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bullet-prooflove · 2 years

Note

From the Writing Prompt Dialogue : "That was... That was very, very charming and a little twisted." With Otis x female reader Tysm for doing this ❣️

Tagging @lovinblueheart99 as she loves Otis and has been a complete doll to me recently!

So this prompt took on an absolute life of it's own! Sorry it ended up a bit grim in places!

“Well, that was very charming if a little twisted.” Otis muttered; hands jammed into the pockets of his navy-blue quilted jacket as the two of you stepped out of the convention centre in a state of shock.

When you’d gotten tickets to the ‘Ultimate Horror Convention’ you hadn’t realised the level of gore that would be on display. You’d thought it was old school, showcases like Hammer House of Horror, not Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Hostel, I Spit on Your Grave levels of viscera.

That guy with the axe in his head, you couldn’t get him out of your brain. He reminded you of that scene from last week, the one you’d attended with Burgess when two tweakers had gone at each other. The copper scent had stuck with you for days, clinging to your hair and skin no matter how often you showered. The worst part was when you found him, he’s still been alive, blood bubbling out of his lips as he babbled nonsensically. He hadn’t made it to the hospital. He’d barely made it into the ambulance.

Your chest had constricted as soon as you laid eyes on the guy in the convention. It was too real, too vivid, the handle was a different colour, yellow instead of blue but the rest was accurate, frighteningly so. It was like someone had sucker punched you in the chest. Otis had taken one look at the place, his face turning ashen before the two of you had decided to leave.

The adrenaline was surging through your body when the cool air hit you, it felt like your lungs were in a vice squeezing the oxygen out of them with every single twist. The scarf around your throat felt like it was strangling you. You clawed at it, tugging it away from your throat.

You could taste the copper on your tongue, see the axe protruding from his skull, the bone fragments gleaming through flesh and matted hair. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your ears roaring from the rush of blood.

Otis placed his hand on his chest, exhaling deeply before he turned his attention towards you, his eyes still wide.

“What the hell did we just see?” he asked you, a shaky laugh emitting from his chest.

You were hot, too hot. Even stepping out into the cold air did nothing to sooth your surging temperature. You shrugged out of your jacket, your motions almost violent as you tore it off you.

“Shit, are you ok?” Otis asked you, his palm coming to rest on the space between you shoulder blades as he ducked his head close to yours. “I think your having a panic attack.”

You nodded, your ragged breaths wrenching out of your chest as black spots darted across your vision.

“You’re ok.” He told you, his voice gentle and kind as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and guided you to the outside wall of the building. “Let’s just sit down for a minute.”

Your knees trembled as you slide down the wall alongside of him until you were both sitting on the concrete. Your elbows came to rest upon your knees, your thumb pressing against the pulse point focusing on the steady thrum underneath the delicate vein.

He tilted your chin up with tender fingers so that you were looking into those earnest eyes of his.

“Breathe with me.” He told you, placing his palm on his stomach and gesturing for you to do the same. “In for four, count with me. One, two, three four.”

You followed his instructions. Breathing in for four, then holding for four seconds and then breathing out for six. You lost track of how many times you completed the routine. You focused on those warm eyes and the even tones of his voice. The scent of frankincense and patchouli clung to his skin, it was a floral masculine scent that seemed to sooth over your jagged nerves. You exhaled deeply, the rhythm of your diaphragm normalising.

“You good?” he asked, his hand clasping your shoulder.

His thumb trailed over the line of your collarbone through your plaid shirt, his grip grounding. A strand of unruly dark hair fell across his forehead in delicate wave. You wondered if he knew how handsome he looked in this moment, how every touch sent a spark running through your synapses.

“I feel like an idiot.” You told him, tipping your head back against the wall and lifting your eyes skyward.

“Don’t.” he said simply. “I know a thing or two about panic attacks, you’re not alone in dealing with them.”

He bowed his head as he spoke, his cheeks colouring before he looked away into the distance.

“There was a call out months ago, a mother and baby…” he trailed off before clearing his throat. “Sometimes I can’t get the imagine out of my head, it’s an intrusive memory apparently.”

There was a silence between the two of you. You could see the shame eating away at him, he had revealed too much, fire fighters didn’t panic, they didn’t have PTSD, they did their job, they got on with it. And so did cops, at least that’s what you told yourself when you woke up in the middle night, twisted up in sheets and fighting something that didn’t exist.

“It was the axe guy.” You told him, starring at the fountain ahead of you, watching the way the water rippled as it poured from the spout. “There was a scene last week…”

You clamped your lips shut and shook your head as the memories jetted to the surface once more. Otis’s hand clasped yours, he squeezed lightly.

“You don’t have to talk about it.” He said, his thumb trailing over the curve of your fingers. “Just know that I get it, that I’m here if you want to.”

“Thank you.” You said quietly, your head coming to rest upon his shoulder.

“I have to ask though, why on earth you got tickets to a grindhouse horror convention?” he said, jerking his head back towards the building. “It was like a hell mouth in there.”

“Truthfully, I thought it was like a cool retro thing.” You explained. “I thought we’d see some stuff from Phantasm or the Evil Dead. I literally thought the worst thing we saw would be the Necronomicon or Bella Lugosi’s Haunted Mirror.”

“That’s in Vegas.” He said automatically, before shaking his head. “I had no idea you were into old school horror.”

“Big time.” You informed him. “After my dad had his heart bypass, we would literally sit for hours watching the Hammer House of Horror stuff while he recovered. That’s why I thought it would be the perfect first date, something really memorable.”

“Oh, it was memorable.” He smiled before he processed the rest of your words. “This was a date?”

“It was supposed to be.” You told him. “We’ve spent a lot of time together; I thought the two of us had a connection. If I’ve misread that…”

Otis laughed, that wonderful deep sound resounded in your ears as you looked at him quizzically.

“You’re so cool, funny, beautiful…” he trailed off, fumbling for the words.

“But…” you prompted.

“No buts!” he said suddenly. “It’s just I’m always in the friendzone. I didn’t think I had a chance.”

“Brian, you are the kindest, most courageous person I have ever met. No one else stands a chance.” You told him, leaning in close.

He reached for you, his balmy hands cradling your face. His thumb ghosted over the apple of your cheek as he looked into your eyes, those dark eyes burning with an intensity you felt deep down inside.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He whispered against your lips.

It was torrid, filled with a passion and heat that roared through the contours of your body, searing through every single one of our nerves. You wanted him like nobody else before and you knew after one night with him there would be no one else after.

Your hands raked through his hair, grasping his unruly curls as his tongue teased the seam of your mouth, parting your lips before delving deep inside.

Otis was the first to pull away, his lips swollen, his eyes smouldering, and his hair tousled. That need, that desire blazed inside of you as you reached for his hand, grasping it tightly as you spoke.

“Brian, I’m coming home with you tonight.”

#otis x reader #brian otis zvonecek #brian otis zvonecek x reader #otis #otis chicago fire #brian zvonecek #otis imagine #brian otis zvonecek imagine #brian zvonecek imagine

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obiwanobi · 4 years

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Catch me thinking about sith Anakin who got in a fight w/ Palps (did Palps cross a line? Did Anakin decide he had nothing to lose? Idk), barely managed to win and is now seriously hurting and a little freaked out winding up outside Obi-wan's quarters and Obi-wan doesn't have time to draw his saber let alone figure out how a sith lord managed to get so far into the jedi temple unnoticed and Force is that blood? before Anakin's passing out with only a murmered request for help.

LISTEN you can’t keep sending me perfect prompts, how do you know I can’t resist bloody men on their knees begging for salvation, how do you know me so well??? anyway here’s 2.3k of always-a-sith!Anakin who could have been the new ruler of the empire but said ‘no thanks, this is too much responsibility, I would like to be pampered by my favourite jedi now’ (with a bit of Ahsoka as Obi-Wan’s padawan!)

He didn’t mean to kill him.

Well, not at first.

He didn’t mean to kill Sidious, but pulling his lightsaber from his lifeless corpse only felt like complete satisfaction. A weight on his shoulders he didn't know he carried disappeared, letting him stand up above the body of his master— former master, and gaze upon what was left of him. A shapeless form on the ground. A dark cape around an old man playing at being a god. A begging mess of futile promises when he realised it was the end for him.

As mindless fury leaves him, his ragged breathing slows down and his fist unclenches around his saber. Sidious is dead. Now that the adrenaline rush is gone, his knees start shaking. His Master is dead. His face is wet with sweat and blood and tears. Dead and now Anakin has no one.

And then... And then fear.

"You know," Ahsoka groans as the water starts boiling, "I don't understand how you got your reputation of Cool Jedi Master. Other padawans think I'm lying when I tell them you wear the ugliest slippers at home and gets excited by new tisanes."

"You gifted me those slippers."

"As a joke. And you still wear them."

"I'm not going to throw away perfectly good slippers." Obi-Wan wiggles his toes under the red and yellow fuzzy monstrosities, just to see his padawan rolls her eyes. "And they're really comfortable."

"So you're just going to stay there, then? Your whole battalion is out celebrating our first day of leave since forever, but you prefer to drink your tea alone and go to bed at 22:00?"

"No one wants an authority figure around when they're letting loose and celebrating, Ahsoka," Obi-Wan says, pouring hot water in his cup. He raises the kettle towards his padawan as a question, to which she shakes her head. "I thought you would be happy to see me putting sleep before work for once."

"I am, Master, but I thought it could be..." She trails off, fidgeting with the hilt of her sabers. For once, she looks like a typical padawan, just like he was at her age, dying to enjoy one night away from the temple and any kind of responsibilities.

"It's alright my dear," he sighs, "you can join them if you want."

Ahsoka suddenly perks up. "I can?"

"If you're old enough to be sent to the front, I think you can handle yourself for one night on Coruscant."

"Thank you Master! I promise I'll be careful and not come back too late!"

"You do that, and-- wait, Ahsoka," he adds as she's already halfway through the door, "make sure to stay around Cody! And no alcohol of any kind! And don't lose your lightsaber at sabacc again!"

"That was you!" she yells from the end of the corridor, "don't worry, I'll be fine! Don't wait for me to go to bed! Goodnight Master!"

Obi-Wan smiles, blowing on his cup. He already sent a message to Cody earlier to keep an eye on her, so he knows she's in good hands.

He has his herbal tea, his ugly slippers, no reports to read or write, and no immediate Separatist menace to plan for. For once, a perfectly good night to catch up on sleep and meditation.

So, of course, something has to be wrong.

The Force is bright. The Force is lighter than it has ever been for the past few years.

And Obi-Wan can't understand why.

It's not just him that can feel it: Ahsoka has acted chipper since, more like the teenager she is, laughing with the clones and playfully teasing him the whole fly back to Coruscant. The temple has felt livelier than ever when they arrived, Jedi from all ages going about their day with a new spring in their step, greeting each other warmly in the corridors. Even Master Yoda has taken a few minutes during their Council meeting to note the shift in the Force. No Master could pinpoint the origin of this change, but all agreed that something good happened somewhere in the galaxy, and they were just feeling ripples of the effect in the Force.

Still now, the whole temple feels a bit more like it used to, before the war, and all Jedi are a bit happier without knowing why.

Only Obi-Wan feels like a noose tightening around him. Whatever it is, it's slowing making its way around his presence in the Force. Focusing on him and him alone. Doesn't matter how much Obi-Wan tries to hide himself, it's getting closer and never slowing down or losing interest.

Needless to say, Obi-Wan has a bad feeling about this.

But after almost three years of war, sullen faces and grim expressions, he doesn't feel like dampening the sudden good mood around the Temple just with a few words. He can probably deal with whatever it is by himself.

His tisane is cold when he finally emerges from his meditation. Nothing is clearer than when he started: the Force is deaf to his questions and inquiries, still light as a breeze. An airy unconcern for his restlessness. And yet, a thick pressure still looms around him, getting heavier each passing second now.

His fingers start pulling on his collar.

The clock on the wall indicates that he lied to Ahsoka when he said he was going to bed at a respectable time today. No diurnal Jedi would still be up right now, but he still considers going out to knock at Mace's door. Narrowed eyes and a very long sigh will be his first answer, but Obi-Wan knows that Mace would never refuse to hear him out. Yes, he finally decides when the pressure seems to creep even closer to him, it's worth waking up Mace.

He opens his door, wondering if he should take his robe with him, and instantly stops walking.

There, in the empty corridor of the Jedi Temple, at his door and on his knees, is a Sith. He knows it's a Sith only because he recognises this specific mass of hair, the large shoulders, the dishevelled dark robe. He knows it's a Sith because he has crossed path with this one enough times on the battlefield to recognise him anywhere. Outside of it a few times too. He isn't sure it's a Sith when the Sith raises his head up, bloody and bruised face torn in an agonizing expression, and his eyes are blue.

"I— I didn't know where to go," Darth Vader says quietly, with the kind of voice expected from a lost child. It gives Obi-Wan a second shock to hear his voice, making his presence suddenly real. "You said... You said if I ever wanted to, if I needed help one day, you would— I could—"

Obi-Wan remembers it. He remembers all the times he offered his help. His pleas for him to stop the violence, the appeals to reason, the multiple suggestions of a gentler path. His hand continuously outreached but never taken. He remembers the burning gold of the Sith's eyes too, and his black cape floating above the dead clones at his feet.

His laughter the first time Obi-Wan brought up the idea of lowering their blades and talking around a cup of tea. His sneer the third time Obi-Wan tried to change his misconceptions about the Jedi Order and play-flirt with him in the same breath. The silence the fifth time Obi-Wan asked him his name, his real name, the one a parent gave him.

The tears the last time he gave it to him.

