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cryoculus · 1 year

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— guard dog 07 ⟢

pairing: thoma x assassin!reader

summary: thoma is quite the interesting character, but your time in the estate made you forget a quintessential truth: this man is anything but your friend.

word count: 4.2k words

notable characters: thoma, kamisato ayaka

tags: found family, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut

warnings: allusions to past trauma, nightmares

header art cr: cykedelia on twt

masterlist

Your eyes were heavy the moment you opened them, staring up at the ceiling. Beads of sweat slid across the sides of your face as you forcibly tamed the thundering in your heart.

Not real, you reminded yourself. They’re not real.

You let out a shuddering sigh, tossing the covers off you before sitting upright. The attendants’ quarters was still dark, and the rest of your roommates were sound asleep. Even Ayame, who was considerably a light sleeper, laid quietly in the futon beside yours. It’s a miracle how she’s yet to complain about these bouts of insomnia that have been plaguing you for the past few days. You liked to think that’s her way of showing discretion—even if only a little.

The walk to the kitchen was quiet as always. None of the guards on the graveyard shift entered the mansion—never leaving their posts, as they should. But that meant you had no one to distract yourself with in a conversation either. Which was completely fine, though.

You didn’t really know how to explain why you’d always sob on the kitchen floor at this hour.

The polished wood underneath you was cold against your legs, but you paid it no mind as you buried your face into your palms. Your eyes stung. Your lungs burned. You couldn’t breathe. But even if there was a glass of water sitting on the counter; even if you knew one sip could make you feel more at ease, you let yourself choke on your sobs just a bit longer.

You lowered your hands, fingers trembling as you pictured each digit coated in blood.

The first night this happened, you scrubbed them down in the kitchen sink until your skin felt raw to the touch. But no matter how much you tried to wash the non-existent blood off your hands, the specters of your sins remained. Like a ball and chain you’re forced to carry for the rest of your days.

What happened to you?

You were one of Inazuma’s greatest mercenaries. A swordswoman who didn’t forge deeper connections with other people, because connections entail vulnerability, and vulnerability was what got people killed.

Yet here you were, a pathetic mess on the cold, cold floor in the house of the woman you should’ve taken out a month ago.

You let yourself get caught. Let them domesticate you into someone you’re not. They treated a cold-blooded murderer like one of their own as if you were above biting the hand that feeds you. As if you couldn’t massacre every single person in this estate if you so wished.

…But that wasn’t entirely true, was it?

Even without guards hovering around her, Ayaka could protect herself from any sort of danger. And it was evident in how long you’ve been stalling this assignment that your own conviction to see through the Tenryou Commission’s request was beginning to dwindle. You started thinking about the aftermath. About how the Yashiro Commission would take the loss of their Lady. About how you’ll never forgive yourself if someone like Ayaka had to die by your hand.

And then there was your chance meeting with Kujou Sara.

No amount of money is worth the lives of thousands.

Those weren’t the words of someone who would exhaust all means to win a war. But even so…

You’d already taken the job. Even if she hadn’t been the one to issue your orders, like you were first led to believe, you were going to do it. It was just as you’ve told Thoma that day in Konda Village. You never backed out of jobs out of guilt.

Being a mercenary was all you’ve ever known. It made you who you are. If you couldn’t even stand by your own identity, then you were as good as dead either way.

“Hm? What are you doing here?”

The sound of a familiar voice piercing through the silence of the night had you scrambling back to your feet—wiping the salty tears off your face with the base of your palms.

You cleared your throat as you faced the newcomer. “I was just getting myself a drink.”

Thoma crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway with an unconvinced look. Tonight, he’d forgone his usual armor and jacket—donned with nothing but a loose black kimono. You startled even more when you realized the chief retainer wasn’t wearing his headband either. He’d even let his blond hair—that’s always tied loosely at his nape—cascade freely across his shoulders. You swallowed the lump in your throat a bit begrudgingly.

So this was what he looked like after hours.

“You don’t seem to have touched your water yet though,” Thoma pointed out, eyes flickering to the glass on the counter. “Something on your mind?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” you mumbled, grabbing your drink before gulping it all down. The tight coil in your chest seemed to loosen even just a bit, but the chief retainer’s stern gaze wasn’t exactly letting you relax just yet. “What about you? What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I woke up at random and decided to make the trip here.”

“What, so fate just happened to lead you here at the same time I’m getting a glass of water?”

“You’d be surprised with how things like fate operate in the sidelines, Miss Kira.” The chief retainer smiled before turning back. “Wait here. I have something for you.”

The next moment, you heard his footsteps receding out in the halls, leaving you at a loss as to what he was up to. You knew better than to linger here longer than you should, but Thoma had already walked in on you at your weakest. There’s simply no way that you could go any lower than that, so you might as well stick around and see things unfold.

When he returned, you couldn’t help but gawk at the familiar plush toy in his grasp.

“Here,” Thoma said, dropping Mister Danuki into your hands. “The late Lady Kamisato taught us that things you find comfort in can keep the night terrors at bay.”

How did he…?

You shook your head, attempting to give it back, but the firm look on his face made you think that he won’t budge as easily as you’d like him to. “I’m not even attached to this thing. What makes you think the dreams are just going to vanish if I sleep next to it?”

“It’s ‘Mister Danuki’, not ‘this thing’,” Thoma chided. “And he’s going to be guarding you from all those nasty nightmares from here on out.”

“But he’s yours.”

“Then think of it as a loan. When you’re comfortable enough again, you can give Mister Danuki back so you don’t have to act like you’re receiving a gift you don’t even want.” A gentle smile grazed the chief retainer’s face—one that incited a wave of warmth rippling in your chest.

You shot him a perplexed stare as you fit your fingers around Mister Danuki’s waist. His perpetually stitched smile was all sorts of unnerving. You wondered why kids liked toys like this so much.

But when you climbed back into your futon that night, you laid the plush right next to your head. When you closed your eyes, you couldn’t see Mister Danuki’s strange, cartoonish features. Instead, the scent of fresh aralia trees layered with a hint of musk filled your senses. It lulled you into a dream not about the blood you could never wash off your fingers.

But of a green-eyed man with a smile that’s brighter than the sun.

The next morning, you waited until the last of the attendants had come out of the room before getting up. You rolled your futon, tucked it against the wall, before heading to your locker with Mister Danuki cradled safely in your arms.

It was beginning to gain more and more clutter as the weeks passed. Ayaka had given you another set of kimonos, and you’d placed them atop the others she’d gifted previously. Giving retainers a few gifts wasn’t rare for her, it seemed. But apart from the proof of her generosity, the fox mask Thoma had bought you in the festival laid undisturbed next to them. You hadn’t really found an opportunity to wear it again, so it’s been stashed away here all this time.

You sighed, fighting the smile that’s forcing its way onto your face as you placed Mister Danuki inside your locker of trinkets—silently hoping you’ll get to fill it with even more clutter soon enough.

Something was amiss the moment you’d joined the others for chores.

All around you, you could have sworn the attendants were glaring daggers your way. It’s a feeling you’re quite familiar with, given your line of work. But having to endure the weight of hostile stares from the Yashiro Commission’s retainers was something that you wouldn’t dare admit unnerved you.

Hina and her friends didn’t bother greeting you good morning like usual when you passed by them in the gardens. They’d been in the middle of a casual conversation, but the moment you graced them with your presence, they huddled away—voices hushed as they threw you patronizing glances every few seconds across the courtyard.

You planned to accept their invitation for drinks, but…

The guards weren’t as friendly as you remembered either. Each time you got close to the entrance of the estate, Hirano barked about ‘knowing your boundaries’ when you were simply shaping the topiaries like Madarame had assigned earlier.

But you didn’t have it in you to ask him why he was suddenly acting so stingy.

Lunch was even more terrible. When they’d invited the attendants to eat ahead of the guards, instead of the regular servings of today’s dish, you were given a plateful of last night’s leftover scraps. You scowled as the day’s server walked away like she hadn’t literally given you a bunch of chicken bones and rotting vegetables. But despite the obvious animosity in the gesture, no one even batted an eyelash your way.

You stood up from your seat, marching away from the pavilion with the intention of heading straight outside.

Of course, Hirano wasn’t going to make that easy for you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“For a walk,” you replied with the same passive-aggressive undertone. “From what I know, I’m free to go anywhere I want to go now.”

“That’s only if you’re working under direct orders from Master Thoma or the Commissioner,” Hirano scoffed. “I don’t suppose someone like you has been saddled with an important assignment as of late?”

“Actually, I did give her orders to meet me at Chinju Forest earlier.”

Ever your savior, Thoma slung an arm around Hirano’s shoulder as the guard sputtered with his words. “M-Master Thoma! My apologies. I didn’t think—”

“No need to explain yourself.” The chief retainer grinned, but there was no mirth to be seen on his face. “Come on, Miss Kira. We’re burning daylight, yes?”

You had no earthly clue as to where Thoma even came from. Madarame informed that Ayaka and Thoma left for Ritou with the Commissioner to discuss border control restrictions with the Kanjou Commission. What was he even doing here?

Thoma was quiet the entire stroll into the forest, letting you lead the way as he tailed you from a set distance. Unlike the previous night, he was back in his old uniform again—looking like an unassuming retainer as always. Nothing but the sound of a distant waterfall filled the silence, and you figured that asking him why he wasn’t with Ayaka was going to end up being fruitless in the end.

“What are you looking for exactly?”

You glanced at him wearily, surprised that he’d even spoken. “How’d you know I was looking for something?”

“You look like you’re itching to get your hands on that something,” he pointed out. “And you seem a bit worse for wear yourself. Did Mister Danuki fail to keep the nightmares at bay, hm?”

…You didn’t want to tell him that sleeping with the stupid toy actually worked. You had more pride than that. But you also weren’t keen on informing Thoma about the way the rest of the Kamisato retainers started treating you. You never belonged in that estate anyways, and they must have thought that you’ve long overstayed your welcome.

(It’s not like you were deluded enough to think you could play house any longer…)

You elected not to answer altogether, focusing on mapping your way around the winding paths until you’ve come across a dilapidated shrine at the edge of the woods.

“Do you have a shovel with you?” you mumbled.

Thoma frowned. “Why would I have a shovel with me?”

…He had a point.

Sighing, you sank to your knees as you began digging through the soft earth with your bare hands. The soil wormed its way into your fingernails, and you might have cut yourself on a couple of sharp stones in the process. But you didn’t pay that much heed.

Thoma was right. You were itching to get your hands on something. That something being the sword that kept you alive in more ways than one all these years.

You didn’t bother opening your bag once you’d made a deep enough hole to reach what little belongings you had. You weren’t even cautious of the fact that you’d just revealed your little hiding place to Thoma, of all people. All you could think about was the surge of calm that flooded your veins as you gripped the hilt of your sword. You unsheathed it without a second thought, and the blade gleamed despite the scarce light.

Thoma whistled. “That’s a beautiful sword you got there.”

You nodded silently, fingers gliding over the flat of the blade as you marveled at the sight of it.

Then, you pointed the impossibly sharp tip in Thoma’s direction.

“Spar with me,” you proposed. “If you want me to stop looking ‘worse for wear’, you’ll spar with me.”

You expected him to look at you the same way Hina and the others did in the gardens earlier—eyes almost burning with hatred. But…Thoma never did.

Instead, his lips cracked into an expectant smile—thrusting out his hand as a Kitain spear materialized out of thin air and into his grasp. These damn Vision-wielders…

“Alright,” he humored you, twirling his weapon around with practiced ease. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you though.”

You couldn’t help but mirror his expression.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With all the back-to-back nightmares you’d suffered through the entire week, you completely forgot about the plans you made with Thoma a few days prior.

After your impromptu duel (which you would always argue ended in a draw even if Thoma managed to disarm you), the chief retainer decided to make good on his promise to treat you to three pints of beer. He knew a place in Ritou Harbor that sold only the best brews, and was wholly intent on letting you in on the experience.

“Aren’t milady and the Commissioner at the Hiiragi estate though?” you wondered, settling down in one of the tables as Thoma sat in front of you. “Won’t you get into deep shit if they discover you horsing around at an izakaya?”

He laughed, going over the wooden menu with a casual air to his gaze. Like he’d already surveyed its contents a handful of times in the past. “You forget that I’m also a well-established fixer here. Humoring clients in a place as comfortable as this is in my job description.”

“So I’m a client now.”

“Of course not.” Thoma winked. “You’re here as…an esteemed guest. Kind of.”

“...For some reason, I’m not liking the sound of that.”

“You will once you finally get a taste of their prized drinks and dishes,” he chuckled before calling one of the servers to your table.

It was nearing dusk by the time you and Thoma had called it quits at Chinju Forest. So when the two of you were served with two bowls of donburi, you couldn’t help but wolf it down in one fell swoop. You’d already skipped out on lunch for obvious reasons, so you weren’t sure if the food here was as good as he said they were or you were just too starved to be particular about what you ate.

But before you could remove some grains of rice on your face, you noticed that Thoma hadn’t touched his food, and was instead resting his chin on top of his palm as he watched you intently.

“Quit staring at me,” you grumbled self-consciously as you flicked off the grains. “It’s weird. Even for you.”

To his credit, Thoma did pick up his chopsticks and started eating his food like a normal person. But he absolutely, positively did not stop staring. It was only when the famous beer he wouldn’t shut up about arrived that you could finally take off the edge.

“Ugh, you weren’t kidding,” you sighed, wiping off the froth bubbles on your lip with a napkin. “This is some good stuff.”

“You want to know their secret ingredient?” Thoma asked, retrieving his own mug from the tray as he lightly bumped it with yours. “Though you might find the information a bit unsettling.”

You shrugged, taking another swig. “I’ve consumed worse.”

“Dendrobiums.”

A pause. You stared at the drink in your hand, noting that the beer inside had a more vibrant tinge than what you’re used to. “...You mean the flowers we give to the dead?”

Thoma nodded. “They’re said to bloom in a battlefield that has seen much bloodshed. With that in mind, don’t you think it’s a little grotesque that the shop serves dendrobium beer?”

“A lot of people think it’s grotesque for one to kill people for a living, but no one’s pestering me about it so…”

Thoma nodded slowly, gloved fingers tracing the rim of his mug. “So that’s your answer…”

“Was I supposed to respond in another way, Master Thoma?”

“Not at all,” he insisted with a smile. “Now since we’re here tonight as drinking buddies, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

You scowled at him. “You’re not serious.”

“I am. And I’m already treating you tonight, so the least you could do is humor me a little.” He pouted. “Come on, let’s start with something simple. What’s your favorite color?”

Green. That’s the first word that flickered in your mind when you met his eyes. You gulped down a mouthful of dendrobium beer to wash out those strange thoughts.

“All colors are beautiful,” you rasped. “What’s your favorite plant?”

“Plant not flower?” Thoma laughed.

“Yeah. Got a problem with that?”

“Nope.” He shook his head, finishing the rest of his drink. You shot him another grimace as you stared at your own mug. You weren’t even halfway through yours… “I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but there’s something called a fluorescent fungus that only grows in Tsurumi Island.”

You blinked. “So you like mushrooms?”

“They’re fascinating, okay? Especially when they start to glow at night,” Thoma reasoned. “What’s your favorite food?”

“I’m not one to be picky.”

“You already avoided my first question, come on.”

“Alright, alright!” You sighed, reaching out to munch on the lotus crisps the servers had left. “I guess your katsu wasn’t too bad…”

Before he could take advantage of any leeways to tease, you added, “Why are we even asking about favorites?”

“Alright,” he said, obviously playing along. “What chore do you hate the most?”

“Laundry. How old were you when you were adopted by the Kamisatos?”

“Fifteen. How old were you when you first killed a man?”

“...Fifteen. Where are you originally from?”

“Mondstadt. Why are you so hell-bent on murdering milady?”

“I already answered that earlier. I was paid for the job. Why are you so hell-bent on trying to convince me to give it up?”

“Because I know you deserve better.”

White noise rang in your ears as your rapid back-and-forth came to a screeching halt. All that's left of your beer were the froth bubbles at the bottom of the mug, and you wondered if you heard him right.

Thoma sighed, lacing his fingers together on the table. “When we were sparring earlier, I felt it. You swung your sword with the intent to defeat me, yes. But every time we exchanged blows, I couldn’t help but notice how tired you were.”

“You think?” you laughed humorlessly. “With all the nightmares I’ve—”

“But those nightmares aren’t the only thing that’s bothering you, am I right?” He raised an eyebrow, folding his arms across his broad chest. “You’re confused. You don’t really know if you want to see your assignment until the end or if you should just ditch your employer and live with us for good.”

“Thoma,” you warned. “Drop it.”

The chief retainer shook his head. “Miss Kira, I have another question. If you would be so kind as to answer.”

“Why did you kill Doctor Suzuki Naoko?”

All it took were those few, exact words to light the fuse.

You remembered how the doctor bled out on the floor of his home after he’d asked you to slay him with the same sword you used to spar with Thoma. Remembered the glassy look in his eyes as blood streamed from his sockets. You couldn’t do it yourself. You couldn’t kill the man who’d taught you the value of a single human life.

…But you didn’t help him either.

You knew he brewed more batches of that supplement of his. The one that made the nightmares go away, and stopped the nosebleeds before they could even begin. You also knew that it was potent enough to save a patient on the brink of death. All you had to do was directly inject it into their bloodstream.

But instead of scrambling for one of his syringes, you could only watch in silent terror—frozen in place as the curse of the Tatarigami took another person dear to your heart.

“I didn’t kill him…”

You hated how your voice cracked. Hated how the endless void in your chest had seemingly grown twice in size—intent on devouring you whole. Your vision was blurry, tears welling at your lashes until they landed in fat drops on the low table before you.

“I didn’t kill him, but I might as well have…”

Thoma had an unreadable look on his face. “Let me take a wild guess. I’m assuming that for some godforsaken reason, Doctor Suzuki became infected by the Tatarigami. And you watched him die right in front of you.”

“Shut up…”

“You grieved. You mourned. But you didn’t know how to come to terms with your own inaction,” the blond sighed, gazing at you almost pitifully. “That’s why you took your sword and decided to carry out what the doctor wanted you to do in his last moments. Killing others as a way to cope with loss is a madman’s logic, but you were young and traumatized. No one would blame you.”

“Thoma, shut up. Please…”

“But what would he think if he saw you now?” He shook his head, reaching out for a lotus chip as he stared at it in fascination. “The young apprentice he’d adopted. The one to whom he passed some of his medicinal arts—having a blatant disregard for the very same lives you used to preserve—”

The table rattled as you pounded your fists on the surface, startling Thoma out of his seemingly practiced spiel. He gazed at you with wide eyes as you felt the hot tears racing down your cheeks.

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” you screamed, uncaring that the other patrons will definitely hear you. “You don’t get to talk like you know what I feel. You’ve had it easy all this time. You have Ayaka and everyone else in the Yashiro Commission. Me? I have no one, Thoma. Fucking no one!”

Your throat felt like it was closing up, mouth seemingly filled with cotton. A dry sob tore its way out of your lips as you dug your nails into your hair. You couldn’t breathe again. The darkness was closing in on every direction again.

