#Source: limerent-violence

[gen-incorrect]

Val: So sorry I called you kidnappable earlier, let's take a drive and talk this through ok?

[hyperfixationstation128]

I'm sure this has been said before, but I'm of the opinion that Gale didn't love Mystra. Not really, anyway.

"But, Hyper!" You cry, "He tells the player flat out that he was in love with her! What are you talking about?"

Well, allow me to shed a little light on what it is I mean.

It's pretty much unanimously agreed within the fandom that Gale is Autistic, which I find awesome. He's such a great source of representation for those of us who've been through similar experiences and relate to his personality. Those of us with Autism know the frustration of being portrayed as "the weird kid", "the manic pixie dream girl" or even as non-verbal people with a propensity towards violence with our meltdowns. Fun fact: not every person with Autism has "violent meltdowns", some of us go through what's called a shutdown, where we become non-verbal, secluded and kinda "stop working".

"Okay, okay, that's cool and all, but what do you mean by Gale didn't love Mystra?"

I applaud your enthusiasm and am going to explain now. As someone with Autism, someone who's been researching the topic for years, and someone with immediate family members who are on vastly different sides of the spectrum, I can say with about 95% confidence that Gale did not love Mystra... not for real, anyway. He had what is called "Limerence".

Well, why don't we turn to the internet to look up the definition of the word. "Limerence is a psychological state characterized by an intense, all-consuming romantic infatuation. It is an involuntary cognitive and emotional state in which an individual feels an overwhelming desire for another person, known as the “limerent object.” This state was first defined by psychologist Dorothy Tennov in the 1970s."

Now, the act of limerence is completely involuntary and could happen to anyone, neurodivergent or neurotypical! However, based on anecdotal evidence, it appears to affect women with Autism more than anyone else. When you experience limerence with someone, they become everything to you. You are completely obsessed with them, they can do no wrong in your eyes, they are everything to you.

Sound familiar? The way Gale describes how he viewed Mystra is unmistakably Limerence, at least in my opinion. And if you aren't convinced, allow me to be vulnerable for a minute and share a personal story on my experience with Limerence.

I was about 12 or 13 when I first met my friend, let's call her Tina. Now, Tina was that one girl in school who loved anime, played the violin, and made incredible art. From the first moment I met her, I was smitten. And this went far beyond a normal teenage crush. I was obsessed with her, her opinion, her tastes, her likes and dislikes. I was so in love (I thought) that once stole my late grandmother's wedding ring and gifted it to her. I devoted every breath in my body to her, every fiber of my being. We were friends for years and even dated for a while. In my mind, we were meant to be. We got along great, she was funny, silly, and so incredibly talented. What I didn't know - or maybe didn't want to believe - was she didn't feel the same way.

"But, Hyper! Isn't that just unrequited love?" No, dear reader... 'tis not. Limerence is not love, no matter how much you may want it to be; no matter how deep your feelings feel like they are. Limerence is an unhealthy obsession and there is typically very little one can do to sway oneself from their "object of desire". In the mind of the person with Limerence, there's nothing else in the world except the person they're obsessing over.

Now, there are three stages to Limerence: Infatuation, crystallization, and deterioration, which all seem pretty self-explanatory, but I'll explain further for those of you who don't know.

Infatuation: The first time you notice the other person's positive qualities. Their eyes, their smile, their abilities/talents.

Crystallization: The "obsessive" part of the act. Where you feel a heightened sense of anxiety, walking on eggshells to avoid any "turn-offs" around the other person. You may find yourself thinking about them to the point where it's affecting your normal, daily life.

Deterioration: When the intensity of your feelings begin to wane, and you no longer find yourself attracted to or wanting the attention of the person you were pursuing. In my experience, this is the worst part of Limerence as it usually blew up in my face.

Now, you may be thinking something along the lines of "Okay, but how does this relate to Gale?" or "Are you trying to imply that Gale was abusive towards Mystra? That's ridiculous and you suck!!!" and you're right. I do suck. But I'm not implying that Gale was abusive towards Mystra. Given the fact that she's a literal goddess, it's impossible for that to have happened. What I'm implying is that how Gale viewed Mystra for the time that he was with her was not genuine, true love like how he has with Tav.

This post got way longer than I originally anticipated and I'd love to write a full-length essay on this someday, but I feel I've assaulted y'all's brains with enough jargon for now. If you guy wanna hear more of my thoughts on this particular subject, I'd be more than happy to oblige.

Please feel free to keep the discussion going in the comments or your own post! I adore Gale and discussing things like these regarding his character and personality is my bread and damn butter.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

The Broken Veil: Chapter 3 - Miracle

Image source from Pinterest

Unfortunately, I've had a mental health crisis while writing this story. I'm planning to stop immediately and to post all my existing chapters at once to prevent myself from returning to the project again and again. That's somewhat good for you because it means you get more chapters at once, but it's also a shame because it means we'll only get to chapter seven. It has to be done, though.

To anyone out there dealing with maladaptive daydreaming, limerence, mania, or psychotic symptoms, please know that I'm thinking of you. Take care of yourselves and don't let the fantasy pull you in any deeper than you're comfortable with.

Summary: John Wick has just agreed to kill Gianna D'Antonio, repaying the marker that gave him a life with Helen. However, Helen is trying to contact John from the afterlife, to show him that it is possible to stop the cycle of violence – not by forfeiting his own life, but by creating a fundamental shift in international systems and perhaps even the balance of good and evil in this world. But he doesn’t have to do it alone. She’s coming back.

“Heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy.” - Catherine Earnshaw, Wuthering Heights

Time is disordered as it touches the border of a timeless land.

He can almost see her, can feel her within reach.

His soul is pressed against the veil, on the brink of crossing. While there is still direction, he pushes towards Helen, single-minded. He is going home to her. They have not been so close since that day in the hospital. His life…she can feel it throb into her as if only the thinnest sheet of fabric divides them.

It’s time for the final stretch. She lets the force of his consciousness guide her towards him. His heartbeat thrumming in terror, his heartbeat soon to be stilled. She can feel the heat of his skin, his yet-unbroken skull, and the sudden pain of breaking. She has skin, she has a skull, she feels the impact of the bullet. The guilt circulating through his veins, falling forever in his stomach, bringing him down. NO.

Inhale. Helen draws back. Exhale. She slams forward into her husband’s body.

Sound, light, sensation. The veil is broken. She has him in her arms.

The floodlights are blinding, the gunshot is deafening, the air against her flesh is a sensory overload. God, it’s so different to be alive. She had almost forgotten.

She has him in her arms, and something has struck her back and fallen harmless to the floor.

Ares stares. On instinct, she fires again and keeps firing. She empties the clip but Helen has died once and cannot die again. It’s not body armor. It can’t be, because Helen is nude. There is only one small blaze of silver on her ring finger.

“John, open your eyes,” she whispers. “We’re not done.”

He looks so innocent, so confused on his knees below her. He looks only upward, respectful of her body, his chin tilted up into her face, his hyperventilating breath shuddering over her naval. “I’ve come home to you.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I’ve come home to you.” For a moment, she can’t bring herself to turn away from him.

Ares’ backup is stepping out of the shadows, guns trained on Helen.

“Identify yourself,” someone says.

Helen turns, her body frontally exposed to their gaze and they don’t know where to look. His head is still shielded behind her abdomen. She fixes her eyes on Ares. Quietly, “My name is Helen Wick. And you…” she begins advancing, slowly, “You tried to shoot my husband.”

Behind her, John’s eyes range over the ground in a daze, caught by some flicker of light. It’s littered with crushed metal like golden coins. The same shapes he’s seen a thousand times, the same shapes that fell from his clothing earlier. Flattened bullets. It finally registers. Ares tried to shoot him, and she shot Helen. She shot Helen.

John picks up his gun.

***

Another wave of gunfire, but this time, it’s answered by a volley from between the two pale legs that frame John Wick like Roman pillars, and there’s three men down beside Ares. Some begin to flee but Ares orders them to advance. He tries to lunge forward and Helen pushes him back, covering his face. Bullets are slamming into his body, and he’d double over if she weren’t holding him upright, shoving him back down the tunnel away from the gunfire. Her hands are touching him. He’s in physical contact with Helen. The rush of it wrings some strangled sound from his chest. Then a different rush hits again: They shot her, they shot her, kill them all.

He's hurtling down the tunnel to where he stowed the M4, hand in hand with her, firing over his shoulder. He swings her smoothly around a corner, out of sight. She’s protesting but he can’t stand it if she gets hit one more time, it doesn’t matter if she’s bulletproof or not. It’s cocked in his hands and he becomes a storm.

***

John is not aware of how many times Helen saves his life. She walks in his wake, stepping over the dead, her arms open, trying to take up the whole space of the tunnel, breaking into a run when anyone gets too close. The rocks do not cut her bare feet and the bullets do not sting but she doesn’t want to be dragged away from John if someone gets their hands on her, so she keeps moving. She picks up a pistol from one of the fallen and struggles with it, but she’s never done this before and it takes her longer than it should to realize it’s empty. She wonders if this would have been easier if she were still incorporeal, ironically. She could have just slammed into the barrier and what she wanted would have…happened. But now her one power is her body, and she places it between John and the enemy over and over again.

At some point, he runs out of bullets and she watches him throw his gun at a man’s head, then sweep another to the ground and strangle him between his legs. He’s a force of nature. It feels almost like a violation to see this, somehow even more intimate than the time they’ve shared in bed. This is not for her eyes. The sweat plasters his hair against his forehead and he makes low, animal grunts. In the silence of precious moments spent reloading, his panting echoes down the tunnel. She’s desperate to hold him – whether to comfort him or to praise him or to hold him back or to join her hand with his on the trigger, she does not know, but she sees the labor of his body and she wants to be as one with him.

Finally, the shots stop ringing. There’s only his breathing as he still spins in paranoia, checking all directions, ragged waves filling the space from wall to wall with overwhelmingly intimate noise, then gradually slowing. “John.” She approaches him carefully. He has still hardly looked at her yet.

“…Helen?” He stares at her as if for the first time.

“Yes. It’s me.”

Her skin glows angelic in the floodlights. He can barely hear himself speak. “This is impossible.”

“A miracle, maybe.”

His hand moves haltingly toward her shoulder and caresses it. Her touch does not feel distant. Her voice does not come from somewhere impossibly far away. He can smell her scent, that little, warm, animalistic scent that doesn’t even come to him in dreams. He’s speechless. “Are you…what…” He struggles for another long moment. “You were dead.”

“I am dead. But I’m also alive. The veil is broken.”

Again, that strangled sound from inside him, and he throws his bulk against her wordlessly, his head buried in her shoulder. She can feel his face twist up against the side of her neck as he breaks down and just sobs. Her arms pull crushingly tight around his back, fists clenching handfuls of his suitcoat, unwilling to let him go. They stand that way for a long, long time.

