#so now he's guilty of having killed a better version of himself and struggling to match up to him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

raggaraddy · 3 years

Note

Can you Taehyungs version of reader being shot cause of them?

I really like your Jimin and Namjoon Version that you’ve written🥰

Request from @dramaclub-thin: Mafia BTS where the reader is shot for/because of them.

A/N: It is so much longer than I meant for it to be. Hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading.

If anyone else wants to request, you can here.

Mafia Bangtan other parts:

Namjoon

Yoongi

Jimin

Jungkook

---------

Deception.

Summary: When you agreed to help Bangtan take down one of their enemies, you never imagined it could go so wrong.

Trigger warning: Smut, violence, blood, murder.

Taehyung

Mafia! Taehyung

"Are you ready?" Namjoon asks, shutting off the car's engine and turning around in his seat.

"Yeah," you nod back, hoping the rocking pit of nerves in your stomach isn't visible on your face. Scanning back and forth between him in the front and Jin sat beside you, you're checking to see if they are showing any signs of worry either. Finding a bit of solace in their surety.

"We're gonna lag behind about 20 minutes to be cautious and stay out of sight. But we'll be close. Just do everything like we said, and you'll be fine." Namjoon summarizes once again. Jin offering you a kind, reassuring smile to accompany the leader's words.

You nod again, sucking your tongue to the roof of your mouth. Running your fingers through your hair to fluff it for the 30th time. Hyperfixated on the time, you see the dashboard clock tick over. 20:21.

"Okay, let's go." You exhale deeply.

It was three weeks ago that Namjoon came to you with a problem that Bangtan was facing. Their weapons dealer was forcefully put out of business, which was Namjoons gentle way of saying he was killed, cutting off their supply to automatics and other bigger guns. Leaving them vulnerable. The man who took over their previous partners supply was known to be working with some of the other, smaller local crews. It was also known that he was a rival of Namjoon's and due to this tension refused to work with Bangtan. Normally, a problem like this would be something that they could handle. However, as Namjoon explained it, this guy was backed and protected by foreign money and was too hot to touch without starting a bloody war.

So the plan was simple. Risky, but simple. The supplier had to die. And it needed to appear to be from natural causes, so it could never fall back on Bangtan. No one directly affiliated could be involved. That meant none of the members could risk doing it. It also meant that it was too high a priority to trust an associate or hired gun with this information. Not with the reach and money the opposition had. No, it had to be someone within the family that could handle this, but someone the supplier would never know.

Opportunely, the supplier was known to have a weakness for women, hence the logical conclusion for Namjoon was one of the member's girls. Trustworthy enough not to turn or rat, not likely to be noticed among the myriad of other women, and except a few of them, all had no record linking them to Bangtan, so they would be complete unknowns.

Jin said it, but you already knew it. Out of all of the girls, you were the one who was the most capable. Your difficult past left you with many emotional scars but made you the best person to handle the responsibility. You're not susceptible to intimidation. Have very few moral hangups. And most importantly Namjoon knows how much you love Taehyung. How you would do anything for him. To keep him safe and happy. He knows he can trust you, and that when the time comes, you wouldn't hesitate to do what they needed you to.

As for you, you knew that Taehyung trusted Namjoon irrefutably and you had seen countless times that he was a good leader. Furthermore, you could appreciate the gravity of the situation. Because you're sure that if Bangtan's brain had any other choice, he would not have asked for your help. But since he had, you were going to do what was necessary to keep your family and Taehyung safe.

The problem was that Namjoon had insisted on secrecy. The only ones to know about his plan were you, him, and Jin. A few years ago, sure, lying would not have been a problem for you, you hardly ever told the truth to anyone. But this changed when you met Taehyung. He was the first person you could be honest with, the first person you ever let love you. And lying to him was something you were genuinely struggling with.

However, you knew Namjoon and Jin were right. There was no way Tae would have been okay with you being put in harm's way and he wouldn't be able to separate his feelings from the urgency of the task.

Although, that justification doesn't make you feel less guilty for deceiving him. And to make matters worse, you expected this to be over with last week already. But on your first date with the supplier, he had left the club early to deal with work suddenly. Giving you no time to spike his drink.

So here you were, attempt number two.

While you were meant to meet the supplier at a fancy restaurant first, Namjoon's plan was to skip that and get to his house as quickly as possible. Before the valet could open the supplier's car door, you leant through the open window, teasingly licking your lips. "I just realized," you purr, noting his eyes drop to your mouth and back. "I'm actually not that hungry. So how about we skip to the end of the night, and then you can take me out for breakfast tomorrow morning."

Your blatant offer works like a charm. 20 minutes and a car ride later, he's pulling you down onto his couch. Hardly able to keep his hands or lips off of you.

Tearing at your blouse he rips the buttons apart, his mouth sucking and licking at your neck. One of his hands roaming and grabbing at anything he can, while the other starts to hike up your pencil skirt. He removes his vest and buttoned shirt, not once parting his lips from yours. His large, hard chest muscles pressing against you as he pins you in between his arms and the couch. Spreading your legs apart, he grinds his crotch into your core and you can feel what effect this is having on him. And you have to admit, despite your mind being focused elsewhere, physically it's having the same kind of arousing results on you.

But this isn't what's supposed to happen. He's moving too fast and it's quickly getting away from you. You only want to get him comfortable and distracted enough that he completely lets his guard down. You're trying to poison him, not fuck him.

Pushing his chest lightly, you spring upright. Slightly out of breath you pull your hair over your shoulder covering up a little and running your fingers through it, trying to regain some composure.

"I could use a drink." You pant, batting your eyes up at him.

"Sounds good." He nods, his gaze dark and ravenous. Suddenly haulting he leans back down to kiss you. His hands gripping your hips as he kisses you back into the sofa. Abruptly leaving you flat on the couch with flushed cheeks.

This is better. One or two drinks from now, you should be able to slip him the ricin. He drinks it, you fake a headache, and skip home. 24 hours from now he has a heart attack and dies from natural causes. Nothing tied to you. Nothing connected to Bangtan.

"I hope you like-" The supplier calls out, only to be interrupted by a grating smack at the front of the house. You startle upright, sitting alert watching the hall entrance. He comes from the other side, coming back from the kitchen, a curious look on his face. Both of you staring at the same doorway as Taehyung suddenly comes in.

Fuck.

Your eyes go wide, half not able to believe he is actually here. He wasn't supposed to be! Namjoon had arranged for Jimin to take him out tonight. And you had told him you were going to meet some of the other girls.

The thing you didn't know; a week ago when you met the supplier at the club, you had also said you were out with a few girls, including Jimin's girlfriend. But she was with Jimin at that time. And Jimin was with Taehyung. And she knew nothing about any plans to go out.

So when you said there was a movie night tonight, he asked around and found out that was also a lie. He wanted to trust you. To trust that it wouldn't be as bad as his worst fear. Still, the more he thought over how you lied to him, the more he worked himself up, getting himself into a paranoid and anxious state. Until he found himself tracking your phone, following you to an unknown house.

Seeing you half undressed and with someone he considers an enemy, his anger and jealously turns to pure rage. It only taking a second for the scene in front of him to confirm his worst suspicions.

Unleashing his gun he shoots wildly at the supplier. Reason slipping from him completely.

Barley able to avoid being hit, the supplier dives behind one of the sofa chairs. Nearly being riddled with the showering of bullets.

Wrapping your hands over your head, you cover your ears from the explosive sounds. Still firing, and keeping the supplier pinned, Taehyung storms at you.

"Tae-" you start. The gun empties, but Taehyung couldn't care less, tossing it aside. All of his attention focused on you.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" He growls through gritted teeth. His hand flying down smacking your cheek, slapping you back into the sofa. "How could you do this to me?!" He screams, his voice wavering from the emotion in his question.

"I can explain," You ignore the burn on your cheek, running your hands along your body, trying your best to cover and redress yourself. You never wanted him to see you like this, and the look of betrayal in his eyes is stinging your heart more than any slap could. "I-," you begin with no next word coming. There's nothing you can tell him. Not while the supplier is right here.

Taehyung's anger aside, you're terrified to think what him being here means. Namjoon's plan is completely derailed. And Taehyung attacked the supplier, creating an entirely new problem. You're not the smart one. You have no idea what to do or how to fix this.

Where the hell are Jin and Namjoon?

Taehyung is so fixated on you that he doesn't see the other man charging from the side.

"Look out!" You scream. Only it's a second too slow. Taehyung doesn't have time to react and the supplier swings a ceramic table ornament at his head. The shattered fragments raining over you, as your boyfriend is knocked to the ground. The shoe of the imposing man booting into Taehyung's torso.

You dive towards them, driving your body weight into the supplier to separate the two men. Pushing him away as his heel scarcely misses Taehyung's face.

He stumbles back a few steps and straightens up, nodding and pursing his lips with a look of revelation. Seeing you spring to Taehyungs defence revealed much more than you had intended.

While you're attempting to help Tae upright, he quickly shirks you off and lunges at the other man diving through him and dragging him to the floor. Fighting for dominance and survival, the two men break into a brutal fight trading blow after blow as they struggle to overpower the other.

While you're relieved to see that Taehyung is the more skilled of the two, and mostly has the upper hand, you're mainly sick with worry. The ramifications of this will play out beyond this simple fistfight.

All you can do is get Tae out of here for now, and hope that the supplier hasn't realised that this was an attempt to kill him. Maybe if you're really lucky he will only think of it at face value. A cheating girlfriend and her jealous boyfriend.

"Tae," you grab his arm, dragging him back with resistance. "We have to get out of here. Please,"

He drops the supplier's collar, who falls back limply. Turning to you he has blood pouring down his face from a cut on his cheek. Intensifying the cold look in his eye.

"We? What we? Don't you wanna stay here with this piece of shit." He snarls, standing up.

"I can explain after." You tug him again. He can hate you all he likes later. But first, you have to get out of here. "Please," you beg for his agreement.

Staring harshly, he retreats from you. A pained look in his eye that cuts you more than any blade could. Anger, hate, rage. You could handle all of it. But there's so much hurt and sadness on his face. It's nothing you ever wanted to be responsible for. It's more than you can bear.

"Tae," you hold your hand outreached, gingerly approaching him. He doesn't withdraw further, allowing you to rest your hand on his cheek. Your heart breaking further as he leans into your touch. Resting in your palm for comfort like an injured puppy. "I promise, baby, this isn't what it looks like." you coo, "I love you so much,"

His eyes close, his face scrunching in anguish. He wants to believe you so badly. To forget everything he has seen. To take you home and never let you go. He may be the first person you let love you, but for him, you are the only person he ever let himself love.

Turning, you use his softening demeanour to lead him towards the door. But the supplier pulls your attention. Neither of you were paying him any mind and standing in the corner of the room he's pulled his own gun from hiding.

Reacting without a thought you shove your back into Taehyung, covering him. Guarding him.

At the same time, a shot rings out and the bullet hits you. A painful, sharp sensation piercing through your torso that makes you stumble back. Losing your footing you fall into Taehyung, your body never hitting the ground. Taehyung catching your weight, lowering with you. Resting you on his legs.

Taehyung grimaces in pain, his hand wrapping his own side momentarily. The bullet went clean through you and cut his side before flying into the wall behind the both of you. Dismissing his own injury, he leans over your body, ripping off his shirt and pressing it and his palms into your entrance wound. Trying to slow the bleeding.

Looking up at Taehyung with tear-filled eyes, you're in shock. Every breath you take is sore but other than that, your body is numb. Your hands clinging to his, all you can think is that you wished you knew what to say or do to lessen his panic. The sweat on his forehead rolls into the cut on his cheek causing the blood to drip further down his neck and chest. The fear and worry in his eyes exposing what you can't see or feel. That you're losing a lot of blood.

The supplier comes over the top of you both. He presses the barrel of the gun into the back of Taehyungs head, forcing him to crouch lower over you.

"I was searching for a reason to annihilate Namjoon and his pathetic crew. Thank you for giving me one." He digs the gun down harder. Taehyung growls, baring his teeth in frustration. "Too bad we didn't get to finish what we started though, Y/n. Oh well." He smirks, cocking the gun for additional effect.

"I love you," Taehyung whispers, the finality in his voice breaking your restraint, tears gushing down your face.

"I-," you can only begin.

Another blast rings out that makes both you and Taehyung jump. The supplier's body goes heavy and plummets to the ground, smashing through the glass coffee table beside you. Glass shatters everywhere as he falls down dead, blood pouring out of his head, collecting into a pool.

"Fuck sakes." Namjoon sighs from the living room entrance. Standing with Jin, both looking over the destruction with disbelief.

"Hyung," Taehyung calls out, his voice raspy and on the verge of tears. "Help." He looks down at you, your face pale, your limps drooping as the blood loss is starting to make you dizzy.

Namjoon opens his mouth readying to scold his brother, but he quickly stops himself. His own faults glaringly obvious at this moment. Jin removes his belt, wrapping it around your waist he fixes it tightly, making you whine in pain, keeping Taehyungs shirt pressed to both sides of your wound.

"Can you carry her?" Jin asks his younger brother.

Namjoon passes all of you, walking toward the lifeless body of his enemy, shooting another round into the back of his head with a frustrated look in his eye.

Taehyung nods at Jin with wide, panicked eyes.

"Then bring her." Namjoon turns with a flick of his head gesturing to follow him.

Jin supports Taehyung as he struggles to get himself and you to a standing position. Finding more strength once he is upright, lifting you into his arms as you whimper and moan weakly.

"Taehyung-" you start, your words sounding breathless and weak. "I'm sorry," you whisper.

"Shh baby." He hushes you. "Don't worry about that now."

He gets you into Namjoons truck, laying you down the length of the seat. As Namjoon speeds to the hospital, Taehyung sits in the back, his legs under your head. Holding firm against your bullet wound while petting your head.

Jin takes Tae's keys and follows you in his car. Already calling a cleanup crew to get rid of the supplier's body. Trying to salvage what he can of the bad situation.

"Namjoon," you call out. Even as your mind is starting to slip into unconsciousness your worry over the family is consuming your focus. "the plan. Can you fix the-" you breathe heavily running out of air.

He looks over his shoulder, guilt overtaking his expression. Nodding with an affirming grunt.

"Plan? What plan?" Taehyung muses, the shock steadily drifting away. "What is she talking about, Hyung?" One look at the blame on Namjoon's face and it clicks into place. "What did you do?"

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this." Namjoon reasons.

"Are you kidding me? You organized this?!" He snaps, "How the fuck could you risk her like that?!"

"It was supposed to be easy. She wasn't meant to get hurt-"

"Well, clearly she did!" Taehyung roars, his hands bunching into fists.

"I'm sorry, Tae. I wanted to help." You whine, lifting your arm up to touch his chest, trying to soothe him in any way.

"It's okay, baby. I know you did." He coos kissing your forehead, Taehyung's rage immediately subsiding towards you. He takes your blood-drenched hands in his and kisses them lovingly. Kissing down your forearms, pressing your hands to his head in agony and want to have you closer. Wishing he could absorb your pain and suffering.

Returning his wrath to the leader his voice lowers, coming out like ice. "We're gonna talk about this once she's okay." He snarls, "And know, I hold you personally responsible for every second she's in pain."

Looking in the rearview mirror, Namjoon nods solemnly. "Yeah, I do too."

Luckily for you, you recover quickly, and no permanent physical damage was done. But the damage that was done to Namjoon and Taehyungs relationship, the repercussions caused for Bangtan, and the fall out from the supplier's death... well that's another story entirely.

