of your squad. An overwhelming abundance of guilt tells you that you should've died along with them; you were a coward for how you acted following their deaths. You're just a filthy coward, aren't you? Cowards are of no use to anyone, let alone the Tsaritsa. Maybe it would be best if it was declared you weren't fit for duty. Arlecchino should just decide you've tarnished Her Lady's honour.

At last, you understand. You understand why Pantalone has avoided you for three straight weeks — you are not the man he married. You are some imposter of that man who would brave even the strongest foes without an inkling of a thought he might lose. You are a cowardly and pathetic excuse for that man. You bury your face in your hands, rubbing harshly at your face in some attempt to outlet that frustration. It seems so stupid you didn't realise it before. It's terrible to divorce an injured man, so he must be waiting for you to recover enough for him to leave you—

"I'm sorry."

Out of all the anticipated responses, that wasn't high on your list. You bite your lip, waiting to hear what comes next, chewing at it nervously.

"I thought if I kept that from you…" he trails off suddenly like there is more. Maybe he lost the words to say it, or maybe he didn't have very nice things to say in the first place. "I thought it would be easier to focus on your recovery if you weren't aware of how far Arlecchino was delving into your private life. I didn't—"

When you look up, you see a man with a look in his eyes like a kicked puppy, the visible distress you're in like a kick to his gut. He realises everything he's done to contribute to you ending up this way. You need him, truly, more than anything right now.

"You want to divorce me now, don't you?"

What possessed you to say that is far beyond both of you, but it's not any kind of accusation. It's just a question.

"No?" Still, he seems to think that's absurd; the look on his face is nothing short of pure confusion, like you just said the most ridiculous thing he's heard, and you had. "Why would I— No, I don't want a divorce."

"Then why are you avoiding me so much?" You shrink in your place, making yourself small as you were that night, and it raises the same pity in him that he felt then. "Why won't you talk to me? Why aren't you ever home?"

He is terrified. He is terrified to be close to you, even when he knows you need him.

A voice in his head asks what if you're still tricking him? What if this is only an act to gain his sympathy? He knows it's not, but the feeling, the paranoia, rings so clearly in his head he struggles to see you on the verge of tears. He doesn't want to trust you yet, even though he knows any comrades you had on either side are long dead. Even Arlecchino corroborated your story to some degree; she had yet to confirm the rest. So far, however, you were being liberated of any fault piece by piece. So why? Why does he feel so anxious about allowing you back into his home?

You live there; your entire life is in that house. He has built his everything up here, you by his side. It was hard to imagine that a singular mission gone south could cause this amount of damage. Yet, you are curled up in his chair while he stands beside it, taking your bandaged hand to squeeze it tightly and reassure you. He wants so desperately to believe that you told the truth. The nagging voice in the back of his mind constantly pushes the idea that you lied, trying to convince him your words didn't make sense. Everything makes sense. Arlecchino would not lie about that.

On the other hand, you've got such horrible anxiety, unlike the silly little thoughts you had before. It's not about whether Pantalone likes the flowers you get him or prefers silver jewellery or gold. It is about whether or not he secretly plans to divorce you. Your failure and the worry you caused him weigh heavy on your mind, all boiling down into one conclusion. You have caused him nothing but grief for what? A month now? Probably more than that. Who's to say you weren't a bother to him before the mission? What if you've always been a bother, and this is just his excuse to justify it?

That would explain why he pulled away so suddenly. Maybe it is about the flowers and the jewellery, perhaps he preferred flowers your money couldn't buy. You know he's not that materialistic, but it's the only way you can make sense of it. Maybe, for a Harbinger, you will never be enough. Perhaps he expected you would have taken Tartaglia's place as Eleventh before he got the chance. You were content and happy as a measly Captain under Pantalone's sector and never seemed to strive for more. You thought that would take your time away from him, but you also didn't want more than you needed. Were you meant to strive for more than that? Is that it?

Your deliberations are only working you up more, the opposite of what he warned you not to do. The tears start rolling down your cheeks again, warm and unable to be stopped by simply wiping them away as more only take their place. Maybe Pantalone doesn't want a crybaby for a husband. Then what? You would still be failing him even now.

You hiccup your sobs out for a moment, trying to force yourself to breathe so that you'll calm down. "I want you to tell me why you've been avoiding me and why you keep leaving so early and coming home so late." You quickly wipe your tears once again, the roughness of the bandages binding your hand quite unpleasant against your eyes. "Can we just talk? A-And be honest with each other like we promised we would."

Your pleas do not fall on deaf ears. Pantalone wants to listen to everything you have to say and tell you everything as long as you're willing to be as honest as you say you will be. He has faith you will, even with the voice that tells him you won't. If Pantalone never hears you out, then it doesn't matter how much truth you speak, as nothing will save your marriage from him refusing to believe it. If he wants to mend this as you seem to, he has to do his part. It should've been obvious it would be difficult after the heights of emotions you both experienced in a few days.

The two of you must work through this eventually, preferably sooner rather than later.