“I love you. I love you and you’re gone, you’re-gone,” he gasps, fighting against the hope of what cannot be. His chest is heaving against hers. “I…miss you so much.”

“John.” She lifts his face, which is marbled over with a glaze of blood and water. He half turns away, overwhelmed by the sight of her, but she holds him fast. “I love you so much. I am here.”

She sees something finally register. “God. How?”

“I wish I had answers, but there are no answers on the other side. I just kept trying to get back.”

He sinks against the wall, his eyes ranging over the mass of bodies lining the corridor in horror. “You saw…” He hides his face in his hands and chokes out, “I’m so sorry. You were never, ever supposed to see me like this.”

She drops beside him and pulls him back into her arms. “No. No no no no. You don’t understand. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

When he’s calm enough she pulls back and looks at him with fire in her eyes. “You were right to kill them. I’ve wanted to say this to you for so long, ever since I died, but I couldn’t speak. You’re allowed. You’re allowed to be angry with the people who are caging you in, who are trying to take lives like ours and twist them into a wreckage, who are forcing you to do what you know to be wrong. The fact that people have made you kill your own friends, kill just to be with me, kill just to keep breathing...it's an atrocity.” He’s shaking with tears but she doesn’t even pause for a breath. “They've backstabbed you, treated you like a human weapon, took your childhood, took your peace. It's not your fault. They tried to twist you up in every way they could and STILL you never became a monster underneath, STILL you're tender and uphold your ethics and care so much about people that it scares you. I love that about you. And I love you. I love you so much. That is what I meant to tell you with that damn rose. I wasn’t saying you should pay with your life. I want you to fight back even harder. Don’t do a god damn thing they say.” He presses his face into her shoulder again and wails with anguished joy.

At length, gasping, he lifts his head and manages to speak. “I love you too. I need this, I…you have no idea how much I need to hear that from you. I can’t-I can’t live without you. I fall apart.”

She corrects him gently. “You can, but I don’t want you to have to do it alone. I’m here with you.”

“But I don’t know what to do. What choice did I have, other than completing the job or accepting my fate? I’ll die for not fulfilling the marker. I will be HUNTED, Helen, you don’t understand. Santino will take out a hit on me. The only way that stops is when he’s dead. Then I’ve killed the marker holder and it’s High Table jurisdiction. That’s international, and there will be thousands-”

“Not if you take down the entire High Table.”

For a long time, he just stares. “That’s an army. That’s war.” But he’s almost smiling. She IS smiling.

“You want things to be different. I want to help you make them different. I didn’t understand this when I was alive, but there are things you and I are capable of…there are things that need to change…We’ll talk. But for now we need to keep you safe. We can’t stay here. Are you…okay? How bad are you hurt?”

He just looks at her, struggling to speak. He thought the only person who would ever care to ask him that was dead. She waits. It’s like old times. He always seemed to have trouble starting a sentence, let alone finishing one. “…Nothing that won’t heal.”

“And are you okay? How are you feeling? I’ve given you quite a shock.”

“I…” His vision blurs over with tears again. “I…” At first it seems that this is too difficult a sentence to finish altogether. “I will remember this day for the rest of my life.”

She pulls him up, taking the weight of exhausted muscles and he can’t resist embracing her once again when he’s upright. He starts to give her his suitcoat and she stops him. “No, you need that. I can take any clothes, I just need to be decent for the street.” He starts pulling the jacket unceremoniously off of the nearest corpse. It engulfs both her hands and hangs just below her privates, making her look like a smitten teenager wrapped in her boyfriend’s hoodie. She picks up the body’s handgun. John peeks at her sideways and downright blushes, then insists they take the pants and boots too.

He exhales, still trying to steady himself. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

She kisses his cheek lightly. “Believe it.”

He’s laughing, actually laughing. He feels young again. Waves of giddiness keep washing over him. He takes his wife’s hand in his – his wife’s hand! – and they pick their way through the catacombs towards the clear Italian night. He would skip if he weren’t limping, but instead, each time he stumbles, she takes his weight and keeps him walking. He has never been supported by someone after killing. Never, even when she was alive. He would come home two days later, mostly mended, and she would tend to him then, but the exit from battle itself had always been a long, painful march of shame. It is so humbling to see how she steadies him, waits for him, pauses now and then to hold him again, staving off shock with the warmth of her body, even knowing everything he did. This may be a dream, but he doesn’t care to wake up.

Standing at the mouth of the catacombs, there’s a figure, leaning against a car. Helen can feel John go tense as he recognizes Cassian. The figure’s arm stays at his side, but it’s close to his gun. “Who’s with you, John?”

They’re still hidden in shadow. “First, why are you here?”

“I’m curious why you lied to me.”

“…Felt like getting shot.”

“You got over that pretty quick.”

“Yeah.”

Helen steps forward, the light breaking over her features as she does so. She extends her hand to Cassian. “Helen Wick. Pleased to meet you.”

Cassian doesn’t move. He looks straight at John. “The fuck?”

“Shake hands with my wife.” It’s not a request.

He does. “I apologize for the incredulity. I’ve been told you’re dead.”

“It’s quite alright.” She makes no further explanation.

“For what it’s worth…good for you. Both of you. Love is unlikely in our circumstances. I understand that on a personal level.” He steps up to John. “John, you spared my ward. Someone close to me. She and I both want to know how we can repay you.”