#bts #yandere bts #bts fanfic #yandere #bangtan #yandere bangtan #yandere taehyung #bts reactions #mafia bts #mafia bangtan #bangtan mafia #mafia taehyung #mafia namjoon #mafia jin #bts smut #bts smut reactions #kim taehyung #kim namjoon #kim seokjin

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crispyjenkins · 3 years

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Can we get a fic where Jaster somehow gets sent to the future or something and him reacting to the clones? (Being pissed off that his ad would do something like this to these poor kids/ just reacting to them?)

(this one was so. fecking. hard. to write, i’ve been struggling with it for weeks, but i’m glad i did, because this is by far the best version i made of it. it’s interesting in how much my opinion of jango’s decision to be the template has changed since i first got this ask, and i was definitely coming at it with this post in mind for their characterisations here.

i love hondo. so you get hondo knowing jaster from pre-civil war days, and i don’t care if canon disagrees: hondo ohnaka has been terroising house mereel for three generations.

also i’ve already had a few people donate to my ko-fi and i’m completely floored by your kindness and generosity, and i sat down with this fill knowing i wanted to get it out as soon as possible. i sincerely love you all, i hope you’re all healthy and being as safe as possible.)

Alt+R to Quick Reblog on Desktop, Hold the Reblog Symbol to Quick Reblog on Mobile

“Oh, Jango? We keep him here.” —Lama Su, AotC

By some will of the Ka’ra, it’s Boba that finds him.

The possibility of dying in his ad’s arms hadn’t exactly crossed Jaster’s mind until it happened, like a nightmare he had never even had. For the first time since the Fett farm burned, Jaster cursed the Ka’ra, and he curses them again when he wakes up not marching* to the stars, but standing knee-deep in the snows of Galidraan

And the Ka’ra make sure he knows it’s Galidraan though he had never been there, just as he somehow knows Jango is long-since dead. That he is a dislocated bone in the universe, snapped out of time and place and thrown into a future where Jango’s face stares at him from a body that is not his.

“Oh,” the teen with Jango’s nose says, the snow coming all the way up to their thighs, and they don't look dressed nearly warm enough for this biome. “Did Hondo send you?”

Jaster blinks at them. “Did...? No, ad’ika, I have not spoken to Hondo in many years.” Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised Hondo is even still alive, Maker knows Jaster’s tried to kill him enough times himself, but if the number of years since his death on Korda Six is as many as he thinks it is, surely someone would have shot him by now.

The teen doesn’t wear beskar’gam —it’s unlikely they’re even old enough to— but the style of the armor they do wear cannot be inspired by anything else, just reminiscent enough of evaar’gam that Jaster can’t help comparing every little detail about them with the faded image of Jango in his mind.

“Then who the kriff are you?” They eye Jaster warily, left hand twitching towards the vibroblade at their hip.

Promising to strangle every one of the Ka’ra when he can finally march away, and throwing the last of his caution down to the snow between them, Jaster simply says, “Jaster Mereel.”

Impossibly, though maybe not entirely, not-Jango doesn’t laugh at him, or call him crazy, or even try to shoot him with the rifle slung over their shoulder. No, they straighten to their full height, and—

And swear so colorfully in Huttese that Jaster knows this hell-child has absolutely been raised by Hondo Ohnaka.

Boba takes him to the ruins of Kamino first, where the kriffing Sith Empire has destroyed another one of his people’s homes.

The growth labs were all blown into the ocean by imperial ilk soon after the formation of the empire, but the barracks and some of the training rooms still stand above the waves. In the ship he says belonged to Jango, Boba steers them to a dilapidated landing pad, controlling the Slave I (Maker, had Jaster really left Jango to that fate?) far too easily through the rubble for this to be his first time to return, and Jaster tries not to think about what that means.

Walking the dark, grimy white halls, seeing the narrow bunks and bare req rooms, he then tries not to think about a child being raised in such a place, about hundreds of thousands of children being raised in such a place. How had Jango... chosen this for them?

“I only have his stories,” Boba tells him quietly, when he shows Jaster the tiny apartment the Kaminoans had given them to “keep Jango close”. It’s bigger than most captain’s cabins, to be sure, but it is just as plain and white as the rest of the facility. “But he couldn’t even get one hundred Mandalorians to come and train the... clones.” He shuffles his feet uncomfortably as Jaster looks into the cupboard-sized kitchen and tries not to break down at the package of Mandalorian chiles rotted away on the counter. “Everyone else was New Mandalorian or Death Watch.”

“And the rest... they fell at the Battle of Galidraan?”

“Buir always called it a massacre,” he looks away. “Only a handful of the Cuy’val Dar even considered themselves True Mandalorians, buir was there when the Jedi killed the rest.”

Jaster inhales deeply, takes a few moments to steady himself, and is sickeningly, horrifyingly relieved. By the Maker, but knowing Jango had had no one left before his Kamino contract, that not even Skirata followed the codex anymore, that Jango had only taken the job after forcing Tyranus to give him an unaltered clone, makes Jaster guilty for having doubted his foundling. It doesn’t excuse anything, of course, but knowing Jango had done it all for aliit, well, it does make it easier to swallow.

Boba leads him back out of the apartment, he had already stripped it of anything important years ago, and they don’t stick around after reboarding the Slave I. Only after they’re out of atmosphere with hyperspace coordinates for Tatooine in the astronav system does Boba join Jaster in the tiny galley with a bottle of tihaar that Jaster should probably reprimand him for, but won’t.

“He tried to pretend he didn’t care, about the others,” Boba says and doesn’t even bother to find them glasses, “I think some days he even believed it.”

“He always was stubborn as a rancor.”

Boba takes a long pull from the bottle before passing it across the table. “Tyranus scared the shit out of me back then, he was too... put together, too fancy. Buir didn’t like him, I don’t know why he even did the tryout for him, the pay wasn’t even that great?”

Rubbing his left eye until he sees stars, Jaster stares down into the bottle until he can come up with a way to explain core Mandalorian beliefs to a child that had barely a decade of living as one before that, too, had been taken from him. “If Jang’ika took that job intending to come out on the other side, I’ll kiss whatever Vizsla is left.”

Boba’s mouth twists and he kicks his heels against the floor, not waiting for Jaster to hand it to him to grab the tihaar back. “Buir was an idiot,” he says, like the solve to a simple math problem, and Jaster can’t but agree.

He sighs. “Unfortunately, he probably got that from somewhere.”

“I mean, at least Montross didn’t live long enough to end up as the template? Kriffing fuck, can you imagine if the Jedi had had to work with that shabuir’s clones?”

“Maybe the war would have ended sooner,” he muses and accepts the bottle, “surely this Emperor would have tired of his face much sooner than Jango’s.”

“Or the Coruscant Guard would have shivved Palpatine in his sleep and tried to take over the Republic; what’s one betrayal of your leader to another?”

“Then I’d like to think Jango would put him, them, in their place for a third time.”

Snorting, Boba pushes to his feet to, presumably, check on the autopilot. “If buir would have even let it get that far, then I’ll kiss Vizsla.”

“Old friend!” Hondo shouts as soon as he sees them, and Jaster winces, nursing his first hangover since his twenties.

“Ohnaka,” he returns, and pretends he doesn’t notice the subtle way Boba brightens as Hondo comes to clap them both on the shoulders.

The old pirate just chuckles and starts to steer them both back across the hangar bay to his latest junk ship. “I heard you died, Mand’alor,” he says casually, like the title isn’t cursed to the ka’ra and back, like it hadn’t been three decades since anyone had dared call someone from his house such a thing so sincerely.

“I did.”

“I found him on Galidraan,” Boba offers. “Is that why you told me to go?”

Hondo scoffs, and Jaster would say he was flustered if he didn’t know him better. “No, I told you to go because Aurra had a job for you, that you seem to have forgotten about in your haste to bring my long lost best friend back to me.”

Boba scowls. “Aurra wasn’t at the meeting place, laandur, it was a kriffing mynock chase and you know it.”

Jaster side eyes his old “friend”, and wonders again about his preternatural... luck in all things pirate-related, despite being a boisterous mess of a man most of the time. If this Aurra had even been on the planet when Boba got there, Jaster will kiss Vizsla twice.

Mando’a: Ka'ra — an ancient Mandalorian story, ruling council of fallen kings, “stars” ad — “child”, gender neutral 'ika — diminutive suffix, similar to the suffix “ita/o” in Spanish. generally used only by close family and friends beskar'gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy evaar'gam — lit. “youth armour”, fan name for the interim armour/garb Mandalorians would have worn before building their kit of beskar’gam buir — “parent”, gender neutral Cuy'val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones aliit — “clan”, “family” tihaar — Mandalorian strong clear spirit made from fruit shabuir — an extreme insult, mostly accepted in fandom to be an insult of an individual’s ability to parent (from buir), which is an intrinsic part of Mandalorian psyche and identity laandur — used here as “weak”, “pathetic”, but is usually used as “delicate”, “fragile”

*in reference to the Mando’a word for the dead/deceased “taab'echaaj'la”, or “marched far away”, best explained in the Mando’a tribute to dead comrades, “not gone, merely marching far away”.

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nootgi · 3 years

Text

Love? - Kaeya

A/N:// I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS FIC WHILST I WORK ON MY OTHER REQS, I MAY HAVE CRIED A LIL WRITING THIS! I apologise for this story too T^T

Word count: 3k

“What’s love?” Kaeya paused at the question, his paperwork left forgotten on the table.

“Isn’t that a big question~!” He teases Annette, ruffling her hair. She puffs out her reddened cheeks and tries to move away from his hand, pressing Kaeya for an answer.

“Have you ever heard the phrase curiosity killed the cat? Though I suppose a baby like you wouldn’t know at such a young age.” He laughs, picking up the glass of grape juice to sip from. No alcohol around the children is what you strictly ordered when Kaeya decided to take Annette to work. For something like take your daughter to work day.

“I’m 6! I’m not a baby and mother says it’s good to be curious.” He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face at her words. That sounds very like you. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree he muses as he looks into Annie’s eyes, they hold the same wild innocence yours do. She has her mother’s eyes.

“Very well then, let me tell you a story.”

It was early April and the Windblume festival was coming to a close. The celebrations, despite coming to an ending, still kept the streets lively. Most of the people of Mondstadt were recovering from a hangover from last night’s heavy drinking but still had smiles on their faces. Kaeya was going for a stroll, to distract himself from the thoughts building in the back of his mind. He looked down at the plaza from where he stood, watching the clean up. It always felt bittersweet, taking down the flower garlands that hung from the buildings or rolling up the green carpets that lined the steps. He didn’t know how but he came to love Mondstadt so much... Well actually he did know. They accepted him for who he is, with all of his flaws and lies, Mondstadt and its people held a part of him he didn’t know he had. His family. And in that moment as windwheel aester petals blew from above, Mondstadt gave him something he’ll always be thankful for.

“Here’s a flower for our cavalry captain!” You cheered, holding a cecilia flower in front of Kaeya’s face, snapping him out of his thoughts. You snuck up on him, attacking him at his weakest moment with a smile. Even though Windblume was coming to a close, you kept the festive cheer. You were handing out a variety of flowers to everyone in Mondstadt to spread the joy and love to everyone.

“Such beauty handing me a flower, what did I do to deserve this.” He smirks at your momentary panic, ducking down slightly to be face to face. He takes the flower and smells it, hiding his smile in it’s petals. You scold him for saying such cheesy things to someone he just met. It was funny how even though it was your first meeting, your personalities fit perfectly as one.

“Don’t you ever feel embarrassed by saying those things?” You adjust the flower that was tucked behind your ear.

“The only embarrassment I feel is that I have nothing in return for this lovely gift.” His hand comes up to fix the flower, tucking it perfectly behind your ear. The white petals glowing against your skin. That one encounter set the tradition of Kaeya and you giving presents back and forth every year during Windblume. Even as the years went on, the present stayed as a simple cecilia flower as an ode to that first meeting.

“He didn’t believe in love at first sight. You could say it was only something that existed in fairy tales for plot convenience. It takes a lot more than first sight to fall in love but he swore that moment could’ve been it.” He looks back at the child who now climbed into his lap, she placed the red blanket over the two of them to make sure they were both comfortable. Her eyes were fixed on Kaeya, watching with eager eyes to hear more. He holds her close so she doesn’t fall off his lap as he continues his story.

“Love can be the best feeling in the whole world but it can also be the worst.”

Kaeya stood in front of the crowd of kids with an odd look on his face. It wasn’t one you were used to seeing on his face, it was the look of utter confusion. You walked over to find out what was going on but decided to listen to the conversation first.

“Sister Barbara said you’d be entertaining us! But this is boring!!” One of the kids said, the others around him nodding and some going far as to cheer. Kaeya didn’t know what to do. He was bad with kids, he couldn’t be mean otherwise Jean would have to deal with the complaints and he most definitely couldn’t use his usual lines. As he tried to think of something to do the kids started to chant ‘let’s play!’ and that’s when you finally decided to enter.

“Hey there Captain! Need some help?” It was like an angel coming down from the heavens, he swore there was even a halo around your head. The kids, already knowing you, cheered at your entrance. Kaeya watched as you calmed the kids down, getting them to eat lunch and successfully buying time for the two of you to plan something to entertain them.

“How’d you manage to get into this then Kaeya?” You approach him after giving the last child some apple juice.

“Jean would normally do this but since it’s been a while since she spent time with her sister I decided to volunteer.” That stunned you for a moment, you heard stories from Amber about how Kaeya always seemed to avoid work and formed an unfair opinion of him in your head. You felt guilty because of those thoughts, you saw how he struggled with those kids but still put himself out there for the sake of Jean and Barbara. “But let’s not tell Jean that.”

“Would it be so bad for Jean to know the truth?” You ask plainly, ignoring the way Kaeya said the last part of his sentence.

“Well-” You didn’t even let him finish

“I think the problem you have Kaeya is that you’re too closed off, children are so open and trusting that the only way to get along with them is to do the same.”

“That can’t be done overnight let alone in an hour (Y/N).” It was the first time Kaeya said your name and it sent shivers down your spine. The very thought of opening up felt dangerous to Kaeya, the last time he opened up the last of his family left him in the dust.

“You’re right in that area but we can take baby steps!” You weren’t deterred by the tall walls he built around himself. You used the word ‘we’. We can take baby steps. That’s all that lingered in Kaeya’s mind, it was like an informal promise from you to him that you’ll be beside him for that journey.

“Then where do we start, captain cheerful?” You roll your eyes at the nickname but gesture towards the children.

“We start with them.” That day was one of the best days Kaeya had since his childhood. He never thought hide and seek could be so thrilling or that duck duck goose could be so intense! The kids were more than happy to embrace Kaeya and his awkward aura, teaching him of super secret tactics that no-one would ever know. He found himself learning more about the children and about himself. At times when he feels his guard going back up, he glances over at you and sees you playing with some of the quieter children, bringing them out of their shells. Your smile blended in with the childish joy of the kids around the two of you. Sometimes your eyes caught each other's and you both just shyly laughed it off as kids pulled the two of you away in different directions. It was hard to catch a moment to talk to each other until you took the kids to watch the sunset by Cider lake. Most of the kids were settled on the grass, sitting crossed leg and talking about all the fun they had that day. One of the boys shyly tugged Kaeya’s leg, asking to be carried since his mother always did it for him. He looked towards you for help but you just gave two thumbs up, encouraging him. He carefully picked up the boy, letting him rest on his hip and one arm securing his waist. The boy rested his head on Kaeya's shoulder, using the fur on his shoulder as a pillow to slowly doze off. Kaeya stood still. He didn’t expect the day to go like this let alone carry a sleeping child too. You patted Kaeya’s shoulder to reassure him and the rest of the sunset was spent with whispered words exchanged between the two of you. After such a successful day, the two of you decided to take the kids once every week off of Jean’s hands.