You were alone again.

“Thoma, I think that’s enough.”

You felt her presence before you could even process her words.

Like sakura petals drifting onto the soft white snow—that’s how Ayaka always seemed to you whenever she was kind enough to grace you with her presence. You didn’t know how long she’d been there; if she’d heard everything you and Thoma had talked about. But when the princess knelt to your side and encouraged you to lie down, to rest your head on her lap, you didn’t have the heart to protest.

The tears continued to flow even if Ayaka smoothed her gentle hands across your hair, humming an old lullaby your mother used to sing you to sleep with. That seemingly endless void was still there—lurking in the depths of your heart. But somehow, Ayaka’s voice, Ayaka’s presence, Ayaka herself was bright enough to make it retreat back into the shadows.

You could breathe. The darkness was gone.

You weren’t alone.

(And how desperately you wished that time stood still—sealing yourself in that moment for eternity.)

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#genshin impact #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin smut #genshin fanfiction #thoma smut #thoma fanfic #genshin x reader #thoma x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons #genshin thoma #cryoculus #guard dog

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toointojoelmiller · 8 months

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look for the light: a last of us fic

ch 1 (prologue)

BTHB prompt inspired - "electrical outage" - Jackson loses power, Joel can't find Ellie, and panic ensues (for @bearrycool). This is a prologue - plot action starts next chapter. cross posted to ao3 here ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4

---- T.

While they were showing Joel and Ellie around Jackson for the first time that past winter, Tommy had joked to Maria that it was like Ellie was Joel’s shadow. He felt a bit guilty about it, seeing her all those months later when they showed up at the gates again. The headstrong kid who seemed quick to get her claws out wasn’t anywhere to be seen. She been raw around the edges and clearly didn't trust easily back then, but she returned as a different and darker sort of wary, drifting behind Joel like a ghost.

Joel had insisted that Ellie get looked over at the clinic, and she insisted just as firmly that he do the same. Tommy found himself tagging along, and he stared at Ellie on and off as they waited, taking in the worried crease in her forehead that seemed like a permanent part of her expression, and the way her eyes flitted from Joel to the ground and not much in between. She was distant, as if she was separated from the world, watching and listening from behind a pane of glass. Just an echo of the girl he remembered.

Tommy left them to settle in for a day, and then another. By the next morning he told himself that there was no point in delaying the inevitable, so he bit the bullet and invited them over to meet the baby. Joel had looked shell shocked for a few seconds, but he’d agreed.

When the knock at the door came, right on time, Tommy found only Joel waiting on the other side - no scrawny teenager tucked into his side.

“I can’t stay long. Ellie, uh - she’s real tired,” he’s said at once, scratching the back of his neck like he would when he got fidgety. “Sleepin’ a lot. She didn’t feel up to comin’ but I can bring her by another time - uh, if she wants to, I mean.”

“Yeah, alright,” Tommy said, trying to keep his voice sounding light. It was weird to hear his brother talking so much, but when Ellie was the topic of conversation Joel seemed to have a lot to say. He still didn’t really know what to make of this Joel - so different from the man Tommy had known in Boston who would have to turn around and walk away if he was caught off guard seeing a child.

It was Joel’s first time inside of their house, and as Tommy started to show him around he felt a dumb little surge of pride at how Joel was nodding approvingly, taking in the cozy home that Maria and him had worked hard at building. The nodding stopped and the good feeling evaporated when Joel's eyes locked onto the chalkboard memorial above the fireplace, the blood running out of his face, his small smile sliding away instantly.

For a moment they stayed frozen. Tommy was at a loss for words, watching the light from the candles flickering in Joel’s increasingly wet eyes. When his tears spilled over, Joel excused himself to the bathroom and locked the door.

The years after Sarah died had made Tommy an expert in the ways that grief can unravel and collapse time. As Joel’s sobs sank down on him, burrowing into Tommy’s skin, he felt for a few moments like it was twenty years ago all over again – no, twenty one now, somehow. Watching Sarah die was the worst pain Tommy had ever felt, and he knew that he couldn't begin to imagine how much worse it had been - still was - for Joel. But that was different now - Maria was upstairs with the baby, so he could imagine it, and just the thought of what happened to Joel’s baby girl happening to his made him stomach clench, flooding him with the urge to run upstairs, get her in his arms and never let go.

He put his head in his hands and silently berated himself for not putting the memorial away like he’d wondered briefly if he ought to. It had seemed wrong somehow, and a brief chat with Maria had confirmed the feeling – it would be a disservice to the two pure and forever gone souls that they had agreed together to keep alive every day, even if it could only be in memory. But now, listening to Joel’s muffled crying from behind the closed door – it sounded like he was covering his face with something, and the damp and crumpled hand towel Tommy found on the floor later that night seemed to confirm it – leaving it out for Joel to be confronted with seemed downright cruel.

The stairs creaked as Maria slowly walked halfway down them, the baby asleep in her arms. She shot Tommy a curious and concerned look and tilted her head in the direction of the bathroom door. "Let’s try another night.” she suggested, frowning.

Tommy nodded, running his hand through his hair. “Yeah. This was too fast – shoulda known better. I’ll take him back to his place.”

It had been a while, but Tommy knew how things would play out from here. He wondered how long Joel would shut down for this time. It was a comfort that it would happen somewhere safe, for once – but newly concerning to think of Joel losing himself in a bottle and falling into bed for days on end, now that he had a kid living with him.

Maria gave him a sympathetic smile as she turned to walk back upstairs, but the bathroom door opened at the same time, and Joel came out, red eyed and breathing deeply. Tommy stood quickly, expecting Joel to head straight for the door, but he didn’t. His eyes found Maria on the stairs instead, and he nodded at her before looking at the little bundle in her arms. Tommy felt a flutter of worry in the back of his throat.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said to Joel, and then glanced to Maria, silently urging her to go back upstairs. “We can do this some o-”

Joel’s voice wasn’t gruff like Tommy expected it to be as he interrupted him. “Tommy… they’re not this small for very long,” he said quietly. “Like to meet her now, if that’s alright."

The words dried up in Tommy’s throat. Steady as ever, Maria walked down the rest of the wooden stairs to join them. “This is Charlie,” she said with a small nod and a pointed smile directed at Tommy that was more of a warning than anything else. The message was clear – keep your brother in check.

Tommy held his breath as he waited for Joel’s reaction. He was baffled when a grin showed up on Joel’s face - speechless as Joel asked to hold her, and settled down on the couch with Charlie cradled in his arms. Dumbstruck when Joel glanced towards the chalkboard and said, with a slight tremble in his voice, “Had Sarah on my mind a lot today. Was just a little caught off guard, seein’ her name written out like that is all.” His eyes – soft and sincere and full of gratitude - moved to Tommy, who was feeling as though he had fallen into another dimension. “S’good of y’all – doin' that.”

He looked back at Charlie, leaning his head in closer. “She’s a Miller, yeah? Charlie Miller?”

Tommy cleared his throat, his voice sounding thick with emotion as he nodded and said, “Yeah. Charlotte Miller. Charlie for short.” He swallowed, knowing exactly what Joel was going to say next.

“Does she have a middle name?”

He tried to answer - opened his mouth, took a breath, but the words wouldn’t leave his throat. He looked towards Maria, who somehow always knew what he was thinking and stepped in for him.

“She does,” Maria said in as gentle of a voice as he’d ever heard her direct to Joel. “We thought Charlotte Sarah sounded nice.”

Joel looked at Tommy, grief and sorrow and love flashing across his face, and he bowed his head as he cried again. Tears dripped down onto the soft blanket swaddled around Charlie. Tommy couldn’t help but cry a bit too, wiping his hands across his face and taking deep breaths to try to hold himself together.

“Your daddy was the best Uncle, right from day one.” Joel murmured as he sniffed, looking down at Charlie and leaning his head in closer as he spoke to her softly. “Hell of a lot for me to live up to.”

Joel had manners, so he asked about the birth, and how Maria was feeling, but it seemed like he was half listening, lost here and there as he looked down at the baby girl he was holding. He touched her little dark tufts of hair, held and commented on her tiny fingers when she wiggled an arm free from the swaddle and her hand came poking out from the blanket. When she started to fuss, he automatically cradled her head and shifted her in his arms so she was tucked upright against his chest, smoothing his hand up and down her little back and swaying softly from side to side as he cooed to her - all of the motions and instincts clearly still alive, bubbling to the surface from wherever they were buried. There was still sadness in his eyes, and a heaviness in the air, but it was obvious that Joel had been changed, too, by whatever had happened on the road. A part of him that had been dead for decades was back to life.

He was true to his word and didn’t stay long, keeping one eye on the clock and leaving at what was clearly a pre-determined time. When he left, he was in a hurry - rushing to get back to Ellie, as if half an hour of separation was unbearable.

Tommy laid awake in bed for a long time that night, unable to stop thinking about the sight of Joel with Charlie in his arms. The way he’d been tracing her nose and the soft skin of her face with his fingers. Hearing him say Sarah’s name out loud for the first time in god knows how long.

Jackson felt like holy ground. Charlie was a miracle, and a safe place for her to grow was, too. This was a third - the pieces of his forever broken big brother were somehow glued back together after all these years.

He’d tried to ask shortly after they arrived, and again a few days later, but Joel dismissed Tommy’s questions about what the hell had happened to the two of them after they left for Colorado with a short and firm, “Not now.” As time passed it became clear that ‘not now’ was probably going to mean ‘not ever’.

Even on a night that they wound up piss drunk together on Joel’s porch after the girls were all asleep, Tommy couldn’t get anything out of him beyond a darkly muttered, “She went through hell because of me, and it ain’t my place to tell you about it.” It was a fair point, and really wasn’t his place to pry, so Tommy stopped asking. ‘Winter’ and ‘Colorado’ and ‘Fireflies’ were off limits words when Ellie was around. The few times he slipped up, Joel sure let him know about it.

Maria had originally been of the mindset that it would be best for Ellie and Joel to jump in with both feet, meaning Ellie going to school like all the other kids, and getting a work detail sorted out for Joel as soon as they could. It only took one look at Ellie for her to change her mind - her sallow looking skin and the dark circles under her eyes, how painfully skinny she was - not to mention the unnerving way she would space out sometimes, staring at nothing as Joel rubbed her shoulder and spoke quietly to her until she came out of it. Maria spoke with the council, and her go to words when she talked to Tommy about Ellie changed from 'healthy routine' and 'socialization' to 'coping' and 'stabilizing' and 'easing in slowly'.

Apart from Joel leaving the house briefly on that night he met and held Charlie, he and Ellie were hermits for a while as they first settled in. Tommy dropped off meals for them, and as he’d chat briefly with Joel in the entryway of the house - filling him in on how Charlie was doing and how they were all sleeping, usually - he’d sometimes catch a glimpse of Ellie on the living room couch, tiny under a pile of blankets with the glow from the TV lighting up her pale face, and what looked like every movie, book, and board game in Jackson piled around her. Often there was a pretty over the top assortment of food around her - dinner piled high on one plate on the coffee table, looking untouched, and massive helping of apple crisp on another - a glass of water and a glass of milk both set out where she could reach them easily. It made his heart ache, reminding him of the way Joel always went a little crazy when Sarah would be sick on the living room couch – popsicles weren’t enough, they had be her favourite flavour (the fact that red was Tommy's favourite flavour first did not spare him from Joel's wrath when only red and blue were left in the box), and Tommy would be sent on a daily Blockbuster trip so she would always had something new to watch.

Joel must have been doing the right thing, because the time spent hibernating and spoiling her seemed to do the trick. They showed up in the dining hall together for dinner one day, Ellie still quiet and nervous and close to Joel’s side but no longer looking like she might just disappear. Once daily appearances in town slowly turned into more regular outings, and pieces of the Ellie Tommy remembered from before finally started to peek through the fog.

Over a breakfast of bacon and eggs one day, Tommy bit back a grin as he watched Ellie surreptitiously loosen the top of a squeeze bottle filled with ketchup before passing it to Joel. When it splattered all over his shirt and pants, she laughed so hard she was wheezing. Joel rolled his eyes, grumbling at her and trying to shoot her what was meant to be a withering look, but he couldn’t hide his smirk. He wiped a glob of ketchup off of his shirt with his hand and flung it at Ellie’s face, getting rewarded with a screech that woke Charlie up and earned both of them glares from Maria.

It went both ways, how they healed one another. How each needed the other to breathe. Tommy found himself hoping every night that they would never lose each other, certain that neither could survive it - a miracle, and a sword hanging overhead.

read next chapter here

cross posted to ao3 here

#the last of us fic #tommy miller #joel miller #ellie williams #tlou fic #fan fiction

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shinsukeee · 2 years

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𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

"ꜱᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ, ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ. ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏᴠɪɴɢ ᴏɴ..."

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐭, 𝐂𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦

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Prim wakes up as the sun attempts to blind her eyes, she noticed herself laying on the grass while she still feels that emptiness trying to claw her back to the dark thoughts in her mind.

Atleast I touched some grass

Prim checks her surroundings, it looked familiar - was she dreaming? Hopefully not, she just changed the time to 00:00 as what the quest had stated before being blinded by her screen which was funny. Considering she wasn't even at the blinding loading screen whenever you load the game.

"Hm, did I manage to be isekai'd at the worst time possible? Yes"

She says, clearly not giving a fuck as she may have realized she probably died in the real world.

Yet my friends were planning on cheering me up, then I died. They'd think I committed suicide over that.

Prim sighs and gets up, noticing herself wearing her supposed-to-be outside outfit.

Hm, how wonderful.

She sets her eyes on Mondstadt and sighs.

If this were those Impostor AU, my combat alone won't save myself. Nor should I know if I'm even in that AU

She pulls out her pocket knife in her shoulder bag, as she attempts to make a little cut in her finger.

If I bleed gold, then I'd know if I truly am in those SAGAU's I've read.

She gives herself a little cut, wincing a little before seeing it drip gold.

Huh, nice drip—

Does this mean I can sell my blood?

If I sell it, do I die from blood loss?

Prim licks the blood off and tastes gold at some point gave up trying to know what it tastes like after tasting it and hides her pocket knife, cleaning the wound and placing a band aid on it before heading to Mondstadt.

She hums a familiar tune as the emptiness comes back as she remembers the message she last saw before her 'death'.

"Maybe we got lost in translation, maybe I asked for too much"

Though the lyrics her lips slip out hurt, it's the only way for her to express her pain. She couldn't cry, there weren't any tears nor deep sadness making her feel like crying.

Maybe it was a time where they just needed someone but feelings got involved. A right person, wrong time? Or simply fate's way of telling her that maybe this is her lesson in love, maybe she needs to heal and know.

Yet I hope we can be friends just like when we were younger before the feelings happened.

"But maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up"

It truly was a masterpiece even if feelings got involved and they slowly fell out of love and realized that maybe, it was just a moment of needing someone to understand and lean onto. Quarantine surely had us feel those feelings we call 'Love'.

"Running scared, I was there, I remember it all too well~"

She stops as she finally reaches the bridge.

If anyone were to tell me that I look like the creator or I'm an impostor, what do I do?

She sighs, touching her cheek before realizing she has a face mask on.

Do they even have COVID here-

She shakes her head and heads to Mondstadt, waving at Timmie who's with his pigeon friends as father left (?) who went out to get milk but never came back before bowing to the guards.

She's used to being told to be friendly, proper and gentle. It's what they always teach her or better yet, force her to do. Always needing to be lady-like.

She hears the whispers of the citizens but paid no mind, after all, gossips are also a thing in the real world. What's the difference in that?

You don't care about any gossip, it just drains you. Heck, people drain you. Crowds, emotions, energies. Everything drains you.

Yet she was your safe haven, one you can lean to and one you truly loved and treasured. Yet fate had told you that the feelings are fading, it's okay to just be friends.

Does she even want to be just friends?

Oh, but she's also the reason why you chose to shut those emotions which comes to the conclusion why you're losing emotions now, why you feel like pre-quarantine self all over again.

Prim shakes the voice in her head and those thoughts before getting pulled into Angel's Share. If she remembers correctly, Diluc owns this place.

A hand covers her mouth, she feels a breath tickle her ear.

Am I getting harassed-?!

"My, my. You descended to Teyvat and you didn't wait until I can find you, Your Grace"

I know that smooth talker

She tilts her head and looks up to see Kaeya Alberich, her first Genshin Crush and her main that she still tries to farm for a proper build.

"Kaeya?"

He smiles.

"Welcome to Teyvat"

Oh, she feels her heartbeat increase. No, it's not falling in love, she feels overwhelmed. She wants to breakdown. All the things she couldn't feel in the real world, it's coming back to her.

Kaeya noticed the change of the rise and fall of her chest, how her eyes switched to panic at the same time relieved. How her hands started shaking as she falls on the floor, feeling the voices haunt her once more.

She buries her hands on her face as she feels her anxiety getting worse.

Oh, this is all real. Huh?

What happened to not feeling anything?

Why am I suddenly crying?

Am I happy?

Am I upset that I really died?

That I...left?

I left my family...my mother...

My brothers...

My grandparents...

My friends...

Her...

My responsibilities...

My baby cats and my baby dog...

She feels a body's warmth embrace her, it was Kaeya.

It's real, he's real...

She breaks down, hugging him as she grips his clothing tight. Diluc is glad he and Kaeya shooed away some people before kidnapping taking Prim here, though the red head is behind the counter as usual.

"You're really here...it's really you..."

Prim whispers as she tries to stop her tears, Kaeya felt something stir inside him. How he felt how happy and relieved she is that he's there infront of her, he hands her a handkerchief and she thanks him.

"Sorry. I didn't know you could unlock these emotions I've lost"

She chuckles as she wipes her tears, Kaeya softly smiles and helps her sit on the stool.

These stools so goddamn tall-

"Your Grace, I apologize for interrupting your interaction but would you like a drink?"

Prim turns to Diluc Ragnvindr, the Darknight hero and another one of her genshin crush. Maybe her type consists of gentlemen.

Now that I realized it, I'm surrounded by the two hot bachelors-

"Um, water is fine"

"Coming right up"

She then turns to Kaeya who's looking at her, eyes filled with warmth and adoration. Prim feels warm with that gaze.

Why do I feel so loved?

It's as if all I ever craved for in the real world is here...except these blessings and privileges are being experienced without my family who deserve to feel it as well, my friends and her as well.

Then she remembers that in some sagau, there's yanderes and cults.

Just don't be a yandere and we're fine-

"Well, shall we fix our introduction?"

Kaeya stands up from the stool and holds Prim's unoccupied hand, kneeling down and kissing the back of her hand.

"It's an honor to be blessed with your presence, Your Grace. I'm Kaeya Alberich, Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius"

Prim chuckles and tells him to stand up before she gets off the stool and bows to him in a masculine way.

"Well, Sir Alberich. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, though I am curious. How did you know it's me?"

Kaeya hums, she notices him go back to his usual antics. That sly smirk and the playful glint in his eyes, it truly is him.

"Well, keeping you company during your journey left a big impression on me. I instantly felt your warmth and was prepared to meet you, until you beat me to it"

Prim looks at him, a playful glint in her eyes appear as she's quite known to be a teaser. She, of all people back down when she could tease someone? How unsightly of her.