“Gianna wants to know what I expect from her.”

He stiffens. “I genuinely am grateful to you. But yes, that is the chief reason I’m here. We appreciate what you’ve done. But I hope you understand that she can’t single handedly make the marker go away.”

“I don’t need to be spared by the High Table. I didn’t do it for a debt.”

“Then why? I get it, you have a death wish, but…this puts both of you in danger.”

“I’m not dying. And sure as hell no one is killing Helen. We live on our own terms now.”

He frowns with pity. John will be executed, that’s unavoidable. “Fair enough. You’d better take your head start then. The hit hasn’t been placed yet. Gianna went underground immediately, and we’re about to tell her brother that she’s dead. I don’t know how long it will take him to learn the truth, but some time is better than none. You still have my thanks. If you need to contact me…” He passes John a slip of paper with a phone number. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to help. But don’t hesitate to call.”

He nods. “Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Wick.”

Cassian steps into his car and he’s gone.

Helen twines her arm through his again. “Point the way, John.”

They start to walk. Rome is gold, gold, gold, even at night. Again he says it, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I’ll never be able to say it enough. I thought I could never tell you again.”

“But you did, many times. I was listening.”

“You could hear me?”

She pauses. “I’m trying to figure out how to describe it…I couldn’t hear words at first. I could feel what you felt, from the moment I died. That felt…inviolable. I can still feel it now and I know that it will never be broken. Words emerged over time as I started trying to come back. And images. But it isn’t like seeing and it isn’t like hearing…it’s very strange. It takes so much effort to bring them to the surface.”

“You told me to let go. But you didn’t.”

“Neither did you.”

“I tried. But then…” He falters and his footsteps halt. “Helen, I have something to tell you about the…dog you got for me…”

“I know. She appeared to me when she crossed. Probably looking for someone connected with you. That’s when I knew something was wrong and I couldn’t leave you alone. I guess you could say she sent for help.”

For the fourth time that night, John is sobbing into his wife’s chest.

[aspd-culture]

wait what, im not that anon but

1) cant pwASPD care about people? (i technically dont care about people in a way thats NOT transactional, limerant, anxious, hypervigilant, fearful of abandonment/rejection/violence, a source of comfort, a source of company or to appease loneliness, a source to appease boredom, or otherwise i cant be bothered to replace people because of how unique their particular set of characteristics are (ideals, mannerisms, personality, interests, ethics, commonalities, etc) and how 99% of humans are annoying or i dont click with (and i really dont wanna build another relationship/memories/etc; its so annoying and seems like such a boring waste of time and annoying to have to do all over again), but whatever, its still there. and its somewhat linked to emotion. so i personally count it. i guess.

2) is trying to help people because you feel like you'll get hurt otherwise as social instinct? or, if its annoying to see someone do something without your help? (especially if its so slow.. especially when no one else is helping.. especially when its to do with cleanliness or something theyre fumbling with, i cant stand it, its really annoying) also what is "social" instinct?

3) can pwASPD have some part of our brain that deludes itself into believing humans are good (like 1% of my system - mostly child, teens or naive/blissfully unaware members - believes this and its kinda stupid, i guess its a coping mechanism because they dont wanna see the brutal truth? haha.)

1.) pwASPD definitely can and do care about people, sometimes for transactional reasons, sometimes for emotional ones, and often for a mix of the two. However, there are some pwASPD who simply don't have the capacity or interest to care about anyone and are aro and aplatonic, and they are valid too.

2.) Nope, neither of those are social instincts. Social instincts include the instincts that pull you to "help your fellow man" for no reason other than they are a human and you are one as well. Social instincts in general are the set of subconscious behaviors, thought patterns, chemical and hormonal releases (such as dopamine, oxytocin, and progesterone), emotions, etc etc that cause humans to stay in packs, form close emotional bonds, not violate rules/codes set by society including moral codes aka manners, seek help from other people, seek emotional validation and coregulation, procreate, help others without other reason, not use/manipulate/lie to others or anything else that may risk destroying a bond, etc. It's the set of things that is the difference between any pack animal vs any solitary animal.

3.) Yes, generally, this comes from partially developed social centers in the brain in singlets or system where all members have this feeling, or from denial in other situations, as you mentioned. Some people need to cope by believing people are good, and while this is rare in pwASPD, the more people you have using one brain, the more chance some of them will have different coping mechanisms. My system has a couple members who feel that way as well, despite having other ASPD symptoms.

[yunahosk]

limerence | yan zhongli x reader

ai ai ai, i’ve never tried writing before so this is a first (and ofc i picked zhongli to seduce him to come home), if all goes well possibly i’ll do another!

apologies for poor english and grammar, i speak dutch, im trying hehe.

warnings: blood, violence, mentions of public death/ exec*tion, mentions of death, stabbing (in leg and arm), obsessive tendencies, forced relationship, yandere content

please let me know if i missed anything!

limerence: the state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person

“Thank you for providing me your kindness, Mr. Zhongli.” You smiled, letting your hands slowly wrap around the porcelain cup adorned with designs of gold. It seemed to fit the man’s mysterious aura: truly lavish.

After an encounter, more so a dilemma with a small village in Liyue which left you seconds away from your inevitable fate of hanging by a rope. To be fair, sure, possibly you shouldn’t have accidentally set fire to half the village. But having a pyro vision has its downsides too, no?