“Love didn’t make him become a better person magically but instead motivated him to strive for that. She inspired him to try and be a better version of himself. It wasn’t like she was perfect either, they both worked on themselves whilst inspiring each other. That’s the good side of love Annie, but there is a bad side too…” Annette saw Kaeya’s eyes darken a little and she moved her small hands to rest on top of his larger ones to comfort him.

All Kaeya saw was red. It started off as a light hearted exchange between some treasure hunters that the two of you came across during an adventure. They used the typical story of their cart breaking down and needing help so they could lure adventurers into a trap before robbing them blind. Kaeya already knowing this tried to shut them down before anyone else could fall victim to them. He was going to only use his words since he didn’t want you getting hurt in the crossfire. He knew you could defend yourself but it was too risky with the amount of numbers they had on them, no doubt there were more of them hidden. However his words only seemed to provoke the treasure hunters more, they struck to attack him but the crossbow went astray and hit you in the shoulder instead. It could’ve been a simple flesh wound or a small cut but even the tiniest amount of blood from you sent him off. The area started dropping in temperature, the floor stable floor below the men started to turn into ice and there was a still moment as a singular snowflake drifted down onto the floor. Once it hit the ground, there was a flash and its delicate crystals were stained with blood. Kaeya stood over the last one with his sword raised to crash down on him till you came from nowhere to hold back his arm.

“Kaeya! Stop this!!” You begged him, looking at his side profile and trying to avoid looking at the bodies that surrounded the two of you. He couldn’t hear you, all he could hear was your scream when you got hit and had tunnel vision.

“Please stop, you’re scaring me.” You sobbed softly, finally catching his eye. The darkness that clouded his eyes faltered as he put down his sword and embraced you. The man that was on the floor scrambled up to his feet, apologising profusely before running off with a terrified shriek. Kaeya could care less about what he did, he could only think about you now. He felt your shoulders shake from the fear or maybe from the sobs that escaped your body. His heart felt as though it dropped to his stomach, he hurt you. He scared you. When his hand came up to pat your head, you flinched away. It still sticks with him to this day, your tear stained face and eyes filled with fear because of what he was. He hated himself after that day, he felt as though he was back to square one.

“It can lead you to dangerous things. You could disregard everything and everyone around you and ironically hurt the one you were trying to protect. But you can control all these negatives by simply talking about it with whoever you love. Never run away from it.”

“Did the lady leave him after that?” Annette asked with tears in her eyes, not wanting to see such a tragic ending for the love story.

“No she didn’t. When he ran away, she chased after him. She was really stubborn and cornered the poor man!”

After the incident, Kaeya was put on a suspension from his job. The people of Mondstadt didn’t know any better, thinking it was him taking a small break from his work. Kaeya doesn’t know why Jean kept it a secret but decided to roll with it. He took his suspension as a time to withdraw from you, it was scary how quickly he became so attached to you. It was dangerous for the two of you so he decided himself to end whatever went on between the two of you. When you woke up the next day, you found out about Kaeya’s suspension and tried looking for him to talk things out. It was an impossible task since Kaeya seemed to become air whenever he saw you approaching or when you ask people about his location they all gave different answers. It annoys you to no end. He saves your life and then decides to remove himself from your life. Like hell you’d allow that. So you hatch a plan with Rosaria.

It was a Thursday night and normally Kaeya would be holed up at work but with his suspension he decided to go to the angel’s share. Rosaria said she would be there in the back corner on the second floor, she told him that she would drink with him since it was boring to drink alone. He arrives earlier than Rosaria and decides to start drinking before she gets there, ordering a bottle of dandelion wine and slowly sipping on it. Minutes turn into hours and before he realises it’s closing time and he isn’t nearly as drunk as he would like to be. Rosaria was a no show and the tavern was completely empty. That’s when Kaeya realised he was caught in a trap, he had nowhere to run as you slowly approached him. You had a really angry look on your face. It was one look, he hates to admit, that scared him. You say nothing as you seat yourself across from Kaeya.

“F-fancy seeing you here (Y/N).” He offers with a meek smile.

“It really is an odd coincidence huh? It feels like it’s been a while since we talked.” You smile, but it isn’t reaching your eyes. That night you both talked about your feelings and cried with each other. Kaeya tells you things he never imagined telling you, about his self-hatred and how he feels as though he doesn’t belong. How the guilt eats him up everyday. You in return comfort him through it all, you might not have much to say back to him but that’s okay because just having someone listen to him was more than enough. Especially if it was you.

He was walking away from your doorstep after dropping you off home when he was stopped by you.

“No matter what happens Kaeya, don’t make my decisions for me! I’m a grownup and I told you all those years ago, WE will take these baby steps together.” You say seriously, holding his gaze with your fiery eyes. As he looked up at you, he felt his heartbeat pick up and a terrible realisation came down on him. Oh.

“I promise.” He was in love.

“When you love someone Annette, it isn’t all black and white. You have to work to keep your relationship going, when something bad happens you talk about it, celebrate the small wins alongside the big ones. At moments you can feel lost in love, know you aren’t alone in this world. And once you find that special person, never let them go.” He pats the girl’s head as she brings her hand up to rub at her sleepy eyes.

“Would there ever be a moment you would let go of love?” She asked innocently. As Kaeya opened his mouth to respond, the sound of the door opening interrupted the two of them.

The two look towards who came in and suddenly all the sleepiness in Annette’s body seems to leave her.

“Mommy!” She shouted excitedly, jumping into your open arms. You lift her up and spin her around as she giggles happily. Kaeya watched the exchange with fond eyes, standing up to walk towards them.

“So what did you do today?” You ask, it seems like an innocent question but Kaeya knows it's you checking to see if the two of you got up to any devious acts.

“I learnt about love!” Annette says proudly, she holds her hands against her hips and proudly puffs her chest out. Kaeya laughs softly, as you turn to him with a curious gaze.

“Oh really? Who taught you?” Diluc walks in behind you, laughing softly at Annette. Annette notices his arrival, reaching out for him to take her off of you. She laughs when Diluc tickles her sides as he adjusts his grip on her.

“Uncle Kaeya!” Her red hair bounces as she turns to point to Kaeya who was standing a few steps away from the family.

She had her mother’s eyes and her father’s hair.

‘There can be a moment Annie. Sometimes there can be a moment when you realise another person can make them happier than you ever could but I hope from the bottom of my heart that, you, my dearest niece will never experience that.’

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact kaeya #kaeya x reader #diluc #Kaeya #f!reader #kaeya alberich #fluff #angst #nootieml #genshinml

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lesferatu · 3 years

Text

Just some thoughts on second chances that I wrote the night of the CR campaign finale but forgot to post till right now. As such, it is a reflection on the campaign before the wrap up and I really don't feel like going through it to see if my opinion changed after the wrap up, so here ya go.

Spoilers for character arcs through out the campaign and episode 141 (as well as a Long Post) below cut

The Mighty Nein campaign has been a story of second chances and living beyond your past while staying true to who you are. And love...lots of it.

Fjord was a sailor who followed more than he lived for himself. Vandren showed him how to be a sailor and how to be the man he grew into and, in the end, he tried to become Vandren. Fjord's second chance came twice with a sword and a patron. His first second chance was a false start but one that let him reach his true self through trial, error, and struggle. His second second chance was a much softer beginning; surrounded by friends who loved him for all he was and could be, with a Goddess who cares at his back and a purpose of his own choosing to drive him. He found someone who loved him for who he was, not how he presented himself to the world.

In the end, Fjord is still a sailor but one who lives and loves on his own terms and fjorges his own way.

Jester lived a sheltered life but one full of love and chaos. It was never bad or one not worth living, but for her it was incomplete. Her mother hid her from the world with good intent but it left her naïve of the true nature of the world; books can only teach you so much about life and often it is a romanticized version. Jester's second chance came of her own making early on and yet took a long time to come to fruition. She locked that man on the balcony and, in the end, was shunted into a world she knew about in theory but was clueless of in practice: the real story her books were based on. She spent the campaign becoming disillusioned with the idea of story book love and life and yet found a real love and life along the way.

Jester never loses her love of romance, stories, and fantasy but found the truth in them all the same that made life real.

Yasha lived a life given and taken from her against her will for many decades. Her clan dictated so much of her destiny that, when she chose to find her own pocket of happiness within it, said destiny was ripped from her along with that happiness. That loss became the chains that a new given destiny used to bind her against her will once more; her mind was taken as well as her life so that no pockets of happiness could be found again. Yasha's second chance came with Mollymauk, then the Mighty Nein, then Beau; choices upon choices that given destiny tried to take once more but, in the end, free will won.

Yasha lost so much because of love–or rather because of other's reaction to said love–but love saved her in the end. She loved so hard, she found her own destiny, broke the chains that held her, and now her pockets of happiness are overflowing.

Beau's life was one of bucking the system and ignoring expectations. She was forced to live her father's regret and fear and rebelled hard against both. Her rebellion got her trapped by the system she tried to escape. That system taught her much and yet, when she was let loose from it, she rebelled once more. Anger and snark can only get you so far and, in the end, it was love and learning that got her farther. She thought her fists were her best quality but her mind was as sharp as her strikes and tongue. Once she let herself use it to its fullest, she cut through every mystery in her way. Beau’s second chance came through her friends and understanding how the world wasn't always out to get her and, when it is, it is possible to fight it in a way that changes the world and doesn’t just spite it. She grew into a friend, a lover, and a revolutionary; she went her own way and the system had to struggle to keep up with her. Closure she didn't know she needed was given to her but her second chance was something she made herself.

Beau is still angry and rebellious but she has a true family and influence to back it up. She allowed herself to be soft and it made her strong.

Caleb life was forged for him through pain–his own and others–and manipulation. He was naïve in a destructive way; loyal and trusting to a fault...but to the wrong man, the wrong cause. His trust got his parents killed and his life ruined. He didn't want a second chance–didn't think he deserved one–but one came to him anyway in the form of a wild group of chaotic idiots and love in many forms. It came in the form of his friends, of a chance to right wrongs–though not his own for the longest time–and in seeing himself in another and offering the forgiveness his new family offered him. It came in the form of an unexpected fight and a legal battle, both fought with his new family at his side. He got revenge for his old self, his old family and loves.

Caleb is not Bren–not truly...anymore–but Caleb can live with that. He found his purpose in making sure that no more Brens have to become Calebs and finding forgiveness and love–however bittersweet in the end–with his narrative foil and the friends who dragged him to redemption.

Veth is another who's life was taken from her. Yes, eventually by death but first by bullies. She was made to hate herself by the cruelty of society and, though she found love and happiness through that, she never let herself be all she could; she could only see what she was not. And Nott she became and she hated Nott. But love saved her; not love for who she used to be, nor who she could be in the future, but who she was right at that moment. It was the love of her friends, her husband, and herself that saved her. Her second chance was finding her way back to her first, but with an understanding of who she truly is; brave, true, smart, and a great mother.

Veth was Nott but she was not...not and by finding the truth in that statement, Nott became Veth. Veth chose the soft life once more in the end but this time of her own volition and it was her found courage that allowed her to do it.

Caduceus is another sheltered soul but this time of his own choice, though he didn't really think of it that way. He thought he needed to wait for someone to tell him his purpose and he thought someone had when grieving chaos fell upon his doorstep. He helped them find vengeance and closure and that could have been it, but he stayed, sure that he was supposed to. In doing so, he found his family twice–both metaphorically in the Nein and physically at the Menagerie– and found both his purpose and his choice. He led another to salvation just by being himself and a good friend. Caduceus's second chance came by figuring out his given destiny was given by himself, by the adventure he found along the way, and the chosen purpose he found in the end.

Caduceus is the favorite of the Wild Mother and the best friend anyone could ever want, and he chose to be so by following the first chaos he found.

Essek life was, sadly by Dynasty standards, his own; he was not a lost soul given life once more but a new one given power. Knowledge was his driving force and it led to the ruin of many; He wasn't allowed to do what he wanted...so he did what he wanted anyway and it inadvertently started a war. He was okay with that, truly, until the Mighty Nein stumbled into his life and suddenly he was very much not. It was not a betrayal really–though he was definitely guilty of treason–but it was the loss of the Mighty Nein's trust that he feared the most and felt the most when he finally lost it, however briefly. He thought he has lost the only true family he had but really he had found a life to live. His second chance came when he chose to live that life.

Essek's life wasn't given to him so he took it for himself and it ruined him...but love built him back up and showed him that it was better to live life to change than it was to wallow in guilt.

Molly's life, in itself, was a second chance, though not one asked for by Lucien. He forged forward and made it his own. He loved and he created and he left everywhere he went better than when he got there. We never got to see the true end of his new start. Life is not always fair and not every second chance works out in the end...that is, until the end of Lucien. Molly fought to make his new life his own and how dare his original self try and tear down his progress!

Molly's second chance was cut short when he died for his friends and he died once more helping his friends make sure his first chance didn't ruin it.

Kingsley's life, again, was an enforced second chance, though one Molly would approve of. Molly didn't dwell on the past and neither will his brother, his new self. Kingsley saw the love in the Mighty Nein's eyes and never questioned it; all he asked was that he could learn it on his own. He woke up to chaos and love and he embraced it. Molly would have never wanted to be dwelled upon in a way that stifled change and Kingsley lived that. Kingsley's second chance came in the form of a new life and a new coat, but the same friends. He grew into his own self before learning what was taken from the group he had learned to love. The Mighty Nein could have seen him as Molly, could have tried to force him into the hole in their heart and he probably wouldn't have blamed them, yet he was Kingsley in their eyes and he loved them all the more for it.

Kingsley's life lives true to Molly's ideas of the past: forget it and continue forward and live every second of it to the fullest. His second chance is in the works but he's not hesitating for one second.

The Mighty Nein were a group a fuck ups from the start; barely contained chaos which changed and grew and erupted at every turn. They were volatile at the beginning yet as ride or die as any adventuring party should be. They did not experience the world separately but as a team; each second chance a member got–whether it was sought after or not–was a chance to learn and grow together and grow closer. Their second chance came when a leetle teifling girl walked over to engage with a smelly man and a “halfling” and a purple man and an angel convinced them all to go to the circus

They will always be a chaotic bunch of assholes, no matter how far apart they travel, but now they are a family and nobody can take that from them.

#critical role #jester #jester lavorre #fjord #yasha #beau #caleb widogast #yasha nydoorin #beauregard lionett #caduceus #caduceus clay #essek theyless #mollymauk tealeaf #mollymauk #Kingsley

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kaibutsushidousha · 3 years

Note

If the v3 cast were Masters, which Servants would they summon who has the highest compatibility with them ?

Akamatsu and Amakusa

Amami and Nursery Rhyme

Iruma and Caligula

Ouma and Nightingale

Ki-bo and Kotarou

Gonta and Bedivere

Saihara and Arjuna

Shirogane and Gilgamesh (Caster)

Shinguuji and Medusa

Chabashira and Xuanzang

Toujou and Queen of Sheba

Harukawa and Jason

Hoshi and Dantes

Momota and Mandricardo

Yumeno and Nagiko

Angie and Douman

Explanations under the cut in case you're confused, because you probably are.