"We'll talk for as long as necessary, my darling, and be as honest as possible with each other." Pantalone takes your other hand and brings it to his hands, warm and soft against your skin — just that much puts you at ease. One of his hands brushes your hair from your face and wipes your cheeks, a gentle, affectionate motion that is not lost on you.

A man that did not want to be married to you would not be so tender toward you, would he? He would be cruel and taunting in your weakest moments. Pantalone is not sympathetic towards those he does not care about, and his idea of feigning it is vaguely veiled mocking. This is different — it's genuine. You nod in agreement.

"I don't want it to end," your words mumbles as you try to keep yourself together, "I don't want to break up over this."

"We won't," his reassurance comes hastily but is not insincere in the slightest, "we'll work through this. I promise we'll talk about it."

With confidence, you can't say everything you both have to say will be said, but you know that you intend to try to get as much as possible out. If that's all you can manage for a day, then that amount of progress is better than none. It's better than pushing and pulling forever; that is enough for you to know it will be alright.

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

#♡ — ruu.#✎ — good old-fashioned lover boy.#✦ — scenarios.#✦ — angst.#pantalone #genshin pantalone #pantalone x reader #pantalone x male reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader

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xoxoemynn · 2 months

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give the people what they want (tell us the daphne lore)

HOOOOO BOY OKAY HERE WE GO.

For context, Daphne has her Favorite Bed in my living room, and every day she demands requests we sit together there to bond. Eventually I got myself a little floor chair to go next to her bed because my back simply cannot be on hardwood floors for hours like Daphne prefers, and then I also keep my OFMD blankie there because it gets chilly on the floor and my toes get cold.

ANYWAY, come Saturday, I'm giving Daphne her CBD oil (because that is just one of her many medications), and I accidentally get the TEENIEST TINIEST drop on her bed. But because I don't want it to stain, I immediately wipe it down with soap and water. It leaves small wet patch. Basically make a circle out of your thumb and forefinger. That's more or less the size.

About thirty minutes after that, Daphne decides to return to her bed. And she....puts her paw directly in the wet spot.

The look of BETRAYAL on her face. Honestly, it's a miracle I'm still alive. If she had the power, I'd be incinerated, reincarnated, and dropped off the nearest cliff. That whole Ed killing Hornigold montage? That's what Daphne wanted to do to me.

Anyway, all Saturday, she avoided her bed. I didn't think TOO much of it, because she has countless other beds and pillows and cushions, so it's whatever.

Then comes Sunday. She's doing her little "time to sit on the floor" tippy tappy dance, so I go sit on my floor chair, but she doesn't seem content. And I'll be honest, I was a bit annoyed. I just wanted to write. I was finally in the zone, and Daphne was giving me no peace.

And then she gave me the softest little tap on my knee and the big sad eyes, and I put my laptop aside and she immediately climbed into my lap and curled into a little ball. And I was just about weeping, and Cat's in the Cradle was playing in my head, because Daphne is not usually a daytime cuddler, and she just wanted some love!!! And I was treating my laptop like it was more important!! I was a monster.

Then she hopped off my lap and gave me the "come follow me" eyes, so I did...and she immediately stole my seat and refused to budge. I tried. She said no. It was hers. She had conquered it fair and square. I tried reminding her there were SO MANY Daphne-sized seats for her and fewer me-sized seats and she did not care. So that was Sunday.

COME TODAY. I'm working on the couch, she lets me know she thinks I should be working from the floor like a true professional, I take my floor chair. And she goes to her bed, raises one tiny paw above it....and freezes. Backs away.

I'm reminded of the look of betrayal in her eyes from Saturday.

Yes, that's right. Daphne refused to go in her bed for 48+ hours because her tiny delicate paw touched WET on Saturday and it was SUCH a deeply traumatic experience she couldn't POSSIBLY put herself through that again. I tried ALL. DAY. to get her to give her FAVORITE BED another shot. She refused ALL. DAY. I physically put her in it, she would jump out. I kept pointing to the previously wet spot that was now dry and she looked at me like I was an idiot. I reminded her technically it was cleaner than before and she didn't care. She would sit on the floor chair or on my blanket, if she was feeling generous. No bed for her. Its prior state of Wet made it unacceptable.

Fortunately we have a happy ending. Daphne had some wild zoomies tonight, which did have her leaping over and into her bed, and eventually she tired herself out enough that she forgot her bed had previously been desecrated so now she's snoozing away in it. But I learned my lesson. I can never let the bed get wet again.

Picture below the cut of her on Sunday, stealing my seat, with the bed and blanket that were PERFECTLY VIABLE OPTIONS RIGHT. THERE. so I could sit on the hardwood floor and listen to her snore instead. (If I moved to go back to the couch, she would wake up and look at me all irritated and huff and puff until I return.)

THAT'S DAPHNE.

#ask #jaskierx #Daphne #honestly in my next life I'm coming back as Daphne #don't ask me how that works but just trust it does

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chronosh0t · 2 months

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⸺ 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 .*ೃ

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𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: Lee's pov, gn reader, canon-divergence,

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: “I hoped for luck, I looked for it and believed, not knowing it had your name in it” — just something silly, maybe a log from him. might be ooc 〔 NO BETA 〕

…………

It wasn't easy. I think it never was. But at least, for a few years we weren't all by ourselves, maybe it didn't seem to be that way, or that's how I'd like to remember it. The point is, it really wasn't easy.