"Oh, but if I do remember correctly. Didn't you kidnap me here, dear sir? My, my. I didn't know the Cavalry Captain has the guts to do such act"

Instead of Prim getting flustered, it was Kaeya. He isn't used to people flirting back or teasing back at him without being snarky and mean or having bad intentions, yet he feels warmth.

Prim chuckles, feeling satisfied with what she had done to the Alberich before seeing Diluc come back with water.

"Ah, thank you"

He hands her the glass, she pulls her face mask down before drinking. Feeling the stares before putting the glass down and pulling her face mask up.

"Take a picture, it lasts longer"

She mumbles, causing the two to cough. Embarrassed that they were caught staring.

"Apologies, we didn't mean to stare"

Diluc says, covering the lower part of his face with the back of his hand, obviously flustered.

How adorable, even the Ragnvindr gets flustered

Prim hums at the sight.

"That's alright. I'd like to apologize as well for suddenly coming here even if someone kidnapped me here and making your customers wait"

"Oh, there's no need. Angel's Share is closed for today"

"What"

Prim stares at them in the eyes, Diluc looks at Kaeya who whistles.

"This Idiot man actually had the idea of shooing away my customers, but do not worry. I don't mind having you here, Your Grace"

"Oh, how you flatter me"

Prim says, clearly teasing the Ragnvindr once more.

"Well, I guess people will start to crowd the outside of this place, yes? Rumors probably spread like wildfire ever since I walked in. If you gentlemen have the time, mind accompanying this lady?"

"Absolutely, Your Grace"

She hooks her left arm with Kaeya's and her right arm to Diluc's as they leave Angel's Share and head to the knights.

"I must say, you indeed have a different taste in fashion, Your Grace"

"Why? Perhaps you have something else in mind?"

Prim teases Kaeya who gets flustered.

"That would be rude of me, Your Grace"

He mumbles. Diluc on the other hand is occupied with his thoughts.

The Grace chose me to accompany her

That's what's being repeated in his head all over. Kind of like a fanboy thought.

"Say, Mister Diluc. Are you alright with us heading to the Knights? I believe I have to speak with Miss Jean"

Prim asks, worried if he's alright since everyone's aware that he despises the knights.

"Yes, I'm alright. Wherever her grace goes, I shall follow"

"How sweet of you, Master Diluc"

Kaeya teases, causing the two to have a glaring contest.

The privilege of watching this up close like that interaction during the first golden apple archipelago is such a gift

I may have religion trauma but thank you, God or Celestia or Archons. Whatever

"Settle down, we're here"

Prim says and the two obeys, the knights bow at the sight of the Creator. Prim smiles at them and softly says 'Thank you for your hard work' even if they don't and heads inside the headquarters.

"Big Brother Kaeya!"

While searching what Klee calls Kaeya, I found in JP she calls him 'Big Brother' so I decided to do that. Yet if it's needed to be corrected, please inform me and I shall correct my mistake.

Klee, the adorable spark knight runs up to them and spots the Cavalry Captain and the Weird Grown up - Klee's words, not mine alongside someone who she feels warmth with.

"And the Weird Grown up is here as well!"

Prim and Kaeya snicker at what Klee calls Diluc by, which the red-head didn't mind.

"Hi, Klee. Just came out of solitary confinement?"

"Mhm! Who's the big sister with you?"

"Hello, it's unusual to see you two come in here together with no quarrel"

Albedo, the Chief Alchemist, approaches them before feeling a pull towards Prim, his eyes widen and he bows. Klee is confused of her brother's actions yet she proceeds to follow his actions.

The moment she saw Albedo, she was reminded of 'her' again. 'She' simps for Albedo and Prim is aware, even supporting it since Prim as well simps for fictional characters.

"Your Grace, it's truly an honor to meet you. What brings you here?"

Prim tells them to stand up and Klee looks at the lady with curiosity as she and Albedo converse.

"Oh, I just wanted to have a talk with Miss Jean. Is she busy?"

"Master Jean is in her office, can Klee come with you, Your Grace, pretty please?"

Prim feels an invisible arrow shoot through her heart as she watches Klee pull a puppy eyes look at her.

Oh, you adorable elf

"Alright, I don't think it'll hurt anyone"

"Yay! Then big brother Albedo can come too!"

Albedo panics.

"Klee-"

He then freezes as Prim chuckles.

"Of course, he can come too as well"

"Thank you, Your Excellency"

"No worries. I believe you all need to be in there too, even Mister Diluc"

- - - - - - >

Oh shit, they're pretty

Prim, currently having a bi panic, suddenly sees Jean and Lisa bow.

"Your Grace!"

She snaps out of it and tells them to stand.

"Did I interrupt something?"

Jean shakes her head.

"It's an honor to meet you, may I ask what's the sudden meeting?"

I forgot about that-

"Oh, I just wanted to know if Mondstadt's alright. There's no need for me to worry knowing its in good hands"

Jean gets flustered and Lisa finds it amusing.

Oh, the power I hold

"If you may allow, Your Grace. Shall we hold a festival for your arrival?"

Does this involve social interaction-

"If that's alright. Will the paperwork be added?"

"It's alright, Your Grace. I can handle-"

"No, let's split the paperwork. We can't have you more overworked, do we?"

Seeing you drown yourself with work reminds me of myself

- - - -

While the others are planning, Jean and Prim are still talking about the event.

Kaeya is bugging Diluc, Albedo and Lisa talking about the charities in the event.

"Thank you for letting me accompany you on your journey, Your Grace"

Prim just smiles.

"Since it's getting dark. I think it's best if you go and rest first, Your Grace."

"Don't worry, she'll be staying in the Dawn Winery"

Do I get a say in this-

"Oh, Jean. Please don't overwork yourself, okay?"

"Don't worry, I'll make sure she doesn't"

"Thank you, Lisa"

"Can we play tomorrow, Your Grace?"

"Sure, Klee"

And soon they leave to get to Dawn Winery, yes, Kaeya's there by request.

Will the brothers reconcile?

Prim wonders as they walk there, it sure is a long walk.

"Your Grace, I think I can only drop you off from there"

Kaeya says, Prim recognizes the tone and actions. It's like in the Weinlefest (if I spelled it correctly) event where he immediately tries to leave Dawn Winery cause he didn't want to make things awkward or he just...was overwhelmed with the feeling of nostalgia.

"Don't you want to stay there?"

To Prim's surprise, Diluc suggested it. Kaeya's surprised as well and the walk became quiet but not awkward, more like a comfortable silence.

"Well-"

Prim sees Dawn Winery then looks at the brothers.

I feel like they should talk this out without me

"Your Grace!"

Prim squeaks in shock and hides behind Kaeya while the maids bow.

Oh, that was just them-

Prim quickly tells them to stand up and Diluc talks to Adelinde.

"Prepare the food since her grace hasn't eaten yet"

Prim quietly slips and goes to them.

"Pardon my intrusion but Adelinde, yes? Can you, um, show me where I can stay for the meantime?"

"Oh, yes. It's an honor to have you stay here, Your Grace!"

Prim whispers to Adelinde.

"I believe the brothers have something to talk about, let's go, shall we?"

Adelinde chuckles and hooks her arm with Prim as the other maids follow them inside.

"We shall"

A bit rushed and pardon if others are ooc. Shall we wait for Chapter Two to find out if they'll reconcile or not? Why Prim is taking the Your Grace/Creator thing easily with no hesitations?

#genshin impact sagau #genshin self aware au #genshin impact kaeya #diluc ragnvindr #genshin x oc #creator #jean gunnhildr #lisa minci #genshin klee #albedo kreideprinz

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vrhexn · 2 months

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❏ ・𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂 ﹗𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒚 ✎. . . ◜ ♡ ◝ : 【ピンク】﹗﹗ ❛ 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 · · ─────────────── 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐈 ⸝⸝

Below the cut is a profile for an original HELLUVA BOSS/HAZBIN HOTEL character! There may be adult and triggering themes within her history and character description, so please take care of yourself and proceed at your own discretion.

ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ ; 3/16/2024

❏ character chart ﹗﹗

full name lorelei name pronunciation lor-uh-lie nicknames lulu , lori Mistress reason for nicknames mostly just affectionate shortenings of her name!

birthdate may 14th 1870 birthtime around seven pm deathdate early 1900s age appears to be in her early thirties star sign Taurus (𝒔𝒖𝒏) | libra (𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏) | Scorpio (𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈) With this combination of Taurus Sun, Libra Moon, and Scorpio rising, the individual is likely to possess a multifaceted personality. They may appear calm and steady on the surface, while harboring intense emotions and desires underneath. The Taurus sun and Libra moon combination suggests a love of beauty, art, and material comforts, coupled with a diplomatic nature and a desire to maintain balance and harmony in relationships. However, the Scorpio rising adds depth and intensity to the mix. The individual may possess a mysterious aura and a powerful presence. They may be drawn to exploring the occult or other hidden aspects of life, and may possess a natural magnetism and sexual energy. The combination of earth, air, and water suggests a well-rounded individual, with practicality, charm, and depth. However, the potential for stubbornness and indecision may also be present, as well as a desire for power and control.

birthplace denmark deathplace united kingdom cause & reason for death ↳ Lorelei had been forced into a marriage of convenience and station with an earl from england . Her husband did not love her, nor did she him. whatever affection he may have had for her was quickly lost at her lack of interest to engage with any of her ' marital duties. ' A maid then made claims against Lorelei , saying she was using black magic in an attempt to kill her spouse. Those accusations quickly lead to the lady being deemed as possessed by the devil and in a fit of hysteretic. And what better way to treat such terrible aliments than bloodletting? It was quickly made clear that this ' treatment ' was nothing of the sort. It was a punishment, a damnation to die – an agonizing and painful death. Loss of blood and fever from infection made easy work of her body, but she continued to curse everyone who had done this to her. On her last day, she vowed to find all who allowed this to happen to her in the next life. current residence pentagram city, pride ring sexuality pansexual / panromantic pronouns she/her, they/them occupation countess & owner of the Blood Manor ↳ the blood manor, at first glance, appears as just that, a manor. a meticulously carved piece of Victorian gothic architecture erected smack dab in the middle of the metropolis that was Pentagram city. Though wrapped by a tall iron-rodded gate, with hellhounds guarding the main set of looming double doors , at almost all times, and even more patrolling the grounds, individuals can be seen coming and going at all hours of the day. The lady of the Manor deals in red, they say. Offering sinners money or even a bit of magical assistance in exchange for blood. What did she need it for? well, it's not just for her, but for anyone else who has liquid metal as their food of choice. So having trouble finding a willing donor? Stop in at the blood manor to grab yourself a blood bag or two.

❏ physical appearance ﹗﹗

weight -- height 6'8'' body type hourgalss distinguishing features hair color grey eye color deep red sclera with white/grey iris tattoos -- piercing -- species Bat demon ( ʷᶤᵗᶜʰ ) ↳ fun fact: Lorelei's salivary glands secrete saliva containing anticoagulants and fibrinolytic enzymes that prevent blood clotting. : ) type of magic hemocraft / blood magic Little is known about the extent of Lorelei's blood magic, but some within higher stations or in extreme desperation have come to her for help. Blood holds more power than many give it credit, and lore seems to have found a way to tap into its potential. ↳ One of the most common things her magic has used to help others in the past is tracking. If she is brought a blood sample from a being that is no more than a couple of days old, she can form a crimson bond. During this bond, she can briefly either see the other's eyes or hear through their ears. Or if said person is within a certain distance, she can simply pinpoint their exact location. In theory, if someone of substantial power became aware of her bond, they could force her out and cause immense pain to her by breaking the connection early.

❏ traits of an individual ﹗﹗

mbti ISFJ

Introverted Sensing (Si): Memories are very dear to her; she takes great delight in revisiting or reliving them through new experiences that bring back the same emotional feelings that resemble the old. while adventurous, dramatic, and sudden changes can severely upset her.

Extroverted Feeling (Fe): though seeming a bit emotionally repressed, she is very kind, reassuring towards those close to her, and desirous of harmony within the relationships. In romantic relationships, Lorelei opens up quite a bit more, becoming very warm and affirming towards her significant other.

Introverted Thinking (Ti): observant and intuitive, as picking up on small inconsistencies in others is almost second nature to her. Stepping back to analyze others often and determine if something is truly a miss and weather or not said person needs to be removed, and soon.

Extroverted Intuition (Ne): Lorelei doesn't always assume everyone has dubious intentions, but she also doesn't deny the potential others have to do whatever they deem necessary. She often has hunches that prove to be correct, either about people or situations. love languages acts of service / words of affirmation / physical touch attachments style secure ↳ You’re a warm and friendly person who feels comfortable in relationships (both intimate and platonic). You connect with people easily, generally feel confident in who you are, and have a strong sense of self-worth. You are quite good at communicating your needs, feelings, and opinions to others. Letting people in is easy for you because you feel safe, can set healthy boundaries, and have the skills to step away from situations that don’t deserve your time. enneagram type nine with a 1 wing: the dreamer Dreamers are similar yet extremely different from their fellow Peacemaker Type Nines. Type 9s are known to be friendly, amiable, stubborn, and ambivalent. Type 9w1 are known to be more motivating than their fellow Type Nines, and they put in sufficiently more effort to help those in need. However, this can also lead to an Enneagram Type 9 wing 1 being considerably more judgmental. Peacemakers have such a large fear of conflict that they avoid difficult situations at all costs, whereas a Dreamer is more willing to go out of its way to help those who need. fears conflict, separation from what they love, isolation desires routine, support & acceptance of others uniting opposing sides strengths agree to disagree with others, they search for compromise , are more motivated to work , look at many different sides to a situation , and have a strong work ethic. weakness ignore their feelings to keep the peace, can become cold or aloof when stressed, constantly striving for perfection, and may neglect their own needs to keep peace or harmony.

song association people are strange - The Doors / The song "People Are Strange" by The Doors is about the isolation of being a stranger in an unfamiliar setting. It expresses how difficult it can be to be seen as an outsider and how easy it is to be forgotten. The lyrics evoke a sense of loneliness and alienation, emphasizing the outsider's struggles. The song speaks to the notion that people can be unkind to those they don't know, and that even familiar surroundings can feel strange and uncomfortable when one is alone and unseen. Ultimately, it conveys that being different and alone can be a difficult but inevitable part of life. a little wicked - Valerie Broussard / The song "A Little Wicked" by Valerie Broussard explores power, manipulation, and revenge themes. The lyrics depict a female protagonist who has been overlooked and disregarded while someone else occupies a position of power, symbolized by sitting on a throne. The repeated line "No one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne" emphasizes the isolation and lack of sympathy the protagonist feels in this position.

The protagonist acknowledges her own cunning and cleverness, describing herself as "a little wicked." She embraces this darker side of her nature, asserting her determination to take control and claim the crown herself. Using imagery, such as the serpent in still waters and the reference to a tower, suggests the protagonist's deceptive and strategic approach to achieving her goals. red right hand - Nick cave & the bad seeds / "Red Right Hand" by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds is a warning of an intimidating figure who is looming on the edge of town. He represents an unknown force that looms over an individual, dictating their choices, telling them they "ain't what they seem," and dominating their fate. This figure is described as having a tall, handsome figure with a dusty black coat and a red right hand, symbolizing his power. He can offer financial and material gains in exchange for one's soul, but the consequences are dire. Ultimately, the song warns that the ultimate power rests within the figure's Red Right Hand – a place of control, manipulation, and fear.

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ajgrey9647 · 10 months

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"I'll keep you warm." + Boom! comics; Coinless Bulk & Slayer Kim~

Protective Wings

So insidiously had the cold penetrated in those early years, Kimberly had scarcely noticed it. It seeped along her veins, crystallizing her blood as it crawled like poison ivy towards her heart. Her skin prickled with the numbness, much as her mind behaved when emotion hysterically screamed for release.

When the realization of her frozen state flashed into her consciousness, the Ranger Slayer was positive she knew the very day those icy tendrils took root. It was the day the world changed, flipping chaotically to the demented, upside-down Wonderland they now inhabited. It continued to grow since then, sprouting poisonous leaves and thorns that kept people away, even her teammates.

Kimberly had been so young, so idealistic; she truly believed that just like all the other times, they would pull it out of the fire at the last minute and save the day. Why would this be any different? Zordon had found the solution and if they could just hold off the attack a little longer, Jason would absorb the White Tiger powers.

The thunderous blast shook the surrounding battlefield, large, jagged chunks of stone raining down from the heavens as their beloved Command Center exploded. Rangers and monsters alike were knocked to the ground in stunned surprise. Thick, black smoke choked the air and obscured her vision as she struggled to peer through it; her eyes burned painfully and blurred with irritated tears.

Powerful white, silky legs stalked through the billowing carnage and her heart swelled with joy. He’d done it! Jason was now the White Ranger, the only one strong enough to stop Rita and her prized Green Ranger, the newly titled Lord Drakkon.

But her smile quickly faltered. The air began to clear and the person who was approaching was not her big brother. In fact, this new Ranger’s fingers clutched a grimy, shattered Red Tyranno helmet as it swung nonchalantly at his side. The familiar ominous laugh echoed in her mind even now.

Lord Drakkon grinned and raised the arm holding the destroyed protective covering. Blood streaked the metal mouth guard, dripping thickly onto the dry, dusty earth. The visor was busted, and the red enamel was laced with deep scratches.

“No!” she’d screamed, sure this wasn’t really happening.

Drakkon turned the helmet’s face towards his own and gazed lovingly at it, before tucking it up under his arm possessively.

“Yes!” he’d loudly gloated. “Your precious leader failed you! He wasn’t strong enough to stop me! And now, you’re all going to DIE!”

Somehow, the remaining Rangers had managed to flee; the details of that miraculous feat nothing more than random snippets now. But they managed to not die and that was what mattered. Civilians had fled with them into the charred remains of Angel Grove to wait out the roving patrols.

That night, despite the pouring rain and the obvious danger, Kimberly found herself surreptitiously returning to the rubble that remained of the Command Center, sticking to shadows and muddy side trails. The weather had never behaved this way before. It even seemed to be weeping for their loss.

The drastic weather changes were only the beginning though she didn’t know it yet. Drakkon’s Wonderland would only continue to stagger towards insanity, shaping itself in an eerie facsimile to the tyrant’s psychotic mind. This night, he already planned Rita’s murder and merely bided his time.

Physically, the deluge didn’t stop Kimberly. She pushed her soaked and dripping brown hair from her eyes, the water cooling her still reddened cheeks. In the early hours following Jason’s death, she had sobbed buckets for her big brother, the hot tears scalding her skin painfully. Kim cried until she had no more liquid to spare, but it didn’t stop her from rocking and making animal-like sounds of grief.

Jason didn’t deserve this, to be left to decompose under this burned out shell of their headquarters. The thought of him being out here, alone, cold, possibly partially exposed to the elements and scavenging animals had been too much. Even though he wasn’t alive to know what was happening, she couldn’t shake the agonizing thoughts.