First off, Twitter people might be wondering why so many choices are different from what I chose for this thread. Obvious consideration for who is normally summonable aside, the main thing I kept in mind here is that compatibility summon comes in two flavors. Pattern A is a hero similar in nature to Master (Sakura and Medusa, Ryuunosuke and Gilles, etc), and Pattern B is the hero the Master needs for the personal struggles of their character arc (Pepe and Ash, Erice and Voyager, Elsa and Arash, Jinako and Karna, etc). Pattern B is always more interesting than Pattern A, so that's what I'm using for all my choices. Now let me go over them one by one.

1. I say things will be different from the thread and immediately break the promise with Akamatsu. Akamatsu relied a lot on Saihara's brain to build her plan, but their relationship was never one of mutual trust because she knew Saihara would agree to her harsher and more definitive methods. The hero Akamatsu needs is someone both competent and like-minded. Someone who shares her earnest will to save everyone and willingness to use more extreme methods for it. Amakusa is the Servant for her.

2. For Amami, I'll go with Nursery Rhyme. Much like Raikou got Nursery in the Heian Singularity's Imperial Grail War as the emotional crutch daughter figure she needed, Amami gets an emotional crutch little sister figure to help him reunite with the twelve he lost. This pair would be interesting because it'd subvert Nursery's usual MO of simply forcing others to reconnect with their inner child. The whole reason why he lost 12 sisters is that his passion for seafaring and exploration distracts him from what he's supposed to do. Her role as the villain of the Santa Nightingale event shows she can be harsh when children are being neglected, so Nursery would be the force pulling Amami back on track, but she'd have to balance that with allowing him to enjoy himself to preserve his childish love for adventure. He'd be a tough and delicate case for our Hero of Children.

3. The hero Iruma needs is... anyone who tolerates her, really. My first thought was Karna, but he's about finding value where no one else does, and Iruma has her share of undeniable value, so I think he isn't the best choice. Their pair would be a watered-down version of Jinako's pair anyways. Fate/ actually quite scarce of Servants defined by being all-tolerant because that's a trait they push more on Fujimaru, but two examples that come to mind are Romulus, the man who loved all of Rome (read: human civilization) in both its sins and achievements; and Caligula, the man who went crazy trying to do the same. Romulus is too OP to help Iruma tone down her ego, so I'll go with Caligula.

4. Ouma is a hard case. He needs someone he can absolutely trust and finding one of those is a huge challenge. The only ones Ouma has expressed full trust to were Gonta, because he was unquestionably good and weak-willed enough to never stray away from Ouma's instruction without asking first; and chapter 5 Momota, who was in circumstances so complicated that he wouldn't dare to throw away the chance Ouma's script offered. Ouma is the kind of paranoid control freak who would intentionally go for a Berserker because even the ones who speak are single-minded in a way that makes them easy to plan around. The alternative would be someone so like-minded in methods and standards that he'd probably hate them but still trust as someone who thinks the same way he would, but only BB fits that bill and she's not normally summonable. With that card off the table, the only options Ouma has left are Berserker he can trust to never kill anyone ever, and the only Zerk valuing life this much is Nightingale. BB's fellow nurse, amusingly enough.

5. Ki-bo would be offended with Alaya if he summoned a robot or homunculus just because he's a robot. And he also wishes for a partner that will treat him as an equal without denying what makes him different as a robot. In short, he needs a human Servant that is used to have normal relationships with robots. But Chen Gong or Red Hare because they're too evil, nor Orion because he's too crude. That leaves us with robot Danzou's human son, Fuuma Kotarou.

6. Gonta's wish is to become a true gentleman his human family can acknowledge, and for that, he needs the example of someone who is both well-mannered and of noble heart. Bedivere is an easy choice.

7. As I mentioned a few times before around 2017~18, I strongly think the best thing about Saihara is his interactions with Hoshi. Saihara is a guy feeling eternally guilty because he made one "good guy" murderer pay for his crime and he tries to make up for it by forcefully validating Hoshi's mass-murdering of the mafia. Then in Fate/, we have Arjuna, an all-around excellent man who adamantly believes himself to be evil because he did one dishonorable thing once. Saihara is the stubborn validating Master Arjuna needs to make him understand that he is not the monster he believes himself to be.

8. The first thing about Shirogane is that she really doesn't like reality, especially when it concerns herself. She can't muster any interest in the boring, plain girl she is or the boring, plain world she lives in, so she makes a hobby and a job out of becoming someone else, a larger-than-life figure in a fictional world. She loves all Danganronpa characters but expresses greater adoration towards Junko and Kamukura, the most unreal the series has produced. Enter Gilgamesh, the Hero King with the comically large ego and literally all Noble Phantasm to satiate Tsumugi's craving for a break from reality. That said, Gilgamesh has the recurring hobby of playing therapist to a Master disconnected from their own self and is the franchise's greatest symbol of the willing departure from the Age of Gods into the Age of Man. As much as he fits her tastes on a surface level, he's the guy who transitioned the flashy world of fantasy she dreams of into the plain world she hates, and he'll use most of his free time to the same on a personal level for her. The Caster version is being specifically picked because Archer has childish beef with modernity, and Caster is intentionally making his arsenal more limited and unimpressive, which is self-demonstrative of the points he wants to make to Shirogane.

9. One of his Free Time Events has him explaining why Medusa is his favorite myth, and I definitely can't claim to know this shit better than him. Deep emotional attachment to a story can net you a compatibility summon, as Kiara is there to show, and Shinguuji gets bonus points from how TM Medusa became a monster out of living her life for her sisters rather than for herself.

10. Cute and righteous female Buddhist mentor figure who does martial arts. What else could Chabashira ask for?

11. Toujou takes self-worth from serving big important people with utmost perfection, so she needs her Servant to be a king or similarly important leader. But she also needs it to be a support Caster so can properly invert the Master-Servant relationship and personally fight the enemy Servant for her king. The only characters in the middle of the Venn diagram of kings and support Casters are Medea and Sheba, and Medea wants nothing do with the royalty life anymore, so Sheba it is.

12. The role of the hero Harukawa needs is already properly fulfilled by Momota in the story, so I'll go with Jason because he shares all of Momota's strenghts and flaws. He's someone who'll force her to be part of a team, relentlessly encourage her break out of her shell, and have a shitty personality she can never fully respect, making the relationship balanced. And things would go even smoother with Jason because his summon comes with Atalante, who is someone Harukawa can easily relate to.

13. Hoshi needs someone who would assure him of his choices and make him comfortably reconnect with his past like he did with Saihara in his Free Time Events. As practically the face of the Avenger Class, Dantes defines himself as an ally and guardian to the ones who were wronged and lashed out in less than virtuous ways, so he's a perfect fit.

14. Momota is too aware of himself as the protagonist of his own story to want a hero. He would instead want a loyal sidekick or a like-minded rival. Voyager is a good sidekick option due to his fit with Momota's wish for greater adventure further beyond, and is a Servant Momota mentions in his Free Time Events, so there's the emotional connectional to his story there. For a rival, a big name adventurer like Drake or Odysseus could work, and so could a wandering warrior like Musashi. But there's one option that fits both roles: Mandricardo. Rica has the adventurer experience necessary to eventually compete with Momota, but also Saihara's level of self-esteem, allow him to start on the sidekick role until Momota pulls him out of it and shapes him into a proper rival.

15. Like with Harukawa, the role of hero Yumeno needs is already fulfilled by Chabashira in canon, so we know what she needs is someone with high energy and a deep understanding of emotions. And Fate/'s biggest connesieur of human emotion is none other than our Kiyohara no Nagiko.

16. Angie is a complicated case because she doesn't react well to being disobeyed. My first idea for someone with a functioning partnership with her is a knight, but knights generally work on the premise that their king is selfless and righteous, which Angie isn't. There are people like Lan Ling, Liangyu, the ninjas, Mori or Okita, who submit their lives to anyone's authority, but for that same reason, they wouldn't help Angie improve. What she really needs is someone good at feigning humility, like Limbo. He wouldn't have good intentions for her Master, but by manipulating situations out of her control without letting her feel like her divine words are being challenged, he can force some level of change on her mindset. It's better than nothing.

#danganronpa v3 #type moon #kaede akamatsu #rantarou amami #miu iruma #kokichi ouma #ki bo #gonta gokuhara #shuuichi saihara #tsumugi shirogane #korekiyo shinguuji #tenko chabashira #kirumi toujou #maki harukawa #ryouma hoshi #kaito momota #himiko yumeno #angie yonaga

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hellonoblesky · 3 years

Text

Happy Saturday it’s past 2am here’s Harbinger Angst. Because I’m up late and I’m havinggg thoughts.

So here’s my hcs about the Harbingers reacting to/dealing with the news of Signora‘s death :)

(CW For like. Mental breakdowns and guilt and general emotional instability because no one is having a good time here. Oh also cussing, anddd some familial angst in Childe’s bit? Also I am so sorry about any misspellings n whatever it is. Very late and I already have two other posts in my drafts collecting dust that are also HCs so.)

Dottore:

So if you don’t follow my art blog or haven’t seen my Harbinger hcs (which are under the process of some change with new info being released and whatnot), you don’t know this but I HC Dot and Signora to be like sorta just evil siblings

Now because death is such a commodity in Dot’s uh… specific line of work, he doesn’t register that Signora is dead until like two days after he hears the news

He picked up the phone (rotary perhaps?) to go call up Signora‘a office to see if she has any good gossip and then stopped halfway through dialing because it hit him that she’s never going to be there to pick up the phone on the other end. Ever.

He usually listens to music when he’s working but with the absence of Signora ranting he has to take up listening to the radio on top of the music

Problem is: the radio doesn’t have the same charm and cadence to it that Signora’s rants did, because normal people are boring and it’s going to drive Dot up the walls if he has to listen to one more commercial or one more anxious ramble about how cool and great the Fatui are from some stupid radio host trying not to overstep the Tasritsa’s favor like she listens to some boring ass radio station in her spare time!!!

HE HATES IT. But is forced to make do because if he shows weakness he will be torn apart (or so he thinks)

So this leads to him locking himself away in his office even more than he already did

Because he was already intrigued by the traveller after their actions in Mond and their victory against Childe, but them beating Signora in a duel before the Shogun? Oh now that kickstarted a whole new line of study

Especially because his only coping mechanisms are Be Destructive and Dive So Far Into Work You Don’t Think so within about three days he has a comprehensive analysis of everything he can possibly get his hands on regarding the Traveler (without interacting with other people) and is about to pass out because he hasn’t slept

Oh and the funeral was absolute hell for him.

Mainly because while he was barely conscious he agreed to play violin at the service and then promptly passed out and forgot about it so he woke up and was hit with the consequences of his own actions in the form of sheet notes

He endured, obviously, he’s not going to back down from playing something at the funeral of one of the few interesting people in the organization, that’s what tools and cowards do and this might be the Fatui but if he’d survived the wrath of dead gods he would make it through this

Went right back to locking himself away after that though

He actually got bad enough that the other Harbingers took notice of his state and MADE him come out of his labs and eat (mainly at demand of the Tsaritsa because she just lost the Crimson Witch as an asset, she wants the rest of her Harbingers in good health god dammit, the Traveler is becoming a genuine threat)

Broke down at dinner a week after the funeral

Swears that if any of the other Harbingers bring it up ever ever again he will kill their bodies and keep their consciousnesses trapped in a machine that he controls forevermore

Really he’s just glad that no one immediately pounced on one of his few shows of weakness

Maybe he’ll risk it again if it means he can cry it out for another hour but he wouldn’t dare say that out loud, won’t even finish the thought

But you know what he will do?

What he does best, of course

Look at an oddity in the world (in this case the traveller) and seek to pick it apart until he can put it back together without looking and still have it work

The only way he can actually get through his grieving is by finding something to take the edge off

And it just so happens that the traveller is a perfect candidate

Childe:

By no means has he ever liked Signora, in regards to personality or method, but her death still hit him

He had to travel back to Snezhnaya for the funeral, and it did absolutely cheer him up to see his family again and get to spoil them all silly, but with a mind whirling with thoughts it was genuinely hard for him to keep a smile up

Mainly thoughts about battle, because that’s really the only way he can interpret the world at this point

Like he keeps thinking about weather the Traveler was holding back with him, or if they had gained the strength to fight off yet another Fatui plot just in the month or so since Liyue? And if they had gained strength, how had they done it so fast? If they’d been holding back against him had he not shown himself to be a fighter worthy of their strength? Had Signora even faced the Traveler‘s full strength?

Overall his head is much too full of too many things, and it wears him out to the point that he ends up sleeping in late enough for his family to actually worry because usually he’s up before dawn training and they don’t see him until the afternoon

But he’s back on track as soon as he can, because the training helps him think, and once he can resolve most of his thoughts (or repress them so they don’t bother him too often) he’s absolutely alright and fine and ready to go! Totally. Fine. It’s fine.

The thoughts were very much There during the funeral, especially as the first harbinger read a (somewhat summarized version) of Signora’s life to the assembly of Fatui

(Oh and Pierro didn’t really care weather or not Signor wanted people to know her life after she died because she was dead now what was she going to do??)

The reveal that Signora had been fighting for the Fatui because her lover had been killed by the actions of the Anemo Archon, and she desired nothing more than to see him again… it got to Childe. It got to Childe more than he’d like to admit

Because suddenly the woman who he had always known as the embodiment of frostbite and frozen barbed wire fencing had someone she had cared about, genuinely cared about, to the point where she had become the Mondstadt legend, the Crimson Witch herself

And she had lost that lover to the actions of a fool of a God

He swore silently to himself that when the Tsaritsa‘s future came to pass he would make a little monument for Signora. Nothing big, probably a plaque on a nice stone where Mondstadt would have been before the Tsaritsa’s success, but a monument nonetheless

This promise was a spur of the moment thing, and later he would be like “Man she was a jerk, lost love or not why did I promise her that?“ but he doesn’t go back on promises

Besides, actually watching Dottore break down in a grief and sleep-depravation induced haze was also something that got to him because of course the two people he happened to simply Hate The Most in the organization were close that makes perfect sense but also wow it is weird to see Dottore cry and it feels Wrong because after murdering and tormenting so many people… Signora is gone and he breaks then??? What the fuck

Avoids most of the Harbingers after that, just heads home to Morepesok to spoil his siblings silly before going back to Liyue

Oh and his siblings can tell something is up, Teucer especially because when his brilliant big brother, the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya, is suddenly struggling to keep a smile even though they’re at home… he notices

Childe’s other siblings are all avoiding the subject, they heard about the death of Signora and all, they just assume the organization is going through it tight now and frankly most of them are a little afraid of him weather they‘ll admit it or not

Not Teucer though, he’s confused just because he still has grasped how Snezhnaya works yet, so he goes ahead and asks anyway

Childe just says he’s sad because he has to leave again so soon! And he hasn’t even been able to take Teucer fishing this time, isn’t that sad?