"And you're always trying to save me," Vader adds more forcefully now, like the words anger him, "you're always here, showing up almost every time I'm sent somewhere with your stupid smile and stupid words, and you're always nice, and... and teasing, and disappointed when I kill someone, like you expect me to be better, and I don't understand you, but..."

Vader raises his hand towards him, and it's only this sudden move that shakes Obi-Wan out of his stupor. Before the Sith can touch his leg, Obi-Wan calls his lightsaber to him, ignites it in one fluid motion, half-expecting Vader to be up and swaying his saber in his face by now. But the Sith is still on his knees, and it's only now that the blue light of his blade is above him that Obi-Wan realises the state he's in. His face isn't the only thing bruised and battered: his dark tunic is stained with blood and ripped in more than one place, one of his arms is bent in an unnatural way, and it looks like a cut above his hairline is still bleeding, making his curls stick to his face in a mess of wet hair and burned skin.

"Vader," Obi-Wan says slowly, when his thoughts finally regain a semblance of coherence. A rapid investigation through the Force assures him that no other enemy is around and the calm and quiet of the night in the Temple isn't a prequel for a storm. "How did you get in here? What are you doing here? How—"

Vader's hand, stuck in the space between them, reaches once again for Obi-Wan. Foolishly, Obi-Wan lets him. His fingers twist themselves in the fabric of his pants.

"He made me killed them all.” Vader wobbles on his knees for a second, the hand on Obi-Wan's leg gripping it tighter. “No platoons, no battle droids. Just me. He sent me to the power station and I cut through them so easily, so quickly, they didn't even fight back, and I didn't think that..." he trails off, panting. "Until.... until I saw the electro-whips."

"Are you talking about Naphtla?" he asks when Vader doesn't seem to be able to continue.

Naphtla. Outer Rim. Barely on the Republic radar until this afternoon, when nearby troops answered a distress signal and found a hidden Separatist power station operated by slaves. A third of them were dead, killed only a few hours before, and the survivors turned to the Republic for immediate support. Slaughtered like animals, the rescue team reported to the Council only a few hours ago, by one single man wielding a red lightsaber. According to witnesses, the darksider cut through the slaves like bantha butter, killing everyone in his path without discrimination, until he stopped for no apparent reason and abruptly left.

"You were the one who killed the people at the station there," Obi-Wan realises out loud, horrified, "the slaves from Zygerria."

Vader snaps his head up and his fingers tighten painfully around Obi-Wan's knee. "I DIDN'T KNOW!"

All Obi-Wan's senses and logical thoughts urge him to back out, put an end to this nonsensical charade, raise his lightsaber between them, get away from the dark, hungry void Vader generates in the Force.

But his eyes are looking up to him. Gripping his gaze with the same intensity as his hand on his leg. Bloodied face and pleading, on his knees. Full of tears.

Obi-Wan doesn't push Vader's hand away.

"I didn't know they were slaves, I didn't!"

"Vader."

"He never said! He sent me without telling him, he knows I don't—" A small noise sounding suspiciously like a sob swallows the rest of his words.

"Vader, who sent—"

"When I came back," he tries again, quieter. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to ask about this he, but Vader's head lolls for a second, too heavy to support, before butting gently against Obi-Wan's leg. Vader makes no effort to move, content to stay there, and after a second, a small, almost timid nuzzle against his thigh sends a series of shivers through Obi-Wan's spine. It shuts him up instantly. "When I came back, he looked at me for so, so long, before saying that he knew, he knew I was going to fail, that I was... just like them after all, and that I could never... And I was so mad, so angry at him, so I... I..."

The last words are muffled by the fabric Vader clings to. Hides into. There's blood on Obi-Wan's pants now.

"What have you done, Vader?" Obi-Wan asks, softer than he intended. "Vader," he asks again when no reply comes, without success. The hand not holding his lightsaber moves, hesitates for a moment, then settles lightly on Vader's hair, mindful not to touch any open wounds. His fingers nudge him to tip his head back, gently, carefully, and settle on his cheek to hold his face up, looking at him. "Anakin." His name, his true name, makes him blink a few times. "Anakin, what have you done?"

"I killed him," he finally admits, barely audible. He looks exhausted, more like a child in need of rest than ever.

"Who did you kill?"

"My master."

"Dooku? You killed Dooku?"

"No," Vader— Anakin frowns, like Obi-Wan should know better. "Sidious."

It's a bit much to process in one day. Another Sith Lord, Vader's master, concealed and kept a secret, now dead, killed by his apprentice —and does that make Vader the ruling Sith Lord now? Do Sith have rulers?— the lightness in the Force the same day, a half-dead Vader begging for help in the middle of the night in the Jedi Temple, and all of that while Obi-Wan is still wearing his ugly slippers.

He's so glad he sent Ahsoka away for the night.

Anakin doesn't let him time to feel the migraine coming.

"I can't do it, I can't be my master, I can't— and Dooku hates me, he will never help me, even if I let him have it all, he will never..." Vader seems to run out of steam, and lets his eyes close as his head falls once again against Obi-Wan's thigh. Closer. "You said you could help me. You said I could come to you at any time. You said you would always be there if I didn't want to... do this, anymore."

"I did," Obi-Wan assures him, his hand lightly petting his hair again.

Anakin lets out a long breath. His fingers tighten on the fabric of Obi-Wan's pants, loosen, and tighten again.

"You're the only one I trust," the Sith quietly tells the Jedi, and it's the saddest thing Obi-Wan has ever heard.

#appleslakesandeuchre #(I changed the end of your prompt a bit I hope it’s fine with you)#asks #obikin #clem's aus #fic i will never write #always a sith anakin au #ahsoka the next morning is HORRIFIED to find a sith on the couch #like 'I knew you had a huge soft spot for him but really master? REALLY?'#obi-wan 'shh don't raise your voice at him'#fic i did write

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 3 years

Text

The Stolen Umbrella || TUA Rewrite --- ꒰ run boy, run pt. 9 ꒱

A Diego Hargreeves x F!Reader Series

𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘝𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘢, 𝘍𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭. 𝘋𝘪𝘦𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘙𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘥'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦𝘳?

☂︎ 𝔱𝔰𝔲 | ❛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴛ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ? ❜

a.n. I shouldn't have to clear this up but just in case, I'm going to anyway: there is nothing romantic between y/n and five and there never will be. There is a 17+ year age gap and the dynamic is/always will be strictly platonic/familial-like.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

❛❛ 𝐘/𝐍 ❜❜

Your name had left his lips in a dying whisper that almost no one had heard over Diego's voice. Almost no one.

Klaus could see by the look in his brother's eyes he had recognized you. There was no denying it. And neither was there any denying the internal battle that was waging inside Five as time unpaused.

Vanya pushed herself out of her seat, everything in her stance including her movements was stuttering as she processed the news. Her mouth moved to try and form words but nothing came out at first.

"Is this...? Wait, you guys are--?" she shot you an apologetic look as she tripped over her words and grasped at her temples. "Uh, sorry. I'm having a little trouble comprehending all this. Um, Y/n?" She asked, making sure she heard right.

Cautiously, you nodded.

"Hi, I'm Vanya."

Your eyes fell curiously to her outstretched hand. But Vanya already pulled away, sending an apologetic smile as she put the pieces together. Looking to Diego for help, he merely shrugged from behind you. Just go with it, his eyes said. Please.

"Y/n, this is our brother, Five." Said Diego, both of you turned to Five.

He hadn't moved since you walked in.

You almost began to wonder if he moved at all. And if they were all the same age as Diego had said, why was he so young?

Before his brother could call him out in his silence, a new, flattened look fell over his face. He stood to his feet, returning his hands to his pockets where they normally rested. An all too different kind of surprise took over your face.

"You are a number? Like me?"

Before any of them could explain, Klaus watched with great curiosity as his brother took a sudden sharp breath in through his nose and gave a curt nod. Whatever was bothering him, he was stuffing it way down.

"Sorry, I wanna make sure I understand," he looked between you all with a concealed look of frustration in his eyes. "Are you saying you were... here?"

You nodded and Diego spoke up, his voice grim and tight. "Dad had locked her away in some special underground chamber. Says she's been there since '91. Can you believe that shit?"

His eyes fell back to you. "No. No, I can't."

"She's like us,"

"Did you say since '91?" Vanya said, her face stuck in an expression of shock. You nodded, and her voice fell in a whisper. "Oh, God,"

"If you'll excuse me,"

Five disappeared around the corner without another word, leaving you all in a state of perplexion. "Wh--! Five!" Diego scolds.

Klaus jumps up from the couch with unease, giving you all an offering glance. "I'll go see what the old man's so bothered about. Probably out of prune juice," he laughs nervously, abruptly turning on his heel and darting after Five to the front entrance.

You didn't understand this-any of what he said, or what just happened-but you found some comfort in Diego's behavior. Something about it seemed just as lost as you. Looking back at Vanya, she offered a sympathetic smile and shrugged.

"You'll have to excuse him," she says, fiddling anxiously with her hands. She seemed like a very nervous person to you. "He hasn't exactly been," she paused, looking for the right word. "himself...? Lately? It's difficult to explain."

Vanya had yet to understand your silence was normal, but you weren't exactly sure what to make of her point either. Frankly, you were still trying to adjust to the fact that you were here. And with so many people. You did however recognize her to the same extent the others felt familiar. Had she not been introduced as their sister you were sure you would have been able to recognize her as someone from up top.

"Not that it's any of my business-I mean, I'm not even sure what you all have talked about yet," she begins again. She looks eagerly between Diego and the others before her brown eyes land earnestly on you. "but I have contacts all over the city. If there's anything you need-anybody who you think might be looking for you--?"

"--No."

Everyone's eyes snapped to yours at your unexpected response. No words came as you had a stubborn staring match with the floors. Clearly, you were trying to avoid Vanya's gaze with your brows pulled in a frown, your e/c burning holes on a fixed spot on the carpet. Those who had met you only the night prior weren't as shocked as Vanya was.

Diego sent her a silent look from behind you and gave a small shake of the head. "Thank you-- Vanya," he forces the words. "We'll let you know if we need you."

Vanya flinched, clearly unhappy with the exchange but setting aside her feelings like she was so used to doing. Her eyes return to your shrunken-in form to study your body language; your arms were wrapped around your torso as your back stayed glued to Diego's side, your head still aimed at the carpet. You were shrinking away from the growing crowd-and in the house of your captor no less. Vanya suddenly felt all the more out of place.

Her opposite hand flies to her watch despite the words already leaving her drying lips. "It's almost two... I should," she points to the hall, her actions not unlike yours; she was shrinking back into herself. It almost saddened Diego. "I should get going. I have a private lesson scheduled for twenty-five after and it's too late to cancel, but-- please, any of you--" her eyes venture the room. "let me know if there's anything I can do."

Surprised, and packing away the guilt itching to be known, Diego gives his sister a reluctant nod. He isn't unaware of the linger Vanya's eyes leave on Allison, or the passing glance at Luther before she hurriedly takes her leave.

It's quiet as the latter share a wordless exchange before departing to the hall, but Diego pulls the two of you to the side regardless. It's then you hear the low husk of his voice, soft, as it normally was, around you.

"How you holding up?" He searches your eyes-relieved to see they have no trouble meeting his-the familiar expression you normally wore told him what he already guessed. He repeated his question. "Are you doing okay so far, I know that must be a lot...?"

It was clear as you finally looked up from the floor and into Diego's eyes you weren't trying very hard to mask your suspicions. A small tilt of your head as you observed his features for any kind of tell. Scouring for any crack in his mask. You had been doing so since meeting him. No one was this kind to you. No one who knew what you could do lived with no fears. And certainly not the son of the man who imprisoned you. But the more you searched for such a mask, the more you began to doubt its existence.

"Y/n?"

His voice was soft again-it was smooth and low. Harmless and gentle. And it was saying your name. You could live a thousand lifetimes hearing your name again and not quite believe it. Number Zero, while you never accepted it, had become tied to your life in the most unpleasant way. And hearing it, from quite possibly the only person you trusted in this moment, made your heart do funny things.

'anybody who might be looking for you--?'

'--Y/n!'

It hits you faster than it had at the car and the frown that takes over your face is heavy enough to sink your head to the floor. Diego's heart sinks with it, his instincts kicking in faster than he'd prefer.

"Hey, hey, now, come on," he tries. "it's... a lot, I'm sure."

"I-I j--" you swallow a sudden breath, surprised by your own stutter. "I just-just--" You shake your head, your eyes indicative of your mind scouring for words, but you're at a loss. In every sense. It's a sensation Diego knows intimately, and that feeling returns. It's seizing his chest.

His first thought is what would his mother do, and just like that it hits him. He wasn't lying when he said he believed Grace had nothing to do with your capture. Sure she was programmed by his father, but she had evolved, he'd seen it for himself. She got upset, she got angry, she got protective-she would never willingly take part in such things.

And yet, Diego was too terrified to admit, even to himself, that he had felt just a flicker of fear as he offered his arm out to you a third time and asked.

"How do you feel about meeting one more person?"

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Like I said to your son earlier, any information about the prosthetics we build is strictly confidential,"

Klaus had realized very quickly how wise it was to have kept his mouth shut about the encounter back at the academy. Neither brother said a word spare for the occasional detail of the plan already underway, but anyone could tell the young (looking) boy was at war with something in his mind. He had always been on edge but this was different. And Klaus knew it had little to do with the prosthetic eye the two were of the hunt for now. Truth be told, he couldn't remember the last time he saw Five like this; he had been angry, he had been heartbroken. But he hadn't seen him this... quiet. And that was saying something.

"Without the client's consent, I simply can't help you,"

Klaus now sat noiselessly, folded in the chair across the executive, Briggs, and watching as his brother gripped the desk with extra fervor. His words were spat through his teeth in a hiss as whatever remaining patience he had was siphoned away by the doctor before their very eyes. "Well, we can't get consent if you don't give us a goddamn name,"

Maybe it was the voice of guilt that won over the urge in Klaus' mind to crack a joke and lighten the mood.