Young, inexperienced, and people would gradually try to take advantage of our situation, of our own nativity, innocence, or some would just try to help us for their own selfish reasons, personal satisfaction or beliefs, eventually leaving us alone. Waiting for some good luck to strike us and change a little bit our cruel reality, only to find out life doesn't work by luck. The world doesn't work by luck.

Luck is false hope for the powerless, the less fortunate, to feed their delusions, that one day things will change, one day perhaps their luck will change and misfortune will leave their side and be replaced by a God that'd help them. That is luck, and I keep thinking so. I believed in luck back then, desperate for a chance, merely to be met by the unwavering proof of reality.

I swore to do whatever, anything and everything, just to keep him safe. Growing up by the taste of bitterness, the mould in the walls and the cold sheets, inside a room that was not safe for either of us, it made me realise I was part of those adults. Working nonstop for some exchanges that barely kept us alive my mind was going numb, my hands were too cold and my logic was losing focus. I believed in luck. But luck was not an option, never was, never will. However, things needed to be done, anything was good and valid if it meant I could get the chance to save his body from his weak heart.

Did it ever cross my mind the idea of becoming some sort of hired assassin? No. I don't think anyone ever grows up having those ideas. Yet, there I was. Loading a gun, hiding in the darkness, my hands tinted with crimson red, cold as the river. Money was the only thing occupying my mind, my reasoning blind due to the lack of time. Yet I know it was also a bad idea, what if I end up dying? What if, for a single stupid mistake, I end up getting killed and disposed of like a bag of trash? He would've ended up alone. Risks needed to be taken.

So I took them. And I kept going. One step at a time, and I thought things would get better, falling in the traps of luck. Because even if I was smart enough, I was still a teenager, I was still a young, inexperienced kid trying to make it to another day. Eighteen years old, and I should be studying. I should be concentrating on which university I wanted to go to, maybe going out with some friends, maybe celebrating my birthday, his. Perhaps travelling to other places and taking pretty pictures for the memories with our family. Anything but whatever I was living right now.

Eighteen years and I was holding a gun, pointing at someone I didn't know and I didn't want to know. The more I knew the less I wanted to be part of this, the less I wanted to keep going, but that wasn't for me. I was selfless, as the older brother, that was what I was supposed to do. My job was to take care of him, to save enough money and help him. Did I ever regret it? No, I don't think I ever did. But I did wish for luck to come and help me. I couldn't never sleep properly, the idea of being unaware of what was happening was unpleasant to me. The same fear hunting me down whenever he went to sleep and I didn't know if something bad would happen. His heart was weak, and the days were harsh and cold.

But we made it work.

Did I mention how bitter is reality? I did all that, I killed so many people, I was betrayed and for what? For the world to take away the slim chance I built for a better tomorrow. Crushed by humanity's mistake. I refused to let go, so I took yet another risk.

I had the chance to give up my humanity for him to remain, for him to be strong, to finally have the chance to grow up in a stable environment, experience what people of his age do. That, I don't regret it. Even if it means to be betrayed again, to be used and disposed, to me neglected and hurt, to be left alone. It didn't matter, for the reality was slightly better than before.

But I didn't want to test luck. Yet I kept hoping. Even if I was against some of his choices, I still thought it was good because it meant he was growing, he formed his own opinion, forged his own paths. And that was more than enough, I couldn't ask for more. I shouldn't ask for more, right? Because that was all that I ever wanted. For him.

What about me, though? How laughable. Calling myself selfless when I was still greedy enough to wish, to hope for luck to come and save me. I was okay with how my life turned out to be because I was too busy to even think about it deeply. I thought of giving up. Of accepting my own reality.

I was someone who would judge those who believed in luck, or those who would wait instead of taking actions and change their fate. Yet, there I was. Inside that cold room, the dim light of the fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling, the industrial design of the metallic tables, and some digital screens beeping in the desk, filling the awkward silence between the three of us.

I was pondering what was the reason behind their decision of becoming a Construct. Did they have an unfortunate life like me? Or was it out of sheer selflessness and their sense of justice? I didn't care enough and I didn't want to know more than their names. Lucia and Liv. Because, from experience, I knew getting to know someone too much meant developing a sense of closeness I didn't want to. Their name was fine, that was more than enough.

It was the same with you. I just needed to know your name, nothing else, nothing more. Because we were made for war, made to fight in humanity's name, looking as human as possible but never being treated like one. We chose to, or forced to, give up that side of us for reasons no one but us would ever know.

Constructs were just that, war machines. To be used and disposed of. Yet, there you were. With your gentle voice and touch, leading us forwards but running at our side, giving us order but hearing our opinions and suggestions in every single step you decided to take. For you, the three of us, meant more than just machines to fight the enemy, we meant more than just a frame and a dog tag. To you, we were equal to humans. To you, we were friends, companions.