Kimberly worked mightily, grabbing chunks of stone and debris, throwing them blindly over her shoulder, hunting for Jason, desperate to find him but also dreading what she was going to see if she did manage to locate his body. She blocked out images of what he might look like, crushed, bloody, swollen, pale and lifeless. It was a sacrifice she would gladly make to give him a proper burial.

She didn’t know how long she’d been out there, only that eventually the rain had ceased, and the full moon glimmered down, giving her some light.

“Kimberly Hart!” a voice yelled, harshly, attempting to not catch the attention of any scouts that might be patrolling nearby. “What the fuck are you doing, girl? Get back here!”

“Go away, Zack! I’m not leaving until I find him!” she’d defiantly answered, continuing to scrabble at chunks of metal consoles and busted tile.

The Black Ranger grabbed her shoulder firmly and pulled her towards him.

“How, Kim? How the hell do you think you can find Jason in all this? He’s gone!” he hissed, hoping to force some sense into her. “If he was alive, Jason would be flipping out, seeing you risk your life like this!”

He took both shoulders and gave her a brisk shake.

“He would also be kicking my ass right now and demanding I get you away from here! Drakkon’s goons are everywhere, Kim!”

Kimberly jerked back from Zack’s hold.

“It’s not right! Jason can’t just be left to rot somewhere out here, getting pulled apart by wild animals. He deserves better than this!” she screamed hotly.

Zack’s eyes widened.

“Shhhh!” he hissed, bringing his finger to his lips and scanning for approaching soldiers. “No one is saying he does, Kim! I can’t stomach the thought either, but it won’t change anything. We have to stay alive so we can stop Drakkon!”

“How, Zack? Jason couldn’t stop him and now he has two coins! He’s stronger now!”

The Black Ranger hung his head, exhausted, frightened, and trying to compartmentalize his own grief at his best friend’s death.

“That’s why you need to come back with me so we can all figure this out. Together,” he whispered.

Eventually, Kimberly had agreed, casting long looks back in case she managed to catch a glimpse of Jason’s body under the moon’s illumination. But there was nothing.

The losses continued to mount as time marched steadily onward.

Billy was the next to fall, sacrificing himself to protect Trini from Drakkon. The Yellow Ranger had watched her blue teammate perish before her eyes; the poor girl had refused to speak or even eat for days. Only Kimberly’s prompting and insistence broke through the haze of grief.

The icy armor had spread like wings, blunting her emotions and allowing her to speak harsh truth to Trini. But one death rolled into another. The people around her were falling like dominoes. There had to be a way to end it before everyone dear to her was gone.

Kimberly’s heart was being drawn to a dark, vengeful answer. Kill Drakkon! Slaughter him as cruelly and painfully as he’d done to the others he’d murdered. The tyrant perpetuated several rumors over the years, using Jason’s death as nightmare fuel for the remaining former Rangers, whose coins he’d managed to pilfer.

First, Drakkon claimed he’d stabbed Jason. Then it grew more elaborate and horrifying. The monster added details like decoration to a cake.

He’d slashed Jason’s throat, watching him bleed out like a chicken with its head cut off.

He’d snapped the Red Ranger’s neck, but since it was early days, he’d done it wrong, causing Jason to suffer. Showing his enemy mercy, Drakkon had then strangled the gasping teen with his bare hands.

He’d beaten Jason so badly the Ranger went into convulsions, so he’d kindly slid his blade into the boy’s heart.

Each iteration made Kimberly more and more sure that was going to end the motherfucker. And she’d do it alone. No one else was going to die by this demon’s hand.

Those who knew Kim watched in horror at her transformation, this one not due to Drakkon’s magic but her own freezing heart. She never cried anymore, barely flinched in battle, destroying Sentries so brutally that the former bubbly Pink Ranger was a distant memory.

Her fellow Angel Grove classmates, Bulk and Skull had tried to reach her to no avail. Knowing that she most likely wouldn’t listen, they still attempted to bring back some of the sweet, soft girl they used to tease. Nothing. She stared at them with blank eyes, not even annoyance gracing her features.

The night before Skull left to join the Sentries, he and Bulk met in their hang out in the latter’s basement.

“You sure about this?” Bulk whispered, idly plucking at the broken knobs of his gaming controller. This action had always soothed him even though the days of goofing off playing video games were gone.

“I’m sure, Bulky. If I can get in with the Red Sentries, I can find out Drakkon’s plans before he strikes. I want to help them. They’ve always saved us before we even knew who they really were,” he answered sadly.

But there was also an undercurrent of anger.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with Drakkon killing Billy, does it? You won’t get in there and do something stupid, right? We’ve never been fighters, Skull, not on that level anyways,” Bulk stated, staring into his best friend’s eyes.

Skull shrugged, his expression hardening, making him look very much like the strong man he would become.

“Maybe it does. I never had the chance to tell him how I felt. That I was in love with him. And that I was sorry for how I treated him before. It eats at me, Bulk. I saved him once. Why couldn’t I save him again?”

The other teen put a hand on his shoulder.

“You couldn’t deflect Drakkon’s weapon, Skull. Billy knew the risk being a Ranger. No one thought that fucking dick, Tommy, could do something like this. I wish I would have just beaten his ass like I wanted to,” he growled.

Now it was Skull’s turn to point out the obvious.

“You kick Oliver’s ass? I love you Bulky, but we both know that would have been a massacre,” he chuckled gently. “You sure you can’t tag along? It’ll be a grand adventure.”

Bulk shook his head resolutely.

“No can do, buddy. I can’t leave the three we have left. Who will take care of them? Because they won’t do it themselves. Someone has to make sure they eat and get rest. Someone has to look out for them because they’re blind right now,” he ground out. “I never saw myself as a mother hen-type but here I am.”

Skull nodded in understanding.

“I know you’ll do a good job, Bulky. And I’ll be careful. Cross my heart I won’t try to take Drakkon out myself. Just feed information back to you guys. Deal?”

They shook hands, each fighting back tears at potentially never seeing the other again.

“Keep an eye on Kimberly especially, Bulk. She’s changed a lot and not for the better,” he said, then laughed. “Not that there’s anything better anywhere now.”

“You got it, pal. I hope she doesn’t do something stupid. We can’t take anymore loss.”

When Skull departed the camp, Bulk dutifully kept his end of the deal. Being the only one that the lanky trusted with his secret plan, he’d acted as surprised as the rest to find him gone. He was sure the others didn’t exactly buy the notion that he had no clue where Skull had gone, but they had bigger problems brewing and let it go.

Bulk had always had a stubborn streak, rivalling that even of Jason Scott. The former bully hadn’t been all that shocked to learn that the dark-haired teen had been the Red Ranger. Scott had always been a hero-type, sweeping in to save the day when Bulk’s antics got out of hand and even standing up for him, when Bulk was on the receiving end.

He shook his head in frustration. Of course, everything made sense after the fact. The ferocity of the new kid’s rage, his hateful rumors and innuendos, the way he’d targeted Jason, Kimberly, Billy, Zack, and Trini. Most especially his twisted obsession with Jase. That had earned Tommy his own juvenile, gossipy rumor.

A fellow outcast named Stewart had commented that it seemed like this Oliver kid was attracted to Jason and that’s why he couldn’t stop stalking the object of his rage. Others around at the time and who had overhead this observation ran with it. Once it got back to the football team, a big, burly player, Kevin, had stupidly yelled at Tommy during a convocation, with a large audience of bored, antsy teenagers.

“Hey, Oliver! Why don’t you and Jason just fuck already and get it over with? Stop drooling over his cock and obsessing over him!”

Laughter erupted and Kevin had smiled smugly at his cheekiness, catching high-fives from the other players seated around him. Jason, who had also been sitting nearby, heard the screamed insult and cast wide eyes at the green clad teen. He was tensed waiting for an epic explosion.

But Tommy smiled beatifically before turning back to the presentation.

Later that day, he’d caught Kevin in an empty stairwell between classes and beat the piss out of him before tossing him down two flights of stairs. He’d lain there for quite a while before being found. Bulk watched as the boy was taken out on a stretcher to a wailing ambulance. He’d also watched Tommy smirking from the back of a large group of students watching the production.

That time, Bulk had gone to Mr. Kaplan and told him about the convocation incident. But there was no proof Tommy had done it. Jason tried to take matters into his own hands later and he and Tommy had banged each other up pretty bad before a teacher stepped in.

‘I should have helped Jase stomp a mud hole in that fucker,’ Bulk seethed.

No use crying over spilled milk though, so the teen firmly upheld his own upspoken set of rules, keeping the remaining trio fed and fussing at them when they behaved foolishly. Rather than chafing under his wing, Trini and Zack nestled in, seeking some kind of relief. Kimberly, however, rebelled and did so with an obstinate air.

She refused to be soothed, instead drinking in all the rage, grief, and pain; she froze it in an icy, sparkling cage. Maybe one day there would be time and strength to address it. Maybe not.

Kimberly disappeared one morning with not so much a so long, farewell, kiss my ass. Nothing. Off to kill Drakkon, everyone was sure. The grieving of her loss had already begun, as no one could foresee Drakkon’s fall at her hands. Imagine their surprise when she reappeared, wearing new regalia and wasn’t there to help.

She was Drakkon 2.0 only without his wild outbursts of fury and outlandish theatrics. The Ranger Slayer was a cool customer, cutting through the resistance like butter. Her reputation dripped with blood on a par with the tyrant’s. Her betrayal severed her already tenuous connection with the surviving civilians she’d coldly ignored prior to her departure.

Bulk would never admit to the tears he shed every night as he prepared dinner for Trini, Zack, and himself. Hunkering over a hot stove and occupying himself preparing the ingredients made it easier to wave off anyone who attempted to enter and chat. That was his time to release his pain in peace so he could keep a calm head the rest of the time.

He’d always harbored a secret torch for Kimberly despite it being Skull who always asked for dates and kisses. Bulk knew now it was a way for his best friend to secret away his true pining even from himself. Eugene always had a fondness for the Blue Ranger after saving him at the mall; at one point he’d mused to Bulk if it was possible to love someone you’d never really met, to have a strong connection to a faceless person.

Bulk wished everyone involved in the whole sordid mess had just sucked it up and been true to themselves: Skull’s love for Billy and/or the Blue Ranger (when he didn’t know they were one and the same), his own love for Kimberly, and potentially Tommy’s longing for Jason Scott.

What a fucked up, hot, dumpster fire of an ordeal!

Then Kimberly again returned, this time not as herself not the fearsome Ranger Slayer. An angry mob surrounded her, calling for her execution; some even threw rocks at her which she made no attempt to deflect. She curled before the crowd, like a new nestling, small, pink, and blind.

Until Bulk swooped in like an incensed hawk, stepping in front of her with his large arms spread wide.

“Enough,” he had bellowed deeply, eyes flashing. “She said she was under Drakkon’s spell!”

“LIES!” someone yelled, throwing another stone.

Bulk easily deflected it and took a menacing step forward.

“The next person who throws a rock is getting it stuffed up their ass!” he warned, jabbing a finger. “If anyone has a problem with her, you are going to deal with me.”

Turning, he knelt and pulled Kimberly into his arms, helping her to her feet.

“Drakkon’s dead,” she murmured softly into his neck.

“What?” he asked in shock. “Dead? For real?”

Kimberly nodded, her body weak against the strong frame of the former bully. He hugged her tightly then and suggested the only thing he could think of.

“Let’s get some food in you. You’re about to fall over!”

He scooped her easily into his arms and shoved his way through the stunned and angry group. Trini and Zack watched as he entered the shelter, they called home, cradling the exhausted brunette. They stood silent while he deposited her into a chair and set to work preparing a delicious smelling stew.

Kimberly hugged her arms around herself, shivering and not just with the temperature. It was a deeper cold than she could explain. Of course, Bulk noticed and paused his preparations to kneel beside the woman’s seat.

“You’re ok now, Kim. You’re safe,” he whispered gently.

Shaking her head, tears beginning to well for the first time in years, Kimberly responded.

“I’m not ok, Bulk. The things I watched myself do and say…. And I’m so cold.”

She shuddered heavily.

“I don’t think I can ever get warm again.”

Bulk stood and slid strong protective arms around the love of his life.

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, Kimmy. I’ll keep you warm. Until you’re able to do it again yourself.”

Now the floodgates opened, the damn broke and all the swirling, frothy, turbulent swell surged forth in torrents while Bulk’s embrace held her steadfast in the hurricane of buried emotions.

#lord drakkon #boom! comics power rangers #jason scott #power rangers #coinless jason #ao3 author #world of the coinless jason #ao3 fanfic #world of the coinless farkas bulkmeier #eugene skullovitch #billy cranston #ranger slayer #kimberly hart #fluff and angst

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not-rude-ginger · 1 year

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I love your work and I have so many questions, but I don't want to bother you. So-- I forget where precisely, but I saw you mention The Green War. What happened with The Green War? Was that something with the Orions? - A Curious Fan

I'm assuming you're the anon asking about the Andorian blog of mine a couple of days ago!

Putting the answer behind a read more for trigger reasons!

So the Green War was indeed about the Orions. My hc is that when the Andorians weren't quite at space travel levels but getting there (basically us right now) the Orions invaded Andoria and tried to enslave the whole planet.

Part of this is that Orions are particularly affected by Andorian telepathy, and when an Andorian is particularly afraid or distressed, they reach out for their clan for protection. However Orion brains are able to pick up on this in a way that triggers the pleasure sensors and they experience a high that is very addictive.

So even by Orion standards of war crimes they were especially violent to the Andorians because they were not prepared to resist the effects of Andorian telepathy. Protracted torture became a normal, every day occurrence

They slaughtered nearly a whole generation of Primaries (Andorians between 1st and 2nd puberty) and enslaved many Secondaries and children.

The Andorians were hopelessly outgunned by the Orion tech, but they were eventually able to get access to enough of the Orions own tech that they were able to fight back and drive them off the planet - though with huge losses. Then they cannibalised all the remaining tech to advance into space much faster and almost instantly met the Vulcans. Due to their recent experiences they were wary, made worse when they realised Vulcan blood is green like Orion blood, and the Vulcans were very dismissive of Andorian culture and practises, so it was almost inevitable that they would also end up in a war.

The Andorians are a paranoid and xenophobic people when we meet them in Enterprise, but in my hc they have a very good reason to be so. However, to avoid seeming weak or vulnerable, they don't broadcast their history with the Orions and it even becomes illegal to tell aliens about it. So the Andorians use very vague phrases when talking about the Orions and how they 'Do What They Do'. It's only when Shran is working on the Enterprise that humans and Vulcans start to grasp the truth.

Also, by the time of Enterprise, the Orion Government and Orion Syndicate are autonomous entities, and while the Government is really trying to keep away from Andorians because they find the effect Andorians have on their people abhorrent, the Syndicate is a much more violent and sadistic bunch and they have developed ritualised performances of Andorian torture. Anyone who survives the very particular torture is usually a battered soul who cannot communicate with the world or do anything but suffer, so if they are unbonded they are given a mercy death. But if they are bonded, they cannot be killed, otherwise their three mates will also die. So those survivors are kept as a kind of shameful secret in the Clan houses, tended to by the family but essentially waiting to die. Some bonded mates choose death over watching and feeling their mate's suffering so the effects of the Syndicate's actions are still deeply affecting to Andorians, which can leave countless orphans in their wake.

The Imperial Guard has explicit orders that if any ship encounters an Orion ship, they must destroy it, even if the Orions do nothing to provoke them. Just being Orion warrants a death sentence to the Andorians.

And ... yeah, that's all I got.

#tw: genocide #tw: torture #star trek enterprise #andorians #old fandom

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fluffleforce-mysdrym · 2 years

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oooo fire shadows and rain please :D

Thank you for the ask :D

Fire: What’s a scene that you are dying to write?

The last scene of Impervious. It's from Lash's perspective. He becomes a Korkron guard with his girlfriend and notes what is happening with Impervious as they try to settle into quieter lives after the fall of the Lich King, but before Deathwing shows up to fuck everything up. There's only like 4 chapters left to write for Impervious; I dunno why I don't just finish it.

Shadows: What’s the darkest theme you’ve ever written about?

Under the cut because this got a little long >.>

Well, Burning Legion deals with betrayal by family, loss of family, trauma, loss of one's world, depression, and child death.

The Black Mirror has implied rape in it. It is the only fic I've ever done that has that; in most of my universes rape doesn't exist because I don't want it to.

A Dragon's Tale is based around an evil main character, who manipulates, lies and uses those around him, and most of the people he encounters die horribly.

One of A Prelude to Magic's chapters has gender dysphoria.

Of a Feather touches on death, torture, suicide, murder, ptsd, trauma, loss of self, self-loathing.

Andraste's Witch deals with child abuse, child neglect, stalking, demonic possession, abuse in general, ptsd, trauma, discrimination, betrayal, drug addiction.

Dark Heart has child neglect, infidelity, a bastard of a main character (in every sense), a character dies of stds that she got buying herself and her son passage to a 'new life' (though that part is kind of vague).

I always think of Lost Souls as my darkest fic, even though some of the other fics have worse themes. It has more graphic violence than most of my fics, and even has a bit of cannibalism. It deals with Amaeria's time in the Scourge, as well as how Blood, Shadow, Kisses, Leafless, and Shawn became death knights, and goes into their heads while they follow the Lich King's orders. It also goes into Haa'aji's exile from the Amani. There's contemplation of suicide mixed in with all the hopeless themes and torture, too, so.

So...take your pic, I guess >.> I delve into dark stuff a lot more than I do fluffy stuff. Most fics balance out, though, with lighter themes or kinder twists that help make it not so heavy of a read.

Rain: Have you ever made yourself cry with your own writing? If so, what was it?

Oh yes, lol

Parts of Liila's and Finley's pasts have made me cry as I write them, or especially when they're feeling hopeless or seeing signs that their pasts are about to repeat themselves (Finley's utter confidence that she will be abandoned or betrayed by everyone she loves, and Liila's trouble holding onto the present when she gets triggered too badly in particular). Michel's story from Burning Legion (bonus chapter at the end), made me cry to write, too.

ty again for the ask <3

#tag and ask #darker themes mention tw #no details for them but like most dark themes are mentioned so #beware

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sukirichi · 3 years

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Hi BUB CONGRATS ON 500! 💗 it’s okay if you don’t accept but ingredient 55 reincarnation au + sugar 7 forbidden relationship (or unrequited love?) for Sukuna 🥺 I basically just want a part 2 of Home from War 😫 A snack (drabble) is fine I’ll pick up any crumbs you leave me 🤧 Maybe Sukuna’s thought process after he finds out reader was telling the truth but it was too late, or his thought process when he sees her for the first time and she’s getting closer with Megumi. Oooorrr what happens after the ending of Home from War. If you don’t do continuations that’s alright thank you!

CHOU BUB THANKS SO MUCH 🥺💗💗 and here it is, the ending of home from war, the part two people have been asking for! it’s pretty angsty tho and i may or may not have been hurt while writing this, but i hope you like it anyway!

home from war: the ending | part one

how do you comfort your lover when he cannot find his way home back from the war?

meal order: 55 (reincarnation au) + 7 (forbidden relationship) no longer included + unrequited love + home from war inspired read here: home from war: the ending

song i listened to while writing: lay me down by sam smith (yes i was looking for PAIN)

warnings: murder, character death, angst, regrets, overall a big sad, unedited as always

The sky mourned your death; dark clouds forming overhead as Sukuna watched his servants pile dirt over your body. Your lifeless eyes stared back into nothingness, the gaping hole in your chest prominent. As his last bit of respect for his fallen comrade, he’d ordered his servants to dress you in the finest white robes to replace your bloodstained clothes.