"Well, that's not my problem." The man before them shrugged with a smile far too cavalier for their taste. He was rubbing their sniffers right in it, and Klaus didn't appreciate that one bit.

Maybe it was intuition that told him to give Five this favor today, no more questions asked.

"Sorry," Briggs lied. "Now, there's really nothing more I can do, so,"

Or maybe Klaus just liked to cause trouble.

Until now, he had said little else apart from what was expected of him to Five's surprise. But as he sat here now, listening to this man belittle the two of them, his eyes lost in the snowglobe perched on the corner of the desk, the urge to stay quiet was finally extinguished. His eyes snapped to the man before them, his expression calculated. He spoke with a level voice and an eery calm that surprised even both brothers present in the room.

"And what about my consent?"

"Excuse me?"

"Who gave you permission," choking back sudden tears that were mysteriously struggling to pool in his eyes, Klaus pointed one shaky finger at Five. "to lay your hands... on my son?"

Both Briggs and Five-equally baffled-looked to Klaus. "What?"

"You heard me,"

"I didn't touch your son," he said carefully.

"Oh, really?" Countered Klaus with great intrigue. "Well, then how did he get that swollen lip, then?"

"He doesn't have a swollen--"

SMACK!

Klaus had risen from his seat and struck an unsuspecting Five across the face before Briggs could finish his sentence. The doctor, appalled, watched in stunned silence as Klaus strolled toward himself and leaned across the desk. As he towered over a gulping Briggs, his eyes narrowed into threatening slits.

"I want it. Name, please. Now."

"You're crazy," was all Briggs managed to say.

Klaus then forced a chuckle Lance Briggs wouldn't soon forget before all emotions falls away. "You have no idea." Instantly, his eyes fall back to the snow globe and he picks it up with a certain twinkle in his eye. "'Peace on Earth.' That's so sweet," he coos. Not even a second later the glass was shattered against his skull.

Nobody said anything as Klaus remained doubled over the desk. Allowing one guttural cry of pain, he emerged from behind his trembling hands to reveal his face dripping with streaks of watered-down blood that ran all the way from his temple to his neck, chunks of glass in his tousled bangs and glittery confetti sprinkled in his eyebrows. He sucked in another harsh breath through his teeth, his voice dropping an active or two in strain. "God, that hurt!"

Briggs snatched the landline up off the hook without a second thought. "I'm calling for security-- What--? What are you doing?" Klaus had seized the phone from his hands just in time for someone on the other end to pick it up. With a fearful, trembling gasp he pleas desperately into the phone.

"There's been an assault..." he wept. Beside him, Five's gaze flew all around him. He was amazed nobody on this entire, see-through floor was paying attention to what was unfolding. "in Mr. Big's office, and we need security, now." Five returned to his side, watching now thoroughly entertained. "Schnell!" Klaus shrieked into the phone, no doubt startling whoever was on the other end before finally hanging up.

Klaus shivered at the lingering effects of his stunt. The pain was still all too real, some of the dirtied water seeped further into his wounds. Nevertheless, he leaned further in on the man-blood, glitter, and water dripping all over his desk.

"Now, here's what's gonna happen, Grant."

"It's..." It was clear he regretted the correction as soon as he began, and yet it still slipped out in an intimidated murmur. "Lance."

"In about sixty seconds, two security guards are gonna burst through that door, and they're gonna see a whole lot of blood and they're gonna wonder, 'what the hell happened?' And we're gonna tell them that you..." he drew another shaky finger towards himself and his brother, his words cracking impressively as he spoke. "beat the shit out of us."

He chokes out a sob that even Briggs would have believed and risen back up with a confident bloodstained smile. "You're gonna do great in prison, Grant. Trust me, I've been there. Little piece of chicken like you. Oh, my God, you're gonna get passed around like a..." he began swiveling his hips in a manner that Five would rather not have seen. Klaus perks again. "You're just-- You're gonna do great! That's all I'm saying."

"Jesus, you are a real sick bastard,"

His emotionless expression returned, but a hint of pride was almost traceable in his voice. "Thank you." It was all he said. All he said before he spits out a chunk of glass, further intimidating the executive Lance Briggs where he sat paralyzed in his seat. Fearfully, he took a chance in peeling his gaze away from the bleeding man to his supposed son.

Five, who had remained otherwise silent since the unexpected slap to the face, found himself delightfully surprised. After the initial shock, he couldn't help but watch the entire scene with an unstoppable smirk and a budding sense of pride at his brother's quick thinking.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"This is not good. This is not good!"

Of course the damn eye hadn't even been made yet. Cause that would be too easy. And nothing could ever be easy, for Five. Nuh-uh. No way!

Klaus scurried quickly after his pacing brother, not a stranger to the storm of sudden fury to take hold of his brother. All of it, brewing fast and hard in Five's chest as the weight of the world seems to crash onto his shoulders. And yet, tried and true, his instincts kick in as surely as Five's.

He gave the man-boy he called his brother an excited pat on the arm, desperate to see him smile again. "I was pretty good, though, right? Huh, that whole, 'what about my consent, bitch?' He was totally ready to shit his britches!"

"Klaus, it doesn't matter," Five snapped before they could even reach the bottom of the three porch steps. His shoulders sank and his grin deflated as he turned to face his brother, any hope in cheering him up or distracting him gone. He didn't know why he was surprised. And it was moments just like these where he wondered why he tried.

Klaus didn't say anything. Not at first. His mind kept returning to Five's sudden exit earlier that morning-how skittish the old man got when "meeting" you. And however since, whatever metaphorical wedgie he had been trapped in had winched him up further. He could feel Five searching his own eyes, clearly unaware of what little he was suspicious of and waiting impatiently-nostrils falling and neck veins popping-for an answer.

"Don't you get it?"

Impatience beginning to stir within himself, Klaus finally shrugs, taking the bait. For Five's sake. "What, huh? What don't I get? What's the big deal with this," he shrugs, careful not to pry. Not to pry too obviously, that is. "eye, anyway? Why's it so important to you?"

"There is someone out there who's going to lose an eye in the next seven days. They're gonna bring about the end of life on this earth as we know it." Five spits, stalking off in a huff that leaves Klaus in thought.

It's quiet for a moment, and for one moment only Five is foolish enough to believe he finally shocked his brother into silence.

"So are you sure you didn't know about this 'eye' somehow before, or...?"

Five is halted in his tracks where he slowly turns to gawk up at his brother in disbelief. "What?" Why was he surprised, he wondered to himself, of course something as big as the end of the world wouldn't be enough to stop his brother.

He nodded with a small, pleased smile but it vanished instantly. Genuinely replaced as his face lit up in genuine realization. "Oh, and, totally not a big deal but," he winced playfully. "I would prefer the twenty bucks sooner rather than later, that's probably easiest for both of us. Do you have Paypal?"

"Your twe..." Five trailed off with the shake of his head and a scoff. "Your twenty bucks?! Seriously?"

"Uhh, yeah. My twenty bucks."

"The apocalypse is coming, and all you can think about is getting high?!"

"Well, I'm also quite hungry," he wagers, patting his stomach with a suspicious smile. It was almost as if he knew he as pushing every one of Five's buttons. "tummy's a-rumblin', grRrRr,"

But Five was too distressed to care. Too distressed from the unexpected news from earlier this morning, too distressed from the dead-end at MeriTech of his one and only lead, and too distressed to shoulder this weight alone. All he could bring himself to do at this moment was shake his head in a daze.

"You're useless," he breathes, more to himself than Klaus. "You're all useless!"

In truth, it was Five who felt useless. Useless that he couldn't find the answer to the one clue left behind that determined the fate of the entire world-that determined the fate of his family and the ones he cared for. It wasn't the first he felt this way. And it certainly wouldn't be the first time he let the people important to him down.

He plops himself down on the second step and takes the time to enjoy the vibrant green of the surrounding trees. A simple pleasure he didn't have for so many years, and likely wouldn't get to enjoy for much longer.

Klaus broke him from his solemn thoughts with that same suspicious smile and a dismissive wave of the hand. "Oh, you need to lighten up, old man," He was definitely up to something, Five wasn't oblivious, he just didn't have the energy to care.

"Hey, you know, I've only just now realized why you're so uptight," Klaus begins, careful to tread his next words with great delicacy. Which in Klaus' definition... "...you must be horny as hell!"

Klaus laughs and takes a seat beside him, all too aware of the tired, disturbed eye-roll he pulled from Five.

"All those years by yourself. What, forty-five, you said?" Thirty-five. The number thirty-five comes immediately to Five's mind, but he doesn't dare correct him out loud. "Forty-five years alone is a lot, Five, for anyone. It's gotta screw with your head--"

"--I wasn't alone."

Klaus lit up in feigned surprise. "Oh?" He asked, not bothering to hide his lack of shock at the admission. His little routine, hopefully, had worked. "pray tell."

Five hadn't taken his eyes off the trees since he sat down. But one look on Klaus' part and he knew Five was somewhere else. Somewhere far away. There's something written in Five's features, something that almost convinced Klaus that Five will omit the missing piece of the puzzle he suspected. But with one small, barely traceable shake of his head-as if he were silently scolding himself for the thought-the look vanished.

"Her name was Delores."

Klaus' gaze sunk to the concrete in understanding. Yet still, that name rang a bell. He had mentioned a Delores earlier, just after his sudden return.

"We were together for over thirty years,"

"Thirty years?"

Five nodded, making Klaus laugh in shock. "Oh, wow! Gosh, you know, the longest I've ever been with someone was... I don't know? Three weeks? But that was only because I was so tired of looking for a place to sleep."

A warm smile came to his lips at the returning memory, his eyes fluttering closed as he could almost taste it. "He did make the most amazing osso buco, though. It's--"

The words died on his tongue as he turned to find he was alone. Five had already blinked away. Klaus' shoulders sank at the bitter realization. But it quickly vaporized in anger when he spotted Five's gloating face saluting him from a passing taxi. Klaus sprang to his feet, hollering out at the boy knowing it would yield no true results.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, what about my money?"

The taxi was already around the corner and Klaus feels his entire body deflate. He wants to be angry, and a part of him is. He's pissed. He had just spent all day helping the man-child out, in more ways than he probably should have-in farther lengths than he probably should have. All so he can help things run a little smoother with the latest... discovery. It's not like he was doing all this for selfish purposes. Well, not only for selfish purposes. And here Five was, wasting his time and ditching him with a smile.

And yet, he couldn't bring himself to act on it. Something Five had said was stuck on a loop in his mind. This morning, he had heard it. Clear as day. Your name had slipped out under Five's breath as Diego spoke it. It was no coincidence. He knew you, somehow. And it had taken an incredible toll seeing you today.

Much worse, the truth he just spat out was still hanging in the air, finally beginning to settle on Klaus' shoulders. According to Five, an apocalypse was coming. Between the two (now three) of his brother's disappearances, the boy's behavior made just a little more sense. Frankly, he was surprised he was this strung together.

But, Klaus supposed, that was one of their many differences. While both brothers were keen on sheltering themselves from intense emotions, their methods differed. Klaus sought humor-Klaus sought distractions. But Five?

Well, Five was always good at running.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Vanya's journey home hadn't been a quiet one.

Her mind was muddled with thoughts and questions overflowing from the news she had just received on top of her race against traffic. The accident just off Harris gave her more trouble than she needed. She had debated leaving the taxi and flying the six blocks but the thought was laughable. She did worry about missing her appointment. And that was assuming she could clear her head of her father's latest plot.

It made her sick. Nearly thirty years you had been down there. There were so many questions she didn't get to ask. How were you found? How did you survive? What did he want with you? She knew of course she could never ask you these things, not when everything was so fresh and you two were strangers, at least. But it didn't mean they didn't eat her up inside.

She thought again of her siblings had told her: the earthquakes had stopped, you had been found. Then a terrible thought hits her-something that makes her angry.

'He might have had no problem using you for your power, more than any of us, but he still threatened to lock you up anytime he felt threatened by you. Like some animal.'

Diego's words from the funeral had struck her harder than she had cared to admit. Vanya still didn't know how he found out about that but he did. All these years, her father had been afraid of her despite her being in his good graces. At least she thought so. There was always a threat hanging over her head that never quite made sense. But it was starting to; the threat kept her in place. And it kept her off his trail.

This realization struck her as she ascended the stairs to her apartment. She could barely recall leaving the taxi as she hurriedly fumbled for her keys. They were hard to grip through her gloves and her scarf was threatening to fall off her shoulder in her hurry. On top of it all, hair was falling into her face and she wondered to herself why she never wore it up.

"Shit," she muttered, cringing at the sound of the keys clattering to the wooden floors at the top of the stairs.

"Here, let me get those for ya," a hand swoops out of nowhere, scooping up her keys just as she stands.

When she does, she meets eyes with a man her age. He flashed a charming and friendly smile as he dangled out her keys for Vanya to take. As she did, she was quick to notice how dark the brown of his eyes were-the prominent curl of his hair. His face had just a little bit of scruff but it was well kept. And he was smiling at her, in a way she couldn't place.

She took the keys back and pressed on a tired smile. "Thanks,"

He nods, his head following her as she steps around him to her door. She rifles through the ring of keys for the right one, ready to unlock the door. "Rough morning?" He chuckles.

Vanya throws a distracted look over her head at him. "Uh, yeah. I guess you could say that," there's a click in the deadbolt that brings her relief. The door opens and she steps inside, ready to say an eager goodbye to the man when he gives her an expectant smile.

"Sorry, but I have--"

"--A violin lesson?" Her mouth falls open, and his smirk widens in confirmation. "A ten-fifteen, right?"