And I believed in luck. Because of you. I was able to let go of prejudice and decided to let my guard down, I decided to leave my past and traumas and give you my trust. You ended up being the reason I thought luck actually came and saved me. I wasn't betrayed, I wasn't used, I wasn't disposed of and I wasn't left behind. Because, for you, I was more than just a three letter name, I was someone you cherished deeply, I was part of your team, I was part of this… family.

I wasn't just Lee. I was Lee from Gray Raven. And I was not alone. The world, still as cold and harsh, the fights endless and my hands still hold guns, but now even if they're made of metal, they're not cold anymore. When I walk and I look at my side, there's my teammates and you. You, ready to risk that precious life to protect us, to give a chance for a new tomorrow, to give other people the chance to believe in hope.

You.

That's why, once again, I didn't think twice in risking my life if it means to bring the same chances, to deliver the same hope. Because I am Lee from Gray Raven, I decided to do what I only could do, fighting against time, against any odds, giving my life, my past, present and future to hope. Giving myself to this new family, giving my life to you, refusing to give up and settle for less. I made up my mind never resting again, not until I could meet a reality where Gray Raven is always together, the four of us.

And I will keep doing so. As long as Gray Raven exists, as long as you are here with me, I will keep fighting, I will keep holding those guns I used to hate the most, I will keep going forward, I will keep hoping. Because even if the world is cold and dark, every day the sun rises from the horizon. Because every single time, spring comes after the winter and the flowers bloom admits the chaos.

I once wished for luck to come and save me, not knowing it had a different name. Your name.

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#pgr #punishing gray raven #pgr lee #lee hyperreal #pgr global #canon divergence #oc x canon #sae pgr writings #lee save me #pgr commandant #first pov

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wantonwinnie · 5 months

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I want to make so many posts about Jedi Survivor (HEAVY spoilers ahead btw) but one of my first thoughts is what a cruel twist of fate the title for the game is.

I mean, by the end of the story of all the current or former Jedi who are major characters (Cal, Bode, Cere, Eno Cordova, Dagan Gera), only Cal survives. Jedi Survivor (singular) in the most literal sense. And each die in their own tragic way.

Eno gets killed just because Bode wanted to be an asshole (there was no reason for Bode under the circumstances to kill Eno when he could've left with the compass) and needed Tanalorr for what ultimately amount to selfish albeit understandable reasons. I don't know what it means but it's especially tragic because there's no time to even think about Eno's death. His death is meaningless. It just happens and not even to Bode's particular benefit. It's a perfectly terrible conclusion for the Jedi Master of the older age, for someone who was able to escape the needless death from a clone trooper's blaster but ended up getting betrayed by a trusted ally anyway.

Cere's death was heroically tragic and quintessentially Jedi. She tried to take down Skyguy and gave herself up to buy time for everyone else to escape. She could've ran but didn't. And this time facing Vader, she didn't use the dark side at all. She was able to put her dark past behind her despite facing a part of it again. There isn't much else to say; it's a dreadful end to someone beloved by Cal as his mentor and beloved by me too.

Bode's end is heartbreaking, almost inevitable, and ominous. He betrayed everyone for what he rationally believed was a worthy cause. He thought that he was doing everything necessary to save his daughter, his one true love left in the world. But in the end he sacrificed what could have been an opportunity for so many others to seek shelter to only give shelter to one person. And his daughter did not at all appear to be on board with his plan. Bode was given chance after chance by Cal to stop, to surrender, but he kept going. He probably told himself he was in too deep, that there was no other option, blinded by attachment. Despite being a former Jedi, he became attached to the point where he killed one Jedi in cold blood and was ready to kill another, all so he could keep Tanalorr for his own family. Cal could've taken his direction; kept Tanalorr all to his own family, sacrificing an opportunity for others in need. But Cal knew that others needed as safest a haven that could be mustered, and Bode was only looking out for himself, so much so that he proactively worked for the Empire.

Dagan's death shows another window in Cal's potential path. Dagan was always obsessed with achieving Tanalorr, blinded by its majesty even after 200 years in bacta. He never stopped to reevaluate, after the Nihil invasion, after Sanatari pleaded with him, after waking up in a new era. He never stopped, always kept going, never thinking, never taking a breath. And that would have ultimately led to Dagan accruing power for its own sake, not for the sake of helping refugees or even really concerned with stopping the Empire. Cal fortunately was self-aware enough to realize that he couldn't afford to be that obsessed with fighting the Empire via Tanalorr to see the bigger picture of who needed help and how. And Cal spent the past 5 years and much of the game never having a chance to stop and think. His contemplation allows him to see that Tanalorr needs to be for refugees, not just as a base of operations.

Like Bode, Dagan is a fallen Jedi seeking Tanalorr, but unlike Bode, Dagan is obsessed with it in the abstract, in concept only. He was stuck in the past (literally so stuck he spent 200 years in a tank!) while The High Republic Jedi moved on to the present. The Order of old recognized that places are meaningful but only to the extent they help people, and if it would put more people in harm's way to stay somewhere, they shouldn't stay. That simple! But Dagan got lost in Tanalorr's potential as an end in itself, and simultaneously forgot its purpose. Extrapolating the lesson, Dagan represents what happens when Jedi get attached to the Force as a source of power for its own sake, instead of it as a means for good.