Although it left you questioning why it seemed he had such an impact on the small village, all the mattered is that you still sat in flesh and bone and not six feet under.

Truly, he was a kind man, even inviting you into his abode for a cup of tea and a residence for the meantime. You were an adventurer from Fontaine, traveling to all the seven nations in search of, well nothing. Armed with only a pyro vision and a spear you were determined to travel the world. Liyue Harbor was just one of your many stops, and to your delight it was truly a fascinating and astonishingly beautiful place.

“Ah, there’s no need for formalities. I do think we are well acquainted by now.” He hummed, observing how you lifted the cup to your lips, your eyes widening as the scorching substance hit your tongue. You quickly placed the porcelain cup down, a light laugh emerging from your lips as a smile soon followed.

“Really, I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” Resting your finger tips upon the cup and frowning as you stared at the liquid in deep thought.

“I’d give you my life if I could.” You laughed, furrowing your eyebrows with a sigh.

“We could arrange for that.” Your eyes widened, staring down at the cup of tea with a dumbfounded expression. Quickly composing yourself, a laugh quickly arose from your mouth, though sounding more panicked than natural.

“Ah, I didn’t imagine you’d be a man of comedy.” You chuckled, cocking your head to the side and letting your hand fall from the cup down to your waist, toying with the pyro vision by your side. Sure, you weren’t in danger, just force of habit.

“I’m afraid I do not understand.” There go the wide eyes once again.

“Oh- your comment, before?” You looked up, now gripping the red orb by your side as more of a safety precaution than anything, worry seeping through your bones but that stupid voice in your head told you Mr. Zhongli couldn’t hurt a fly. Tension rose in your throat, watching as his amber orbs slowly gaze over your expression.

“Ah, I see.” A wave of relief washed over your body. Social cues truly aren’t just his thing. We all have our quirks though, no?

“You don't take my word?” He hummed, furrowing his eyebrows. The 10 seconds of relief now came crashing down, setting you back to your state of panic.

“I do believe it is a fair trade. On my part, saving your life from harm and death and as for your part, giving me yourself in return.” He wasn’t joking.

“I’m sorry, but you’ve got to be mistaken. We had no such agreement before this!” You raised your voice, listening as a hum of what seemed to be displeasure released from his mouth. He lifted his hand, bringing it to his chin as if in thought. “I do value fairness greatly.”

“You’re out of your mind, no part of this is fair! There was no mention of such a thing?” He seemed to be confused, taking in your words.

“Ah, you seem to misunderstand. I simply intend to establish a marriage. To bind you to my side, for eternity that is.” Well, now it was your turn to be confused. “Marriage? Goodness gracious, we met, what? Two days ago? My apologies Mr. Zhongli, but in no way do I intend to marry you. I haven’t a clue what you speak about.” You stated, rising from your seat and preparing for your departure.

“That does not seem like a wise choice, Y/N.” Your body tensed, was this a threat? No. You are fine. A huff of breath released from your mouth as you readied yourself once again, walking towards the door and making your departure with no more exchanged words.

“What a shame.” Zhongli hummed with a frown, staring at the door you’d made your sudden leave from.

Putting the events of a few days ago behind, it truly was difficult to leave Liyue Harbor. Residents of the city were welcoming and kind, helping a foreigner with open hands. Though all good things must come to an end at some point.

As you traveled your way through Liyue, passing by ruin after ruin the thought of your soon adventures in Mondstadt seemed more intriguing by the second. Maybe you do get excited too easily, but you can't help the way your daydreams take over reality. It does make time fly by faster though.

After days of travel through a variety of terrain, soon you find yourself at Wangshu Inn, looking for a night's rest. It does seem as though everything in Liyue is elegant, and this place is most certainly no different. To say the least you were excited to stay in such a place.

With your bag in hand, you slowly make your way across the balcony of the building towards your room, letting your eyes gaze upon the stars in the sky. A sigh releases from you as you stop your short walk and make your way towards the edge of the balcony, staring up at the stars in all their glory.

In sight is Celestia itself. Perhaps one day you could visit. After all, this is only the beginning of your adventures. With so many more to come maybe you could ascend there one day.

“Pathetic.” The words catch you off guard as your eyes widen, quickly turning to meet the raspy voice only to find yourself knocked to the ground, your belongings and spear shoved to the side. An excruciating pain made its presence upon your leg and as you let out a loud groan, you open your eyes and are met with a black and teal-haired man staring down at you with a malicious glare.

Your eyes widen in horror as you look down to the source of the pain: a large spear present in your calf leaving you to watch as blood seeped out. The agonizingly slow speed as to which he pulls the spear from your skin makes tears surface upon your eyes. And soon after you find the tip of the same spear pointed at your neck.

“Who are you?” You muttered through gritted teeth, glaring at him with watery eyes. It hurt so bad, more pain than you’d ever felt before.

“It doesn’t concern you as to who I am, you are only a mere mortal.” Your breath hitches as you scan over his body and take sight of the mask on his side.

“Y- you’re an adepti?” You whispered, your voice shaky. “Aren’t you supposed to be protecting hum-”

A cry of pain releases from your mouth as the spear once pointed in your neck now finds itself sunken into your thigh.

“Did I say you could speak?” His voice is raspy, it sounds as though it’s strained from screaming, but you’re the one screaming. Tears fall from your eyes as you wait for your fate to be sealed. Beside you you can hear footsteps upon the wooden balcony, a surge of hope rushes through you only to come back down to horror as quickly as it lasted.