It's a second before it finally clicks, and when it does she lets out a sigh. Shit.

"I am so sorry," she gapes, grasping at her temples. "My mind is just-- I'm not all here today, to tell you the truth."

"Well," said the man, flashing Vanya a sympathetic smile as he rocked slightly on his heels. "that's quite alright. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't had a few days like that myself."

Vanya was surprised to feel some of the tension leaving her shoulders. She hadn't realized just how much she had been dreading a venomous response or a passive-aggressive quip. She wasn't used to someone not calling her out. It felt... nice.

He removed a hand from his jacket pocket and offered it to her. "Pleasure to officially meet you," he said. He couldn't stop grinning, she thought. "I'm Leonard,"

"Vanya," she took his hand, enjoying the feel of the calloused skin on her own. "But I guess you already knew that,"

They both laughed a little, and Vanya shook her head. "I'm so sorry, where are my manners. Please, come in,"

Vanya stepped aside, sweeping her arm out in gesture as she beckoned the man in. His eyes, she realized, hadn't left her since she arrived up the steps where he had been waiting outside her door. There was something about him Vanya couldn't place─a feeling not quite good or bad that he gave her as an all-new kind of grin crawled across his scruffy face and he bowed his head in thanks. His dark eyes never left hers until they had to when he crossed the threshold and into her home.

And into her life.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

I REMIND YOU TO BE CAUTIOUS OF ALL RESOURCES YOU FIND REGARDING AIDING THE UKRAINE--IF YOU SUSPECT ME OR ANYONE YOU KNOW HAS OVERLOOKED SOMETHING THEY ARE SPREADING, MAKE IT KNOWN!

WITNESS

'A Library of Free Resources for Video Activists, Trainers & Their Allies'

Unheard Voices

'Unheard Voices is an award-winning digital media and news communications company founded by retired computer scientist Mr. Covin.'

Therapy For Black Girls

'Find trusted, culturally competent therapists that know our feelings and can help navigate being a strong, black woman.'

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Taglist:

@whatawonderfulusername @vicassa @ohmyitsfaith @white-wolf-buckaroo @guineverebeckilicious @a-girl-who-loves-disney @ongaku-ato-kakikomi @alpacataco @okimreadynow @omni-idiot-fanfics @onlyroad @popacherryvisitalibrary @disaster-magician @little-boats-on-a-lake @lonerstolovers @dumdumsun @night-yoarrbe

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aurumacadicus · 3 years

Note

I offer virtual doughnuts. If you're still looking for titles for your (frankly amazing) ficlets, I just got this stuck in my head. "In upstate York did Tony Stark a stately pleasure dome decree." (Context: In Xanadu did Kublai Kahn...)

I am so bad at poetry y’all 😩😩 Just so you know, there’s no actual character death. It’s a fake character death. It’s symbolic. I tried my best.

In Upstate York Did Tony Stark a Stately Pleasure-Dome Decree

“He’s learned nothing from his father,” Sam said, crossing his arms as he frowned at Steve where leaned back against the castle wall.

“He’s learned nothing from his mother,” Natasha disagreed, coming to stand beside him.

Steve frowned, tipping his head back to stare up at the sky. It was covered with splotches of gray and black clouds. Had been since Tony had done the blood rite to make his lands a utopia. Like his father before him had done to keep a coup from happening. Like his mother before him had done, in the vain hope of avenging her husband. It was apparently the family curse, making their land prosperous only for it to fall to ruin before their eyes.

“Famine, do you think?” Clint asked quietly.

Pestilence had been Howard’s downfall, cut down alongside commoner and noble alike. They were still trying to get a proper count of how many had died of plague, but it was slow-going. It was estimated to be in the thousands. War had been Maria’s, and she’d donned her husband’s armor to overthrow a neighboring country, because she’d believed their healers had kept the cure away from them. She’d conquered the country, but she’d been struck a death blow on the battlefield, and had lived long enough to pass the crown over into Tony’s shaking fingers.

Steve sort of hated them for it. Hated Tony for following in their footsteps, too, even as his heart ached for him. He hadn’t had a chance, really.

“The magic doesn’t allow for famine,” Bruce said after a moment. “And while Queen Maria died at war, they conquered. York has continued to thrive even after the demise of two monarchs in quick succession. Will probably continue after a third,” he added bitterly.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Bucky asked. “Tony’s the last in the line of Starks. What will happen when he’s gone?”

“Parliament will take over, probably,” Natasha muttered. “They’ve been champing at the bit ever since Howard died.”

“So. What’s the plan?” Clint asked, looking up at Steve. “Make the call, Captain. We’ll follow you.”

Steve sucked in a deep breath, then let it back out slowly. He’d pledged his fealty to Tony when he was seven years old and Tony was nine, the first time he’d laid eyes on him. The rest of the King’s Guard made fun of him for this regularly, but they took the sting out of it by trusting him to make the right call. He just thanked the gods that they weren’t aware that the story continued with him telling Tony that he wanted to marry him when they grew up, and Tony had very sweetly given a non-answer like all good politicians did, even if his cheeks had gone rosy. He’d looked back at Steve as his tutor had dragged him away, smiling wide.

“We protect the king,” Steve said simply, and the others nodded, faces grim but determined.

He chose death.

Steve took the stairs three at a time, the words ringing in his ears. He could hear the rest of the guard’s swords clashing with the intruders’ behind him.

He chose death.

Apparently, during the rite, the Starks had gotten to choose how the magic consumed them. Howard had chosen pestilence because he had hoped it would be slow, so he could be with his family longer. He’d lingered in his illness, but not in a way where he could have held his family close.

He chose death.

Maria had chosen war because of the rage within her at the loss of her husband. Part of her had believed that the country she’d set out to conquer had hidden a possible cure for the pestilence, but the other part of her had known she would die quickly instead of the slow suffering that her husband had.

He chose death.

Tony had been acting strange. Twitchy. Distracted half-smiles and fluttering hands. “I’m sorry,” he’d said one night. “I know we were just children. I said what I was told to say. But what I really wanted was to say yes.” Steve hadn’t known what to say, so he’d just said ‘thank you.’ He felt like an idiot about it now. He should have asked what he was talking about, or pressed him for the reason he was acting so off. He’d been too distracted by the affection fluttering through him at Tony’s admission that he hadn’t found the strength to.

Because Tony had chosen death. Because he was better than his parents that way--he had no intention of taking anyone with him. No pestilence wiping out the elderly and the young along with their king. No war taking young men and their queen. Tony had chosen death, because he intended for his people to live.

Steve hit the landing and braced himself behind his shield, powering right through the wooden doors, shouting, “Tony!”

Tony turned where he was, standing on the railing of his balcony. His eyes softened when he saw who had burst through the door. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

“NO!” Steve shouted desperately, reaching out even though he knew he was too far away.

Tony reached back, giving him that same soft, rosy-cheeked smile he had when they were kids, but this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. At the same time, he threw himself backward, off the railing, and into the sea below.

#aurumacadicus answers #ask meme #fic title meme #stony #tw: character death #kind of #not really #tony lives because he found a loophole #welcome to the suffer club i guess

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Wings

Characters: Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,523

Warnings: Slight depictions of violence

Premise: In which the reader has wings

Author’s Note: It’s been a while! Hopefully I’m not too rusty, although I can’t account for how late(/early) this is being posted. I’m going to bed.

Xiao

Even from the beginning Xiao had been enthralled with your wings.

They were larger than that of any bird or creature that Xiao had ever seen before, stretching far beyond your arms when they were unfolded, before bending to cover you in a cloak of downy feathers the color of warm soil, shot through with the occasional birch colored feather.

He’d decided to appear in front of you almost the moment he saw you in the distance, at first wondering if you might be an adepti or a god from one of the other lands in Teyvat. Although the look of surprise that crossed your face when he shed his invisibility before you quickly robbed him of that conviction. It was too late to go back at that point though, so Xiao begrudgingly let out his question.

“Who are you?”

Your smile was an odd one; it seemed to convey to Xiao that you didn’t have the answer to his question at all. Nevertheless you answered. You were a half-adepti, and as of such you had been born with wings. When pressed upon your adeptus side you merely shook your head. Both of your parents hadn’t stuck around that much, and you knew little of your heritage, or of the beings who walked the land who weren’t Morax.

Xiao had stared at you then, disbelief mixing with a vague sense of pity. What must it be like to be unable to recognize an adeptus despite being one yourself. It seemed ludicrous, but Xiao couldn’t find it in himself to disdain your state. Pausing then he decided upon what immediately after seemed a very foolish decision.

“Call for me if you are in need. I’m called Xiao.”

He didn’t bother waiting for your response before disappearing, unwilling to let his emotions be known.

The next time he saw you was in the sky. The yaksha certainly hadn’t expected such a thing, and while the initial shock was certainly something, it was almost immediately replaced with a strange appreciation. Though Xiao had seen that the vision you wielded was a Geo one, he almost immediately began to associate you with his own element, with the winds that carried you where you wished to go. Any clumsiness or human fault in your step was almost immediately shed, for how could one be anything but graceful in the air, no matter how they dipped or shook or stopped suddenly. If Xiao was honest with himself, he was utterly enthralled.

Eventually you seemed to grow tired and soon you grew closer. Shifting slightly Xiao backed up as you landed on a branch next to the roof, face flushed with exercise and happiness. Spotting Xiao you smiled brightly.

“It’s a beautiful place to fly here.”

Seemingly unfazed by the lack of conversation on Xiao’s part you sighed, leaning against the branch and staring into the sky. Murmuring something to yourself you seemed so utterly content. A begrudging curiosity swept over Xiao as he found himself responding to your words.

“Really?”

“Oh yes!” You immediately replied, face brightening. “It’s much nicer here than where I came from.”

“Where?” Xiao found himself once more asking.

“Oh this small village on the outskirts of Liyue, near the Chasm a bit. It’s a poor mining town, always covered in soot and coal dust. It’s very difficult to keep things clean there let me tell you; and the people don’t really like things that stand out. I haven’t flown in a while actually, since everyone was so hostile when I did. Now that I’m here I think, I hope, that I can do what they want.”

“You can.”

“I’m so glad to hear,” you smiled once more. “I wasn’t really sure what it would be like here. I’ve mostly stayed in the village, but people seemed more hostile than usual so I figured it’d be better to leave now before I ended up on the wrong side of a pitchfork or a shovel.”

“Humans are so foolish.”

“Maybe you’re right. Still, I’m here now and who knows! Maybe things will turn out well.”

With that you clambered off the roof and walked into the Inn proper, leaving Xiao a swirl of questions and surprisingly burning emotions.

After this you seemed to have gotten it into your head that Xiao was now primed to be your general confidante. Though this initially ruffled the adeptus, he didn’t truly feel like dissuading you, and by the time he’d gotten over the initial shock of your conversation he decided that your voice was surprisingly nice to listen to, and thus settled quietly enough into his new and strange roll of sympathetic ear.

“I registered for the Guild today,” you were saying today, voice bright with excitement. “It’s funny the lady at the stand, Ms. Katheryne? She didn’t even bat an eye at me! I was sure that I was going to get some questions, but besides the stares nothing happened. I’m supposed to start tomorrow. I have to make sure some supplies get to the quarry. Hopefully I won’t run into anyone there.”

“They will leave you alone. The Guild I’ve heard is a powerful force in Liyue.”

“I hope so! I don’t want my first commission to go wrong. I never thought about what I’d do in my life, beyond the usual village work. It’s exciting to have something new out in front of me.”

Xiao thought that was unbearably peppy of you, but he said nothing. Surprisingly he found himself also wishing that you’d do well.

Xiao wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing, following your commission on wind currents. It was none of his business how things went today, after all what did he care about the affairs of humans, even those who were half adeptus? Still he found himself following you, cursing himself all the while for doing something so stupid.

The usual unshakeable happiness that you seemed to exude seemed to disappear almost the moment you left the Inn, instead replaced with a face grim and jumpy with anticipation. A few times you even turned back, studying the Inn or the sky around it. Sometimes your gaze even seemed to pierce through Xiao, something the adeptus found slightly unnerving. Nevertheless he followed as you continued on your journey, all the while wondering what could cause such a massive shift in your demeanor.

If Xiao had any questions about the extent of the reality of your words they were quickly answered. The atmosphere of the quarry was absolutely suffocating, and you could’ve cut the tension with a blade as you slowly approached the drop off.

The foreman said nothing to you, merely glaring as he approached the balloon that you were accompanying. Scouring the barrels and boxes his scowl deepened and deepened. Turning around abruptly he disappeared into his hut for a moment before coming back out. Gesturing towards to open quarry he glared at you.

“There.”

“Thank you,” you replied, voice suddenly small. “Uhm, where exactly should I put this?”

“You lived with us for how many years and couldn’t be bother to retain a shred of information?” The foreman swore under his breath. “Damned half-creatures like you. Put it in Section 4. Tell the Guild master that I never want to see your face here again.”

You said nothing to that in response, merely continuing on your way. Though Xiao couldn’t help but notice how white the knuckles were on the rope you were using to lead the balloon with.

The hostility didn’t ease up when you walked in. Instead things seemed to grow worse, as men and women stared at you with open disdain. The occasional insult could be heard, but for the most part it was deadly quiet, and your steps seemed shorter and shorter as you approached your given destination. At first Xiao was trying to convince himself that such a spectacle didn’t affect him. After all, what did he care for the strange whims and fears of humans. None of this had anything to do with his contract, and he was under no obligation to help you in such an instance. These thoughts were chipping away however, and before Xiao was entirely aware of what he was doing he found himself lowering himself on the ground.