His lover stood beside him; small hands clutched around his bicep while she weeped.

He couldn’t understand why she cried, why she grieved your death. Did his lover not care that this female curse had tried to kill her and their baby just moments ago, cruel and heartless as she was?

Of course she didn’t. His lover was kind, and he didn’t stop her as the feeble human fell down to her knees, fists bundled up around her robes until your body was completely buried underneath the underneath.

They stayed there for what seemed like an eternity until his lover had grown completely tired, body dehydrated from all the crying. She couldn’t cry anymore and her clothes were stained with dirt. Sukuna sighed, his gaze pointed away from the single lily flower that laid above your corpse, reaching over to his lover to pull her arm.

“My love,” he called out, “Come on. Let’s go home. It’s getting dark.”

“No, you don’t get it,” his lover pushed him away, eyes blurred with tears and lips terribly chapped. “She was your friend, Sukuna, you couldn’t kill her just like that!”

“You’re the one who doesn’t get it. She tried to kill you and our baby!”

“Because the child is a monster!” his lover screamed back, pounding her small fists on his chest. It barely grazed him from his looming size, but something about the desperation in his lover’s voice had the words hitting straight through his heart, her gaze piercing. “Because it’s your child and you’re a monster – she was kind to you, she loved you and fought with you, you shouldn’t have killed—”

Sukuna’s arms withdrew his sword before he could realize what he was doing. The sounds of gurgling brought him back to reality, the curse stepping backward as his lover fell down on both knees, hands wrapped around her neck.

Blood dripped from the clean slice he’d made. She choked on her own blood, the liquid black and cursed – you were right. His lover did carry the curse of Death.

Sukuna stood frozen in his spot as his lover fell limp on the ground, the tips of her fingers pointed in your burial’s direction. The dark liquid oozed and poured out of her fragile body, the blood seeping into the ground until the lily turned black.

They all died. The Curse of Death had been exorcised before it fully formed, and he watched as the flower withered, crumpling down itself before the petals fell.

“Hey, Sukuna.”

“Hmm?” he looked up from cleaning his blade, scarlet eyes narrowed at the way you bounced from the corner. It was unusual for you to be this bubbly; not that he minded, though he’d never admit it out loud. Seeing you smile only happened once in a blue moon, thus catching the King of Curses off guard when your entire face lit up, eyes crinkled into half-moons at your enthusiasm.

Your laughter painted the walls of his dark, lonely temple a thousand colours. He barely got to move, much less respond, before you placed a flower crown on his head.

“Don’t you look charming.”

“Tch,” he held back a growl, the tips of his ears flushing red because how dare you defile him like this. The only reason he hadn’t killed you right there and then was because you were the so-called Queen of Curses, adorning your own handmade flower crown, only yours were a lot more colourful and his full of plain blue ones. It was his way of accepting you as his equal, though this didn’t dissipate the irritation that bloomed in his chest. “Get this vile thing off me.”

“It’s a crown I made for us, though,” you pouted, and you looked so terrifyingly adorable for a malicious and bloodthirsty Curse that even Sukuna was stunned. “See, we even match. It’s going to wither soon so let’s just enjoy it for now – while it’s still fresh and living.”

“Death means nothing to us,” he reminded you, “We don’t really die. We were never really living in the first place. Even if our bodies did decompose or wither, we’d still manifest into something else sooner or later.”

You smiled at his words, your cheek turned to him while you looked up at the bright sky. Just like your smiles and laughter, being able to see a clear sky with the blueness calming you both down was rare up far here from your temple. Due to both of your cursed presences looming over the mountain, the skies were always dark, terrifying, and cold.

But not today – not when you were basking in this thing you called “life” and Sukuna’s heart began to beat for the first time in a thousand years.

“I know it’s stupid of me to even think this is a life when I was never really alive in the first place,” you faced him again, the smile never leaving your lips. In that moment, the sun shone down on you, the colour of the flowers like a wonderful spectrum of nature’s wonder reflected back in your eyes. “But it changed when I met you. You’re right that we’re not really living, but you gave me a second chance at life, so I’ll be loyal to you. I’ll be by your side no matter what. Until I theoretically die, I choose to ‘live this life’ with you, Sukuna. I’ll always be here.”

Sukuna blinked back wordlessly, the grip on his sword faltering. He was at a loss of words, unable to process the meaning behind your words.

Understanding him better than anyone, sometimes even better than himself, you chuckled as you stood up, patting his shoulder in the process. “No need to say anything else, King. Those are just my thoughts. But I hope that if I don’t get to be with you in this life anymore, then let’s meet in the next.”

You sounded so sure back then that Sukuna had unknowingly kept your words in his heart as a vow, blindly searching for your soul – anything to have you back by his side again – because there were still some things he needed to say, some things he had to do, and all he ever wanted was to tell you that he understood your words now.

He too, found the meaning of life with you, although he realized it too late, and the realization drowned him when you were no longer there for him.

But he’ll find you – he’ll always find you.

After all, was it not your promise? Was it not your wish to meet him in the next life? When the war is over and the skies have cleared, when he could hear the steady stream of the river and the sounds of birds chirping along with your golden laughter that brightened up the darkness of his soul and his temple – would you still be able to comfort him once he’d come home from war?

#sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #ryoumen sukuna romance #sukuna x reader angst #sukuna x reader romance #sukuna x reader fluff #ryoumen sukuna x reader angst #ryoumen sukuna x reader fluff #ryoumen sukuna x reader romance #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen romance #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk #jjk imagines #okay uhm its a little sad lol

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

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Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

#ask #my terrible headcanons #elros #elrond #maglor #elwing #earendil #feanorians #niphredilien #yellow feathered faerie #putting your old url in the tags for archival purposes #post nyanyannya askbox clearout #ironically it turned out almost as long as the songfic that clogged up my askbox in the first place #and it is DONE #fuck this took forever to write #stayed up late just to get it out the door so i don't have to think about it any more #this is a long ramble and i'm pretty sure the end is just me repeating myself ad nausem sorry #i'll admit to a certain pro-feanorian bias in my interpretation #but i also don't want elros and elrond to just. live in a neverending horrorshow for decades #the silm's cruel enough we don't need that #narratively i feel like elrond being All Of The Elves is a good mirror for elros being All Of The Humans #but it didn't really fit the angle i was going for #bleck #let's see how many followers i lose for this

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electric--blanket · 3 years

Text

a place where the heart rests

so, because @thekaiserroll drew fanart of my fanfiction i decided to return the favour by writing a long Wintersberg one-shot based off of her short comic! i hope you enjoy touch-starved Heisenberg.

warnings for death (not for main characters) and some angst.

read on ao3

Mama… I want mama. It hurts.

Where’s mama?

Karl Heisenberg always suffered from nightmares. Even before he was taken in by Mother Miranda — as a child, Heisenberg often experienced night terrors that had him screaming in his bed. There were distant memories in the back of his mind, where he’d wake from a terrible dream that had him screaming for his mother — and she’d always come to his side. In that terribly large, cold estate that Heisenberg once called home, it always felt so lonely. But, his mother always eased his fears; with her silk nightgown and the distinct smell of expensive soap. Her soft fingers would comb through Heisenberg’s locks of ashen brown hair, hushing him in a soft tone of voice — a voice he could no longer remember.

During the experiments, it was the only thing Heisenberg begged for when he felt the cadou infesting his body. It felt like a worm wriggling around in the wet soil during a storm, curling and writhing through his organs. He screamed for his mother, wishing she would save him from the pain and take him home again. A seventeen-year-old boy screaming for his mother to come and save him looked utterly pathetic from Mother Miranda’s perspective, and the feeling of fear only intensified when she stroked Heisenberg’s hair whilst he screamed. A soft whisper that uttered, “I’m your mother now, child.” It made Heisenberg nearly vomit.

That was the last time someone had ever touched him so tenderly. He’d not felt a loving touch since then and ducked away from Miranda’s so-called ‘motherly’ touches.

At first, Heisenberg coped with the intense trauma of his bodily changes by taking it in stride and calling his newfound power of magnetism a ‘gift’. He knew deep down it was the opposite: it stopped him from ageing, rendered him infertile and stripped away his dignity by becoming a slave to Miranda. It took a long time for Heisenberg to fully process what had happened to him. His father had left him in the clutches of a madwoman, and his life only got worse from there.

In a fit of rage — perhaps at the age of twenty-nine — he revisited his parent's estate to confront the man he could no longer call ‘father’. He had aged since Heisenberg last saw him, but those steel eyes he’d inherited were still as hard as ever. His mother lingered in a doorway just down the hall, but she didn’t dare come to greet her son as he snapped with a short, interrupted breath. Heisenberg had grabbed his father by the neck and pinned him to the nearest wall, knocking down a beautiful oil painting his mother adored. His fingers didn’t seem to stop, squeezing on the skin and bone until he felt a sickening crack vibrate beneath his fingers.

Heisenberg hadn’t meant it, not really. It was as if a demon had taken control of his body and sought revenge that barely mattered anymore. He didn’t realise what he’d done until he heard the sound of his mother screaming; distraught and fearful of her own son that she’d once coddled so long ago.

That was the last time Heisenberg saw his mother and father. The estate was quickly abandoned not long after, and from what he knew, his mother took her belongings and moved to Austria with some distant relatives. That large house teased Heisenberg every fucking day, with how it towered near the factory grounds and reminded him of what he’d done. Arson wasn’t exactly on his bucket list, but Heisenberg couldn’t resist taking a match to the place and watching it burn. Whatever childhood remained in that house was left in a pile of ashes, and he never looked upon it ever again. All of the silly dreams and hopes he’d had for his life were gone.

That was until Ethan Winters showed up. Nearly a hundred years later, Heisenberg felt something he’d sought after for so long — hope.

“Karl? Karl—!”

Mama. I want mama. Everything hurts.

Heisenberg forced his eyes open. It felt like his life was replaying in front of him whilst he was passed out; like watching an old film reel repeating itself and becoming more distorted each time. Up until that very night, Heisenberg’s life had been a series of traumatic events and unforgivable actions.

That night, he’d turned it all around just by laying his eyes on Ethan Winters. A man so incredible, resilient and insane… He’d do anything to get his little girl back. It was the man Heisenberg had oh-so wanted his father to be, and he admired that about Ethan. He’d never been so good at expressing his emotions honestly, or even laying out his ideas in a proper fashion to others… Oh, but Ethan was special. He’d shown Heisenberg patience that he’d not been offered before and decided to join him at his side to kill Miranda. Together.

“Karl… Fuck— Don’t die on me, asshole.”

Ethan… Ethan…

Above the metal remnants of what his mutated body had used as a shell, he could hear Ethan pushing the scrap aside to try and find Heisenberg buried beneath it. He could also hear the distinct cries of a distressed baby, something that brought him back to Earth. Heisenberg reached up through the metal until his bare, calloused fingers brushed up against Ethan’s soft knuckles. There was a moment of silence when their skin touched, but Ethan didn’t waste any time in grabbing Heisenberg’s hand and pulling him out.

The moment the pressure around his body ceased, Heisenberg felt the telltale feeling of sickening warmth seeping from many wounds across his body. The cadou inside him didn’t react too well to it, trying to cope with the trauma done by squirming and pulsating inside of him. Heisenberg drank in the expression of Ethan’s relieved face for just a moment, only until it warped into one of worry and horror. Heisenberg was weak, and his knees buckled beneath the weight of his torso before he fell back onto the ground.

The baby cupped carefully in one of Ethan’s arms began to cry again as Ethan jostled her accidentally in an attempt to help Heisenberg. A baby crying wasn’t really helping Heisenberg’s already distressed state, but it made him realise just how fucked he was. There was no way they would get away in time together, and Heisenberg was too injured to walk. The cadou might have helped to some degree, but it didn’t ease the burning pain in his body, and the loss of blood that was making him dizzy.

Ethan’s horrified expression was pinned on an appendage from the Megamycete, which rose up from the cave systems like a flower bud in spring, ready to bloom. The small, red flashing light alerted him to the fact that Chris Redfield had succeeded in planting the bomb. They had to leave.

“Go.”

A silence hung in the air for just a moment, and Heisenberg didn’t realise what he’d just said. For the first time in his miserable existence, he was being selfless and urging Ethan to leave him behind. It was the last thing Heisenberg wanted.

Don’t leave me here. I’m fucking scared. I don’t want to die yet.

“Fuck you,” Ethan’s voice trembled with venom, “I’m not leaving you here now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Heisenberg let out a bitter chuckle, tasting the blood seeping from his gums as he grinned, “I don’t think we have any time to be arguing about this, buttercup.”

“No. I— Mia’s dead, Karl. I need you.”

That’s right. Heisenberg briefly recalled Miranda’s kidnapping of the not-so-innocent woman and the experimentation that followed. Unfortunately, her body gave in due to her state after giving birth and she died on Miranda’s operating table. Ethan’s wife was dead, and Rose was now left without a mother’s loving touch.

“I said go. Rose needs her papa intact, not blown to pieces.” Heisenberg insisted, slumping back against the pile of scrap metal.

“Damn it—” Ethan looked hesitant to leave Heisenberg. It was a truly sweet sentiment: to see someone care about him after all this time. After all of the terrible things he’d done, and the love he’d been deprived of… Someone cared about him. Maybe that was enough. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to die like this.

“Fuck.” Ethan stammered again, licking his dry lips and swallowing, “Karl… I… Thank you.”

“... Yeah. I know, Ethan.”

That was all he needed. A trembling, watery smile shot his way before Ethan held Rose close with both arms and turned to run.

He’s going to be a great father.

Heisenberg looked up at the plant-like form the Megamycete had taken, looming down upon the ceremony courtyard with writhing mold creeping closer to Heisenberg. It was then that he decided that giving in like this wasn’t who he was: he was a fighter to his last breath.

In a last attempt to preserve his life, Heisenberg parted the pile of scrap metal and shuffled beneath it all. He rolled his wrist, the cocoon of metal surrounding him and tightening. The metal creaked, drowning out the sounds of the mold writhing around the metal to try and get inside. Heisenberg closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. I won’t die. Not yet.

The explosion that followed shortly after was deafening, causing the entire ground to shake beneath him and the metal to shudder against his body. It felt painful, rippling off his injured skin like that… But, fortunately for Heisenberg, the explosion wasn’t nuclear — the blast was enough to do the job and wipe out the mold and the Megamycete.

A silence followed the explosion, brick and ash collapsing against Heisenberg’s metal cocoon. Each noise made him flinch, and his fingers twitched instinctively as some final line of defence. He didn’t know how long it was before he felt brave enough to let his guard down and release his telekinetic grip on the metal. The scraps suddenly slumped, collapsing around him as Heisenberg pushed the metal off of his body and emerged like a phoenix rising from the ashes of its former self.

The smoke and dust still remained, causing Heisenberg to cough heavily as he took a sharp inhale of the air. He squinted through the dust and remains of what was left of his home town and realised how much he’d lost. It hit him all at once; his childhood, his parents and his fucked up little family. Even though he hated Miranda and his makeshift siblings deeply, they were all he truly had left to call ‘family’. It was over in the blink of an eye, and Heisenberg suddenly felt like a child all over again. Like a child waking from a nightmare, scared and alone.

Heisenberg’s fingers twitched into tight fists, clamping his mouth shut as tears threatened to spill down his face. Even after all this, he tried to will himself not to cry, to never let down the walls he had so carefully built. But, at that moment there was nothing left to keep the foundations upright. Heisenberg’s fists loosened, and he brought his hands up to cover his face instinctively. A knot seemingly untied itself in his chest and throat, and a guttural sob left him. Maybe — just maybe — it was okay.

Navigating the woods was even worse during a snowstorm at night. It was bad enough that Heisenberg’s body was weak from his healing injuries, but it felt haggard from his intense emotional breakdown. In a strange sense, he felt relief from it but at the same time, it felt awfully inconvenient. Heisenberg was sure he looked like a terrible mess; his clothes were torn and his hair was damp with clumps of ash hanging from his silver locks. Not to mention the blood staining his clothes, and his valuable dog tags that hung low on his chest.

In his many idle chats with Ethan before they fought Miranda, he could recall the other man mentioning he didn’t live too far from the village. It was a fair distance away, but not too far that it would be impossible to reach if your car broke down on the road between them. Still, it wasn’t a pleasant or short walk.

By the time Heisenberg even managed to reach a place that looked like a livable home, he was close to collapsing in the snow… But, he held out. The lights were turned off inside, but a motion sensor light on the property turned on once Heisenberg got close enough. The bulb blinded him briefly, and he held a hand up to shield his eyes as he walked up the porch to the door. Heisenberg sluggishly lifted his hand, knocking on the door as hard as he could and leaning against the frame. It took a few moments before he could see a light turn on inside from the windows, and the sound of someone walking down a wooden staircase slowly.

The person on the other side of the door stopped before they reached for the doorknob, and they spoke out.

“Who is it?”

Ethan Winters. That voice Heisenberg had missed so dearly; in all of its glory and full of caution. It almost made him laugh.

“Let me in, Ethan. I’m freezing.”

“Karl?”

“As smart as ever, Ethan. Can you hurry up?”

Ethan was quick to unlock the door and remove the security chain, twisting the doorknob and pulling it open. There, Ethan was standing in a pristine white shirt and some boxers that hung low on his hips… Along with a pair of comical slippers that seemed to resemble a cartoon dog. Heisenberg’s lips twitched into a tired grin.

“Oh my, too much skin, Ethan. Back in my day—”

“Shut up and get in here!”

Ethan grabbed Heisenberg’s arm, tugging him inside to shield him from the snowstorm outside. He slammed the door shut and quickly locked it back up, and the two men finally stood face-to-face. There was a silence that hung in the air, with so many unanswered questions on the tip of Ethan’s tongue, but none came. Without any further hesitation, Ethan threw his arms around Heisenberg’s neck and tugged him close for an embrace.

It was the first time Ethan had touched him in such a way. So full of affection and genuinity, it made Heisenberg’s fingers tremble with uncertainty. He didn’t know what to do with his hands: so overcome with the touches that smothered him. His brows creased into an expression of relief, and Heisenberg’s steel eyes fluttered shut as he succumbed to the hug. He wrapped his arms around Ethan’s waist, squeezing him carefully and burying his face into Ethan’s shoulder. The smell of talcum powder and formula milk permeated his shirt, giving Heisenberg the comfort he craved. He never wanted Ethan to stop touching him, and he was content to stay like this for as long as he could — to make up for all the time he’d lost aching after affection.

“I thought…” Ethan mumbled slowly, “I thought you were dead.”

“Mm.” Heisenberg hummed lowly in response, curling his fingers into Ethan’s shirt. “So did I. Turns out I’m hard to kill.”

Ethan snorted softly.