Teucer can tell that he’s lying

But Teucer is also beginning to sense the danger that lies behind Childe’s eyes, so for the first time? He doesn’t push it or say that they could go fishing now if they hurry

Just a grin and a “Next time!! Promise?” Makes it all better and he doesn’t have to think about why his big brother feels unnerving to look at sometimes

Childe is oblivious to Teucer’s growing awareness

He heads back to Liyue and makes himself focus on work

Scaramouch:

Now he didn’t particularly like Signora either, and didn’t really care about her life’s story, because blah blah blah we get it lady you lost someone, we all did, cry about it or whatever

But he does feel… he feels guilty for leaving her to face the Shogun

He had the Gnosis, he had finished Signora’s mission for her without even meaning to, and he had thought it would be funny to just let her face the Shogun without knowing that

To some extent, it’s his fault she’s dead

And it’s not the fact that she died because he didn’t go get her that weighs on him, it’s that he left her to the Shogun of all things

I don’t know if puppets like Scara can feel things like people and such do, but considering how the Shogun expressed frustration and stress when Ei disabled the majority of her functions, I’m going to assume they can

And because of the meddling of ‘some eccentric scientists’ his emotions are probably toned down a tad but he can still feel guilt all the same

And leaving Signora to the Shogun makes him feel guilty because he and the Shogun are essentially kin

Disowned and disavowed kin, but you know

He may have been able to easily counter the Shogun, or even help Signora prevail in her duel, but he. Ran. Off.

He happens to think that that was very cowardly of him

It causes a spike in his aggression which everyone unfortunately has to notice every time he walks by because the sheer static electricity that snaps in the air when he’s in the room now? Haha. Ouchie

Fun fact: he has no idea how to cope with guilt

He channels ALL of it into SHEER RAGE

Ever seen a couple hundred year old man go absolutely apeshit in the Harbinger‘s shared training arena? Well now you have!! It’s not a pretty sight!!

He’s crying and can’t tell why, which fuels his anger, which fuels stress as a fun side effect which just makes more tears and now he has to snap someone in half because he needs it to stop he hates it here he hates it here he hates it here

And in the beginning the guilt wasn’t even that severe for him, it was just so immensely magnified by his lack of coping skills that he very nearly broke himself down

He tried going to Dottore to get it disabled but Dottore had his doors all locked so Scara couldn’t even get a word through to him

Oh and the funeral was fine with him he just left early because he didn’t want to deal with looking people in the eye at the time because, again, his lack of coping skills with guilt magnified the whole feeling so it was almost unbearable

It’s a lot of fighting and breaking things before he’s able to resign himself to some semblance of how he was

#Genshin impact #genshin spoilers #genshin inazuma #genshin fatui #genshin Hcs #genshin headcannons #genshin signora #Rosalyne-Kruzchka Lohefalter #crimson witch of embers #crimson witch of flames #genshin Childe #Genshin Dottore #it is very late and my brain is abuzz #I have s’more thoughts about the Harbingers and Signora hut I’m already throwing all of this at y’all so #yeah #anyway #sad about her but also where Is Dottore hand him over mhy please

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lillotte17 · 3 years

Text

Tomorrow

Got hooked watching Word of Honor and Zhou Zishu's Sad Face Journeys in episodes 33-34 came for my life, so I wrote a little scene set after the whole Heroes Conference Thing. ...And then Wen KeXing showed up and just...*gestures vaguely* I don't know what happened here. XD

Zhou Zishu sits quietly beside the bed, watching Wen KeXing's sleeping face with an ache in his chest that has nothing to do with his failing body, and everything to do with the fact that he is about to die.

When his shidi had made a miraculous reappearance at the Heroes Conference, his first reaction was gut-wrenching surprise. It felt as though the ground had suddenly dissolved beneath his feet. His heart leaping so high in his throat that he forgot how to breathe. Dizzy with the overwhelming rush of joy and confusion. Uncertain whether to laugh or cry.

But once the shock had subsided, the anger had been hot on its heels. And he wanted to be mad about it. Wanted to take Wen KeXing by the shoulders and shake him so hard that his teeth rattled around in his skull. Wanted to scream and sob and rail against the now inevitably fast-burning candle of his fate. At the unfairness of losing his life just as he had found something worth living for again. Someoneworth living for. For a few moments, the fury had burned so brightly in him he thought it might be enough to kill him then and there. That the fire between his lungs would simply burst his chest open and engulf everything around them in a sea of red.

But when they had caught each other’s gaze, he had seen the apology roiling in Wen KeXing’s dark eyes, raw and miserable, even without a word being said. The apology, and the fear. That same fear Zishu had seen flicker across his face every time he had tried to coax him into confessing that he was from Ghost Valley. The same fear he had seen in him the night Wen KeXing had snuck out of the Four Seasons Manor to intercept Ye BaiYi and tried to prevent him from reveling his identity. And yet again, when Han Ying had died, and he had nearly killed himself in a blind panic trying to fix it somehow. The fear whispered that death was preferable to his hatred. That his blade would be kinder than his revulsion. That Wen KeXing would sacrifice anything to avoid being abandoned once again.

Zhou Zishu was helpless in the face of it; as he always seems to be. The look that passed between them had been fast and fleeting, there and gone again with barely a blink, but it was enough to douse the flames of his anger with a tide of chilling and fathomless grief. The rest of the Heroes Conference passed before him in a daze. Vengeance, and justice, and pride. Wen KeXing blazing in the brightest and truest version of himself for all to see. Dazzling and mesmerizing and impossible to look away from. He does not know if he has ever loved him more, even as he felt his heart slowly sinking down into the pit of his stomach. The numbness of acceptance settling into his bones.

There will be no escape from death, this time.

He had been quiet on the way back to Jing BeiYuan’s Manor. Quiet enough to worry both Wen KeXing and ChengLing, who always seems to see more than he understands. He had listened to their reasons and excuses, and he had done his best to reassure them afterwards, but his own words sound hollow in his ears. The best he could do was to get Lao Wen hopelessly drunk, and pray that it made him less intuitive. The suffusion of elation and hope in the air had nearly been enough to choke him, though. He did not want to rob them of it, but he found he could take part in it either, no matter how much he wanted to. He could not bring himself to celebrate a future he can no longer share with them.

Zhou Zishu understands Wen KeXing. He understands that he is just as abysmal at properly conveying affection as he is himself, if not more so. The man only knows how to protect people he cares for by either sending them away from him or drowning them both in blood. It is how he had managed to survive all those years surrounded by madness and chaos and death. Zishu had done much the same, while he was working in the capital. Hiding all of their softer places far away from where the light could reach them. Playful banter has always passed easily between them, but tenderness is heavier, and vulnerabilities almost impossible to speak aloud. They are both trying to do better, struggling to pull their own humanity back into their hands where it can be shared freely, but Wen KeXing’s hurts are older and deeper. His path back to the world of the living inevitably more winding and complex. He still has not mastered the art of articulating his fears and concerns.

Zhou Zishu’s health was tenuous even before he had been kidnapped and tortured. As much as he hated to admit it, he had been in no fit state to fight an angry mob. Wen KeXing hid the truth from him because he knew that he would chafe at being told to stay out of harm’s way; that they would have argued about it until he was either allowed to participate in the scheme or he was spitting blood and passing out on the floor. Zishu cannot even say that this assessment of his character was a bad one, but it still stung to be kept in the dark, and the hurt was lingering. And yet, however deep the barb of this secret may have landed, however misplaced the caution may or may not have been, he knows without a shred of doubt that Wen KeXing’s deception was born of love, and he can hardly hold that against him.

Especially not now.

Wen KeXing turns his head slightly, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like an extremely slurred version of his name. His expression is smooth and peaceful, his hair a dark fan across the bed behind him. The rosy glow of happiness and alcohol still pinking the apples of his cheeks.

Zishu smiles despite himself. It is much easier to find traces of the little boy his master had planned to take for his second disciple when he looks like this; safe and sleeping and completely at ease for the first time in who knows how long. He wishes he could recall those few precious days they had spent together as children with more clarity, but the memory of it is like a silk brocade left to sit too long in the sunshine, its delicate patterns fading as the colors wash away in a flood of light. Zhou Zishu had been too young to fully comprehend the weight of death when his master had returned from his trip to collect the Wen family without his shidi or his parents in tow. That his master had been sad about it was enough to impact him, but in the grand scheme of things, the wounds to his own heart had been minimal.

What would have happened if they had kept looking for Zhen Yan, he wonders. If he and Wen KeXing had grown up together as best friends and martial brothers and soulmates? Would their master have found a way to soothe Zhen Yan’s rage before it consumed him? Would Zhou Zishu have made the same mistakes with the Window of Heaven if Wen KeXing had been at his side? Perhaps they could have saved each other before things had reached the place they were now. Or perhaps Wen KeXing would have died under Zhou Zishu’s leadership with the rest of their sect, and his failures would have tasted that much more bitter.

He sighs quietly. There is no sense dwelling on things he cannot change. He had been a child, and just as powerless to save Wen KeXing from his fate as the boy himself had been. Feeling guilty about it was meaningless at this point. It was enough to have him here and now. Enough that they had had any time together at all. Enough that Wen KeXing had fallen off of that cliff and somehow still managed to walk back to him.

It has to be enough, because it is all they have. All they can have. Even if he wants more.

“Ah Xu?”

The voice is thick with sleep, but marginally less inebriated than before.

“Mn,” Zhou Zishu hums in acknowledgement, his gaze shifting slightly to watch Wen KeXing blink himself back into wakefulness.

“You didn’t go to bed?” he asks, bleary and swaying slightly as he attempts to sit up.

“There is someone in my bed.” Zishu points out archly.

Wen KeXing looks murderous for a few seconds until he realizes that the person in question is, in fact, himself. When the clouds break, his expression immediately shifts to one of insufferable satisfaction. He leans precariously off the side of the bed, robes and hair both hopelessly askew.

“I am always willing to share everything I have with Ah Xu,” he declares with feigned sweetness.

“How kind of Philanthropist Wen to make a present of what he stole from me,” Zhou Zishu snorts, “Your generosity knows no bounds.”

“Ah Xu!” Wen KeXing objects. “How is it stealing when you gave it to me freely? You think I would come to your bedroom with the intention of sleeping?”

“I’m sure I don’t know anything about your intentions.” The reply is given with a smirk, but his eyes dart away from him. “You asked me to drink with you, but the jar you brought was empty. Besides, I am thinking about giving it up. I have been told that it is bad for my health.”

“Aiya, first Ah Xu accuses me of being a thief, and now he tells me such scandalous falsehoods!” Wen KeXing shakes his head, attempting to seem wounded despite the grin on his face. “I already accepted your punishment earlier, there is no reason to be cruel.”

“Who is a liar here?” Zhou Zishu inquires laughingly, gesturing back and forth between them. “Which one of us is the most scandalous?”

“It’s me, it’s me,” Wen KeXing acknowledges, his head bobbing up and down in agreement, “But Ah Xu, you cannot expect me to ever believe that you would willingly give up drinking good wine with me? And as for not understanding my intentions, well…I believe that even less.”

“Was your intention to make sure I could not get any sleep?”

Wen KeXing only smiles at him widely.

“…I regret asking such a question,” Zhou Zishu chuckles, reaching out to lightly slap the side of Wen KeXing’s face in both fondness and chastisement. “Ask a shameless man a question and you are sure to get a shameless reply.”

Wen KeXing grabs hold of his hand before he can pull it away, leaning into it with a sigh.

“What is so shameless about it at this point?” he wonders, something soft and shining igniting within his gaze. “Living together. Dying together. Watching as our hair turns gray with old age. We’ve already promised to share these things, haven’t we? Why give me your bed when we could share that, too?”

Zhou Zishu takes a long look at him. At the dark hair spilling across his shoulder in disarray. The front of his robes just rumpled enough to expose the elegant line of his throat as well as part of his collar bones. The flush of his cheeks and the promise burning in his eyes.

He cannot deny that he wants it. Even knowing it might make things more painful later on. He wants to be selfish. He wants to be greedy while he still can. While he can still hear Lao Wen calling for him and feel his skin beneath his hands. His sense of taste and smell have gone already, but can still see him, and that could be enough. More than enough.

But will it be enough for Wen KeXing?

This is the last thing they have to give each other. The last pieces of themselves they have been holding back. Mostly because there simply had not been time for it amidst the chaos swirling around them. It always seemed as though either their lives were in danger or one of them was injured. Up until now, even Zishu had been optimistic enough to assume they would have time for it later, though. Time to use physical intimacy as an almost second meeting. To learn how they need each other in the quiet and the dark. To learn the ways they can be gentle, and the ways they can be fierce. To burn each other up in desperation and desire.

It seems too heartless to have it be a farewell instead.

Zhou Zishu lets out a long breath.

“…Not when you are drunk,” he says quietly.

Wen KeXing blinks at him in astonishment, eyes blown wide and round as saucers, clearly expecting a flat-out rejection.

A moment later, the blankets have been hastily flung aside, and he is staggering off of the bed has fast as he can. Which, as it turns out, is not very fast at all. Zhou Zishu easily catches him with one arm, lightly pushing him back into a seated position.

“Lao Wen, where do you think you are going?” he laughs.

“I need to sober up,” Wen KeXing explains, looking so serious about it that Zhou Zishu cannot help but reach out and pinch his cheek. Lao Wen slaps his hand away, his expression mulish.

“Don’t pout,” Zishu scolds, still chuckling, “It is too late to be staggering around someone else’s house. With my luck, you would drown yourself in the fish pond, and then BeiYuan and Wu Xi would be terribly put out.”

“But Ah Xu, if you won’t let me leave, and you won’t share the bed, just what do you want me to do?” Lao Wen complains. “Even if you don’t want to have sex, you should at least lay down and rest properly. I want you to get well as soon as possible.”

Zhou Zishu’s mouth stiffens slightly.

“I know.”

Wen KeXing’s brow furrows in concern. He reaches out a hand, long fingers hovering just above his heart, when Zhou Zishu catches them tightly in his own. He is not certain if Lao Wen could glean the truth about his condition from his pulse while still tipsy, but he is not about to run that risk tonight.

“Are the nails bothering you again?” Wen KeXing asks, doleful this time.

“No.”

It is not a lie.

“Then come to bed,” Lao Wen cajoles, using their joined hands to tug him closer, “I promise not to molest you unless you ask me to.”

Zhou Zishu makes a sound of grumbling disbelief, but still allows himself to be pulled down next to Wen KeXing. The bed is big enough for two, but only just. Lao Wen retrieves the formerly discarded blankets from whatever corner he had toss them and bundles them up together like two caterpillars in a single cocoon. His face is close beside him on the pillow, warm breath fanning the side of his neck. An arm drapes loosely about Zishu’s waist, and he turns his head slightly, intending to shoot a warning glare in the other man’s direction.

This is a mistake.

Wen KeXing’s eyes are dark and intense in the moonlight, half closed with either sleep or desire, it is hard to say. His lips part slightly as Zhou Zishu turns to him, and the hand draped around his waist clutches faintly at his robes as if on instinct. Both of them seem to have forgotten how to breathe.

“…Ah Xu, you can kiss me, if you like,” Lao Wen whispers finally, so soft it almost seems like a dream.

“What makes you think I want to kiss you?” he means it to sound teasing, but it comes out in almost a sigh.

“Because I want to kiss you,” Lao Wen replies matter-of-factly.

“I never thought of you as a pillar of self-restraint,” Zhou Zishu huffs.

“I promised to be a gentleman.”

Zishu closes his eyes and lets out a deep, soul-rattling sigh. He is almost glad he cannot smell the oils Wen KeXing uses in his hair or the trace of alcohol on his lips. The proximity is staggering enough all on its own.

“…It would not stop with a kiss,” he admits aloud to both of them.

He does not open his eyes again, but he can feel Wen KeXing’s body tremble slightly as he laughs, and that is almost as bad.

“Ah Xu, I would hardly complain,” he replies, testing his luck by shifting close enough so that their foreheads are lightly touching. “But you want to rest, and I want you rested, so it is no great loss, either way. You will still be here with me tomorrow, after all. There is no need to rush these things. Sometimes, a slow spring is sweeter.”