A chorus of gasps rose up as he emerged from the invisible winds that cloaked him. Standing in front of you Xiao nevertheless didn’t catch your eye, instead focusing his glare on the people around him. At first you stopped, taken aback as well it seemed by his sudden appearance. Almost immediately however your posture seemed to relax slightly, and your pace seemed to go back to normal as you walked towards him, continuing on as he followed you to your destination.

Everything else was done in deadly silence, as you got the paperwork you needed and headed out of the quarry. Xiao said nothing the whole time, merely following a few steps behind you. He half expected you to start chattering again the moment the foreman’s hut exited the field of view, but instead you remained quiet. Still you seemed much less grave than in the morning and though Xiao couldn’t explain why this somehow reassured him. Walking next to you now he found his hand drifting towards you, as if the two were being drawn together by magnets. When your hands finally connected Xiao couldn’t help but think how warm yours were.

After that a ritual of commission sharing seemed to inexplicably pop up, though how exactly Xiao wasn’t really sure of. At first it had been to make sure there was no repeat performance of the first day, but then it quickly developed into something else, although what that something was Xiao didn’t really know. All he knew was that every morning when you went to leave he’d find himself next to you, frowning grumpily, muttering about how this wasn’t his duty. You were usually groggy in the mornings, but always managed to give his hand a squeeze before embarking.

If Xiao had subconsciously assumed that the mining incident was a standalone thing he was quickly robbed of that conviction. At first it seemed as if everyone was out for you, though in general the reason seemed to be less your status as half illuminated beast and more due to the figure you cut soaring against the sky, wings obviously too big to be a glider. Everyone seemed to be after you. Treasure Hoarders and Fatui Agents would try to shoot at you, though often you were much too high for their weapons; bandits would ambush you, aiming for your feathers as they attacked; even geovishaps and other such creatures seemed weirdly obsessed with going after you.

Though Xiao had told you more than once that it would be faster if you let him dispatch the monsters and knock out the hunters you always forbid him from doing so. It was your work after all, and if you couldn’t do it yourself then you might as well resign. Xiao usually responded to this with grumblings, but he had to admit that a part of him admired your tenacity.

Still it was difficult to sit back and do nothing. It wasn’t your presence that irritated Xiao, it was more everything else. Besides, he felt as if he was neglecting his duties sometimes. Thus when you told him one day that your commission tomorrow was going to see if a citizen had found a ruin network Xiao excused himself. You didn’t seem to mind too much, though you joked that you would miss your adventuring companion. Still the idea of suddenly not going with you seemed strange after weeks of this new routine.

“If you find yourself in trouble, do not forget to call my name. No matter where you are I will hear it.”

“I’ll make sure to do that,” you replied, smiling softly. “But it’ll be fine. I probably won’t even need to fight anything, besides maybe some slimes. I might even get back before you.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t. I’ll come back as soon as possible, and then maybe we can fly a little together?” For some reason you seemed to like the idea of flying alongside Xiao, who found himself more and more often indulging you, though he wouldn’t really call his use of currents flying.

“Maybe.”

“Good! Then I’ll try to wrap things up quickly. Can’t miss something like that, can I?”

Xiao didn’t say anything in response. Later that evening, after you went to bed, he stared up at the night sky, trying to grasp onto his thoughts. He seemed to be awfully worried about you, or rather you seemed to be invading most of his thoughts. Why Xiao couldn’t tell. At first it had simply been that your strange situation somewhat interested him. He couldn’t imagine the idea of a half-adeptus who had lived as you had. Then it had been the mining, then the commissions, then the gliding. Now he couldn’t even think of the next day without a strange sense of worry.

What did all this mean? Xiao never thought he would find himself infatuated with anyone. His only loyalty was to Morax, his only connections had been with the yakshas who were now lost to him. His only remaining duty was to guard Liyue, to clear the land of the curses that remained. Nevertheless he found himself thinking about you, worrying about you even. What did this mean?

Staring out into the sky Xiao asked himself what he wanted. An image of you seemed to materialize in his brain. You were flying high in the sky, arms stretched out wide, smile as wide and clear as the sky above you. He wanted you to feel that way, and, more than that, in that moment Xiao wanted nothing so more as to share that feeling with you, to be some piece in that vision of happiness. Shaking his head the yaksha let out a snort. What a stupid idea.

The next day started in a way much more similar to the days that had passed before you arrival. Xiao left early, finding it easier to deal with the lingering evils of the world when there were less people going about to get in the way. He thought of waiting for you to wake up, but for some reason the action seemed foolish. Or maybe it seemed somehow unlucky. After all, Xiao was embarking on a day that would surely have to end with some sort of cleansing ritual.

The monsters weren’t excessive, and the going was fast enough, though the sun had risen high in the sky by the time Xiao stopped to rest. Traveling towards Jueyun Karst Xiao thought of the pool of water up near Cloud Retainer’s domain. It would be good to rest for a moment, up near sure pure energy. Summoning some winds Xiao found himself in a weirdly clear frame of mind, detached once more from the world around him.

Then he heard your voice.

Almost immediately Xiao found himself above you, instinct reacting before his mind had time to catch up. You had never called for him before, and the unexpectedness caused a flood of hot panic to rush through him.

Staring down at the scene above Xiao felt another wave of burning emotion rush through him. You were backed up against a few stones, panic evident in your stance. One of your arms appeared to have suffered a gash, and as of such the claymore Xiao knew you carried lay in the grass next to you, too heavy now to be of any use. You also seemed to have suffered a blow to the head, and your awkward movements seemed to indicate some sort of dizziness. But what drew Xiao’s eye the most was the blood staining the brown of your wings, the feathers that were scattered around you.

The people surrounding you wore the crest of the Fatui, and their smiles were ones of absolute triumph.

“You should’ve flown away. What could a half-baked fighter like you do against the greatest army in the world? Now your wings will decorate the walls of the palace of Snezhnaya.”

You were mute to the Skirmisher’s jeers, your head bobbing to the side slightly. Once more Xiao heard your voice ripple through his head, though this time it was fainter, unsteady. The anger welling up inside of him seemed to ripple, and before he knew it the yaksha found himself standing in front of you, not caring about the black tendrils that licked at his polearm, only coherent thought that the Fatui members should have picked a different assignment.

Xiao despised fighting humans. They seemed to bend around him, shredding like paper. Though a part of him jeered that he was fighting nothing but monsters, the adeptus still pulled himself back. Some burdens were too heavy to bear, and even fighting a human was something that he would normally never do. Still the fight was brutal, if painfully short, and when Xiao finally found himself standing alone he surrounded by the groans and shrieks of those whose injuries would not be forgotten tomorrow.

Taking his mask off Xiao pushed through the tendrils of darkness that were now clinging to his skin. There would be time to bathe and clean off all the evil he’d generated and purified later. For now the adeptus ran over to your side, scooping you up and traveling as quickly as possible to the Inn. The smalls groans that escaped you cut through him, but at least you were alive. At least he had made it in time. At least.

Though there was nothing that the adeptus could really do to cure gashes and a concussion, Xiao found himself unwilling to stray from your side in the aftermath. Pushing away the guilt that threatened to burn through him when he was alone Xiao became a constant figure in your room. Perching no your dresser, or eventually in the chair Goldet dragged next to your bed, Xiao supervised your health with a regiment that would’ve been impossible for a mortal. Yet it didn’t feel like enough, it never felt like enough. Watching over you as you fell in and out of naps Xiao felt the guilt buzzing behind his ears. Your fault, this is your fault.

One evening Xiao found it all too much. Covering his face with his hands he rasped into the silent room.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Whipping his head up Xiao was met with your slightly groggy face. Reaching over to grasp his hand you smiled as the adeptus moved to intertwine his fingers in yours.

“I didn’t go with you.”

“I didn’t ask you to. I thought, I thought it’d be easy. But it wasn’t so I called for you and then you came and saved me, so it was fine.” Your voice was heavy with sleep and your words slightly slurred, but there was still some urgency behind them, an urgency Xiao found himself responding to.

“I still wasn’t fast enough.”

“You seemed pretty fast to me.”

“I still, it’s still my fault.” Xiao didn’t know why he found himself repeating the same words over and over. Somehow he seemed completely unequipped to deal with the panic that had been slowly crushing him for the past few days. How could he explain this to you? How could he explain the fear that shot through him, the anger, the… something?

“No, it wasn’t. It’s not your fault that I look strange, or that I have these weird wings. It’s not your fault that people don’t like it.”

“Humans are fools,” Xiao spat out. “They try to destroy something that is beautiful, all because they cannot understand it.”

“You think my wings are beautiful?”

“Yes.” Xiao didn’t realize that was a question. Somehow the looked of sleepy happiness on your face filled him with a sense of embarrassment. Ducking his head the adeptus shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Thank you for telling me,” you replied, happiness in your voice. For a moment you paused, before piping up again. “You haven’t been sleeping a lot have you?”

“Sleep is unnecessary for those who are full adeptus.”

“Still, it can’t be fun to sit here alone for hours,” you frowned before scooting over slightly.

Xiao stared at the unspoken invitation for a moment, disbelief mixing into the thoughts that were cramming his head. He said nothing, but as the look on your face dimmed slightly he sighed. Laying his mask on the nightstand the yaksha lay next to you.

You smiled, seemingly satisfied. Linking your hand once more with his you let out a small sigh, before relaxing slightly, closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Xiao stared at the ceiling, listening to the soft cadence of your breath. The panic that fizzed through his brain only moments earlier, replaced with a contentment that the yaksha rarely felt. Suddenly everything seemed at peace with the world, and despite the summer heat Xiao felt no more discomfort.

#genshin impact #xiao x reader #genshin xiao #genshin impact fanfiction #requested #oneshot #my writing #alatus

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thesunshinebunny · 4 years

Text

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part I)

Series Master list

Pairing: Canon Eren Jaeger x reader

Content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

Summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter Summary: After watching their teammates die in battle, reader begins to question their sanity and of their so-called partner.

AN: let me say goodbye to my favorite girl, who got me the best laughs and relieved my anxiety while reading manga chapters. At the same time, let me succumb to the misery and enlarge the wound with an canon Eren. I won’t be against following this fic if I see that a lot of people like it, but my list of fandoms isn’t going to change, this will be a unique exception.

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The chill in the air from the airship rushed through my veins. Less than two hours ago, I had seen countless comrades die, each one of them struck by bullets in different parts of their bodys or eaten by a Titan. I had seen countless lives fall and had been unable to save any. I knew we were going on a suicide mission, but deep down inside of me, I hoped we would all come home alive.

I was very naïve to think of a happy ending in this rotten and violent world.

Inside the room I was in, my mind wandered looking through one of the few windows this war machine gave us. I wasn't paying attention to what Levi or Eren were saying, I didn't even have the slightest intention of asking why Zeke was with us. Although being a member of the Survey Corps and a direct and in training medic, I was not fully informed of the missions. Eren’s courtesy.

Bored and mentally tired, I left the room where my leaders were having a heated discussion with "humanity's last hope." I didn't have the strength to add more charcoal to the fire, but trust me when I tell you I wasn’t at all happy with Eren's plan, simply and exclusively because I was completely unaware.

I walked down the hall making a mental note to kick the brunette in the face like Levi did when we got back. If my so-called partner, who had the decency to slowly push me away over the last year without explanation, wasn’t confident enough to tell me whatever was going on in his mind, then we would be in front of the doors of a serious conversation back home.

I opened the door where the scouts were when I heard a rifle go off. My eyes went wide and fear washed over me. I instantly scanned my body for wounds, completely ignoring the situation happening in front of me. Finding no sign of impact, I looked up only to find Sasha falling on her back, with a bullet impact on her chest.

The world seemed to have frozen as did my body. No one was able to move. Blood was spreading around Sasha's body, staining the floor, and that's when I reacted. My body moved on its own, pulling the cloak off my shoulders and folding it to make a small pillow. My ears didn’t catch any screams or cries from my teammates, as if I was underwater and the only thing I could hear was my heartbeat accelerating, threatening to come out of my ears.

"I need a syringe with anesthesia, a pair of tweezers, a needle, a lighter, bandages and hot water, NOW !!"

No one was moving, everyone was in shock, including me, but I was layered enough to know that if we didn't do something, Sasha wasn't going to survive.

"Jean, Connie, I need surgical elementes! NOW!!"

The two boys came out of it, running around the room, even going to the continuous, looking for something that might serve, while I tore Sasha's shirt and took her equipment. Mikasa was next to me grabbing the pieces that were in the way.

"Mikasa, I need you to put pressure on the wound and don’t move your hands"

Connie came running back with the anesthesia in hand, trying to give it to me, but me failing. The syringe fell to the floor, but thanks to whatever deity was watching us it didn't break. My hands were shaking with adrenaline, making it impossible for me to inject the needle into the glass vial.

“Sasha… I need you to stay awake, ok? I need you to keep your eyes open at all time"

The dying girl in front of me didn't give me an answer, but I knew she heard me. In the background, I could hear the desperate cries of the others, apart from the fact that someone had hit the culprit in the face. I injected the anesthesia and proceeded to remove the bullet from the lung. Mikasa reapplied pressure with wet cloths.

"Sasha everything will be fine, I assure you, everything will be fine, so don't you dare die on me, okay?"

I couldn't tell who I was addressing those words to, the girl who gave us the best laughs in our training days, or me.

Lighter in hand I proceeded to cauterize the wound, but my eyes fell on Sasha's, noticing how the life had left her eyes. The light that was so bright in her pupils had faded, leaving nothing more than an empty countenance.

"Sasha?...Sasha? hey, this isn’t funny, Sasha wake up…Sasha?? SASHA?!!?!" ...

"SASHA!!!"

Again.

Again I’d been unable to do anything.

Again I’d to see how I was unable to save someone.

Again.

I had seen a mate die. Again.