The same deep hum you’d despised now evident once again.

“It seems you are in trouble?” It was as if he was asking a question more than making a statement as if you weren’t sitting in a pool of your own blood with a spear pointed at your throat. You reach your arm out in a desperate attempt to grasp your spear, biting your lips to stop the sobs from spilling once again.

“Zhongli, please-” In your arm this time the spear plunges down on.

“Do not speak to Rex Lapis in such a disrespectful manner.” The adepti snaps, glaring down at you. Silence surfaces as your sobs grow louder, and soon you find yourself coming to realization.

Rex Lapis? No no, there has to be a mistake. But it all makes sense? The same man who took you in so humbly now kneels beside you watching you suffer. Is this who Rex Lapis, the god of contracts and war truly is?

As he kneels by your side, his gloved hand delicately makes its way down your cheek, wiping the tears from your face.  

“Please help me.” You whisper, you sound truly pathetic. But you’d rather look pathetic than give up on life so easily.

“I’ll do anything.” You ever so quietly whisper out. You knew you didn’t want what would come next, but you couldn’t give up. Not yet.

“Anything?” He hums as if he found the scene before him amusing. The eye contact made between his amber eyes and your e/c orbs sends shivers down your spine.

He truly wants this. He’s crazy.

You find yourself nodding your head in hesitance, you don’t want this.

“Y/n, do you agree to stay bound to my side in marriage for eternity?” Your breath hitches, eyes widening in horror, there’s no going back on this. There truly isn’t.

Is this worth your life?

“Yes.”

[echo-hiraeth]

Chapter 2: Survivor’s Guilt

Part of the “Illicit Limerence” series.

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: Javier is confronted with the stakes of losing an important coworker and friend as the reader gets injured during a chase. But grief and hospitals aren’t really his scene. The reader finds out the extent of her injuries and condition, leaving her shocked to the core.

Warnings: swearing, violence, mentions of injury, angst and some fluff

Masterlist

Previous chapter

Next chapter

DEA agents were hurt and killed almost daily, that was just the way things were with the cartel. Pablo didn’t care about who they were or what their legacy was, married or not, children or not, to Escobar they were just the enemy’s pawns. Javier Peña was well-aware of this and therefore rarely turned his head when another death within the office was called. He didn’t do funerals, he did women and drinking instead. In a time of war there was no time for grieving, he believed it to be a weakness of the flesh much worse than indulging in the warmth of a prostitute or colleague every now and then. This had become a routine for him and while it ate away at his conscience he never once considered giving up his bachelor-lifestyle. Never until today.

The narco screamed as Javier tackled him to the asphalt, brutally bending his arms behind his back, slapping the cuffs around his wrists. He opened his mouth to yell something out to Carillo when he heard the echo of two gunshots, followed by a cry. As his ears registered the pitch and tone, he made it out to be you. His head shot up immediately, already in desperate search of the source of your whereabouts.

Carillo took the detained from his clammy hands, leaving Javier to find you. Everything went quiet and all he could hear in that moment of utter panic was his obscene breathing and rapid heartbeat. When he rounded the corner, seeing Steve’s back turned to him, a pool of broken glass and legs he could only assume were yours he felt his heart drop. Murphy was frantically babbling into his radio as Javier stepped closer, the blood on the floor sickening.

He stood still next to Steve, watching the way your relaxed body laid in his arms, unmoving. “Is she-“

“No”, Steve replied quickly, beckoning for Javier to take his spot. “Stay with her, I’m getting the med kit from the car.”

He hesitantly sat down on his knees, the glass scraping against the fabric of his jeans as he gently pulled you onto his upper thighs. He spotted the burnt fabric on your vest and thanked his stupid teasing for having secured it earlier. It was as if you were just asleep, eyes closed, a peaceful look settling on your features. That’s what he told himself, she’s just resting, it’s been a long day, she’s fine, just tired.

Usually when you were sprawled out in his arms it was after another heated round of mind-numbing sex, naked and glistening with sweat. He thought of the way you looked then, skin glowing with pleasure, lips curled up in the most mesmerizing smile, eyelids fluttering closed as he trailed his long fingers over your chest. Rather than being covered in each other’s sweat, he found his hands stained with your vibrant-red blood and rather than trailing his fingertips across the curve of your breasts his left hand rested on the back of your head, hair sticking to itself from the mixture of sweat and blood.

It was a horror, the otherwise so lively and feisty woman appearing dead. The more he thought of it, the more he started shaking, panicking, checking for a heartbeat despite hearing your soft breaths. He couldn’t stand the idea of never getting to apologize to you, never having you curled up against his chest again, laughing about something stupid. The mere possibility of never seeing you at that desk again, stuffing your mouth with whatever the kitchen had to offer, completely dropping the “ladylike” act in front of your two partners, it tugged right at his heartstrings.

When Steve returned, putting some balled up spare clothes underneath you to keep them from cutting you up even more, Javier was dead silent and pale with terror. He gave his fellow agent a death glare when he gently shifted her body back to the floor, his arms tightening around you. “We need to get her vest off and check her chest”, Steve commanded, Javier finally loosening his grip, allowing you to lay on the makeshift “bed”.

“Ambulance?”, he breathed.

“Still on the way”, Steve huffed as he carefully undid the several buckles and straps on your vest.