#there's a lot more to say but that's all I got right now #wow so many people died #great game #jedi survivor #jedi survivor spoilers #star wars

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mooonjin · 1 year

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HELLO MOON ITS JIABEE

can i ask for a tech x reader (gn, fem, idc) after he gets his leg injured? like hurt/comfort fluffy shit?

thank you, ily!

(you remind me of my friend ella, she's a major simp except her energy is directed towards bts and kdrama actors 😂)

Tech-nically, You're Not Fine

Notes: EEEE HEY JIABAE! i hope you like this and dont mind me puting in some hormons at parts,, also i LOVE bts too, shoutout to ella hehee much luv!!

Pairing: Tech x gn!reader

Summary: Tech's injury on Serenno left you in a fit of worry. As much as you wanted to change the outcome of the incident, the past already happened. He was here with you, in the present, injured and in need of somebody to take care of him.

Warnings/Tags: mentions of bruises, mentions of tending to injuries, sprinkles of hurt, teeny bit suggestive, teeny ss2 spoilers, fluff — tell me if I've missed anything!

You were upset, you were furious, you were every emotion that wasn't anything 'happy.' That mission was stupid and reckless and they shouldn't have gone whether they would've been rich or not.

Are you kidding me? Castle Serenno? The former home of Count Dooku? Was that really the price of freedom? Almost getting yourselves killed for money? All the money in the world wouldn't matter if they died!

Is what you wanted to say as you were carefully setting up some bandaging for Tech's fractured femur, who, insisted it be called his fractured left femur. On a separate wheely table, you had all of the bacta bandages and several other tools that Tech provided you with.

You weren't sure if he wanted you to do it because he didn't trust himself enough or if he just wanted you. You'd like to think it was the second option considering he was definitely intelligent enough to patch himself.

"Why would you agree to go on that mission, Tech? I know you, Wrecker and possibly Echo agreed but you? Agreeing to this? That's outrageous!" it was a more toned down version of what you initially wanted to confront Tech with but you didn't want to scare him off like that whilst he was injured.

"Outrageous is the correct term I would use but as soldiers of war, paying a price for freedom is certainly worth the effort," he bargained, maintaining a stern tone of voice, being careful not to directly yell at you.

He remembered what Romar told him, that there is life outside of war so his ambition to retrieve the war chest upped. Tech was definitely dispirited when his femur was crushed and the war chest was the last of their priorities.

You grumbled, your face feeling hot from the anger you've tried to contain. Lashing out at an injured man was inappropriate, "Y'didn't even gain anything from the mission besides an injury—which could've been life threatening!"

"Fortunately, it was not. My left femur was crushed so it is only my lower half would have been threatened. If I was situated four meters lower then yes, I would also be inclined to agree with the term 'life-threatening', otherwise, I am fine." Tech was too exhausted to continue speaking, hoping that was an enough of an answer for you.

He didn't speak anymore, wanting to discourage a potential argument.

You checked on him multiple times as you prepared the equipment, noticing how he always flickered his gaze to the cockpit and back to his datapad.

You audibly sighed, gaining his attention from time to time, lowering your voice so you weren't harshly talking to him.

"Tech, you know nothing bad will happen to your datapad and the cockpit, right? You're injured, can't even walk properly and need rest," you said, to avert his gaze — mainly to you.

He swallowed shyly after his actions had been brought up, "Once you're able to secure my fractured femur, I am more than capable to sustain my own mobility," you dropped your shoulders, sending Tech and not-so-approved stare.

Even if his statement was true, the constant movement wouldn't give his poor femur time to heal.

"That's not an excuse to throw away resting time," you mumbled, eyebrows furrowing, trying to suppress the dismay in your voice. You unbuckled his knee-piece to get his left leg bare so there wasn't any obstruction when applying the bandages.

Next was his long array of tools as well as his blaster holster that was held together like a belt. You reached around his hip to unclip it, letting the items fall limp.

"I can manage," was all he mumbled before letting you finish up with taking off his trinkets.

You were now face-to-face with Tech's bare denim-blacks and eye-level with his crot—

You coughed, gaining his attention again, "A-hem," to save him from unnecessary pain, you stopped, not progressing with his outfit.

Tech seemed to have reached over to his holopad as you were taking his belt off. You rolled your eyes, coughing again so he would actually look up from the screen. How are his eyes not sore?

"Yes?" his eyes peaking just over the screen. The unexpected eye contact sent you to a blushing fit after having to pry your eyes away from the... view.

Your mouth opened first but nothing came out immediately, your eyes darting quickly to look everywhere but directly into his gold chocolate orbs.

"I won't do it for you so I don't accidentally hurt you, but could you roll up your jeans?" you waved your hand around, shyly, averting your eyes to the oh so lovely floor of the Marauder.

"That wouldn't be smart. Compiling my wear on top of my fractured femur is most likely to cause pressure," when Tech speaks to you, you could listen to him continue for hours on end.