My chest contracted, the air was impossible to get in or out and my lungs cried out to explode. My stomach wanted to regurgitate, but there was nothing in it, causing me to spasm. My vocal cords were damaged from screaming and my head was about to collapse.

My whole body was about to collapse.

"How dare you!? You son of a bitch, how dare you to shoot the person who forgave your life?"

My anger was now directed at the child they had wanted to bring with us. It was impossible for me to look at her without having the desire to break her face, to make her suffer ... to kill her. To take revenge for Sasha.

“SHE FORGAVE YOUR LIFE BY NOT GIVING YOU A SHOT IN THE HEAD AND IS THAT HOW YOU PAY HER? YOU HATE US SO MUCH? HOW MANY MORE LIVES DO YOU WANT TO TAKE FOR US TO BE SATISFIED?"

My legs got up, leading me towards the girl, but arms held me from behind, preventing me from continue walking, preventing me from taking revenge.

"HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU? YOU ARE THE REAL DEVILS"

In the end, my body collapsed, completely loosening and causing me to almost slide down Connie's arms. I fell to my knees when he released me, snuggling up and hiding my head in my arms. Tears flowed like waterfalls with no intention of stopping and my screams reverberated across the metal in the room.

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Connie opened the door where our commanders were still arguing. Both with tears in our eyes gave the worst news of the night.

"Sasha died"

Jean and Hange's faces were disfigured and Levi hid his grim outline from us. The room was silent, but all that could be heard were my sobs, spasm after spasm.

"She had a ... a bullet impact ... in ... in the chest ..."

It was difficult, almost impossible, for me to relate the precarious medical report of our friend's death, trying to help me with the movement of my hands ... but even so the spasms won me over. I fell back to the floor, tears invaded my face once more and my ability to articulate words was gone down the drain.

Hange approached with a slow step and placed their hands on my shoulders, giving me the help I needed to give the report. I took several minutes of deep breaths and when my lungs returned to normal, I spoke again.

"Sasha had a bullet impact on the chest, on the left lung ... There was no exit, so the bullet was stuck in there...it pierced two ribs, tearing the skin of the lung and causing internal bleeding... I managd to remove the bullet, but I didn't have time to cauterize and sew the wound ... she bled to death"

Every pause I took to breathe made it so much worse for me to speak back. If it weren't for the fact I was undoubtedly taking deep breaths, I would have passed out from distress and hyperventilation.

"I could have saved her ... I know I could have saved her"

Silence reigned over the room, sobs from Hange and Connie could be heard if we were paying close attention. Jean and Levi glared at Eren, who had not deigned to lift his head at any time.

I got up as best I could, running Hange's hands gently, and left the room once again. I needed to be alone for a while, I needed to let go of these horrible feelings, I needed some air, otherwise I doubted I’d do anything rational in the state I was in.

My legs led me to a room away from all the common ones. It was empty, but it had a couple of windows that chilled the already cold metal walls. Some windows were at my height, allowing me to appreciate the view from the air, but let's face it, it was impossible to appreciate the landscape when your mind and heart were breaking to pieces. The only thing that kept my mind intact from any collapse was the path of smoke and fire that could be seen in the distance... signs that Marley was still on fire.

"Are you ok?"

That familiar voice, all too familiar, echoed in my ears pulling me out of my entrance. Eren had entered the room quietly with the aim of… what? See if it was okay? Because I really wasn't, it showed on my face and that's what made me even more angry than I was.

"Oh, I don't know? Am I ok? Do I FUCKING LOOK OK TO YOU?"

I turned from the window too quickly causing me to stagger and fall to the floor. My head was spinning and starting to ache as was every muscle in my body. I put my hands to my head, hoping the pain would dissipate a bit, but the only thing I managed was to sink further into misery.

"I could have saved her ... if I’d been faster ... I know I could have saved her"

He hadn't moved from where he was, he just stayed there, looking at me. My blood-soaked eyes looked him up and down searching for something, whatever, to speak of, but all I found were non-glare eyes and a neutral gaze, as if he hadn't cared how many lives this mission had claimed.

"Do you want to know how I feel? Fine, I’ll tell you"

I stood up heavily, my muscles begging for a break. I turned my head to see the black smoke rising on the horizon, still clearly noticing an orange and red flare.

“I am tired…I am full of rage and hate. I saw our comrades die and I couldn't do anything, I was unable to save them ... to save Sasha...and all because of not having been informed like everyone else"

My eyes hadn't left the window because I knew, if I looked into those dull turquoise eyes, those same eyes that once shone with all the innocence and life that a young man could have, I would end up punching him.

"Are you happy? Did you accomplished your mission now that you have the power of the warhammer titan? What will be the next step? Go back to Marley in a few months, finish what you started and devour the jaw titan and Reiner? Assassinate the cart titan?”

Again, I got no response. My patience had already reached it’s limit and I looked back at the man who was now standing in the middle of the room.

"You're not going to tell me, are you? No, you never say anything to me, it's like I'm a burden to you" I shuffled on the metal, standing right in front of him "I'm with so much anger in my veins that I want to kill a child, a child Eren! ... A child who had her head washed all her life, a child who doesn’t know the whole truth and who only knows that by killing she can be free"

Unconsciously, my body moved everywhere, as if it wanted to release all the pressure by tiring the muscles. I stood back in front of the window and with all the accumulated anger I gave it a strong blow, slightly scratching the glass and probably breaking some knuckles.

"Sasha died because of my incompetence and the violence of this world...I want to save lives Eren, that's why I'm practicing medicine...I want to dedicate myself to saving souls, not killing them...and we have the culprit stuck in one of our rooms...why?" ...

“WHY DO WE HAVE TWO CHILDS ON OUR AIRPLANE? WHY IS YOUR BROTHER WITH US? WHY DON'T YOU LET ME KNOW WHAT IS GOING THROUGH YOUR HEAD?"

I was sure that my screams could be heard by our entire war machine. I was impatient for answers, but knew I wasn't going to get any, at least not now. My hands didn’t remain calm, they moved everywhere, a sign of my anxiety and my eyes turned around the entire room, looking at each screw, each metal beam... everything except the eyes of my supposed lover.

I was giving up, now I just wanted to rest and have a trip home in peace, even knowing that home was not going to sound the same or feel the same.

"If you have nothing to say Eren, you better leave"

I turned my back on him but didn't proceed to walk away from him. I needed to find an anchor point so as not to give up and throw myself into the arms that one day gave me warmth, the arms that wrapped me in the dark, the arms that reflected their love and affection ... into the arms that now wouldn't hold me from the waist or draw me to his chest. I wasn't going to throw me into some arms that weren't going to contain me.

I heard him take a few small steps towards me and his hand rested lightly on my shoulder. I put it aside abruptly and I distanced myself towards the remote window, seeing how little by little the smoke was getting smaller and I could no longer see the orange flame clearly; now I could only see a thin yellow line fading.

"Leave Eren"

His footsteps rumbled on the metal floor, leaving me alone once and for all.

The trip back was going to be a long one and, to be honest, I wasn't sure if there was anything for me in our home. Nothing was going to be the same anymore. Without Sasha, without Eren and with a war on our feet I doubted to even call “home” a piece of wet land in the middle of an ocean which is still the target of a world full of hate.

#aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk x reader #aot x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #attack on titan x reader #eren jaeger #eren jaeger x reader #eren x reader #sasha blouse #angst #eren smut

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whiskey-writes · 3 years

Text

Return Teaser

A SPN x reader fic

-x-

Six months. Eleven states. An area spanning from the west coast to a couple hundred miles east of the cascades.

And seventeen cases of hunters vanishing without a trace.

(Y/N) had been investigating the disappearances for the past several weeks. Even after figuring out the pattern, tracking this thing down had proven to be just about as easy as nailing smoke to a wall. It had taken her a handful of all nighters, countless hours spent pouring over the internet, and approximately five gallons worth of caffeine, but she at long last traced it all back to the source.

She played her way right into their hands, and now the real hunt began. The die was cast, and she had all her cards laid out on the table in a high stakes game of life or death.

“Hey, Bobby.” The weight of the words hung heavy in the stillness of the air. It wasn’t looking like she’d be making it out of this hunt alive, and that grim, unspoken reality read loud and clear just in the way she said hello. She was in some way thankful her call had gone straight to voice mail. It was easier if she just didn’t think about how what she was about to do would upset her uncle.

(Y/N) sat with her back pressed against the far wall, phone held up to her ear by her non-dominant hand. Her arm was propped up by her knee, while her opposite leg lay stretched out in front of her. She ran a hand through her hair and suppressed a weary sigh as she spoke into the phone. Barricaded inside the little cabin and armed to the teeth, there was nothing left to do but sit and wait as the moon rose higher and higher into the night sky.

“So, listen. I don’t have much time.” (Y/N) said, fingertips absentmindedly tracing the sigils etched into the stock of the shotgun that lay in her lap. She had soaked every bullet, blade, and weapon she could in dead man’s blood in preparation for the coming battle. “This whole hunt just went full shit show. We are dealing with vampires after all. But it’s not just that. This is far greater than we anticipated. I’ve got my back to the wall and I’m out of options. If I pull this off then there’s a chance I’ll be able to end this once and for all.”

(Y/N) paused, taking a shaky breath before confirming what Bobby will have already guessed for himself.

“They’re tracking me down as we speak.” These blood sucking bastards were targeting hunters, and (Y/N) was going to make sure there was hell to pay for it even if it cost her her life. “I’m holed up in some cabin just outside Missoula waiting for them now. It’s god damn near 23:50, at this rate the frost is gonna bite me before they get the chance.” She joked, shifting her position and adjusting her hold on the shotgun so that the barrel now rested in the crook of her neck.

One of the logs in the fireplace fell with a soft thud as the charred wood burning away beneath it crumbled apart. The subtle sound caused her body to tense up, anticipation making her jumpy. Chuckling to herself beneath her breath, (Y/N) tilted her chin up, letting her head fall back against the wall while her eyes drifted shut.

“One way or another, my bike better be back at the salvage yard one week from today, or Singer - I swear to god - I’ll crack open all of your beers so they go flat.” The playful threat brought a slight smile to her lips. Bobby knew full well how much her motorcycle meant to her, he’d been the one that helped her build it after all. This was her way of asking him to come get it if she never returned. “By the way, if you’re still looking for the TV remote it’s in the glove compartment of the Chevelle. I’m not sorry, and I regret nothing. Yell at me about it when I get back.”

With that, (Y/N) hung up and pushed herself off the ground. She wasted no time in destroying her SIM card and tossing the remains into the fire. She had more than just Singer’s number saved in her contacts and she wasn’t about to risk putting Bobby or anyone else in danger.

Another hour passed by in peace, during which time (Y/N) made a couple rounds of the small little cabin, checking and rechecking her defenses. She had taken all the blood she could when she broke into the morgue on her way out of town, right down to the very last drop. She knew she could hold her own for only just so long against a nest this strong, but (Y/N) was going to do everything in her power to slow them down.

~ x ~

“You’re a hunter.” Sam Winchester leaned against the frame of the doorway with his arms crossed, watching as his older brother got down on the floor so he could look under the couch. He wouldn’t have been able to wipe the massive grin from his face if he tried. “You kill monsters for a living, and you can’t find one little remote?”

“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean snapped gruffly, his frustration steadily increasing the longer he searched.

It had been about six hours since they had brought Bobby home from the hospital. Sam and Dean had just finished working a case in Wichita when they’d gotten the call from the hospital informing them that a Mr. Snyderson had just been admitted to the OR for an emergency surgery.

It was roughly an eight hour drive from Wichita to the hospital, so by the time the boys arrived it was nearly three in the morning. According to the nurses, Bobby had been lucky; he’d come in at just the right time and they were able to remove his appendix before it ruptured. The surgery went well, there were no complications, and “Bill” would be able to go home after 24 hours of observation.

It was now just past six the next morning, and the two boys were making themselves at home while Bobby rested upstairs. Dean had made the discovery that Bobby’s TV was stuck on some shopping channel with the same infomercial crap on loop while Sam was out on a breakfast run.

Their brotherly bickering (and Dean’s hopeless search for the remote) was cut short the moment Bobby Singer walked in.

“Would you two idjits pull your heads out of your asses for once?” Bobby spat, absolutely furious as he walked through the door. He muttered violently under his breath as he retrieved a file from one of his shelves. “...of all times...that damn reckless, stubborn...”

Dean exchanged a questioning look with Sam. Something was wrong; Bobby was worried.

They both followed Bobby into the kitchen, where he threw the file onto the table before digging out his bottle of pain killers from the hospital bag that sat on the counter.

“What happened?” Sam asked gently. Dean occupied himself by eating one of the donuts Sam had bought for breakfast, while Bobby and the youngest Winchester took a seat at the table.

“My phone was turned off while I was at the hospital. I got this last night.” Bobby said, putting his phone on speaker before replaying the message. The three hunters sat in silence, listening intently as the message played. Dean had moved to take a seat at the table during that time, his brow furrowing in thought.

“She made herself their next target.” Sam stated. Bobby nodded grimly.

“Why?” Dean asked, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “Who is she?”

“Her name is (Y/N) (L/N). She’s been a hunter all her life.” Bobby‘s face fell as he spoke of her, too tired to mask the worry in his eyes. “And she’s every bit the bull headed, stubborn bastard her father was. Not to mention twice as reckless.”

Bobby opened the file filled with papers hand handwritten notes, sliding it over towards Sam and Dean so they could look through it.

“A couple of weeks ago I get a knock on my door at four in the morning on a Saturday, and there stands this stinkin’ idjit all bright eyed and excited about some new case she’d stumbled across.“ Bobby scoffed.