As the two frantic men were bickering back and forth accusing the other one of not being careful enough or being a blatant idiot you slowly came to. A soft whine left your lips as you blinked a couple of times, the bright daylight inducing the absolute worst headache you ever felt. Soon the two of them were hovering over you, asking a myriad of questions while you were just trying to put two and two together. You couldn’t even bring yourself to move an inch, your entire body just aching and seemingly on fire. As you registered the severity of your fall, your breathing started to speed up, the two fussing men not helping you with your oncoming panic attack. Javier rested a bloodied hand on your cheek in an attempt to calm you down, he was whispering something to you, in Spanish, fingers stroking back and forth in a gentle motion. You tried to speak but found yourself unable to, a tear of frustration falling out of the corner of your eye.

“Cariño, quédate conmigo, por favor”, he muttered, “Está bien, la ambulancia llegará pronto.” (Stay with me, it’s okay, the ambulance will be here soon).

He hadn’t been this soft with you in weeks and the longer you stared up at him through your heavy eyes, the guiltier he felt about it. With every blink your eyes struggled more and more to open again, your body urging, begging you to just rest. You were defenceless against yourself, the sustained injuries asking just too much of you, and soon you were out again, breathing steadying once again. Javier bit his tongue trying to ground himself and keep calm as he heard the wailing sirens in the distance. Steve had been taken your vest of by now, lifting your shirt to reveal nasty bruises on your chest, the vest had saved your life. Javier said a prayer right there and then, thanking whatever entity up above responsible for saving you, for letting you stay with him.

When the paramedics took over and removed the two of them from the scene they were in a trance-like state. Steve had been through this before, back in the states he’d lost his partner, which had proven to him just how powerful drugs were. Death was just a part of the job, but losing a partner, that shit was personal.

 How they managed to get to the hospital unscathed was beyond anyone’s understanding, but as Steve sat in the waiting room with sweet Connie holding his hand, Javier was angry. It should’ve been him, he had told you not to go, but you just wouldn’t fucking listen. They didn’t even catch the guy, which maybe wasn’t the worst outcome, seeing how Javier would have absolutely murdered him with his bare hands.

“Javier just sit down, this isn’t helping anyone”, Connie spoke up, clearly having had enough of the man’s continuous pacing. “Why don’t you get yourself a coffee or something, you could be here another couple hours.”

She did have a point, you’d been in surgery for little over an hour and with every passing minute his need to just run off was getting more and more prominent. But he knew that the doctor could walk through those doors any minute as well, so he wanted to stay put, for you.

Upon seeing his partner’s lack of movement, Steve stood up. “How about I go get us those coffees then”, he offered.

Being alone with just Connie, a close friend of yours, made him feel even more nervous. Luckily for him the doors swung open before any kind of conversation could be started. Revealing the doctor that had rushed you away earlier. Your two friends went to stand, politely nodding at the doctor.

“The patient is stable, she suffered a broken collarbone which we managed to fix into place during surgery. She also sustained a concussion and a laceration to the back of the head which has been closed up. And uh she has some contusions among minor cuts over the body, nothing to be too worried about.” Javier and Connie sighed in relief. “But I need to speak to Steve Murphy, he was listed as Miss y/l/n’s emergency contact.”

“That’s my husband, he’s gone to get some coffee, should be back any second”, Connie replied, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “Can we go see her?”

“The patient’s waking up just now, so she’ll be out of it for a little bit.” With that he led them to your room, carefully opening the dim room, quickly adding that it had to do with the smack to the head you’d suffered.

Javier and Connie sat on either side of the bed, the doctor quickly leaving the room almost bumping into Steve on the way out. When he introduced himself the doctor whisked him away, presumably to have that confidential chat.

A quiet sob drew Javier’s attention back to the scene in front of him, nothing that Connie had started to cry, carefully holding your hand in hers. “Careful with that, we still need that back at the office, evidence”, he joked, eliciting a sad smile from his friend.

“Just look at her Javi, she must’ve been so scared.”

He looked at the IV’s in your left hand and the several bandages covering your body. “She’ll be alright Con, I promise.”

Steve re-entered the room with heavy steps, head hanging low and he looked at his wife. “Connie, a word, out in the hall”, he sighed.

She quickly wiped at her eyes and left the room, following her husband outside. He was alone with you now and felt incredibly out of place. You were the one to make situations less awkward and insufferable, you were the one to lighten the mood with some stupid joke or story about something back in the States. You, you, you – anything and everything was you, it was like his fucking world revolved around it- her. The poor man wasn’t able to deal with the near loss of you and his feelings, so he did what seemed best to him, pressing a quick kiss to your head and booking it, leaving you alone.

The simple touch had its desired effect, eyes fluttering open just as he walked over the threshold of your room, disappearing into the Columbian night. As you blinked a couple of times, vision somewhat blurry, all you could feel was pain, intense pain from your shoulder. Just as you tried to sit up a bit more the Murphys walked in, Connie quickly rushing over to your side and forcing you to lay back.

“Hey, y/n, hey, you’re in the hospital”, she explained slowly, gesturing at the several wires and monitors.

“Ja-Javier?”, you croaked out, throat completely dry and scratchy.

Steve poured you a glass of water while speaking: “He must’ve left. Listen, I know you’re probably exhausted and all but we need to have a chat.”

Nothing could have prepared you for the absolute bomb Steve was about to drop on you, those three little words changed everything. You – are – pregnant. Normally people would be nothing short of euphoric hearing such a confession, but to you – a woman with no partner and a job in one of the most dangerous places to be – it was a death penalty.