As it turned out, Heisenberg wasn’t too bad with kids.

It was a tough adjustment for the two men at first; Ethan had to keep Heisenberg a well-guarded secret as he was moved to a new location with Rose (courtesy of the BSAA). Heisenberg followed their steps at a safe distance, but he was never too far from them. Understandably, Ethan was moved into a smaller home: a humble bungalow in a quiet German village. Once the BSAA had left Ethan in peace with Rose, it didn’t take long before Heisenberg settled into the bungalow with them.

Ethan had insisted that if Heisenberg was going to stay there with him and Rose, then he’d need to learn to help take care of the baby. At first, he was extremely hesitant to do something akin to a parental figure… But, Rose was a surprisingly sweet baby. She didn’t fuss too much and rarely threw a tantrum over the little things. Rose was the right amount of responsibility for Heisenberg, and that made him a patient parent.

He’d been taught how to properly hold her (after many lectures), how to prepare her formula and change her. Rose was understandably unhappy with Heisenberg’s presence at first, perhaps longing for her mother that was no longer around… But, after a few months, she took to Heisenberg very well.

Because of Karl’s lack of mortality and infertility, he never thought he’d take the figure of a father like this… But, it wasn’t exactly an unwelcome opportunity. He’d even upgraded from sleeping on the couch to Ethan’s bed.

The first night Ethan invited him to bed, Heisenberg could tell from the flustered look on Ethan’s face that it took a lot of courage to ask him to bed. A sexual joke lingered on the tip of Heisenberg’s tongue, but he bit it back in favour of keeping the proposal on the table. Instead, Heisenberg had nodded with a cheeky grin and followed Ethan to bed.

There had been some nights where the loss of Mia hit Ethan harder than he’d liked it to — even after Mia’s work with The Connections was revealed, he had still loved her to a degree. Those nights were the hardest. All Heisenberg could do was hold Ethan in his arms and comfort him with nothing more than his presence.

This invitation into Ethan’s bed was far more intimate than a comforting hug. At first, they stayed a polite distance apart on either side of the bed, with Ethan turned on his side whilst Heisenberg stared up at the dark ceiling. In the darkness, his eyes created shapes that danced across the ceiling and warped before him. Much like the mold that infested him, it was as if it continued to taunt him with its presence. After a moment, Heisenberg finally turned onto his side and glanced at the lump that was Ethan with his back to him. That urge to touch returned to the forefront of Heisenberg’s mind. It was that deep ache in his chest, like a lump of flour stuck in a smooth dough that needed to be coaxed inward.

He reached out but stopped himself before he could touch, trying to plan the best way to move forward with what he wanted. Heisenberg pursed his lips, shuffling his body closer to Ethan’s back until he finally slid his arm over Ethan’s waist. He could feel Ethan’s body freeze and tense up a little, which made Heisenberg’s heart feel like stopping altogether. Had he gone too far?

But after a moment, Ethan relaxed, pressing his chest back into Karl slowly. It was all the permission he needed to slot himself fully against Ethan and quietly seek out his hand. Once Heisenberg found it, he carefully laced their fingers together as he held Ethan like that, tugging him close with his elbow.

No words were spoken in the darkness, but a silent understanding of what they both wanted. Heisenberg finally felt complete like this, closing his eyes and exhaling tiredly. His body suddenly felt tired, releasing all the tension it had been holding trying to psyche himself up to do it.

A feeling of affection swelled in Heisenberg’s chest as he held Ethan, finally giving in to the darkness and drifting away with their bond now stronger than ever.

“Are you fucking insane, Ethan?!”

Chris Redfield. A thorn in Heisenberg’s side, but not as bad as Miranda. His voice filling their home put Heisenberg on edge, but it didn’t really matter too much to him. It was around ten in the morning, and the couple had just had breakfast. The television was on, playing some cartoons in the background as Rose was sitting on the soft carpet of the living area with her toys, and Heisenberg sat close to her.

When Chris made an unexpected visit, and he spotted Heisenberg in the living room, the yelling began. Ethan had kept Chris just outside of the room so that Rose didn’t see her father getting angry, and Heisenberg made sure to keep her attention on her toys. Heisenberg was wearing a pair of tartan boxers, along with a button-up pyjama shirt with a white tank top beneath it. It wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of bedtime fashion, but it made him comfortable enough at night.

When the yelling only got worse and Rose seemed irritated by the noise, Heisenberg carefully brought Rose into his lap and crossed his legs.

“Hmm,” He hummed in feigned thoughtfulness, “Does ol’ Karl need to perform for little Rose again?” Heisenberg sighed dramatically, “Oh, the things I do for you.”

He turned his body subtly to the kitchen area, holding his hand out and focusing on one of the drawers. It slid open, a few tablespoons floating out from a cutlery tray. Heisenberg pulled his hand back, the spoons floating across to the living area and bringing them to a stop in front of him and Rose. With a simple, slow roll of his wrist, the spoons began to twirl and move in a circular motion above Rose.

Her eyes widened with fascination, the corners of her mouth opening into a gleeful smile. Absently, she reached up with her soft, pink hands and tried to reach for the spoons half-heartedly as they continued their motions. A soft laugh bubbled from her, causing Karl to smile softly.

“He’s a dangerous bioweapon, Ethan. He could hurt Rose!”

Heisenberg managed to hone in on those words; a sharp pain digging into his chest when he realised the implications Chris was trying to make. That Heisenberg was a monster. A bioweapon without feeling. A creature that would kill a child.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ethan pointing wordlessly at the soft scene of Heisenberg with Rose in his lap, entertaining her with spoons. That was all he needed to say, really — without even saying it. Even Chris was at a loss for words, and he quietly relented. Ethan was surely in for an afternoon of lectures.

It made Heisenberg smile a little more, turning his head subtly towards Ethan and catching his gaze. It was his quiet way of saying thank you. It went beyond thanking Ethan for trusting him with Rose but thanking Ethan for listening to Heisenberg, taking him into his home and loving him. Even though they’d never spoken those three little words out loud, maybe they didn’t need to. Their actions, affections and closeness spoke those words loud enough.

Truly, after all this time, Heisenberg didn’t think he was capable of ever being loved or trusted. Now that he’d left that horrible life behind, he was now a father, a friend and possibly a lover. The trauma would always remain, yes, like the cadou and the mutations. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be happy like this, in this simple little life he’d started to build with Ethan.

Maybe it would be okay.

#ethan winters x karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x ethan winters #heisenberg x ethan #heisenwinters #wintersberg #winterberg #karl heisenberg #ethan winters #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil fic #fanfiction #oneshot

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stressedoutcanary · 3 years

Text

Do You Ever Feel Like A Misfit (Everything Inside You Is Dark & Twisted)

Dick Grayson x Reader

Word Count: 3.5K (I don't know how tf that happened)

Warnings: Explicit language, Blood and Violence, lots of angst, Hurt/Comfort ✌

A/N: Guess who's back! Just for some context the reader is a magic user and her style is similar to that of Zatanna <3

•°•°•°•°

She’d have reasoned with herself that stealing from one of the most secure and heavily guarded safe-houses of a deranged sociopath was probably not the brightest idea she’s had all day. It never even made it on her to-do-list for the weekend, but here she was, running across rooftops, holding on to the stolen totem like her life depended on it, it probably did. The three assassins sent after her were no Lady Shiva or Talia Al Ghul but they weren’t exactly amateurs either. The deep cuts and two broken ribs she got from their earlier encounter were proof of that.

She glanced back and even though there was no sign of her would-be-killers she knew better than to assume they’d just let her be. They were sticking to the shadows, exploiting her blind spots. The only thing she was sure of was that they were still hot on her trail and would happily plunge a dagger into her back given the opportunity.

She was right. As of this moment she hated being right.

She caught the glint of the two sharp objects slicing through the air, hurtling towards her at full speed. A slight shift of her upper body was all she could manage as one of the daggers got embedded right into her scapula while the other one, fortunately so, whirled past her, slightly grazing her left hip. The impact of the blade on her shoulder made her lose what little balance she had left. Despite her best efforts, when the wounded shoulder made contact with the hard concrete, a loud, ear-piercing cry ripped out from her throat before she could push it back down.

Cursing under her breath she knew, she knew all she had were those few seconds of numbness and disorientation to get a grip and figure out her exit strategy. However, all her hopes started to sink as she saw one of the assassins come closer, appearing more of a blur than a person. Then again that was probably because of the nice, little concussion she got from her fall. The assassin walked over to her, unsheathed their sword and placed it right on her neck, blocking any and every way out.

“You were warned. The Demon’s Head does not tolerate treachery. We are here under his orders to bring back the totem along with the witch’s head; your head”

If she could, she would’ve rolled her eyes at the classic villainous dialogues thrown at her.

“Witch? Who’re you calling a witch Snow White? I’m clearly a sorceress, don’t they teach you the difference between the two in assassin school or something? Hell, I’d even let you call me an enchantress, though that name’s already been taken but you get my poin-”

The remaining words died in her throat as the sword on her neck shifted slightly. She knew she had extremely poor self preservation skills considering she’s clearly been instigating the very person sent to kill her, but even she wasn’t dumb enough to keep talking when the tiniest movement on either part could result in her having a severed jugular or carotid.

‘This is a pretty shitty way to die’

She thought back to how she used the last of her mystic energy to hide the totem away before her fall and how stupid that decision really was because now she could actually feel the agonizing pain coming from her shoulder. It started to spread throughout her back like wildfire, eyelids grew heavy against her wishes. Suddenly she felt really tired and the idea to close her eyes just felt so goddamn appealing.

‘No (Y/N) that’s the blood loss talking. Blood loss doesn’t get to make decisions’, she mentally scolded herself, still not breaking her eye contact with the person standing above her.

“Give us what you stole and we shall grant you the mercy of a quick death.”

That made her raise an eyebrow, “Ah, lemme think...the correct response here would be…”, she hummed, making a show of how hard she was thinking about the offer she was granted, “How about a fuck you? How would that do for you?”, she gave them a vicious grin, it was all teeth. They probably weren’t impressed by her response and it showed.

She knew there was no way out but she had promised herself once that if she were to die, that if she ever goes out, she’d be anything but a whimpering and sobbing mess. She was scared shitless, more so than she’d ever been while fending off the league, she won’t deny that but she would rather die than let them know that. ‘Well at least I got that ‘rather die’ part down to a T.’ she thought, eyeing the sharpness of the blade which was now raised up in the air

She felt bad for just giving up the way she did. Her whole life she was told to fight her way through the impossible, to attain the strength rivaling that of Zatanna Zatara, John Constantine and Doctor Fate himself. To be better than them, and there she was lying on the ground limp as a sword came down on her throat; all for a silly necklace. She would’ve huffed out a laugh if only her ribs weren’t broken, if only her body wasn’t screaming in pain, if only she had a way out. She didn’t. She was too tired, too drained, too numb to do anything else. Closing her eyes she stopped fighting, she let her growing unconsciousness claim her.

‘This is what you deserve anyway’, her barely there conscience remarked.

‘Fuck you too.’ she replied.

Everything went pitch black. The darkness encompassing her was peaceful, unlike the pain she had felt before. It was nice for a change. It sounded pathetic but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

•°•°

When she came to, the first thing she observed was the feeling of something soft against her back, next was a dull rhythmic sound which she realized was her own heartbeat. Though opening her eyes was a tiring task. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. She used all the energy she had into it and her eyelids fluttered open. She stared at the white ceiling and stayed like that for a few seconds; a few minutes? She couldn’t tell, but the pain was back now, not too much but enough to tell her it was there, to tell she was still alive.

She saw something shift in her peripheral vision and her body instinctively went stiff. Her mind which was blank before now ran in all directions.

‘Could be Ra’s Al Ghul… Could be worse’, she tried not to think about the worst case scenario, but she knew she had pissed off a lot of beings, beings far more powerful and far crueler than Ra’s himself. An involuntary shudder passed through her at the thought. That must’ve caught her captor’s attention as she felt the person move closer to her. Begrudgingly, she tore her gaze from the spot on the ceiling which she had been staring at this whole time and tilted her head. The man in black and blue who appeared, was probably the last person she had expected to see.

“Nightwing…”

Her voice was barely above a whisper and the hoarseness with which it came out it took her by surprise, but her body visibly relaxed at the sight of the familiar figure, at the sight of someone who would never hurt her.

She watched him pull out a chair from the desk nearby. He sat next to the bed she was lying on and gave her a soft smile, a smile that spelled one word ‘relieve’. She remembered how when she first met him two years ago, she found that particular smile extremely annoying, she had no reason to, but she did. What she couldn’t remember was when she had grown so fond of it.

“How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

He snorted a laugh which made her pout. She was planning to point out how he was being mean; laughing at her when her response truly defined the way she was feeling, but any words she thought of were cut off by the change in his expression. His smile faltered, lips were now pressed in a thin line, face contorted in a way which showed his genuine concern.

“This is the second time, this week.”

That you almost died, he didn’t say. That I had to save you and bring you back from the clutches of death, he didn’t say.

“I know.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“I know.”

The silence that settled, stretched far too long for comfort, but she wasn’t going to be the one to break it. She wanted to, but there was nothing she could say, that would make it better. Nightwing ran his fingers through the locks of hair, burying his face in his hands.

For the first time since she woke up, she took in his appearance, he looked disheveled, his suit was torn in different places along visible faint cuts, most likely he got them when he rescued her. She felt a pang of guilt rising in her chest. He risked his life for her, she knew he had done it before, she didn’t get it then and she didn’t get it now. Why would someone do that? Why would he? She was pulled back from her spiraling thoughts when he spoke again, exhaustion evident in his voice.

“Why are you so reckless?”

“Excuse me?”

She looked at him like he had grown another head. She wasn’t ready for this conversation but by the looks of it they were gonna have it anyway.

“What if I hadn’t been there today? Or any of the other days you almost died. What then?”

“My best guess? I would’ve been dead.”

“And that fact doesn’t bother you at all?!”

She flinched at little when his voice rose, but she stood her ground, at least figuratively since she was still in bed.

“I don’t know, should it?” She didn’t try and tone down the venom dripping from her words. Her words cut deeper than the wounds he got from the assassins; she saw it clear as day on his face. She let out a deep sigh but continued. She had to get it out and he had to hear it, that’s the reason she gave herself for the confession that followed.

“I don’t need your help, Dick. I don��t know what gave you the impression that I did but I’ve never needed it.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Why was it getting harder to speak?’ “I don’t need you to save me every time. I don’t need you to risk your life for me and I definitely don’t…” She moved to sit up straight, her back resting on the headboard. She shifted her gaze on her open palms resting in her lap; palms covered in blood, in her blood, not very long ago.

“I don’t need you to care...”

The last part was a whisper and Dick was silent, so silent that for a brief moment she wondered if the man she’d come to care about even heard her, admitting something that was so painful for her to say out loud.

Dick moved to sit beside her, his shoulder bumping hers. He didn’t know where all this was coming from but he knew better to leave it unattended.

“(Y/N) I help you because I care about you. I always will, you know that.”

“Why? You have nothing to gain from it”, blinking back the unshed tears in her eyes, she looked at him with a hurt expression as if she couldn’t bring herself to understand.

“Why… as in why do I care?”, Dick tilted his head to look her in the eyes, trying to understand what she meant all the while making sure not to let his own surprise at her words show. She nodded not trusting her voice to not betray her anymore than it already had.

“I don’t care about you because I feel like you need it nor because I would gain something from it”, Dick knew he shouldn’t have to explain it to her. He briefly wondered what she had gone through to make her think that she needed to be useful to be cared for or that she had to need it to be cared for. He felt something pull at his heart at the thought; It was sorrow.

“I care about you because… well I do and there’s nothing you could or couldn’t do to change that. And it is because I care about you that I ask you to be better at taking care of yourself. Now I know for a fact that whatever you stole from The League’s safehouse definitely did not belong there, but I also know that whatever it was, it wasn’t worth your life (Y/N) It never will be.”

Dick grasped one of her hands, interlacing his gloved fingers with hers; she hadn’t even realized she was shaking until he did so. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take a deep breath despite her protesting ribs. Opening the palm of her free hand she muttered an incantation with practiced ease

“Eveirter tahw saw neddih “, her hand glowed, the golden aura taking the shape of a object. When the light subsided, Dick saw the object in her palm as she rubbed her thumb across it, quietly leaning her head on his shoulder.

“It was this totem. It belongs to Madame Xanadu. Don’t know what Ra’s wanted it for though”, she shrugged as best as she could with an injured shoulder then continued, voice firmer than it had been the whole evening,“ She asked me to retrieve it in exchange for information on a girl I was looking for. The girl was somehow sucked into some other dimension, a mystic one and her mother was so desperate when she approached me that I just couldn’t say no. So when I say the Totem was important, then I want you to know that it really is.”

Dick shook his head at that. “Still not worth your life.”

“Dick…”, she sighed. It was all she could do at the moment because she was really getting tired from all the arguing.

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

“You mean the time I met the infamous vigilante Nightwing in a dumpster of all places.”

“In my defense I was badly injured”, she hummed in agreement.

“You smelled bad”

“You try smelling like flowers after falling from a building and into an open dumpster.”

His playful grumbling pulled a short laugh out of her. She was more than a little confused at the sudden trip into the past but happily accepted it as a change of topic. She should’ve know better than to think he’d have let the matter go.

“Anyway my point is when you saw me that day, you first instinct was to help me. You pulled me out and used your magic to heal my wounds. You didn’t have to. You could’ve dropped me at a hospital. You could’ve even walked away and pretended that you never saw me, but you didn’t. Why is that?”

“Because I thought you were handsome?”, she said trying to lighten this too-heavy-for-comfort conversation he was trying to have.

“Nice try. I know you. You saved me because you cared. You helped me and the Titans save the city more than once because you cared. It is who you are. I’ve seen you care about and worry over complete strangers without conditions. So why do you think that there has to be some kind of a barter system when it comes to you? Why think that I would want to gain something if I cared about you?”

“Because everyone else did.”

The words shot out from her mouth quicker than she realized. She had voiced her greatest insecurity to the one person who never had anything to add to it and Dick’s heart clenched at the implications of her words, ‘She has never been loved unconditionally before’ his brain provided.

The tears she blinked back earlier came back with full force. She felt two strong arms that wrapped around her, all the while being mindful of her injuries. Dick pulled her into a hug and that was it. She couldn’t control the sobs that tore through her throat, the pain in her body flared due her erratic movements. She knew once the tears started flowing they wouldn’t stop at least not for a while, but now that her façade had been broken she couldn’t bring herself to give it another thought.

He waited for her to let it out, let out all the pent up emotions she had. Now that he thought about it he had never seen her cry. He never questioned it, maybe he should’ve.

“I don’t know who’s responsible for hurting you (Y/N), God, how much I wish I did”, his arms slightly tighten around her at that. “I am so sorry that you have felt like you have to have your walls up all the time, even around me and I should’ve seen that, I should’ve realized that before but I didn’t and I am so sorry for that. I can’t undo the damage you’ve endured and I will not pretend that I can. What I can do is promise you that I’d never let you down like that, never.”