Your eyes made their way back to his eyes before they widened slightly. He was already looking straight at you, unaware of what he's doing.

Although, it didn't really answer your question, "So?"

"I suggest I rid of the jeans so it is easier for you to mend," he discarded his datapad, letting it rest against the panel of buttons.

"Do you need to stand up?" you shoved back every stutter from escaping your throat.

"I do."

You quickly stood up, scooping him gently as he put pressure on his right leg for support. For his privacy, you looked away as fast as you could before you could see him clip off his crotch piece and dip his gloved fingers into the hem of his jeans. He slowly pulled them far enough down his thighs.

"How uh, far do you need them down?" you practically crushed your eyes as you shut them, overthinking the intention of your question. Fortunately, Tech took it like every other question he'd been asked.

"Only beneath my thighs, you may put me back down and remove the rest."

You tensed at his words.

"You want me to—uh, remove them?" you carefully helped him back down into the chair, the tops of his thighs exposed and the slightest view of his exposed boxers.

He didn't answer your question immediately, taking the time to clip his crotch piece back. You were internally disappointed at the loss but you were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard Tech speak again.

"Considering my state, leaning parallel to my legs would not do my femur justice. You have the mobility effective enough to remove them without further injuring me."

Any response died at the back of your throat. He's right. Always is so, you didn't object. Tech watched you delicately take the jeans off his legs and once you passed the area of his fractured femur, he picked up his neglected datapad and tapped away.

Your angry thoughts about the Batch attending the war chest mission, dissipated. You were quick to wander along his bare skin. He was muscly and toned, slightly upset that he would be hiding all of this under his outfit.

With a quick, mental slap, you addressed the serious matter at hand.

The bruising around the skin was extreme, a cloud of purple and scattered layers of green-ish yellow taking up a large amount of the thigh. You admired Tech's level of toleration of the injury.

Hoping you gave it enough time to soak, you reached over to the prepared bacta bandages.

Once they were ready, you gave Tech a heads-up, "Bandages are ready, it'll be cold," you carried the white fabric onto Tech's thigh, subconsciously lifting his knee up to wrap it around, forgetting to warn him about that too.

Tech hissed, gritting his teeth at the movement. You heard him, mumbling apologies after apologies, doing your best to get the wrapping secure and done with.

You slotted a tan fabric layer to keep the bandages from coming loose under his thigh, bringing it up to clip it down. Once it was secure enough, you sighed, sitting back on your heels.

"I should've been there to help earlier," guilt slowly inched towards you. You stood up, pushing the table into a compartment. Your words caught the attention of Tech who shockingly put away his datapad for the time being.

"It was not your fault, it was only a matter of gravity and my unfortunate placement when the crate fell," he peaked around the corner, watching you bring out Crosshair's old rifle case.

"I know but could've at least like, pushed you out of the way or maybe be in your position inste—"

"No. It would not be wise to be in my position and the thought of you taking 150 kilograms similar to I is excruciating."

A small grin crept up to your face, analysing his sentence and repeating the fact he thinks about you.

You took out any remaining blaster ammo out of the rifle, double-checking that it was empty. You clicked off the sniping lens and propped it back into the case.

You chuckled, closing the case, "You think about me?" Tech's eyes blinked rapidly, processing your bold choices of words.

"Yes... well, if I was not, communication would be quite difficult." You chuckled again. There was some truth Tech's excuse, you suspected he added the last bit to cover for his answer.

The rifle in your hand was now safe enough to act as a crutch to support Tech, who was still jeanless.

You scooped Tech under his arms to help him stand up on his now supported leg. You made sure the rifle sat comfortable under his shoulder and his bandages sat on his thigh properly.

Now for his jeans.

This time, you weren't as nervous about the whole jeans ordeal. However, Tech was the opposite. Because his datapad was on the panels, the distance to reach it for himself was impossible, having to distract himself some other way.

You brought the jeans up below Tech's thighs, allowing him to put them up himself. Tech gulped, trying his hardest erase the image of you in such a compromising position.

"Sorry I wasn't there," you mumbled, placing him back down onto the chair.

"Like I said, it was not your fault and in the midst of a mission, it wouldn't be very efficient to mend me inside of a vertical war chest on the extremity of a cliff." Tech's way of comforting you was unique but it certainly helped ease you up.

"Now, you need to rest." Tech was now in arms length to reach over to his datapad, finally continuing whatever beep bop boops he was up to.

"Thanks to you, I am capable of considerable mobility. I am fine."

You rolled your eyes, snatching his holopad from his grasp. You waved your thumb over the shut off button as a passive way to threaten him if he doesn't get rest, "You are not."

"Technically, I am."

"Technically, you're not."

Post-Notes: hope ya liked it, i didnt edit much so im might come back to it to edit oops,, also i hope i wrote tech accuratly!

wanna be a part of my taglist?

~ ~ ~

@elsastoes @nekotaetae @jiabeewrites @lokigirlszendaya @imalovernotahater @backyard-bear @namesmox

#tech the bad batch #star wars #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tech x reader #clone trooper x reader #mooonjin #TECHTECHTECHTECH #hop you enjoy the ficcy!!'#tbb #tech tbb

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broke-art · 1 year

Text

Red Son x hostage reader

"Not eating will only make you weaker, peasant girl." Red Son challenged folding his arms.