“Yes,” Zhou Zishu manages to reply around the lump lodged in his throat, “I will still be here tomorrow.”

#Word of Honor #Wenzhou #wen kexing #zhou zishu #fic #this was supposed to be all angsty #but they are SO EFFING FUNNY #it's so fun writing their banter #askdjghasdfgk #i am sorry #i have no idea what emotions this actually conveys at this point #i just work here

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the-wintershade · 3 years

Text

the difficulty of your own soul

pairing: loki x reader summary: a ball just happens to bring you two closer and the thought of really giving this a chance crosses your mind, but everything alters again when the past always inevitably catches up to you. wc: 4.0k+ genre: angsty, warmth, intensity, past trauma masterlist

for you anon, even though I couldn’t get it out sooner. thank you.

“What are the stakes?”

Your father’s angry cries shredded through the pounding rain, easily cutting through the battalions of water droplets falling through the sky, imploding against your skin.

“When will you learn that the life you have will always be at stake? Everytime you leave your house, everytime you walk away from a safehouse, get into the car, or walk down the street your life will always be in danger.” You could see the tightening of his lips, the frown of a snarl forming, the verbal insults ready to be unleashed in your direction.

Shivers coiled up and down your spine. Your hands were clenched tightly against your arms to try to huddle for warmth, staring up at your paternal figure like a coward.

That wasn’t completely the truth. You were an inferno coiled to spark, but pretending to be weaker than you really were always gave you an advantage. He taught you well, so well that he didn’t even notice his own daughter playing back the same hand he revealed just a few months ago.

The shaking was real. Your body temperature was dropping fast. Your clothes were nearly ice and your teeth almost cut your gums because of the clattering.

The situation was bad; the side sweep your father just gave you, worse.

You saw the dagger before you felt it against your neck; it was right about then that you suspected something was wrong. Even if he believed that you were lying, he wouldn’t threaten you to this degree.

This had to be preparation for something worse, whatever that could possibly be.

Metal slightly pierced your skin, a small tear opening for a small amount of blood to dribble out. You frowned, the cold tension in your body dissipating as adrenaline began to take over. “What are you doing?” The words were shaky, but you caught the bite at the back end. Still not ready to wave the white flag, not even close.

Then, he laughed. Laughed.

No, this was wrong. This was a training exercise, five laps around the garden in the rain, dagger throwing, archery, and then sparing. This was the final sequence.

You were still a teenager, he never pushed you this hard until you were well ahead, obviously capable of handling more advanced weaponry and techniques.

You were still too uncoordinated to hit targets in the rain. You couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Too young, too young for the reality of death quite yet.

“Something I should have done a long time ago. You’ve failed me, made me believe that you had potential.” Pain flashed across his features, as if he was about to regret his next decision, regret what he would have to do. If the knife gave you any indication, you knew you wouldn’t want to figure out what that was going to look like. “I cared about you, (name), but you’re not enough. I was so foolish to bring you here.”

He never sounded like that. Never sounded that soft except for once in your life. Your blood ran cold and you froze where you laid against the ground. “Dad, stop. Think for a second.”

“Give my own advice back to me, huh?” That’s not his, it was hers, a woman you wouldn’t meet until two years from now. He gazed at you with somber eyes and a heavy soul, a soul you stared right into. “Sorry, kiddo.”

And then you were six years old, chained against your will to his leg, wobbling along at his beck and call.

It was raining again, although when you remembered his hand in yours, walking you across the street, there were no chains involved. Lightning cracked but you stayed firm, assured that your dad would be there to protect you.

When you’d crossed the street, he’d stopped your progress, bending down to help tie your shoe. As he looked up, you’d smiled at him, in awe of your superhero dad. He’d smiled right back, those dark orbs a vacuum you frequently felt lost in.

You tried to shrug your leg to get free of the chain and for a second, just a moment, his face morphed into a monster, a creature with dripping black skin and totally black eyes that had no beginning or end.

He looked angry, so incredibly angry that you felt fear for the first time in being chained to this man, this foreigner.

And that’s when it all came together.

The intelligence in your six year old mind reminded you to smile and suddenly your father’s face morphed back into view. You placed a small hand against his check, maintaining your loving grin in the process and then you’d reverted back into your sixteen-year-old self, staring at the same monster.

The chains appeared just as they had before.

You kept that one hand — now remembering how this story ended — placed on his cheek. The knife lowered and the world around you began to swim with darkness. It didn’t frighten you, this was how it normally ended, and you kept your eyes steady on your father who began to change into ashes.

The chain around your leg disappeared and instead a red brand formed where it left, flashing the same red of your father’s dissipating form. He looked confused and concerned, turnt around on a rare occasion, but you willed him to look at you even as his face disintegrated into dust.

Then you sat, no emotional response, just emptily staring at the pile of red ashes in front of you, feeling them call to you, knowing that no matter where you went those chains were still going to be pulling the strings, burning the brand on your skin until you submitted.

No matter how hard you tried, no matter how hard you would attempt to be free of his chains, no matter how much you struggled to get rid of them, you would still be that little child, soaked in the rain, staring the devil in the eyes.

The eyes of your darling father.

…

“...have you?” You shake yourself out of the events of last night, ignoring the way your dream father’s black eyes felt like nothing, how empty they were, how devoid of anything human.

You weren’t paying enough attention to know what Fury just asked you. “Can you repeat the question?” You gazed at him, expectant, and aren’t surprised when you see irritation mirrored back at you.

“Something else more pressing at the moment, agent?” Fury props himself against the wall and crosses his arms, his long trench coat scuffing against the ground. You fight to stay present.

A smirk — similar to the ones a certain someone would pass off at you — captures your face and you look at the files again on the table, trying to play off how shaken up you are about the dream, the look of despair on your father’s face as he began to vanish, how guilty you felt that you couldn’t have done better. Been better.

Clearing your throat, you take another look. “So, the fake isn’t going to be there tonight?”

“Oh no,” He says matter-of-factly, tilting his chin up. “It’s going to be there, but the version that Loki’s seeing is going to be the fake.” He walks closer, propping his arms against the table while you start memorizing exits, ventilation vents and access points, and various security systems the building has. “Which brings us back to the same question: do you have his trust?”

You fight down the shot of anxiety flaring in your core. You could give him a version of the truth. To be honest, it’s not likely that he trusts you fully, even if at all, but he does trust the idea of you going to the event and you would bet money on his attendance.

There’s trust in the event and that’s where trust begins anyway, in the small things.

“I’m getting close.” You close your eyes as the rebuttal you were already expecting comes right at you.

Fury glares at you. “You’re telling me that we’re about to risk an asgardian superpower getting their hands on the tesseract and causing world destruction all on the fact that you’re ‘working on’ getting his trust? I don’t know about you, agent (last name), but that doesn’t give me full confidence.”

“He’s pretty fickle, hard to pin down.” You glance in Fury’s direction and meet his stare head-on, one of the first time’s you’ve done that this whole time. “But we have an understanding. I’d have no problem betting my entire savings on the fact that he's going to this event, and I’d be willing to bet that there’s no way he’s going to attempt a grab at the tesseract. You know why? I’ll be there and I’m his date. A SHIELD agent is his plus one for the evening. He knows that no matter what trust we have, it’s not strong enough for him to be able to get the tesseract and leave the building.

“I’m positive that this is just reconnaissance. He’s trying to figure out who has it, what their plans for it are, and how he might be able to acquire it. But it won’t be tonight.” You watch as Fury shifts, leaning back. You know you’re out of hot water when he looks down his nose at you.

“Okay, agent. I’ll buy the story. But the moment you even suspect that he’ll make a pass for it, buss a cap in his narrow behind.”

You smirk. “As always, Director.”

…

There was no way you were ever going to consider the possibility of shooting Loki. Not ever. And that idea should have probably scared you more than it did.

Because that meant that your interests were divided and if your father ever reinforced anything, it was the dangers of your soul and your mind being split. The soul guided the mind in all decisions, it was it’s determining force, it’s guiding will.

When your guiding-will laid anywhere outside of the parameters of your assignment, it was likely you would end up being killed.

And no matter how much that advice should have concerned you, it didn’t. Death didn’t really scare you. Not like before. Not like when you were just that little girl at sixteen.

Death tasted like freedom and the promise of freedom was enough.

…

You step out of your car, a slim heel glimmering against the lights of the party. Using the handlebar overhead for balance, you allow one slim heel to tap against the ground.

The anxiety within you pulses for a moment, but you keep the appearance of calm on your face, another half-truth. You were almost getting too good at those. Almost.

A man appeared next to you, offering his hand to help. “Good evening, miss. Welcome to Mr. Williamshire’s estate.”

You coyly smile and slip your hand into his, letting him steady you. “Thank you, sir.” You reply, kindness sweating your words. Your gaze lifts to the marble staircase you’ll need to walk up, anxiety churning again. It doesn’t look too daunting.

Your eyes wander for a second, looking at balconies, escape routes, the hedges near the windows, the drapery hanging off the side of the building. Fury warned you to stay on your toes, but your father’s training had already taught you that. Plus, if things go south, you’ll need a quick get away.

Pretending to steady your nerves, which is less of an act than you make it seem, you shift your face from anxious to calm. The man who came to help you falls for it. “Don’t worry, miss. Plenty make it up the stairs just fine. If you’d like, I can provide an escort for you.”

Laughing softly, partially for keeping up the charade, partially because there’s no way in hell you need an escort, you flash him the game winning smile. “Thank you, but I think I’ll manage.” You place your keys in his hand and slip him a $40 dollar tip. “Take good care of her for me.”

The man nods along, a professional smile on his face, and slips into your vehicle.

You grasp the bottom of your ballgown, pulling the material away from your legs as you make the flight of stairs. Your thoughts shift to the evening, wondering where you’re going to sit, if Loki’s even going to show up, and when the tesseract is going to be unveiled. A churning activates in your stomach and the tightness in your face isn’t fake.

Finally, you make the landing and stride in head held high, a small smile plastered on your face.

The landing is enormous and the building much more spacious than you gave it credit for. A double staircase would lead you down an open dance floor, a grand chandelier casts sparkles all over the room, and a band plays a melodious jazz tune. There’s entertainment rooms to your left and right, some containing cards, some billiards, and some assorted backroom deals shrouded in secrecy.

It makes sense for money this old to have the luxury of hosting a ball, but it still doesn’t fail to blow your mind. Perks of the job you suppose.

Deciding taking a seat would be best—it’s almost time for the ball to officially commence—you tread down the stairs, walking over to the tables set in the next room and search for your name. You find it, seated next to someone named Matthew Lexington, whoever the hell that is. Glad to be off your feet, you take a seat, letting yourself rest and reset, taking in the details of the room, the number of couples, the susceptibility of someone being another agent.

The time passes slowly for a few minutes and the nagging anxiety of Loki failing to show up keeps gnawing at your core. You try to let it go.

Then, the chair next to you moves.

You force yourself to keep your head still, letting the person sit down without an oogiling pair of eyes staring them down.

“Worried I’d stand you up?” A silky voice says right next to you. You roll your eyes almost immediately.

“Matthew Lexington, really?” You spare a glance at him and realize you probably shouldn’t have, he looks dashing. His dark suit makes his eyes stand out more.

He gets a better look at your dress at the same time you look at his suit. “I didn’t think you were the glitter type.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Hmm.” He nods his head, softly smiling. “It suits you.”

You nod and give a smirk, looking at him through your eyelashes. Are you still acting? “As does your suit, though I admit a pocket square would have tied the whole look together.”

“Oh-ho.” He laughs and puts his hands up in the air. “Do I hear critique, and right after I completed how you look in the dress?”

“We can’t all be perfect, Mr. Lexington.” You take a sip of the water in front of you and shoot your eyebrows up in a teasing smirk.

He glances away from you, chuckling to himself slightly. “I admit, I was starting to get nervous when you took a little while to show up.”

“Fashionably late a new phrase for you?”

“Absolutely not, but I assumed with your job that you’d be someone that values punctuality.”

“Before I had this job, I was a regular woman. I knew the tricks of the trade like the back of my hand. Being fashionably late is practically a rule.”

“Fair point.” He spares a glance around, watching as people come in to take their seats.

“When’d you see me?”

“When you first came in.” His eyes are still moving for a second before they land on you again. “I was in a sideroom, trying my hand at blackjack when you made it up the staircase to the landing.”

“Hmm.” You nod, trying to search for another thing to talk about to keep you distracted from his eyes. “So, where’d Matthew Lexington come from?”

“Oh, just an alias from a few years ago.” He sips his water, putting his elbows on the table. How improper. “It comes in handy quite often.”

“Ah. I assumed you used it to help with the seating arrangement.”

“What?” He says in fake shock. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You think I’d actually believe that this was a coninsciendence.”

“How about a happy surprise?”

“Whatever.” You chuckle and notice a mass exodus from the dance floor to the banquet area you’re in right now. “Looks like the show’s about to start.”

“It would seem you’re right in that, miss (last name).” A tingle shoots down your spine involuntarily.

…

The opening remarks are...cute. That’s all you’d really give it. It was really one of the driest things you’ve heard in a while, but you tried to act interested. Really, you’re buzzing, swimming with electricity.

And it all, unfortunately, has something to do with the special someone sitting to your right.

You readjust for the second time. If you sit like this any longer your butt is going to fall asleep. Loki smirks in your direction, his eyes sparkle and darken. Uncomfortable, he mouths, an eyebrow shot up in the air.

You glare back in reply, sliding your eyes back to the speaker as they make their final remarks. Loki’s small chuckle colors the dark beside you.

As the speaker closes, you both politely clap and you stifle a yawn.

The guests stand with stiff legs and bones pop and crack. Men offer their hands out to their ladies guiding them out to the dance floor. The couples that were seated with you at your table stand.

“Well, I think we’re going for drinks, care to join us?” The woman remarks turning to stare at you and L-Matthew. You press your lips together in a small smile. “I think I’ll stay here as a lookout,” you chuckle to yourself, a mere gesture of politeness, “but I appreciate the offer.”

She nods in acknowledgement and looks expectantly to Loki. “Oh, no, thank you. I’m with the lady.” You feel his gaze hover to your back for a second before looking at the woman in front of you.

She smirks knowingly, as if aware of some inside joke or secret. “It was lovely meeting you two.”

“Same to you.” You sincerely reply.

You nod good-bye to each other and watch as her and her husband walk away. Stifling this next yawn takes effort.

“Not enough rest, huh? That nervous to see me?”

“Oh, please. Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Lexington.”

A small smile flutters across his face before his signature grin takes over. “So, Ms. (last name), what’s on the agenda tonight, yawning notwithstanding.”

“You know, Mr. Lexington, I think I’m going to have a chat with some old friends of mine.” You up your pitch and darken your tone, as if you were old royalty.

Loki’s stance changes a bit as if he were expecting something different. His eyes flutter to the dance floor for a second before looking directly at you.

“If you would like to make your way to the dance floor, by all means, Mr. Lexington, don’t allow me to stop you.”

“Oh no, I’m the abandoned lover, remember? My charm rests in my ability to play my part well. I’d be able to pick up a partner in no time.”

Lover, huh? The thought of you being his...significant other...flashes in your mind for a second, just one. You could almost see it, almost see the smiles, the banter, his pearly teeth smoothing into a grin, the way your eyes change when you look at him.

No. You’re stronger than this. You’re stronger than your emotions.

You’re stronger than him. Are you?

“If I were to assume that I were your long lost lover in this situation, was my judgement wrong?”