The words he spoke were clear. He didn’t try to tell her to put her walls down, to trust him when she had no reason to. He also didn’t need to justify himself or make such over the top promises but it felt nice to hear it. She had already stopped crying the moment he started speaking again but she still had her forehead pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, it was calming in a way she couldn’t describe. She pulled her head back to look at him, and the honesty in his voice earlier matched the one in his eyes.

“Okay”

Hearing her response, he gave her his signature grin. It sent unexpected warmth through her, he always had that effect on her. She was sure she was just blushing at this point and was suddenly thankful for the dim lighting in the room.

She ended up composing herself rather quickly, jabbing a finger at his armored chest with her usual smirk plastered on her face.

“Now that you’ve made that promise, know this, Dick Grayson, if you let me down I will drop a mountain on you.”

“You mean that figuratively?”

“No I mean that geologically”, he waited for her to say she was kidding. She didn’t.

“Alright, alright”, He held his hands out in mock surrender. After considering the look in her eyes, Dick refrained from questioning the feasibility of that action nor did he want to question her magical abilities or intent. Last he remembered, Wally did that and that conversation ended with him being teleported to Sahara and Dick would very much like to avoid the same fate as his best friend.

Deciding that was more than enough exhaustion for one night, he got up from the bed and kissed her goodnight, informing her that he’d be sleeping on the couch so that he wouldn’t accidently hit her injuries in his sleep. She agreed and watched him slip out of the room before falling into the blissful sleep she had been putting off since forever.

•°•°

She knew Dick Grayson was full of surprises but the next morning when he put forward the offer of become a full time Titan, in front of her, she wondered if she fell from the bed in her sleep and ended up getting another concussion because he was so not making any sense.

“So let me get this straight, you want me to come live with you and your superhero friends, in the Titans freaking Tower?!”

“I was hoping for a little less yelling after an emotional evening but yes that is exactly what I’m asking.”

“Dick that’s just ridiculous!”

“Look, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He looked like a kicked puppy which made her feel kinda guilty for all the yelling.

“It’s not that…It’s just there is still a lot about me I haven’t told them. There is still a lot I haven’t told you. I don’t see a reason why you all would want to trust a possible threat, let alone live with it”, she gestured to herself.

Dick felt like there was a deeper meaning behind her words, as if she was voicing her own fear rather than theirs but he trusted her enough to tell him about it when she was ready, on her own terms. He could wait till then but for now he crossed the short distance between them, going around the breakfast table till he stood in front of her. He grasped both of her hands in his and ran his thumb soothingly across her knuckles. He bent down to place a soft kiss on her forehead, and then moved to meet her gaze.

“(Y/N), I know you and I trust you and…It sounds silly considering I was raised by the worlds greatest detective but I believe that you don’t have to know every little detail about someone as long as you already know what’s in their heart.” Bruce probably would’ve disagreed but he wasn’t Bruce.

“And you know what’s in mine?”

“And I know what’s in yours.” His statement was firm and left no room for argument, not when it came to this.

“If you’re sure about this, then I guess...”

“Is that a yes I’m hearing?”, There was that smile again, seriously what was up with him and his smile that made her giddy inside.

In between thoughts she realized he was still waiting for a response so she nodded. Any underlying doubts she had about her answer vanished when she took in how happy it made him. As cheesy as it sounded seeing him happy made her happy. A part of her said it wouldn’t last long, but seeing her boyfriend hop onto the couch full of joy as he called his friends about the latest development in their lives, she wanted to believe otherwise.

°•°•°•°•

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samstree · 3 years

Note

For the reverse trope ask: the soft character comforting the tough character after a trauma

Piece Him Back Together

Part of the reverse trope series.

When Geralt gets kidnapped, it's up to Jaskier to rescue him. Some truths about a witcher's worst weakness come to light.

(geraskier, 2.1k, hurt/comfort, geralt whump, mutual pining, competent jaskier, love confession, mild blood)

read on AO3

"Shit, shit, shit..."

Jaskier lets out a string of curses all the while balancing the weight of two fully grown men with stumbling footwork. He desperately tries to keep Geralt up with a hand on the small of his back but fails to stop the injured witcher from drooping with each step, until, at last, both of them wind up in a heap of limbs by the road.

Geralt lets out a pained grunt and Jaskier scrambles with apologies.

“Fuck, sorry.” The bard shifts Geralt’s bulk with all he can muster and finally settles him on a patch of soft moss under the tree. The witcher hisses as his back hits the bark rather heavily. “Shit, I’m so sorr—”

“You already said,” Geralt interrupts him but there’s no anger in his tone.

“Still. I am.”

Jaskier retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to dab at the mess of blood at Geralt’s temple, wincing when he finally sees how bad the blow is. Blood oozes from the gash, slower than a moment before. The fabric is soaked through and the skin there is still tender.

It’s all witchers’ weakness.

The temple. A blow to the head.

It messes up all their senses and coordination, leaving them in the most vulnerable state. If Jaskier had reached him any later, this might have done Geralt in.

Jaskier lets out a distressed sound at the thought.

“Stop fussing. We need to go.” The witcher, against all odds, remains level-headed.

“No, it’s all right. I knocked out all the guards and servants, along with the duke and his mage.” Jaskier tilts Geralt’s head for a better angle to press the handkerchief down on the wound. “I may have given the two of them a little more than the recommended dose. The lady at the apothecary warned me about the risk of choking with much sleeping potion, urgh, like I give an ounce of fuck if they die a gruesome death or not. It’d be a favor to the town.”

The venom surprises even Jaskier himself, and Geralt lets out a meaningful hum.

“Rest assured, my dear. No one will be looking for us today.”

Up close, Jaskier can feel Geralt scrutinize him intently as if to burn a hole into his face. He meets the amber gaze, the dark pupils still a little blown wide from the shock, but there’s also something akin to relief flowing in those beautiful eyes.

He revels in the silence, observing Geralt in return for further signs of hurt, but finds none.

The witcher relents first, the tiniest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So you drugged an entire castle?”

“Didn’t think I had it in me, huh?” Jaskier teases. “The White Wolf, saved by a humble bard and forever impressed by his wit.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up, oh mighty witcher. I’m sure you only needed the rescue because those villains took advantage of your only weakness.” The bard adds his usual dramatic flair into the last two words.

Geralt blinks. Something shifts in his expression, his breathing picking up and his eyes darting everywhere. If the bard didn’t know better, he’d say the witcher is flustered, which makes it all the more confusing.

“Mocking me, are you?” Geralt drops his gaze and tries to shy away, but the bard holds him in place with the other hand. Under Jaskier’s palm, the frame of the witcher’s ear is heating up.

“How am I mocking you? Geralt, even you must admit witchers aren’t all-powerful beings.” Jaskier frowns. “They messed up your head. I know all your senses get muddled when you’re like this. Seriously, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“What are you talking about?” the witcher snaps his gaze back to Jaskier, a puzzled crease deep between his brows, which only makes the bard scoff with amusement.

“The head wound, of course. How did they get you? An ambush and a blow to the head, I’m assuming.” Jaskier explains. “How else did you get yourself into a dungeon and dimeritium cuffs? What, are you telling me you walk into their trap voluntarily?”

He rolls his eyes at the offhanded joke but the silence from the witcher leaves the mood heavier. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a denial of what he just said. Geralt is staring at him with an inexplicable look on his face, and these looks are hard to come by these days. Jaskier prides himself in being the best on the continent at reading his witcher, and he has no inclination to break the streak.

“What happened then? Talk to me, Geralt.”

Jaskier removes the handkerchief a little. The gash has stopped bleeding, so he ties it around Geralt’s head carefully to keep the wound shielded, at least until they can wash it properly. His hands stay with Geralt afterwards, waiting for him to open up.

“I—” Geralt purses his lips before continuing, golden eyes meeting the bard in earnest. “They didn’t ambush me, Jask. I walked into that castle unarmed by choice.”

“What?” Jaskier’s jaw drops.

“It’s because—” the witcher scowls. “Because I thought…that they had you.”

It’s like a lightning strike, where their skin connects tingling all the way from the tips of Jaskier’s fingers to a warm pool of fuzziness in his stomach. The air is suddenly too hot so Jaskier decides to put more space between them.

“Oh.”

Geralt chases him ever so slightly before settling back with resignation, his eyes still bare and vulnerable, as if he just revealed the darkest secret when it is only the sweetest thing in a horrible, horrible way.

“A whisper of you being held hostage and suddenly I couldn’t think. Couldn’t remember to check the truth. Couldn’t waste another second.” Geralt hovers a hand near the bard’s face before retreating to his side. “You were right that they got me because of my one weakness, Jaskier. Just not the one you assumed.”

The pounding in Jaskier’s chest is jumping out of his throat. He’s sure he will die within the next minute if he doesn’t speak to ease this ache in his heart.

“Oh.”

He ends up saying dumbly.

“It was too late when I noticed the absence of you. Your voice, your heartbeat, your scent. Nothing. You weren’t in that castle or the cells. All I could hear was silence and all I could smell was blood.” Geralt draws a shuddering breath. “I hoped, when they kept me in the dark, that they were lying about ever having you. That you were nowhere near that damn place instead of—”

The witcher swallows, unable to finish the sentence.

“Instead of,” Jaskier adds for him, “they’d already killed me.”

The tension hangs between them. The bard sits back on the heels of his feet and finds himself at a loss for words for the very first time in his life.

Geralt might be the only person who can force Jaskier through so many firsts in his life. His first time writing a hit song, first time smashing into someone’s face with a lute, first time saving a witcher’s life, and perhaps, first time murdering two evil overlords obsessed with collecting witchers for experiments.

Hmm, it’s not like Jaskier regrets any of these.

Geralt reaches out again, tentative and patient like he’s approaching a spooked horse. This time, Jaskier takes pity and meets him halfway, his thumb rubbing small circles at the sword callouses that he adores so much.

“Say something,” Geralt pleads.

Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat and sniffles to ease the congestion in his nose, his vision blurring in desperation.

“It’s the most words you’ve said in one sitting, Geralt. You’ll have to allow me a moment to figure out what you are saying and, most importantly, not saying.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “It’s you, you know? There’s always something you are holding back and that is often the crux of it. I thought I got good at reading between the lines, but this is…overwhelming.”

With the enhanced healing kicking in, Geralt is looking much better by the minute. The blood dries and crusts over and his eyes almost shining in the daylight, or is it just the emotions within them? Jaskier can’t tell.

“Maybe I can help you. With the hidden words.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s fingers reassuringly. He tilts his head in the most endearing way. It happens to be that particular head tilt that Jaskier treasures with his life, the one that manages to always take his breath away.

“I love you, Jask.”

The warm pool of fuzziness in Jaskier’s stomach turns into a bottomless pit, and he’s falling.

And soaring.

“I love you.” Geralt smiles sadly. “In the dark of that cell, it became…ever so clear and so loud that I couldn’t deny it anymore. I love you, in spite of myself. Gods, I’ve loved you for so long.”

Geralt picks up Jaskier’s hand and places the barest touch of a kiss there, his lips chapped but oh so gentle. Jaskier lets out a soft gasp and the tears roll down uncontrollably. The next thing he knows, he’s buried deep in Geralt’s embrace. The sobs choke in his lungs like a dam has been broken.

“I—” Jaskier is amazed to find that their roles have reversed. The witcher has expressed everything but the bard becomes mute. So he takes up Geralt’s role gladly and replies with actions.

Jaskier’s lips are pressed everywhere he can reach: the soft, warm skin of Geralt’s neck, the sharp of his jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose. He disregards the grime and dirt and kisses Geralt’s uninjured temple, the single most fragile part of a witcher’s body—barring their heart, so it seems. He tucks away a strand of white hair and kisses Geralt’s temple one more time, tasting the salty tang of tears.

When he pulls back, Geralt’s smile is blinding.

He hears Jaskier, even though—

“I still don’t know what to say,” Jaskier croaks, sniffling hard.

The bard rests his hands at the nape of Geralt’s neck and loses himself in the sunlit golden honey, his favorite color in the world and the most beautiful dream that’s ever come true.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Geralt wipes away the wetness on Jaskier’s face with the pad of his thumb. “Master Jaskier, poet, minstrel, professor… Stumped for words and forever impressed by a witcher’s love confession.”

He mimics Jaskier’s phrasing and the bard can’t help but chuckle despite the tears and snout, his hand swatting at Geralt’s shoulder. Jaskier knows he must look so absurd, laughing and crying all at once, but it’s the last thing in the world that matters.

Geralt loves him, and—

“You got hurt because of me.”

The remorse licks up, along with the urge to protect and to care. The sight of Geralt limp and bloody, bound by the wrists in a dark cell is something Jaskier never wants to relive again.

“I don’t care, Jask.”

“I care.”

“Then make it better.”

So he does. Geralt never wavers as Jaskier captures his lips and pours everything he cannot voice into the kiss, drawing a contented moan out of the witcher.

“Does it still hurt?” the bard whispers between one breath and the next.

“A little.”

Jaskier resumes his work and cards deft fingers through silver hair, careful not to nudge the handkerchief. His nails ghost over Geralt’s scalp and scratches gently until a purring sound rumbles deep in the witcher’s chest. The bard giggles proudly.

“Now?”

“Keep going.”

Geralt traps Jaskier between his strong arms devours him with passion, the heat of his body solid and calming.

Jaskier has never thought of himself as a protector, except at this moment with his witcher arching into his every touch and producing those heavenly sounds. The world is too bent on hurting Geralt, too eager to take and take and take from him.

A bard is not a fighter. Jaskier cannot stop monsters from tearing through armors or crossbows fired with ill intent.

But a bard is a lover. What Jaskier can do is heal, is piece Geralt back together with gentle words in the dark and soft lips on the thin skin at his temple.

“How about now?”

They are panting in tandem, the gold of Geralt’s eyes dreamy and out of this world.

“Still dizzy.”

“That’s from all the kissing, you oaf.”

But Geralt begs wordlessly with those wide, puppy-like eyes so openly, and Jaskier’s already non-existent resolve breaks into a million pieces. He kisses Geralt until the witcher melts into a puddle of purring mess, sun-warmed and pliant.

And he kisses Geralt more.

Again and again.

---

Thanks for the prompt. I kind of just rolled with the concept. The twist looks a bit obvious from the beginning, but feel free to tell me what you think. <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @dapandapod @artisanbaguette @birdsflyhome

Please tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #reverse trope #trope subversion #soft geraskier #geralt x jaskier #cw: blood #soft jaskier #hurt geralt #geralt whump #mutual pining #love confession #first kiss #italicized oh #hurt/comfort

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gotnofucks · 4 years

Text

Going Against Nature

Pairing: dark!alpha!Steve x reader, dark!alpha!Bucky x reader

Summary: Steve and Bucky would change the laws of nature if that’s what would take to make you theirs.

Steve and Bucky don’t like it when you smell like Peter Parker.

Words: 4.9k

Warnings: NON-CON, breeding kink, smut, FORCED BONDING, poor Peter, language, violence, 18+ ONLY

A/N: Peter is an adult!!

MASTERLIST

+++++

You knew something was off the moment you entered your house. Energy crackled in air as you moved in, the smell in the air absolutely Alpha, and that made no sense since you were a beta. Three different alpha scents overlapped each other, but you recognized only Peter’s, your best friend’s. You crossed the hall to your living room, your dagger in your hand. Peter’s scent was emanating such fear as you had never sensed before, and you would kill anyone who harmed a hair on his head.

You turned the last corner and entered the living room, stopping short in your tracks at the sight that met your eyes. You rushed forward, the dagger falling from your hand as you knelt in front of Peter, bloodied and tied to a chair in the center of the room.

“Peter! Oh my god, what happened Peter?” You asked, your hands cupping his puffed face. His eyes were swollen shut, a groan escaping his lips when your cold hands met his feverish skin.

“Y/n…” It seemed as if it took all his energy to whisper your name and you heart broke seeing your best friend this way.

“Hey hey, calm down. I’m here, I am gonna let you out of these ropes. Pete! Keep your eyes open!” You patted his cheek, making his eyes flutter. It took him a moment to focus on your worried face but when his eyes locked on yours, anguish and panic filled them.

“Y/n, no! Go away, run. They are here. GO!” Peter shouted, struggling in the ropes as if he just wanted to push you away from here.

“Peter, what are you talking about. Lemme cut these ropes.” You turned back to get your dagger but found it missing. Your brow furrowed, you remembered dropping it when you rushed to Peter.

“Run” Peter croaked and you looked at him over your shoulder, your body stiffening as what Peter had said finally clicked.

They are here

Whoever had hurt him was still in your house. Two alphas. You could smell their scent, somewhat familiar but you couldn’t remember exactly whom. As a Beta you didn’t pay much attention to alphas, other than those closest to you. But these must be two very strong alphas to have hurt Peter, an enhanced avenger.

You stood up cautiously, eyes scanning every part of the room. You weren’t an avenger but a trained analyst and could hold your own. Blood stained your furniture, the TV console disturbed and the small knickknacks you decorated your house with strewn about. Clear signs of struggle. You took in the two glasses sitting on your table, the dirt staining your otherwise clean rug and the disturbed cushions on the couch. Whoever they were, they made themselves home. And they hurt Peter.

“I know you are here, come out. You know I am unarmed, so there really is no reason to hide.” You called out loud, your voice strong despite the heaviness in your heart. Anyone who could do that to Peter would very easily take you down. You crept back towards Peter, eyes still taking every inch of your house even as your hand touched his cheek. Peter whimpered, in pain or concern you didn’t know.

“Hold on for me Pete, I’m gonna get us out of here. No one’s gonna hurt you on my watch.” You told him, not even sure if he was following what you said.

When no one emerged for a couple of minutes, you wondered if it will be safe running to your kitchen to get another weapon, or the gun that you hid in your bedroom. You didn’t have time to think over why anyone would harm Peter in your house of all places. When you worked with Shield and the avengers, shit happened for no reason at all. You took a risk and turned your back to the door, kneeling before Peter again. You tested the ropes with your hands and huffed when you found them tight.

“Hey Pete, can’t you hear me? I’m here with you, all right? You just hold on for me sweetie.” Your voice cracked just a little over the pathetic whimper that escaped Peter’s mouth. You were just a little older to him, and you knew no one who would harm such a sweetheart as him. Your hand pushed his hair away from his forehead, soft over the cuts that littered his body.

“You may wanna stop touching him now, cupcake.” A voice behind you called suddenly and you whipped around, stance wide and protective in front of Peter. Before you could even say anything, your eyes widened in shock.

“Sargent Barnes?” You sputtered, absolutely not expecting him to be here. But then you sniffed the air, and his scent filled your lungs, and you finally realized why it was familiar. You worked in the same tower as him, sometimes directly with him. And if he was here, then the other scent must belong to –

“Hello Y/n, how are you?” Captain America asked, appearing from behind Bucky.

“I – what? You both?” You brain had short circuited. You thought they would be the people you would report this to, not the ones responsible for it.

“Sorry for the mess, cupcake. But Spidey-boy here gave us a good fight.” Bucky remarked, his head cocked to the side.

Anger and fear rose like bile in your chest, your face heating with emotion.

“You hurt him! Why?”