-x-

Interested? Let me know if I should continue! Thank you so much for reading ❤️

#supernatural #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #spn x reader #SPN fic #dean x reader #sam x reader #cas x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #Bobby Idjit

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bruhstories · 3 years

Text

Vogel und Jäger

- PART TWO

Summary: After waking up, you realise the realities of the world you've been pulled into. Pairing: Zeke Jaeger x Fem!Reader (mafia AU) Warnings & Content: stabbing, language, angst Word Count: 1.7 k

A/N: make sure to read part one, otherwise this won't make any sense xD there's still a bit of build up going on, but starting with part three we'll be getting some action

You woke up from a restless sleep, crumbs of mascara stuck to your face. God, you needed a shower and a toilet immediately. The club was dead empty from the view upstairs, only a few people cleaning the tables and moping the floor. You stretched your arms and walked to the door, surprised it wasn't locked.

"Ah, miss Y/L/N, good morning! I hope you had a pleasant sleep." Someone startled you and you cleared your voice.

"Hi, who are you?"

"Oh, my apologies, I am Onyankopon." The man smiled and handed you a paper bag. You peekee inside and saw something which resembled clothes and toiletries. You recognised the stag pin in his chest, another of Zeke's employees. "I assume you'd like to clean yourself up. Please follow me."

"I'd love that, thank you." You smiled and followed Onyankopon downstairs. He told you bits and pieces of the Jaeger family overthrowing the police and gaining control of Paradis City, how the Marleyans wanted control over the city's resources and docks, all kinds of information you weren't entirely sure you were supposed to know. He walked you to the backstage, where all the strippersdancers got ready, encouraging you to use whatever you needed for you'd be the star of the club. That didn't help you in any way, instead it was anxiety-inducing, and your toes curled at his affirmation. You quickly took off last night's makeup, brushed your teeth, washed your face and body in a sink and got dressed. The clothes were simple, a long, light blue shirt — clearly a man's — and a pair of leggings. You wondered whom they belonged to, perhaps that grim-looking lady, Yelena. She terrified you with her look that could kill. Your hands hovered over the vanity in the dressing room but decided not to waste any more time and folded your old clothes, placing them in the paper bag.

"I'm ready." You walked out of the room and met with Onyankopon. He smiled and guided you out through the back door. "Hey, Onyankopon, who's Mikasa?"

"Oh, miss Mikasa is our best assassin. She's loyal only to Eren, though, which is an impediment for Zeke... I probably shouldn't have said that." He opened the door of a superb black car and you climbed inside with a sigh. You heard how the mafia was based on trust, and no one trusted you.

Most of the ride was silent, your eyes wandering out the window until Onyankopon parked in front of a huge and heavily guarded mansion. You knew the Jaegers were rich, but this was beyond obscene. You opened the door and Onyankopon scolded you for doing that, but you assured him you were perfectly capable of doing things by yourself. He walked you through the beautiful front garden of the mansion, through the large hallway and into what you assumed to be a living room. Or an office? Whatever that was, it was as big as the dining room of the orphanage.

"Ah, the little bird has arrived! You look splendid in my shirt." Zeke welcomed you and you felt your cheeks warm up at his words. The heat disappeared just as quickly when your eyes met with Yelena's. "Come, sit. I suppose you're hungry."

You nodded, feeling saliva building up in your mouth at the sight of croissants, bagels and all kinds of foods you've never had before. Historia was rich, but even her money wasn't enough to feed so many mouths. Doors swung open and you saw Eren barge in, followed by a few people close behind. He plopped on a couch opposite you, the same inexpensive look on his face.

"Let's get over with this. I've got shit to do."

"Impatient as always." Zeke rolled his eyes. "Y/N, do you swear to obey and serve the Jaeger family?" The question caught you off guard, but you nodded.

"I do."

"There, done." The older Jaeger brother shrugged and Eren clicked his tongue.

"You almost didn't let Mikasa walk out of this room alive because she swore loyalty to me and this is all you do to her? You're getting soft, brother."

The air in the room grew thick, almost impossible to breathe it in. All eyes were on you, and you didn't know if what you felt was shame or fear, or both.

"Very well." Zeke walked behind you and took your left hand, placing it on the coffee table in front of the couch. "Hold that there, will you, love?" He smiled and you slightly relaxed. Until — a sharp pain, followed by electricity and heat shot from your hand, through your arm. A blood-curling scream erupted from your throat, tears falling from the corners of your eyes as you squirmed and thrashed at burning sensation, your hanned pinned to the table with a knife. Blood seeped from the wound and you panicked, no one in that room rushing to your aid. No one blinked, no one felt sorry. "Swear your loyalty to me. To the Jaeger family."

"I swear! Oh, God, I s-swear! Please!" You begged, feeling your temperature falling from your cheeks. Zeke twisted the knife and you fell from the couch, knees hitting the wooden floor.

"Who do you belong to?" He asked, unphased by your whimpers, sobs and yelling, as he let go of the knife that still pierced your flesh.

"T-to you! Make it stop, p-please!"

"Good enough for me. Any objections?" Zeke eyed his little brother.

"Just stitch her hand. She's annoying." Eren clicked his tongue and poured himself a cup of coffee. When Onyankopon pulled the knife out, blood gushed out of the fresh wound and you felt the room spin and your head heavy, vision blurry — you fainted.

A hard slap across your cheek woke you up and you met with Yelena, eyes drifting to your bandaged hand. It was damn painful to move it, and you used your other hand to support your weight, shifting your position on the couch.

"Finally." Eren got up and and handed you a file. You flipped through it and found pictures and information of the men from the club.

"Y/N, this is Armin, our bookkeeper. He'll be paying you after every successful show. And this is Mikasa, she'll train you in self-defence. I suspect you won't need it, but it's better to be safe than sorry." Zeke pushed the glasses with his index finger.

"You stabbed me." You bluntly stated, eyes glued to the bandages.

"It'll heal."

"It'll heal? I'm already in debt, you didn't need to stab me!" You got up and instantly felt a gun to your head. Great.

"Sit." Yelena's voice was brash and commanding. Your brain told you to listen to her, but your instincts told you to provoke her, to taunt her. Teeth gritting, you took a deep breath and lowered yourself down, deciding to do both.

"You're not gonna shoot me without Mr. Jaeger's permission, so don't point your gun at me." A satisfied smirk creeped on your lips — you didn't technically provoke her, just stated the obvious.

"Can I shoot her?"

"No." Zeke enjoyed the show, and unbeknownst to you, he, too, felt somewhat proud of your little snarky remark. "You still have to prove your loyalty. Talk to the band, choose some songs for Friday, Saturday and Sunday. You're free to settle your training hours with Mikasa, and to go wherever you want, but you are not allowed to step foot anywhere outside the centre of Paradis. Last thing I need is some Marleyan kidnapping you and torturing you for information. Or the cops. Dismissed."

"Mr. Jaeger, if I may?" You waited for his nod of approval. "Since I won't be living at the orphanage anymore, where exactly am I going to stay?"

"Ah, yes, of course. Blouse, Springer, come here." Zeke waved his hand. More people, more names.

It slowly dawned to you that the Jaegers had a thorough structure with extremely loyal people, and you'd have to quickly find your place there and earn their trust, lest you died a painful death. A bubbly brown-eyed woman and a cheerful-looking man approached Zeke's desk, and finally you saw someone less serious. Onyankopon was nice and all, but he wasn't exactly a ray of sunshine. These two seemed... fun.

"These are Sasha Blouse and Connie Springer, leaders of the drug cartel. You'll stay with them until you're capable of living by yourself."

The duo smiled at you and you felt genuine warmth from them, making you wonder just how bad the mafia was. They seemed to like working for the Jaeger brothers, but you couldn't judge that just yet.

"Oh, we've already moved your stuff to their place, so there is no need for you to visit Historia. Now go, we've got work to do." Zeke placed a cigarette between his lips before turning his back at you.

You were right, Sasha and Connie were fun people. They talked a lot, and you warmed up to them with a few jokes and puns. Connie handed you a phone containing a few contacts, neither of which were Zeke or Eren— apparently you weren't allowed to speak to them, they would speak to you. Sasha explained how you had to forget your past, and dedicate yourself solely to the family — no relationships, no friends, no acquaintances. You were not permitted to fall in love, which was understandable, considering the circumstances, but hard, considering the inability to control feelings.

"Don't worry about it too much. Zeke and Eren care about their subordinates, as long as you listen." Connie wrapped an arm around your neck. Besides, you're one of the lucky ones. Boss never spares witnesses, so he clearly saw potential in you." Somehow, that didn't make you feel any better, you only felt more weight on your shoulders.

"Yeah, I heard you can sing!" Sasha beamed, clapping her hands. "I can't wait for your first show, I bet it'll be awesome."

"It has to be, otherwise you'll have to come to my funeral." You shook your head, exiting Jaeger Manor. A honk caught your attention and you saw Mikasa impatiently waiting for you in a car. "Any advice before I go?"

"Don't get attached to any of us." Connie sighed.

"But trust that the family will protect you if you're loyal." The woman encouraged you before hugging you. A hug, something you never thought you'd get from a mobster.

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ketchupqueenboiiii · 4 years

Text

Death

A/N: Some swearing, and kind of rushed.

@maribatmarch-2k21

Beat up and broken Jason Todd in the warehouse Joker left him, pathetic. He helplessly looks around and sees twenty seconds on the timer. Which would have been time enough for him to escape if he was still in good shape. Then he hears voice and looks over to see a girl who seems to be glowing.

Not something a regular person sees everyday, but, as Robin, it's nothing too hard to believe.

"Who are you?" The most practical question he could come up with.

"I am Marinette." She didn't elaborate.

"What are you?"

She hesitated, looking off thoughtfully, like she was deciding how she would answer, "Not mortal."

"So you're an angel?" He said before he could stop himself. It would check out though, she's what you would think an angel would look like, white clothes, nice face, somehow glowing. All she's missing is the wings

She huffs, face grimacing in confusion and affrontedness, "Of course not. Angels do not exist."

"Well, excuse me." That's not very politically correct.

Neither spoke, Jason tried to be sizing her up with a glare and she just stood there starring right back.

"So, how'd you get in? Last I checked, there ain't another exit than the door." He looked over to it, "Which is locked."

"You are correct. There is only a door. But I came because I was summoned."

"Summoned? Mhm, cause that doesn't sound like absolute bull." He looked at her skeptically.

"Your end is near. I must be present." She stepped closer to him and in turn he scooted farther away.

"Ah, so you're the Grim reaper. Mhm, sure."

"I am not Death, that is my father." The fuck?

"Ok, so you're clearly crazy. Why don't you just show me how you got in so I can get out." He dealt with enough crazy for one night, thank you.

"I can't do that." Now she has to be difficult, because why the hell not? What ever force controlling the universe must be shitting their pants as they laugh at Jason's life.

"And why not?"

"I am not to meddle with Fate. Not even if I tried. Everything happens for a reason, and it's Fate's job to know that reason." She's really into her story.

"Ok, fine, so you're the child of death, that means you're here to guide me to wherever the fuck I'm cursed to, right?" He might as well entertain the conversation.

"No."

"No?" dear lord, Jason didn't have the patience for this chick. "Then what the hell are you here to do?"

"I represent Life, all of it." She could give Bruce a run for his money with that level of crypticness.

"That seems a little contradictory."

"Yes, well, my mother is goddess of fortune and chance. It was no surprise that my birth was one against the odds." She made her way to him and he moved back until his bruised back painfully hit the wall. She helped him sit up properly. He would have told her to fuck off if he wasn't in his current state. "I am patroness of everything in life and alive. From your first breath to your last."

"That doesn't explain why your here. As far I know, I'm closer to being dead then alive."

"As life, I am present in every mortal life."

"That's a lot of stops. There's no way you can do that, not even a speedster could."

"Haven't you noticed?" She tilted her head innocently, like how the younger street kids did to guilt adults into giving them their pocket change.

"Noticed what?"

"Look around you." He did, what's there to see but a crappy warehouse- oh, everything stopped. He couldn't hear the dripping of water, and he was sure that was a droplet mid-fall across from him. He hadn't even noticed. Even though the adrenaline wore off minutes ago, the fact that he was dying finally caught up to him. He started to breathe hard and his hands felt especially numb; to the point he was sure she noticed.

How could he be so distracted? The world had stopped and he didn't realize until now. It's probably the reason he's in this situation. He deserved this fate, Bruce probably wouldn't even-

"Bruce will mourn, Jason. And a death such as this one is not one you deserve." How did she- was she in his head?

"How they hell do you know that?"

"Lives like yours are frequently monitored. The neutral, who have done equally good and bad, are not. Kind of like bookmarking, we move on to watch others but make sure to remember you." She was falling out of that proper, airy routine. Jason found it slightly less obnoxious.

"That doesn't explain jack-"

"You started to ramble and hyperventilate and shake and, and I had to do something." She rambled on herself, flustered and looking away, likely out of embarrassment. She even blushed.

Once she calmed her flaming cheeks, she spoke again, "I have come here to comfort you in your last seconds of life."

His amused eyes changed to glaring ones, "I don't need comfort."

"Something I like to do is stick around with mortals who have actively done good or bad. Enough to get them in to the Fields of Reward or the Isle of Penalty." That sounds a lot like what he had learned in Social Studies, the Greek gods and their definition of after life. And if he's right, he could be spending the eternity in with some old minced god or in paradise. Jason didn't know if he wanted to be told his fate.

"...Which am I?" Apparently, his lips weren't in jurisdiction of his already poor impulse control.

"You, Jason Todd, the second Robin, will achieve entry to the Fields of Reward. As all heroes do."

"All heroes?" He's pretty sure no one else in the JL died.

"Heroes, the people who did well for their cause. You are a hero, and you will be remembered as one."

"Aren't the good guys supposed to die will honor, or after retirement? They'd get statues and holidays named after them. I'm just a street rat who got lucky-"

She surprised him by hugging him.