Something shifted in him as if he’d just registered what you’d said. As if he could see the same thing you just saw a second ago. He looked at you coyly with less edge than you were used to. “That would be,” he swallowed for a second before the smile returned. “Correct, Ms. (last name).”

“Well, if you hadn’t noticed Mr. Lexington, we’ve been speaking all of this time.”

“Yes, that’s an accurate observation.”

“So, how would you describe your current predicament to future partners?”

“Easy. You’re cheating.”

“Ah,” You nod along. Always like him to make something out of nothing. “Of course. It only makes sense.”

“See,” he nudged you softly on your shoulder. “You’re catching up just fine.”

Your breath hitched for a second and the playful smile on your face drooped. His body heat began transferring through the thin sleeves of your dress and you’re very aware of how close you two are. It takes a strong amount of mental effort to stay calm and remember who you are.

“I try.” You utter but it lacks the confidence you had just a moment ago.

The air around you two changes for a moment, much more serious and intimate than just a moment prior.

The both of you stand, together, shoulders pressed against each other, the closest you’ve been in days. You allow yourself two breaths, enough to savour the moment, enough to get a taste of what this could really be like, and then you step away, clearing your throat.

When you turn to Loki, his face holds a combination of deep regret that you’ve never seen before. “Well, I must attend to my friends. I’m sure I’ll see you soon, Mr. Lexington?”

“Ye-Yes.” He nods but he’s distracted. “Of course, my lady.” His smirk is dull, fleeting. You want to ask more, but he’s already moving away from you. You accept his departure as your cue to make your way over to Stark’s Investor.

…

Stark’s investor is nice enough, gladly extending the invitation to allow you to view the tesseract. This was already pre-arranged so their offer comes as no shock to you. What does come as a shock is the amount of times you and Loki have made eye-contact from across the room.

You knew he was watching you — you’d recognize the sense of those darkly beguiling eyes pressing into your back anywhere — but you didn’t expect to want to watch him. It was like your eyes were drawn to each other, listening to your own respective party for mere seconds before your eyes met like lightning, like magnets.

It was exhausting for you, because manning a conversation while distracted is already hard enough, but staring at him and not getting lost was a whole different ordeal. Worrying about him was new too.

Even worse, how was this all going to play out when you were supposed to be in the same room, viewing the tesseract at the same time. Would you even address the staring, would you just ignore it, would you try to establish something deeper out of this. The options were too diverse to understand now.

Your eyes meet again and a tingle rushes down your spine, a heat jolting through you. He stares more directly this time, refusing to look away. You turn for a second to look at the investor and then back to him whose eyes never moved. You see his lips curving into a smirk. What a dork. You’re just about to stick out your tongue — how unlady like — in return before you spot a figure just behind him.

A figure that you’d hoped you’d never see again.

Not in this lifetime or the next.

What gives her away is the red hair, always the red hair twisted into curls that runs down her back.

And then it’s the way she walks, sauntering with a confident arrogance.

Your blood hasn’t run this cold in a while. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Loki pivot to spot what you’re seeing.

By the time he looks back, you’ve excused yourself from the Stark industries investor and are already making your way toward the door.

…

#mirage #wintershade #loki fanfic #loki fic #Loki Laufeyson #loki laufeyson fanfic #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki/reader #loki/you #loki x reader #loki x you #loki layfeyson x reader

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goddessofmischief · 3 years

Text

Blue Monday, Chapter Six - Loki x T.V.A.! Reader

Chapter Six: Blood and Blade

...Asgard, some years ago...

“Amora!” teenage Thor shouted, tossing her a sword. “Train with me!”

She grinned, picking the weapon up and obliging, while teenage Loki glowered on the sidelines. He hated seeing them together, because he could always hear the whispers that accompanied it, even if there weren’t any.

They’re perfect...

He loves her...

She’ll be queen, someday...

Trying to breathe around the lump in his throat, he reacted, too distracted by his own pettiness to have care for anything else. And when he reached out his hand, the sword Amora was presently using to pin Thor to the ground transformed into a serpent.

“Ow!” she shouted, stepping away from it. “What?” asked Thor. “What, what’s wrong?” She shook her head.

“Nothing, it just... it bit me.”

Thor kicked the snake away, and she laughed, slightly, waving her hand over the bite on her arm and using magic to remove the venom.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, putting his arm around her shoulders. It was a brotherly action, Loki conceded. He saw that now. There hadn’t been anything between them, at all.

“Yes,” she said, smiling, slightly, her face trembling. “Yes, I’m fine.” Thor still looked confused as to what had happened, and Loki prayed that Amora wouldn't connect the dots, either - but she gave him a withering glance as she passed by, and he knew that she had.

He set down his book, following her to the wooded area where they sometimes went for walks.

“Amora!”

She didn’t turn around. “Amora, I didn’t mean it-”

She stopped in her tracks, and he caught up to her.

“You’re... crying,” said Loki, sort-of awkwardly.

Amora raised her blue sleeve to her face, drying her eyes, and she swallowed.

“I’m not.” “I saw you, love. You can’t lie to me. Thor, maybe, that wouldn't be so difficult-” “Fine. I was crying. I... I just...” Amora raised her face to look at him, and he felt frozen, made guilty by her red eyes. “We used to be... we used to be friends. Why d’you hate me?”

“I... don’t.”

Amora scoffed. collapsing on a tree stump.

“Then why do you send snakes after me? Or transform my sword, when I’m trying to train? Or... even little things, like using magic to tug my hair during ceremonies. Or avoid me. It seems like you’re always avoiding me.”

“...Yeah.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why, are you?” Loki sat down, cross-legged, next to her.

“Do you really want me to?” Amora nodded.

“...Yeah.”

He swallowed.

“It’s only because I love you,” he managed, fighting around the lump in his throat. “That’s... that’s why.” He took note of her confused expression, looking away. He was about to stand up again and walk away, but she reached over, grabbing his hand.

“...Why?”

“Because, you’re...” he struggled to find the right words. “You’re really... really... beautiful.” Amora looked hurt, almost. Disappointed.

“And... that’s it? That’s all there is?”

He tried, desperately, to think of what Thor would say. He’d know what to do.

“Well... what else is there?” If she looked hurt before, she was devastated now. Her hands crossed over her chest, and she turned, as if she was about to walk away.

It was at that moment that it really sunk in. She didn’t care what Thor would do.

She wanted to know what he would do.

“No,” Loki said, reaching out to her. “Truthfully, no. I didn’t mean that.”

“Tell me the truth, then.”

He gulped.

“I care for you because... because you’re the only person I’ve ever met who makes me feel not-so-lonely. I’m happier, with you. Different. You make me different.” She reached over, then, and kissed him, softly. “Don’t be too different, okay?” “Never,” he promised. “Let’s just... swear to stay the same, forever?” “Oh, I swear.”

Just then, he woke up.

...Alone.

...

It had been three days since the last mission.

You felt broken.

Loki had noticed.

You were upset with yourself, mostly. Upset that you couldn’t let it go - but even more upset that you’d let yourself become attached. You’d only known the female Loki for moments.

Even still... you were sure that you had loved her. You knew that.

“Agent?”

It was Mobius, standing in your doorway.

You cleared your throat.

“...Yes?”

Please don’t be a new mission, you thought, your heart pounding. Please, please-

"I think it’d be best if you underwent some training. Trained Odinson, as well.” You nodded, feeling relieved. “Of course,” you agreed, standing up and following him down the hallway.

Loki waited for you.

Of course.

You knew he felt guilty about how things had gone. Not that he regretted killing Lady Loki - he didn’t seem to. But he regretted your part in it.

And he still had his doubts that you could even tolerate him now that he was responsible for death of the woman you had fallen in love with.

So he’d kept his distance, for now.

“I’m here to train you, right?”

“Yes,” Loki said, “...But not only. Mobius has been made aware of the last mission’s... fate. He believes you should be trained with a weapon you could defend yourself with. From other supernatural beings, from... me.” “Alternate versions of you, you mean?” “Hopefully, yes. But you never know. People who liked me have tried to kill me before.”

“I never said I liked you, Odinson,” you said, teasing for the first time in awhile.

“You never said you didn’t, either - now, we’re going to have to get you acquainted with a few different weapons, so you know your options. Try these.”

Loki passed you his daggers.

“Here, hold them like this-”

You shrank away.

“What?” he asked, sounding vaguely offended. “What, you don’t like them?” You shook your head, slowly.

“The... weight doesn’t feel right in my hands,” you offered, trying to come up with an excuse. What else could you say? The truth, that you didn’t want to wield the same weapon that had killed female Loki? Could you say that, without hurting your Loki?

He nodded, taking your words as the truth.

“Have you tried a staff?” “A... a couple times. I’m clumsy with it.”

Loki hesitated, almost imperceptibly.

“...Sword?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and something familiar, yet new echoed through you.

Sword. Yes.

You wanted a sword.

“...How did you know...?”

“Amora used a sword,” he admitted, bluntly. “Though you couldn’t exactly wield hers... it was a powerful thing, really, called Kursebreaker - the long blade of the damned.”

“Kursebreaker?” “Yes, well... we were a little obsessed with fairytales back then. The Kursed were a breed of Dark Elf - well, they were. All the dark elves are dead, now. Nothing to worry about there. But Odin had loved to scare us with the stories - my mother, not so much. She’s terrified of them.”

Even though you were upset with him, you loved hearing Loki talk, no matter what the subject.

But listening to him speak about Asgard was nothing short of magical.

“Then again, Kursebreaker is gone.”

“Gone?”

“She was set off with it. At her funeral. That’s a thing Asgardians do... we bury our dead by casting them off waterfalls. It’s peaceful, really - of course, I can hardly remember it. I was well and truly drunk.”

You hadn’t known for sure before that his Amora was dead - you’d thought perhaps she had disappeared, or cast him aside. Somehow, there was something even more terrifying about living up to the standard set by a dead woman.

“ I can’t ever imagine you being a drunk,” you said, trying to tease and lighten the mood. “...Even on Asgard.” “Well, I wasn't. But I had begun being so many things I hadn’t been before she left us, I figured... why not add another? And it was only for the week of her funeral, anyhow. My father - Odin... had never liked the idea of us, had expected her as a wife for Thor. He spent most of the time around her burial trying to convince me that I would have been better with someone else. He didn’t understand. I didn’t... want anyone else. I still don’t.”

Loki swallowed, and you knew you were hearing all of this as a form of apology for the mission.

“Anyhow,” he spoke, clearing his throat and withdrawing a thin sword from seemingly nowhere, “You’ll need this. I want you to fight me with it.” “Fight you?” “You’ve never fenced before, and I have to see your form. See how hopeless you are at it.”

“...Hey!” He grinned, and you rolled your eyes.

“It’s alright, no one starts out good. Well, I did.” “Maybe I will, too,” you countered, assuming what you thought was a good fencing position. “What is that? What in Hel are you doing?” You shrugged, waving the sword, carelessly.

“I’m preparing to fence? ...I think?” “No, no, no,” he muttered, walking toward you. “No, this just won’t do - stand like me.” “I’m trying, Loki!”

“Don’t be difficult, now - I’m not going through this again...”

“What, do all your students give you trouble?” “Amora did.”

...

She was talented.

Amora, in recent memory, had been nothing. Which is why their friendship had always made sense to him - he felt close to being nothing, too.

And, since she had been nothing, just an orphan girl that Odin had rescued from a village in Vanaheim and given a home in the palace, she was absolutely miserable at fighting. Miserable at it.

To others, this was acceptable. She wasn’t meant for much else than a symbol of Asgard’s great kindness, how they’d taken in some pathetic girl, a girl who if Odin wanted it, would someday be the people’s princess, and then their queen. She was a sad story. A convenience of war. Someone Thor mostly ignored, someone Sif hated. No matter how good a warrior Sif was, as long as Amora was Odin’s chosen, Sif could never have Thor. No matter how kind or noble, Sif could never beat out the sob story of the poor little orphan.

To Loki, she was simply his best friend. The only person who ever spoke to him, or laughed at his jokes, or stood beside him at ceremonies.

But she was tiny, and frail, and easy to be picked on. That was completely unacceptable to him. He himself had experience with being pushed around from an early age, so he’d trained. Every bone in his body was a weapon, especially his mind. He could be outmuscled, sure, but never outmaneuvered.

Amora, he knew, shared many of these same traits. She lacked a certain cruelness that he prized, but he saw her become occasionally savage. He’d appeal to that instinct, draw it out. “Again,” he said, tapping his own sword on the ground. “Again.”

"Loki,” Amora groaned, struggling to get up. “We’ve gone five rounds-” “And I intend to keep going until you win. Again.”

...

"Again!” Loki shouted at you, and you could swear a rib was broken. Around your fourth dueling loss, something seemed to have snapped inside of him. He’d become manic, unhinged. He’d pushed you to limits you didn’t even know you had. Training had begun slowly, but he’d gotten to the point of even throwing obstacles at you with magic. He seemed to have forgotten, in his fever, that you didn’t have magic to defend yourself with.

It had to stop.

He was going to kill you.

“I said,” he yelled, running at you, “Again!”

You ducked, a curl of your hair cut off by the blade. You supposed you should have considered yourself lucky it wasn’t a finger, or your arm entirely.

“Loki, stop-” He knocked the sword from your hands, kicking you to the ground. “Yield.”

“I yield! I yield, okay!”

“Again.”

“I can’t!” “Yes, you can! I intend to keep going until you win!”

You took up your sword again, readying yourself.

Again, he trapped you. You were struggling, trying to escape the chokehold he had you in.

“Yield,” he insisted, and you tried to breathe long enough to get the word out.

“I... y...”

“Yield!” He wouldn’t really kill you, you thought, blood rushing to your head.

Would he? Loki seemed to have forgotten that he was fighting you, a Midgardian. Maybe on Asgard, this was training for beginners.

“I yield,” you choked out, and he released you.

“Again, Amora!”

The words escaped his mouth before he could think them, and all at once, you saw his face fall. He collapsed to the ground.

“Loki?” you whispered, timidly, approaching him and wondering if this was an elaborate sneak attack. If it was, he had no need for one. You hadn’t won a match yet.

...Oh.

He was crying.

You knelt down to his level.

“Hey, Loki,” you said, clutching your injured rib with one hand and taking his hand with the other, “I’m really okay, it’s not so bad-”

He shook his head.

“What have I done,” he spoke, quietly, looking at your bruised figure.

“I’m okay.” “I could have killed you.”

“I kinda thought you would, for a minute,” you admitted. He didn’t respond.

“Promise me you’ll be looked over? By... do you have healers here?”

“Yeah, we do - but Loki, can't you heal people?” “No. Not me.”

Loki wrenched his hand from yours, and without another word, he turned his back to you, retreating to his rooms.

...

Taglist:

gorgeourrific-nerd @suwupremeleader @sserpente @tripleyeeet

#loki x reader #loki x reader angst #loki #loki disney+#loki imagine #blue monday #loki blue monday #blue monday by jules #jules writes #amora #loki x amora #amora the enchantress #loki and amora #thor

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isnt-it-loverly · 3 years

Text

little birdie (3)//five hargreeves

Warnings: blood, poorly written fight scenes

Summary: When Five lands in the Sparrow Academy, he must convince one of them to help him reset the timeline.

Word count: 1600

Author note: super short and not the best. This week i got some pretty rough news so updates may not happen as often as I want them too. I do have a plan and its officially going to be a series now! I’m going to try to get an update out at least once a week. Thanks again for all the love on the first two parts it means a lot!!