You had stayed in the hospital five more days, fellow agents coming to pay their respects, but you were just in a state of utter shock and frankly denial. You had argued with doctors and nurses, demanding they’d take your blood again and do it right. But no matter how much you protested and wanted it to not be true, you were in fact pregnant.

Five whole days of friends and colleagues supporting and loving you, even a call from your fucking parents at some point, but no Javier. Connie and Steve hadn’t pried for information, prioritizing your recovery for now, but you knew fully well your old friend had his suspicions. They hadn’t told anyone else, and as of yet it was just you, them two and the medical staff that was aware, already way too many people for your liking.

On the fifth day nobody visited, as per your request, you’d be moving in with Connie and Steve for the next couple of weeks, your concussion-induced vertigo and left arm requiring almost constant assistance, or as you saw it: babysitting. So, you’d told everyone to fuck off until it was time to go to hopefully get some time to yourself, time that you could spend in your own head. As you sat up on the hospital bed, half dressed, incapable of putting a shirt over your head, you broke down. It wasn’t necessarily the shirt that made you this upset it was just everything; the accident, the fact that you were pregnant and most of all him. He hadn’t even made an effort to visit you, to check up on you.

Or so you thought. You see, while you were out in that bed, life at the office just continued where it left off, Peña and Murphy still sitting at their desks and going out in the field. Only now they only ever talked about three things; new leads, that new bar downtown and you. Well to be completely honest, Steve didn’t really ever mention you but Javi.. he couldn’t shut up about you, bugging his poor co-worker on the daily, trying to get at least some information out of him. Steve had gotten so fed up one late night that he’d tossed the case files at the other man’s head, telling him to go to that damned hospital instead. After that he stopped asking and was left to brood and mull in his bed, kitchen, shower, basically anytime he was alone. Surely you wouldn’t want him there, considering what terms you were on, but would it be so bad for him to just swing by, talk to you for half an hour or so, see how you were doing with his own eyes? He deemed it best to leave you alone and not give you more of a headache. But by Saturday afternoon, the day you were supposed to be emitted, he couldn’t help himself. He got in his car and just drove there, hastily parking his car as he ran up to your room, stopping at the door as he heard your muffled weeping.

The soft knock interrupted your heartfelt moment, you saw his reflection in the windows, unable to turn your head around. “Can I come in?”, he asked with a small voice.

“Y-yeah”, you answered, trying to cover yourself with your good arm.

He wordlessly walked over to you, quickly gathering the shirt from the floor and stepping closer. “Guide me.” Javier tenderly helped you into your shirt, following your every instruction and checking if he was doing okay every time you winced. When you were dressed he sat next to you on the bed, holding the hairbrush you’d handed him just seconds before. “I-I’ve never done someone else’s hair, are you sure you want to look even more of a mess?”, he joked.

You quietly chuckled, fidgeting with the hair tie in your hand. “Can’t get much worse anyways, just be careful with the ends.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as he brushed through your untamed hair, profusely apologizing every time the brush would get tangled, making the both of you laugh a little. It was a small win, just a sweet and innocent moment with the most dangerous man around, at least to you. He struggled to comb it all back, clearly not used to performing even the easiest of hairstyles. Eventually your hair did end up in something akin to a ponytail, at least he tried. After he zipped up your bag for you and checked the room for anything left behind you tried to slip on your shoes, a pair of tennis shoes to be exact, ones you frequented due to the nature of your job. Chasing narco-men wasn’t exactly ideal when wearing heels, so yes, you lived in flats. He soon got on his knees in front of you, helping you in your shoes and tying the laces for you, not able to watch you struggle any longer. The two of you didn’t talk other than the occasional “does this hurt” and “what now”. He offered to drive you home, but you explained Steve would be picking you up in a bit, informing him that you’d be staying over at their place, but a floor away from his own door.

“I should probably go then – unless you need anything else”, he said, hands in his pockets.

You went to stand, losing your balance a bit and steadying yourself by holding on to the frame of your bed. “Actually, if you don’t mind, can you help me to the entrance, I’d rather wait there.”

With his arm wrapped around your waist, by means of support, totally nothing else, he helped you get downstairs, to the entrance. He’d insisted you stayed inside, telling you about the dangers of being alone. You’d rolled your eyes, reminding him you had worked here just as long as he had, making him jut his hip. It’s then that Steve pulled up out front, quickly walking over to the two of you.

“What the hell is he doing here?”, Steve asked you, eyeing his partner up and down.

“He was just visiting and now he is leaving, see you Monday, Murphy”, Javier scoffed as he patter the man on the back, walking off without another word.

As Murphy helped you in his car he quirked an eyebrow at your messy hair; “Peña do that to you?” You nodded. “What’s that all about?”

“Survivor’s guilt”, you chuckled.

Taglist: @peterhollandkait @pedritomando​ 

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Limerence.

by poxionous

The feeling of love, What a strange feeling it is. So dangerous, yet so pleasant.

Words: 213, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: DCU (Comics), DC Extended Universe

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Original Characters, Superman, Clark Kent, Cat Woman, Selina Kyle, Wonder Woman - Character, Flash (DCU), Barry Allen, Green Lantern, Cyborg (DCU), Robin (DCU), Red Hood (DCU), Nightwing (DCU), Basicall almost everyone in DC

Relationships: batman/OC Bruce Wayne/OC

Additional Tags: Implied heavy themes, Implied/Referenced Suicide

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/31819243