You turned away stubbornly. For all you knew he had poisoned the food. And it didn't matter anyway. You'd missed meals before.

"You've got to be kidding me. This is the third meal you've refused. You're going to kill yourself."

You shot him a cold glare over your shoulder then turned away once again.

"Atleast answer me, dang it!"

You refused to even turn this time. Red Son had kidnapped you, to lure your cousin Mei and your mutual friend M.k into a trap.

Yet, Something was odd about it. From what you could tell, he hadn't sent a ransom to your father or, far more likely, your uncle. And he was being rather generous. Fretting over your refusal to eat being only one of the many oddities at play.

Still, you held your tongue. Hoping perhaps your silence would urge him to give you some type of understanding as to why he had taken you.

Mei had been right there! Her father was far wealthier, M.k and her were closer, and you and Tang had a running bet to see when Red Son would finally tell Mei he had a crush on her. So why take you?

"Fine!" Red son snapped suddenly.

His outburst made you flinch slightly.

"You sit here and be stubborn. I am going to handle that nuisance of a 'hero'."

Red son slammed the door behind him with a growl and marched to his room. Slamming his door with just as much force, he glared at it a moment before he deflated.

This was not the way to get into y/n's good graces. And yet he couldn't find any better ideas. And that wretched Noodle boy was supposed to have come for her by now! And he hadn't. Had he miscalculated?

No. The noodle boy was too 'heroic' to simply leave y/n to any villain's mercy. Although heaven knew 'mercy' she would hardly require from him. A simple smile would crack his resolve.

Red son groaned burying his face in his hands. His mother had been right. He was like his father. Soft for his intended.

But y/n wasn't his intended. Atleast not anymore. Red son's mind wandered back to the day he learned of his betrothal and this whole situation has escalated out of control.

"My what?! M-mother, you can't be serious." Red son stammered following Princess Iron Fan to the dining table.

"I'm perfectly serious, Red son." Princess Iron fan responded cooly taking her designated seat. "You know very well my options were, at best, limited after your father was taken from us." She explained massaging her brow. "A betrothal seemed....promising to your future. And the family was a close friend of your father and I. When they had a daughter.... Well the timing was almost perfect."

Red son took his seat mutely a concerned frown tugging at his lips.

"And when you two became friends in your early childhood, I thought perhaps it could blossom into...more." Princess Iron fan shot him a knowing look.

Red Son's cheeks burned and he stiffened in his seat.

"Mother....you don't mean-"

Princess Iron Fan nodded.

"I mean y/n l/n. She seemed a good match for you. Don't think I didn't notice how often you attempted to impress her." Princess Iron Fan's lips curled up into a smirk on one side.

Red son flinched slightly in his seat.

"That was a long time ago, mother!"

Her smirk fell with the reminder and Red Son felt a pinch of guilt as she nodded.

"Well yes...it was. And now that you are old enough, and you have brought your father back to us-" A small gleam of pride shone in her eyes, causing Red Son to sit a little straighter. "I see no reason to hold you to the agreement."

Relief flooded Red Son's chest. And he sighed.

"However,"

His relief was cut short with that one simple word.

"We demons have contracts, Red Son. Betrothals between us are... Not easily broken. Fortunately, I instated a clause that would allow you to break the betrothal on the condition you inform the intended and her family yourself."

Red son's shoulders eased some. That wouldn't be too difficult. Right? They were friends of his parents after all. Of course they would be understanding. And y/n....well he hadn't seen her in years. Surely, his little crush was long gone.

"Of course, mother." Red son nodded. "I'll see to it first thing in the morning."

Princess Iron Fan nodded.

"Good."

Once his father returned, they ate together and discussed where Red Son could find the l/n family. His mother also informed them that y/n's mother had passed away. And her father was, somewhat less popular with his parents. Particular his father. Still, this hardly worried Red Son. Anyone, who defied his family fell sooner or later. With the exception of the Monkey King and the noodle boy, but that was due to come before long he was sure.

The next day Red Son followed the map his mother had created to guide him and came to a moderately large mansion's gate. With a sigh he went to touch the buzzer when he heard a scream from the courtyard.

His interest, and slight concern, piqued Red Son walked around the walled perimeter and climbed the stone when he came to the scene where he believed the scream resonated from. Once he reached the top he kept low and watched a young girl take a brutal hit to the gut and hit the ground.

"Father please!" She pleaded. "Listen, she didn't mean t-" A vicious kick to her side threw the girl closer to Red Son. This gave him a proper view of a crimson liquid spilling from her gut where one of her arms hugged the wound tightly.

Her h/c (hair color) hair spilled over her face even while her e/c (eye color) eyes stared at her father pleadingly.

The sight ignited something odd inside him. As though someone had ignited a long forgotten fireplace.

"I don't care what she meant!" The father spat. His movements staggered and off kilter.

The sight informed Red Son the man was indeed drunk.

"This is my home. And as long as you live under my roof, you will follow my judgement!"