Steve ambled towards you and you shifted, your body angling in a way to hide Peter from their sight. He stopped in his tracks, brows raising and eyes narrowing.

“Don’t come near him, let us leave.” You hoped your voice was commanding but seeing Steve fold his arms across his chest in annoyance your confidence crumbled.

“No need to get so defensive cupcake. The kid’s been asking for it for ages.” Bucky scoffed, still standing between you and the exit.

“He – he is a kid. The nicest goddamn person I know. Why would you hurt him?” You questioned, your guard on. Any small sign of movement and you were ready to fight.

“Why?” Steve gave a humorless laugh. “Because he’s been stinking you up with his scent. We can’t go a day without you smelling like him, his scent clinging all over you.”

Your jaw almost dropped to the ground. What the fuck? “Excuse me?”

“Sweetie, you can’t go smelling like another alpha. We don’t like it, and we thought we needed to have a talk with the kid about it. Man to man, you know. But unfortunately, he didn’t agree with our thoughts. Poor boy thought he’d be able to fight us for your honor”

Steve’s word hit your heart like a dagger, and you stumbled back closer to Peter. You didn’t know what the fuck was happening, but it didn’t seem to be faring well for you. Steve and Bucky seemed to have lost their fucking minds, and you needed to escape. Go someone far, maybe find Tony Stark and let him know that his teammates beat up his protégé.

“I don’t understand,” You fretted.

“I’ll explain if you move away from the boy and come here. We won’t hurt you, you gotta believe me cupcake.” Bucky promised coming forward and held out his hand for you.

You shook your head and your hands found Peter who was almost unconscious with blood loss now. Steve growled when your hands stayed on Peter’s shoulders and Bucky tensed.

“The kid is suffering sweetie. You don’t want him to die, do you? Come here, and we’ll treat him. Get those cuts bandaged and some pain killers in his body. Sounds good?” Steve asked.

You looked at Peter and squeezed his shoulder. He groaned and your heart gave away. You nodded to Steve, and Bucky came forward again, his hand held out. You took it slowly and Bucky drew you closer to himself, taking you away from Peter. Your eyes followed Steve who was across the room now with a medical bag in hand, antiseptic wipes and butterfly strips spread before him.

“Please don’t hurt him, he’s my best friend.” You said softly and Bucky’s hand wrapped around your waist. You stiffened as he moved in your space and sniffed at your neck.

“We won’t hurt him anymore cupcake,” Bucky assured you. “But we gotta get his smell off you. The longer it stays on you, the more I wanna kill him.”

You peered into Bucky’s face, acutely aware of Steve tending to Peter’s wounds from the corner of your eyes.

“What’s happening here? I don’t understand why you’re doing whatever you’re doing. You’re supposed to be the good guys” You said and heard Steve chuckling.

“We are the good guys, but we get mad when teenage guys who can’t even grow a beard start touching what doesn’t belong to them. He put his hands on you, on what’s ours. We couldn’t let that go, not when he refused to stop seeing you.”

Your nose scrunched in confusion and fear. You were not stupid enough to try and fight them. You were an analyst because you could judge a situation and how dangerous it is. Right now, your odds of getting away with Peter were next to none, especially with him in such a delicate condition. However, you still didn’t understand what they meant.

“I don’t belong to you. You can’t claim me” You countered; your eyes now trained on Peter who flinched with every swipe of medicine.

“Can’t we?” Bucky whispered right in your ears making you shiver at the close proximity. You placed a hand on his chest and pushed, but he barely even moved.

“Of course, you can’t. I am not an omega. You…you both are alphas. You can’t claim a beta.”

Bucky and Steve looked at each other knowingly and shared a small, secret laugh. Bucky had maneuvered himself behind you now, both arms holding yours and securing them in front of you. His chin rested on your head, the slight stubble grazing your neck.

“You’re not an omega yet.” Bucky told you and hugged you to himself and your breath sharpened.

Steve finished patching Peter up and you were thankful he had been honest and gentle. He offered him some water from a glass and Peter gulped it greedily, also swallowing the pills Steve offered. His eyes were now open, and he looked at you across the room in Bucky’s arms with sadness in his eyes.

“I am so sorry Y/n, I should have done better to protect you.” He apologized and your eyes filled with tears. You wanted to run across in his arms, sooth his fears like you’d done so many times before.

“She’s not yours to protect kid, I thought we made it clear.” Steve grunted in displeasure and Peter scowled at him. Even tied up and at their mercy with wounds still dripping slowly, he managed to convey anger and hatred in his glance. Not an ounce of fear in his eyes and you knew if he were free, he’d be standing before you, being your shield.

“Mr. Stark was right when he said you are dangerous. When you believe something is right you never consider the consequences or the lives you’ll harm. You are no hero Captain, and I am sorry I ever considered you one.” Peter spat and you almost smiled.

Steve looked at Peter with a smirk on his face and then walked towards you and Bucky. He stopped right in front of you, looking Peter dead in his eyes before dipping down and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You struggled in Bucky’s arm, whining under Steve’s lips that didn’t let up until you were almost out of oxygen. He pulled back and you gasped, eyes stinging due to his assault.

“Doesn’t matter what you feel kid, ‘cause we got our girl in our arms while you’re tied up helpless.” Steve taunted.

“Please, I don’t know what you want. You can’t have me. I am a beta.” You sobbed.

Steve cupped your face and rubbed his nose to yours, cooing at you. Bucky was still holding you to himself and you could feel his hardness against your back.

“Baby, we know you are not an omega. At least not yet. But you are ours, and we have a solution. Don’t we Buck?” Steve said and you felt Bucky nod. Your eyes desperately locked on Peter’s, both of you feeling helpless.

Bucky handed you into Steve’s embrace and pulled out of his pocket a small metal case. Flipping it open he drew out a syringe filled to brim with some blue drug. Your gut clenched in fear as you looked at it, already knowing you didn’t’ want this thing anywhere near you.

“Don’t look so scared cupcake, it’s very safe. Hydra used to use it all the time, but we still had Bruce check this out and he says its safe.” Bucky said to you and you shifted in Steve’s arms.

“Dr Banner is involved with you?” You choked out. You always liked him, and this betrayal of trust cut even deeper.

“Oh, he doesn’t know this is for you. He’s a mad scientist who would research anything in the name of science. Don’t really care much about the consequences, do they?” Bucky mused. “You don’t need to worry much; it won’t hurt for long. One dose and your dynamic will start shifting. You’ll be an omega soon enough.”

Both Peter and you started at the news and your struggles renewed.

“Please don’t do this to me. Why are you doing this? You could have literally any omega out there who will be proud to have you as her alphas.” You cried and Steve shushed you like a mother does to her baby, his hand caressing your head gently.

“We don’t want them, we want you. You are strong and beautiful and a perfect fit for us. You’ll be a great mate and mother to our pups.” Steve said.

Your eyes blurred with tears, body feeling exhausted from your useless struggles. Peter was shuffling around in the chair to no avail. You felt corner and trapped, and you felt useless as an analyst. No part of your training could prepare you for a forced transformation at the hands of the strongest alphas on the planet who wanted to mate you.

“You don’t have to do this. There is a reason nature made me a beta. You can’t do this to me.” You sobbed in Steve’s chest and your tears seeped into his shirt.

“Cupcake, nature makes mistakes. Steve and I were supposed to die seventy years ago, yet look at us now, still alive. You are meant to be ours, our girl, our mate. And we’ll correct nature’s mistakes.”

You shouted as Bucky injected the syringe into your squirming body without warning, your screams of pain mixing with Peter’s protests. Liquid fire raced through your veins and you writhed, losing all control and senses. All you felt was heat and pain, starting from your toes to your head. You could hear your heart threatening to burst out of your chest, your throat raw from your screams. It was never ending, the inferno that was running across your body, changing your biology in its wake. Your every cell seemed to light up and turn itself inside out, your skin crawling. You scratched at yourself and your hands were held down along with your legs, eyes wide open and yet not seeing anything.

You didn’t know if it lasted minutes or days, the pain setting in your bones. Your surrounding was the same and yet the world had changed. You were shivering uncontrollably, sobbing incessantly, and crying out gibberish. Your eyes slowly focused as pain started dissipating bit by bit, your heart thumping irregularly and fast. You were on the floor of your living room, body held immobile with someone’s weight. You whined and they stirred, getting off you and suddenly you were sitting, a glass of water thrust in your face. You gulped it down, the cool liquid doing little to sooth the burn that still simmered deep inside you.

As you breathed, you suddenly gagged and heard someone moving around you. You were choking on air, the scents in the room smothering you. Your new formed omega senses picked up the spicy tangs of alphas and it made you dizzy. Someone was calling your name, yet it was all you could do to keep breathing and not faint again.

“Open the goddamn windows! She’s overwhelmed!” Someone shouted and soon fresh air breezed inside, easing your discomfort a bit. You held your chest, curling in on yourself and breathed deeply.

“Use your mouth to breath sweetie”

You did as commanded and eventually your breathing got easier. You sat with your head between your folded knees for a long time, trying to remember what happened. After what felt like forever, you gazed up and around you, coming face to face with three worried alphas.

“Y/n?” The young alpha tied to the chair called. You looked at him. You knew him, and the others too. Steadily your memories came back, and your eyes filled with tears, and you form shook as heart wrenching sobs wracked your body. Bucky crawled to you and very slowly reached out, his arm curling around your shoulder. You wanted to push him off, curse him away but your body instinctively leaned into him, seeking his warmth and protection.

“Shh cupcake, I got you. I got you baby” He whispered and kissed your hair.

Another pair of arms wrapped around you; a head tucked into your neck. Steve rubbed soothing circled in your sides, his breath washing over you. You were cocooned in their warmth and drenched in their scent, the nature of your biology bending to their wills and calming your racing heart. Soon enough your sobs turn to little sniffles and Bucky wiped your nose with the hem of his t-shirt.

“That’s it, omega, you’re doing so good. Just breath. We’re right here.” Steve said in your ear and you quivered at the timber of his voice.

You gradually raised your head up and the two alphas shifted a little to allow you space. Your eyes darted around your house as if seeing it for the first time, unintentionally falling on things you would need for your nest. Most of all, your eyes set on Peter who looked at you in both pain and wonder.

“Pete?” Your voice was broken, and you saw his eyes close, two streams of tear travelling down his face.

“I am so sorry” He said, helpless and feeling like a failure. He had failed his best friend, the one person who loved him unconditionally.

You heard two growls and two sets of arms on you. Bucky and Steve were baring their teeth at Peter, their bodies ready to attack. You made a pleading noise in your throat and they both looked at you, softening.

“Don’t hurt him” You begged.

Steve pulled you closer and buried his head in your neck, scenting you. His chest rumbled beneath your hand and he purred at your scent filled his lungs.

“Oh god, her scent Buck.” He mumbled, his nose tracing your jugular and Bucky joined in. They took their time with it, rubbing their cheek and neck all over you.

You were feeling overwhelmed, your omega body not used to the sudden flood of emotions and smell. Every nerve ending in your body was taut with tension and your every sense was enhanced by ten times. Their purrs washed over you, and the vibration of their body sent bolts across your spine that settled between your legs. You squeezed your thighs as you felt wetness coat your pussy, your temperature rising. Your body flushed, your scent getting heavier while you started panting. You didn’t need to be an omega to know what was happening, you’d seen it happen to plenty omegas before. You were like a young omega who had just presented and was undergoing her first heat.

Your scent wafted across the room and all the way through the house and you clenched your fist tight, nails digging into your palms. Pain such as you had never know bloomed in your abdomen, cramping your muscles and making you cry out.

“Y/n, what’s happening to her?” Peter shouted and you reached out a hand to him, body too exhausted and dazed to move much. Steve glowered and took your hand in his, the heat in your body burning his like a furnace.

“She’s in heat” Bucky rasped, his voice husky with arousal. Your heat was so powerful that it was sending them into an early rut. He moaned when his tongue swiped across your scent glands, tasting you. “Our omega”

“Ours for taking, ours for filling. You’ll take our mark and our pups” Steve vowed and you cried out when you felt both their hands roaming your body. You wanted to move away, tell them no but your body was at odds with your mind. You were vulnerable under their hands, your presentation craving their touch even as your mind told you to run. You convulsed under the feeling of their hands over your clothed breast and ass, moaning loud into the air. You had no control over your actions, and you let them paw at you unwillingly.

“Don’t touch her! Leave her alone!” Peter shouted and the three of you came out of your trances, having completely forgotten that he was here. You stared into his eyes, and he saw in them what you really felt. Your scent surrounded him and with your gaze locked on him, he squirmed.

“Look at that Steve, the kid wants our omega. You see cupcake, your best friend is getting hard seeing you being handled by us” Bucky almost sang, his hands tweaking your nipples through your shirt and you wheezed out a moan.

“See and learn kid, how to take your woman. And when you do that, know this is the only time you’ll see her this way. She’s ours and by the time this night is over, she’ll be proudly wearing our mark.” Steve said, deftly unbuttoning your shirt.

Peter and you kept looking at each other, Steve and Bucky stripping you down bare. You were too far gone to feel embarrassed at being naked in the plain view of three men. Bucky touched your tummy, rubbing his hands over your skin that made you close your eyes in pleasure. Steve’s mouth found your nipples, licking and sucking with vengeance while Bucky kissed you. You never stood a chance against them, your body dictating your every move. You kissed back and bucked against their bodies, sweat collecting where your bodies touched. Your voice rose an octave higher when Bucky’s metal hand reached between your thighs, his cold fingers collecting your slick and spreading it around you.

“Oh cupcake, look how wet you are. Look how pretty you are all spread out for us.” He groaned in your mouth.

Steve who was just done sucking a hickey below your collarbone shimmied down your body, nestling himself between your thighs. His lust blown eyes met yours and the intensity in them made your walls flutter. Maintaining the eye contact, he licked a broad strip with the flat of his tongue and you jerked under him, back arching with sensations going around your body like fireworks.

Bucky took of your hand and wrapped it around his cock, showing you how to pump it. You never noticed him getting naked, nor did you care. Steve was ruining your cunt with his talented tongue, swirling it in circles around your clit while two of his fingers delved in your heat. The coil in you stretched to breaking point, finally snapping when Bucky bit down on your nipple causing you to howl your release in the air. Steve rubbed you gently, bringing you down from your high, his face covered in your juices and you clenched hard.

To your surprise Steve leaned over you and pulled Bucky into a dirty French kiss, sharing your taste with him. Bucky fisted his hair, his tongue moving in and out of Steve’s mouth and the sight only made you hotter.

“So, this is what heaven tastes like” he muttered, and you whimpered. Steve was taking off his shirt and Bucky took his time pumping his fingers into you, stretching you open. “Gotta loosen you up for both of us cupcake. You need to be nice and stretchy to take out knot.”

You never realized you were fondling your own breasts, trying to find relief from the heat that was centered in your core. You needed them to fill you, stuff you until you couldn’t take it anymore. You saw Bucky look at his arousal coated hands that glistened.

“Steve, we have been so cruel. Look at the poor kid” He said, and you and Steve looked at Peter who was in agony. His eyes were large and locked on you, both sorry and aroused.

“Give him a taste Buck, because he will never get the chance again.” Steve said, now naked and stroking his large cock. Bucky got on his knees and moved closer to Peter, his wet fingers right before Peter’s lips. Your mouth was parted in surprise, a strangled sound escaping you as Peter leaned down to pull Bucky’s fingers in his mouth and sucked. His eyes closed at your taste and you found yourself burning more than ever.

“Please” you begged, to all of them.

“She liked it Steve, look at our girl. You like him getting a taste of you? That make you hot, cupcake?” Bucky teased you and you nodded.

“She needs our knot Bucky; she looks like she’ll combust. You want us sweetie? Tell me how much you want us” Steve ordered, straddling your lower half, his hard cock right over your entrance. He brushed it over your swollen clit, collecting your juices and covering himself in them.

“Need your cock alphas. I need you inside me. Please” You had no dignity left and you were crying as you begged. Steve aligned himself and pushed inside slowly, your body welcoming him.

“Oh god, look at you sweetie, so perfect for me. Look how you suck me inside your cunt and clench hard like you don’t want me to leave.”

He began thrusting, his cock hitting you in that special spot that made your breath hitch and eyes roll. You clawed at the rug, your nails digging inside as you gave moan after moan.

“Open up cupcake” Bucky ordered, his cock slapping your cheek. You opened up and he went straight in, sitting still for a moment to let you adjust. They thrusted in you in a rhythm, pushing and pulling in perfect sync. Steve played with your bud and your whines vibrated up Bucky’s cock so that he fucked your face harder.

“Just like that honey, just like that. Mine. Ours”

Your second orgasm came suddenly and took your breath, and your walls clamped so hard on Steve that he cursed loudly before absolutely letting go and thrusting like a demon in you.

“Gonna give you my knot, gonna make you round with my pups. God you feel so good baby”

He jerked inside you, his knot swelling at the base and stretching you until you felt it would tear you apart. Heat bloomed in your womb, and Steve’s release coated your walls as the same time that Bucky came down your throat.

“Oh cupcake, you are so so good.” Bucky said, his hand caressing your hair. He held you body in his arms, tangling his legs with Steve and yours. You were still locked together with Steve, his knot holding his cum inside. “Gonna fill you up with my seed after Stevie is done. Gonna knot you my little omega.”

+++++

The night was long and strenuous, your body bent into shapes you didn’t know it could take. Bucky and Steve knotted you multiple times and your addled mind welcome them each time. Peter looked at your union with them in desolation, sitting in his ruined pants. He had come in his pants, not being able to help himself. He wouldn’t meet your eyes but when Bucky let him taste you again, he opened his mouth like an obedient pet.

You were sleeping soundly before the couch, a temporary nest of blankets and your alphas’ clothes around you. Two fresh marks decorated your neck, sealing your fate with Steve and Bucky. They knew the true battle would begin once you came out of your heat stupor, but they can handle you together. You belonged to them. They had claimed you against what nature said. You were theirs.

“That’s how you take a girl kid.” Bucky said as he cut Peter free finally. The poor boy was both mentally and physically exhausted and Steve had to steady him lest he fall.

“You won’t look at her again will you?” Steve asked and Peter shook his head in dejection. He had failed you and your friendship. He was to be blamed. As if Steve read his mind, he patted his back gently. “It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. She was meant to be ours regardless of everything that happened. I am sorry about how the evening went, but if it were your mate you would understand.”

Peter’s shoulders slumped and he had no more tears to lose. He looked pleadingly at them.

“Don’t hurt her, please. She doesn’t deserve that.” He said.

Bucky smiled at Peter is assurance.

“We look after our own, kid. She’ll be fine”

+++++

TAGLIST IS OPEN FOR ALL CHARACTERS

#dark!steve x reader #dark!bucky x reader #alpha!steve x reader #alpha!bucky x reader #dark!alpha!steve x reader #dark!alpha!bucky x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #steve x reader #bucky x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #peter parker x reader #peter x reader #alpha steve #alpha bucky barnes #alpha/beta/omega au #alpha peter

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Partner

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

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

Genre: Angsty Fluff, Comfort

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

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

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

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

“And we can’t thank you enough.“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needn’t be told twice

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