Part one, Part two , Part four, Part Five

There was a loud bang that awoke Five from his restless slumber. He grumbled groggily as it felt like he had just fallen asleep. He wondered what the hell you were doing out there. There was another crash and Five decided that it’d be best to check on you. Pulling himself out of bed was hard as he was now incredibly sore. He half expected the door to be locked again, he was wrong. Another one of your flaws, he noted, you were far too trusting.

He pulled the door open quietly as to not to give himself away if there was trouble. Unfortunately, his fears were confirmed. Ben has you pinned to the wall, tentacle around your neck, and hand over your eyes.

“Where are they, I know you’re helping them!” He yelled. Five watched silently as he watched you struggle, trying to pry yourself out of your brother’s grip. He gulped in fear that you would break and tell Ben all that you knew.

“I- I don’t know,” you choked out. You were trying everything to get him to let go. Kicking, squirming and digging your nails into his skin.

“You’re lying, I know you didn’t go on patrol yesterday. You’ve been spending a lot of time down here. Something you do when you’re hiding something,” Ben snarled. He squeezed harder and you felt all the breath leave your lungs. You gasped and coughed trying to get any air at all. Five grumbled to himself, knowing full well what he had to do. At least now you two will be even.

“Hey asshole,” Five yelled with a cheeky grin, “looking for me?”

“I knew you were lying, you little bitch,” Ben growled as he quite literally threw you across the room. You felt like all the air had been knocked out of you, and there was a high pitched ringing in your ears. You looked to Five but there was nothing but black dots dancing across your vision. You decided it might be best to give yourself a minute for everything to stop spinning.

Five looked to you worriedly, you definitely had taken a beating. This version of Ben was much more ruthless than his, and if he was being frank, it kind of scared the shit out of him- especially in his weakened state. He flashed in front of Ben and landed a punch square in his jaw. The Horror stumbled back, surprised that such a little guy packed such a powerful hit.

“Your family will be dead by nightfall, too bad you won’t be there to see it,” Ben roared before releasing the beast within him. A tentacle reached for Five, but he blinked out of the way. However one managed to strike him down

, and another pinned him into a wall. He looked down to see the blood seeping through the clean shirt you had given him, shit this was not good. He heard his brother yell out in pain and the grasp on him loosened. There you were, arms wrapped around Ben’s neck and bringing him to the ground. Five watched in amazement as you fought, it was like you were dancing. He was impressed, you were amazingly trained- even by the commission’s standards.

Going toe to toe against your brother was not a simple task, especially when he had a giant octopus monster coming out of his stomach. All you could do was dodge his swings until you could get close enough. You manage a kick right into his jaw, and you watched with pride as he stumbled back with a bloody lip. You felt guilty for doing this. All over a boy, you had met less than a day ago. There was truth behind Five’s words, you knew that the apocalypse was coming and that your family was the spark that ignited it. You knew the consequences, you had to get him back to the umbrellas, whatever the cost. You landed another hit before that royally pissed him off. He came rushing at you, right into your trap. You knew that he’d be blinded by rage. Ben grabbed you by the neck and hoisted you into the air.

“Rookie mistake,” You muttered while looking directly into his eyes. Just like that, it was over, Your dimwitted brother was much easier to take over than Five. In Number One’s body, you carefully set yourself down. You looked over to Five and rushed to his side.

“(Y/n), please tell me that’s you because I really don’t think I have it in me to kick his ass at the moment,” Five muttered clutching his stomach. You grimaced and you lifted his hand to see the fresh blood. You don’t know why but you hated to see him in pain.

“I’ll fix you up, but not here. It won’t take long for them to realize Number One has gone missing,” you explained while helping Five his feet. He looked exhausted and you were determined to keep him safe. Nothing was going to happen to him on your watch.

“Now,” you looked Five dead in the eyes, “how hard can you punch?

“What?” He responded with a quizzical look on his face.

“Like on a scale of one to one hundred, what would you say?” You asked with a small smirk.

“I don’t know, 94?” He replied.

“Perfect! I need you to knock me out,” You instructed nonchalantly.

“Fine by me, but it’s not gonna hurt you right? I’m punching Ben not (Y/n),” Five questioned as he prepared his stance.

You nodded to let him know that it was okay. Sure you’d feel it but he didn’t have to know that, besides a little white lie never hurt anyone. Five really went for it, all the angry built up in one hit. You stumbled back, closing your eyes tight. When you opened them you found yourself back in your own body and Number One splayed on the ground.

“Ninety-four my ass, that was like a 200,” You complained. You rubbed your jaw slightly trying to ease away the pain that had transferred over. Five mumbled a small apology. You just shook your head and rolled your eyes.

“Come on,” you said in a hushed tone, “sleeping beauty won’t stay down forever.”

You pulled him along as fast as the both of you could move. You were definitely sore, two big fights in the span of 24 hours was draining. Rest was not a luxury either of you could afford right now. Slipping out of the basement and into the corridor, head whipping as you did. The coast appeared to be clear. Before you could move Five pulled you into his chest, with a hand over your mouth.

“Now, I’m gonna trust you. Which I don’t normally do. If, for even a second, I think you’re gonna double cross me and my family- I will kill you,” He whispered in your ear harshly. You pulled his hand away gently and looked into his eyes,

You could tell he was searching your face for any signs of deception but he wouldn’t find any. All he could see was a severely pissed off (Y/n).

“If I wanted you dead, I would’ve let bleed out the first time my brother kicked your ass,” You snapped back. You pulled away in anger, after all you did for that little shit. If any of your siblings found you, they’d kill you- didn’t he realize that you were on his side. That you had already lost everything to reset the timeline and stop an apocalypse that may not even happen. You looked around the corner again and signaled for him to move. He followed you closely before grabbing your shoulder.

“Hold onto me tight,” He instructed. You did as you you were told and held on to his arm for dear life knowing exactly what he was about to do. Five did a quick run forward and suddenly the both of you were outside in the courtyard. You covered your mouth and bit your lip to keep from vomiting everywhere.

“I’m gonna be sick,” you groaned.

“You can do that after we’re far away from the academy,” Five said in a hurried tone. He grabbed your wrist and begun pulling you along into the street. To be honest, most everything looked the same to Five. All of the shops were the same, the people looked normal, nothing except the academy was out of place.

“Do you know where West Street is? There’s a place where we can hide out. Its safe, I promise. Clean clothes and fresh food too,” You asked with hope in your voice.

“There's no time for comfort, Ben knows where my family is. We have to find them first,” Five said with determination.

“He was bluffing, I checked. They have no leads,” You confirmed, “ and on top of that, two kids in bloody clothes will raise too many questions.”

Five looked at you wearily, You hadn't lied to him so far so why would you start now. He knew that you were right about your appearances, they’d be a dead give away. He sighed in defeat and told you he knew the way. You smiled and slipped your shades on, ready to take on the next chapter of this adventure.

“Here,” You said while slipping off your blazer. You handed it to Five and he gave you a quizzical look.

“To cover up the blood, you look like Carrie after the prom,” You joked. Five slipped it on, it was snug yet it felt very familiar. The material was the same as his old one, just red. He sighed and ran his hand over the emblem, that bird did not belong there. You noticed his discomfort but decided not to press it. The faster you got to West Street, the better life would be for the two of you.

#number five #number five x reader #five x reader #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #number five x you #five x you #Umbrella Academy #The Umbrella Academy #aidan gallagher

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mediocre--writing · 3 years

Text

Favorite Crime

S- I was your willing accomplice, honey

Bad news. Bad news, bad news, bad news.

Nobody had a single good word to his name, besides a praise for his party facade or his skills in bed.

But there's always a deeper story behind a headline, or that's what Nancy had always told him. That this unflattering headline covered a hurt, poor person who was, more than likely, being villainized for a story. That's what happened with Jonathan, right?

Bad guy has a shitty family life and it turns out he's not the villain at all, just different in a way people don't yet understand.

But how can someone so cruel and crude have a deeper story than just being a jackass?

Turns out, it's always more complicated than calculus homework Steve still doesn't understand.

A short word from Max itched a scratch inside Steve's head that had been bothering him since the first day. The way he sauntered, never just walked, nor did he ever cower, the way he always looked so fine, so perfect, so okay.

Just like Steve does, he guesses. The focus on his hair and his clothing and how he's perceived, it doesn't matter to him how he looks, he just wants people off his back.

So, it's not surprising that it was an uphill journey, more like a completely vertical wall standing between them, but they somehow made it to the top, made it together.

Somehow, despite the fights and denials, despite the reluctance and the running, it was rough, and it seemed like gravity was strongest at the top, trying to pull them down the closer they got together. They're standing at the top, this once unattainable point that seemed like the top of the world where the sun shined brightest on them and only them. Nobody else.

Except there's always someone else, isn't there?

It's not always someone falling in love with someone else or falling out of love with the one they were destined to be with, sometimes there's pressures you can't fight on your own, sometimes they're even too strong to fight with someone else. Sometimes you can't defeat your enemy like the knight slays the dragon. Sometimes you don't live happily ever after with the princess and she just stays locked in her tower until someone can actually save her.

B- Doe-eyed as you buried me

The eyes, the lashes, the soft glances in the hallway and the sweet smiles shared during practice. They all pile up over time, creating this deep, strong warmth that keeps your body warm. The warmth that you don't notice until you're separated from it for a second too long.

The fire ignited in a once ice cold heart that gives meaning and light to a corrupted soul begging for help.

Those big, brown eyes that were once referred to as "ugly cow eyes," a statement that Billy couldn't disagree with more. Because even if they were cow eyes, they were sweet, beautiful, innocent eyes that were so willing to love.

Eyes that opened his own, opened his eyes to a bright, new future he didn't even know existed before.

It was smothering, the feeling, which he hadn't felt in almost ten years now, one he didn't realize he'd forgotten what that love felt like, what being cared for felt like.

He fell into love like a poor, unexpecting animal would fall into a hunter's trap.

It was like he knew it was happening, he noticed he was falling and tried to grab onto the sides of the trap, try to claw his way out, but he inevitably fell to the bottom, laying on his back, but he noticed that this trap wasn't so bad. He could still feel the sunlight on his cheeks and there was someone there, laying next to him who offered great comfort as they waited for the predator to kill them both.

But it felt safer when there was dirt being put on top of him to keep the burning heart warm, it was like the predator wouldn't be able to spot them if they hid for long enough under this false hope, because they were still stuck in the bottom of the trap and they were only digging themselves deeper.

S- And now, every time a siren sounds, I wonder if you're around

Steve's favorite color was always purple. He liked the harshness of red and the calm of blue and purple always seemed to fit the blend. It was a strong color, something he'd associated with his best days and reminded him of this innocence he loved.

He doesn't love purple so much anymore.

The neon signs above shops and restaurants, composed of this beautiful red and dashing blue turned the dark mall into a bright purple.

The fireworks bouncing off the walls and their faces glowed in bright yellows and greens and blues and reds and purples.

And that purple hue covered everything that night. Not a single light was burning brighter than that purple color.

The red blood gushing down his chest wasn't beautiful and the sight of his dashing blue eyes closing was more horrifying than any sight he'd ever been forced to watch.

He hated purple. He hated the mix of blue and red and he hated the beautiful purple color that highlighted his face while he struggled to breathe, while he searched for Steve’s eyes and reached out for his hand before he just--stopped.

And the sirens, God, the sirens.

They were loud and blaring and the god damn red flashing lights were mixing with the blue lights from cop cars and Steve was so fucking sick of seeing those colors everywhere. So fucking sick of that loud blaring noise, but that also could have been a result of the concussion and blood loss he’d experienced within the past 48-ish hours.

And, he gets it, that sometimes people just don’t get lucky enough to make it.

But it’s been close to three months and every time a cop car or ambulance passes him, he just wants to sprint after it, like he wanted to that night, just to see him one more time before the inevitable ends it for good.

The inevitable, isn’t it always funny that you can stop it? Or--could have stopped it. There’s always a solution that could have prevented this “unpreventable” event, yet people pretend it isn’t so. That people die because it’s “meant to be” and not a tragic fate that no good person deserves.

The inevitable, isn’t so inevitable, turns out, on a day in November when Max admits a hidden truth.

And they meet again, but it feels the same. They missed each other unlike any person they hadn’t seen. They just sit for hours, barely talking but just holding hands, squished on this tiny hospital bed where a, supposedly dead, teenager and his boyfriend sit and silently cry.

And as they hear an ambulance pull up outside of the hospital, Steve doesn’t tense like he has been for the past months, he just squeezes Billy’s hand tighter and feels his breathing from where they’re touching.

B- But I say that I hate you with a smile on my face

The camaro, the doctors warned him that he may not like driving it, some form of PTSD from the night and the accidents that had occured, but Billy felt more released from his problems as he drove the car than when he had to sit in a hospital room or talk with his step sister and the nerd herd about...well, anything.

And the sunrise, how beautiful sunrises were above treelines as you release your problems with a loud rev of an engine.

He’d done his morning like he always would, made coffee when he woke up, got dressed, poured an extra cup for Steve, kissed him on the forehead when he left it on the nightstand, then lounged around the living room for a while.

Except today was different.

Billy wasn’t getting up at 6am, he was getting up at 5.

And he didn’t get dressed and lounge around, he got dressed and loaded his favorite things into his car.

But he was making the cup of coffee for Steve to wake up to when he got up at 7, it just probably wouldn’t be as hot as it usually was.

There’s a new step, but just for this day. He rips off a piece of paper from the notepad that they left by the phone.

He rips off the corner, enough to fold in half so it sits upright on the nightstand.

He draws a sloppy heart, one Steve always said just looked like a fat ‘X’, and signs a little ‘B’ in his “fancy prince handwriting” as Steve always called it.

He set the paper next to the cup of coffee, pulled up the sheets on his side of the bed, pushed Steve’s messy bed head back and left a soft peck on his forehead, then one on the tip of his nose. Steve’s pink, chapped lips moved into a soft, dopey smile as Billy pulled the blankets over his chest more, it was starting to get cold with October approaching.

The camaro roared under him as he started it up and pulled out of the driveway, working his way West, all the way to California: somewhere where his abusive dad wasn’t around and neither was the pressure to hide himself.

He hid everything, his sexualities, a majority of his home problems, his mental issues, how he’d see things, things that weren’t there and never had been. He’d continue wearing himself thin trying to keep up this facade, it was like he’d pushed himself down so far he forgot what he was supposed to like, what he used to hate.

For the best. This was better because he didn’t feel like Billy, he felt like different versions of some other person who was acting the role of Billy. Felt like his personalities didn’t match from person to person, lost the cathartic feeling of exposing all his thoughts to Steve, it made him feel guilty.

And Steve didn’t deserve that. Never did.

Billy was never good for him. He split everything up. Split up his own parents' marriage, he was the cause of most of their fights, and he ruined any and every relationship he’d ever been in, even the ones with Max or other people his age that he could have been a real friend to.

He still thinks about Steve, often. Thinks about him with a fond smile but hates how he was around him. Hated that feeling of hiding who he really was any time he was with this person who was supposed to be the best thing for him.

Hated the way Steve made him feel the need to pull at the reins to stop but made him want to go faster, faster, faster.

Hated Steve. Hated the way he loved him, but he just couldn’t force himself to be that happy.

Well, I hope I was your favorite crime...'Cause baby, you were mine.

#lots of symbolism and stuff and lots of confusing spelling mistakes but im kinda proud of it #also it switches perspectives between the lyrics #stranger things #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #mediocre—writing #mw harringrove #billy x steve

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