With that the man threw a bottle Red Son hadn't noticed till that moment at the girl. His nerves jerked but thankfully her father's aim was lacking. As the bottle smashed against a tree a good distance to her left.

The man turned on his heel and stomped back into the house and Red Son felt tempted to follow, but what he heard next made him freeze.

Soft crying twisted his gut as he watched y/n picked herself up and went back into the house.

Red Son sat for a moment his mind going over the possible solutions to this....predicament. Slowly, he slid off the wall and walked back towards the forge a plan formulating in his mind.

He watched her then for a few weeks and learned beatings were common in the l/n household. And y/n hadn't changed much. She was still the kind and hopeful yet spunky and sassy girl he'd known all those years ago.

There was only one major issue. Y/n wholeheartedly believed her father had her best interest at heart. Each time he followed her to her hangouts with the dragon horse girl she would go on and on about how her father was endlessly patient, always apologized, and never held her many faults against her.

The realization came quickly after that, her father was as manipulative as he was abusive. And he had manipulated her into believing he of all people was her hero. And Red Son fully intended to shatter that façade.

A knock on the door woke him from his reverie. Red Son lifted his head as a bull clone entered and informed him that the girl was becoming 'difficult'. With a sigh Red Son got to a stand and followed the bull clone to the holding cell.

He was going to get you away from that tyrant permanently, but he couldn't do that if the plan didn't play out accordingly.

You threw a bull clone by flipping him over your shoulder and dodged another that lunged at you. Then you raced towards the door to what you assumed was the dining room only to run smack into Red Son's chest.

He grabbed you quickly and pinned you against the wall.

"How did she get out of her cell?!" Her demanded looking at the nearest bull clone whilst you writhed against his hold. "Picked the lock?! WITH WHAT?!" The way his voice cracked made you pause then laugh a bit.

The sound made him pause then glare at you.

"You think this is funny, peasant girl?!"

You smirked.

"Well not the situation per se, just your reaction."

His hair exploded into flame and if you weren't mistaken you could have swore you saw his cheeks twinge pink before he shoved you at a bull clone.

"Ugh return her to her cell. Now!" He nearly yelled before stomping away.

Another bull clone grabbed your right arm whilst the one Red Son had shoved you at grabbed your left. You struggled against them watching Red Son's retreating form.

"I will get out again!" You shouted after him. "And my friends will come for me."

"Oh trust me-" Red Son's voice made you pause your struggles. "I'm counting on it."

The bull clones locked you back in your cell and you huffed. What on earth was that supposed to mean?! You guessed it didn't matter, what did matter was you getting out of here and warning your friends and cousin Mei.

Red Son stalked down the hall muttering to himself about stupid peasant girls and tardy fools. That was until his foot pressed against a small metallic chain.

Taking a step back, Red Son inspected a small silver locket on the floor. Immediately memories assaulted him.

"I made it for you." Red son said offering it to the y/n with an annoyed frown.

"H-how?" She stammered in awe taking the locket gently.

Red Son rolled his eyes.

"In my forge of course." He paused as tears welled in her eyes.

"You...really are going away for training aren't you?" She whispered turning her tear-filled gaze on him.

Red son felt his gut twist.

"Well...yes. Mother insisted but-" he sighed. "I couldn't leave without giving you a reminder that should you ever need me, I'm not far."

Y/n hugged him then. Causing him to stumble back from shock.

The memory gave way to the present as he inspected the demon bull family crest in the center surrounded but a mural of flames.

He released a low huff. The locket was an amateur's work. It would be far more suiting to give her a new one, but something told him this version held sentimental value. The only real issue was, as he moved it he realized the front part and back of the locket had snapped on two.

With a small frown he changed direction. Heading towards his forge now.

Meanwhile you meddled with the lock on the cell door using a bobby pin. It was shockingly easy the last time. You didn't really recall where the catch mechanism was this time round. Which made the task somewhat more difficult.

Just as you thought you found it the door to the outer room began to open.

With a gasp you snatched the bobby pin and shoved it back into your pocket.

Just then Red Son entered with his hands folded behind his back.

"Evening y/n."

"Red son." You responded boredly as though you hadn't just been picking the lock.

He stepped into the room and leaned against the bars with an arm.

"It appears you're missing something."

You leaned away feeling butterflies flutter in your chest.

Just then he opened his other hand revealing your locket in his palm.

You gasped and froze.

But he simply slid his hand between the bars with an annoyed look.

"Take better care of your belongings, peasant girl. I will not return it again."

You took it and stared at the silver reflection as Red Son turned. But you hardly noticed him leaving.

This locket had been given to you by your best childhood friend. You hadn't even noticed the resemblance until now. But you mind fled back to that day when he had given it to you.

You didn't remember the boy's name only a fuzzy blur of a red overcoat. Your jaw fell as you caught a glimpse of Red Son's over coat wafting behind him before the door to the outer room slammed shut.

#lego red son #lego monkie kid #jttw #jttw wukong #jttw sun wukong #lego nezha #lego monkie king #lego #lmk #redson #lmk red boy x reader #lmk red son x reader #lmk red boy

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