"Um, excuse, me?" Hugs weren't very common in the Wayne household, he could count on three fingers how many times Bruce hugged him.

"As I said before, Jason, you will be mourned and you will be remembered. By your father and your brother. And all else who have been affected in your path." She whispered to him, her weight feeling like nothing more than a gust of wind on his body.

"They are not-"

"We both know you consider them so." Fucking weird pretty angel-gods and their fucking ability to read people-

He was silent. She moved over to his side against the concrete wall and held his hand. He tensed, for a second then calmed himself.

"Are you ready?" She whispered, voice threatening to crack. This was always the worst part. Seeing them die, especially such a good one, so brutally. And the heartbroken looks on their family's faces. She sensed his father nearby, on his vehicle, stuck in place yet still seconds too late.

"...yeah." He answered, just as quiet. He understood that this was it. The death of Jason Todd. At least he'd go out with a bang.

Oh gods, it was way too early to joke about his death.

Time came back to speed, 5 seconds. 4 seconds.

3 seconds.

"They love you, Jason." She said, leaning her head just over his dislocated shoulder.

2 seconds.

"Are you sure you're ready?" She asked.

1 second.

"No."

BOOM!

#maribat march #maribat #jasonette #death

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meikuree · 3 years

Text

the centre cannot hold

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Hitch Dreyse & Annie Leonhart Characters: Annie Leonhart, Hitch Dreyse, Armin Arlert (mentioned) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Mild Psychological Horror

ao3 link

The days blend into a seamless fugue, dreamlike and out of reach.

(Or: a look at Annie's time in the crystal.)

The days blend into a seamless fugue, dreamlike and out of reach.

She can't place what time it is, inside. Time is meaningless. The interrogators who enter complain about the cold drafts puffing through the bricks; she can't feel any of it. Only the blunt sensation of the crystal’s cover, cool as iron is cool, running over her arms and torso and head, her entire body.

Hitch visits, many times. She comes to know her by the telltale skip of her boots on the floor. The way she always leaves the door ajar, as though she hadn’t intended to stay long. Her own eyes are closed now, all the time. It means her other senses become sharper. She hears mutters even through the thick slab of wood that passes for a door, and learns the smell of autumn filtering through the bars of her cell’s sole window, carried into the space in dead leaves stuck to the soles of soldiers' boots.

Those signs are what she begins to rely on to mark the passage of time. In the initial months, it’s an inexact science. Mere guesswork, in which she misestimates, on a few occasions, the correspondence between the oil-stench of polished boots and badges and the exact military festival being celebrated outside.

She listens to the chatter of the scouts who return daily to work out the mysteries surrounding her. How she breathes, what is keeping her alive. She knows the answers herself, of course. In this state she is tapped into the Paths realm; feeding on the otherworldly largesse of Ymir Fritz somehow, her lungs sustained by oxygen piped into her chest by means metaphysical and invisible. How long do you think she’ll last in there, they ask, and she wants to bark a laugh, say: I can stay here for the rest of my life. She starts a betting pool with herself about when they will meander towards or away from the answers, and also memorises some of their names—Anya, Nicolas, Louis—as a matter of personal amusement. Hange is the one who gets closest to piecing together anything about the truth, including the concept of an afterlife and/or higher realm.

Eventually they give up on her. With the Shiganshina basement breached, Hange’s purview as commander shifts to other horizons. The room hollows out as they clear the furniture, the echo that bounces off its walls widening into a sound vast enough to fill graveyards. A looming silence. Still as death. Only Hitch continues to come by, and Annie begins to yearn mentally for the stimulation of her conversations, like a plant straining towards the sun. Towards necessary sustenance.

She reminisces about her history lessons back in the Survey Corps, sometimes. It had been fascinating to see what counted for fact and narrative in a different land. She now wonders if she's become an artefact of history herself. Dead for all intents and purposes, preserved only in textbooks. Pragmatism brings her back to earth, when she remembers that nobody has ever been memorialised for lying in a coma.

Her sensory awareness only extends so far, after all that. It is deep, but not very broad. In the first year she keeps track of worldly happenings by the generosity and latitude of Hitch’s reports. Her passionate spiels, often preceded by a long indrawn breath and groans of despair that could have rivalled Eren’s, span an impressive set of topics ranging from Eren’s whereabouts, the Survey Corps’ movements, and military gossip, to more quotidian ills that ail her: a nail chipped while filing paperwork, her anguish over a sold-out bakery on the way home. The twenty letter-long saga she has going on with a romantic rival-turned-interest-turned-rival-again. Annie becomes the unwitting beneficiary of her ability to transform all ordinary occurrences into effusive theatre.

There are a few signs. The stunning perseverance with which Hitch comes. The verve and enthusiasm Hitch puts on full display before her, as though she is performing—and hoping that somewhere, she might be watching. The fond wonder and melancholy with which she speaks of their short-lived time in the Military Police. Hitch, Annie suspects, comes because she is nursing the remnants of a badly timed crush on her.

In this place, it’s a happy accident. It relieves the slight irritation she feels when Hitch confesses a touch too much detail about the minutiae of her morning routines and new interests. She’s grateful, in some deep unacknowledged part of herself, for the contact with another person from her old life, even if it’s one-sided and not very conversational on her end.

Every now and then she gets glimpses of the activities her erstwhile associates—Eren, Armin, Mikasa—are getting up to, in updates from Hitch spaced months apart. It is amusing, at first, to hear Hitch discuss them with distant respect and reverence as if at a remove, when she has firsthand knowledge of their individual quirks and neuroses, and can fill in the blanks within her iron silence much better than Hitch can. She saw long ago how they were some of the greatest breathing idiots to walk the earth; she briefly wishes she could tell it to Hitch too, puncture the aura of myth that has surrounded them like a bubble.

Eventually enough time passes that she has to recontextualise what she knows of them against the secondhand knowledge Hitch relays to her each time, adjusting her mental picture of who they are, the distance between memory and fact asserting itself. It grows apparent in those moments that they are becoming foreign to her too, changing while she remains fixed here, with outdated fragments of people, an insect trapped in scintillating amber.

Armin drops in to see her about four times in the first year. When he speaks he reaches a hand out to touch her crystal, and probably gazes at her the whole time; she can tell by the soft thud of his fingers upon her looking-glass cage. He tells her about Paradis’s defenselessness, their discoveries over the ocean. Pleads with her for a sign, any sign, that she is listening, and then sits with his knees drawn up, the stone floor vibrating imperceptibly with his motion. After his second call he begins to express his sympathy for her. The belief that he now understands why she had to betray them.

She wonders, idly, if he’s kept his nervous habit of biting at his cuticles. He has a grim edge to his voice now, a flute and gravel ruthlessness she hadn't recalled belonging to him before. Unlike Hitch, he doesn't say much. With him, she gets treated to dense silences interspersed with outbursts of conviction, or emotion. As though he speaks only when he has no choice, no other outlet.

She supposes his approach is one of delicacy, in opposition to Hitch’s: there is no evidence she is conscious, although she is alive, so talking is more or less a fanciful gamble; there’s no guarantee his words will reach a living being. She can’t fault him, on a technicality. She only laments that his idealism has given way to unimaginative realism too. Officially, he is devising a plan to establish contact with underground allies in Marley; unofficially, she wants to ask him if reaching the sea had truly made him happy, or only brought a new wave of troubles.

But her opportunities to have anything to think all these against are privileged and few. The visits are sparse, on the whole, so that she learns to conserve her responses and, most importantly, ration her thoughts—like a precious, corked wine, fit to be let through into her conscious refrain only in drips, a resource not to be exhausted too quickly. She has to remain here until there is certain guarantee she can complete her mission. In layman terms: she has to last through years of boredom.

She repeats it to herself, like an idle song or a blinkered reminder: she can endure it. She has to endure it.

After that she slows down her pace of thinking by necessity. Draws every internal argument that would have taken minutes out over the span of weeks. This dissolution makes her feel not so much like a primordial titan, moving according to vast, immense timespans, but a piece of rubber stretched to its limits, shrivelled and ready to burst.

Dreaming is the most direct analogue for her existence in this crystal shell. But it’s an incomplete description. It’s not like being asleep. She hasn’t relinquished consciousness, simply adopted a fickle and yet compulsory relationship with it. Some days, her mind is sharp and lucid like clear water. Others, she wakes up sluggish and nauseated, with the slow pressure of an anvil headache at her temples, a feverish chill bathing her bones. Like she’s slept far, far too much. Like she hasn’t woken up at all, but passed into a worse, second slumber. The effect is that of being drugged, of being sunk into an unnatural fatigue.

In these moments her choices are confined to the binary of staying awake and suffering, or returning to sleep and worsening it. Her muscles ache and scream for movement or stimulation; but she cannot move, and so has no recourse to relief. Only the sickening ache, the awareness of the uncomfortable fog, her arms trapped by her sides, always, like dumb logs.

Consciousness becomes the centrepoint her life revolves around. Sometimes, its presence is like a bullet aimed at her that she can’t catch: fleeting, painful, inescapable.

Back in the trainee bunkers she’d moved slowly. Pulled off the act of a sullen, indolent girl, better inclined towards a long nap than proper sparring. It’d shocked people that she was in fact a first-class prodigy in hand-to-hand combat. More than once she’d heard herself described by her peers as a concealed knife: inconspicuous at first, lethal once unleashed and in motion.

Those days are behind her now. A trite touch of fate, perhaps, that her languorousness now looks like it had been a rehearsal for this longer, extended sojourn in stillness. She can no longer summon movement; she has no defense against any assumptions people might concoct about her. She can only hope that people will remember the shadow her outsized figure cast as the Female Titan, even in the absence of continued proof.

As it turns out, what is most difficult is not the boredom, or time, or the trappings of her mind. Solitude suits her. She is not afraid of her thoughts. The symptoms of wakefulness frustrate her, but her mind has long been a well-controlled thing, smooth and cunning. She’d perfected the skill of disciplining it through the gruelling, unending hours of training with her father in her youth. Learning great focus, concentrating on the exercises that determined if she got to sleep, or eat, or drink. Disregarding all other excess, like the russet burn of sunset or sundown behind her in the courtyards. Your mind could not be suggestible, in this situation. Not even as an eight-year old.

No; what truly grates is the loss of sensation. Her capacity to interact with the world. Heading inside has severed her from her repertoire of fighting stances, uppercuts, movements. No longer can she understand her environment by the rhythms of her body attuned to it: the sunspots in her vision, the wind whipping her shins, the recoil of her fists against an enemy. She once knew the world by the blows and kicks it directed back at her; they were signals, an entire language of their own. She's been reduced to a lonely speck, disconnected from her single means of communication, her vernacular for parsing the world around her. The lonely, obsessive cycle of thoughts she can stand—but this? The dark, empty corridor of her body where she once had access to momentum, eruption, injury and the lightning burst of revelation in knowing her enemies by their punches, the scrapes and bruises left on them? It’s unbearable.

She resigns herself, but never quite crosses the hurdle. Many times she registers the itch of her limbs desiring to move, a furious bristle skittering upon her skin or on the edge of her brain. There is no outlet for them. Even the smallest movements are off-limits to her. She can’t flex her fingers, or tense her toes. The boundaries of her prison are absolute. These impulses, blossoming and then dead-ended, coil up and accumulate inside her like poison. Like a stricken scream with no release.

After a period of time she tentatively defines as three years, she hears Hitch entering and turning the key in the lock in her usual smooth motion. The tiny clink a struck bell in the gloom of mental oblivion. She perks up. Prepares to listen for any news.

“I know it’s been a while,” Hitch starts, “but we’ve been busy preparing for the Queen’s inauguration— like, god, how many ceremonies do these nobles need?— and I was detained by gift duty, can you believe, which meant I had to shop for the second-tier nincompoops over at the chambers—“

Annie’s blood, a gentle throbbing before, suddenly runs cold. Inauguration? But surely— Historia’s coronation, according to the silver measure of her careful timeline, had passed a long time ago. They should have moved far beyond by now.

“Anyway,” she hears Hitch saying now, a little morosely, “hard to believe it’ll be one-and-a-half years soon with you here. That you’re still in there.“

Annie chokes, a gutted sound in her head. She must have lost touch with her sense of time in the previous few weeks. It’s the one possible explanation.

If it’s only been one and a half years, she can only imagine what the next two, or three, or five, or seven years until her death will be like.

She feels the rug being pulled out beneath her feet. There’s panic now, a stab in her throat, the realisation she has to move back to the drawing board. Reassess everything she knows. She’d kept track well enough in the later half of the first year—what had changed?

Hitch leaves. She doesn’t register it.

Her sanity has so far hinged upon the single, fantastic, incredulous constant of Hitch’s visits to her. It’s a fragile coincidence—Hitch might one day get tired of her, reality outpacing her idealisation of her, and stop coming, too. She is beginning to feel the hours and days like an acrid trap, her thoughts a rapid torrent that her body—inverted in frozen stasis—will never keep up with. Suddenly every second is too slow, too long.

She wants to yell. Wants to rattle the bars of her mind-cage. But the only thing that answers her is drifting somnolence, like a hand passing sluggishly over her head, and then disappearing. The same smiling silence of her unresponsive body, indifferent to her will.

What life will this be, she thinks, what life will I be left with, and tries to plan, to consider the contingencies—but just as suddenly, nothing comes to mind, except the hollow echo of her voice referring across her insensate headscape, the strain of her thoughts thinned into pieces from disuse.

#i'm rusty with writing but! here's a thing #this is mostly about the horror of being stuck in a crystal for four years with your thoughts as your (almost) sole company #featuring very light and one-sided hitchani #i actually love the ship; annie just can't reciprocate because she's. y'know #snk #annie leonhart #hitch dreyse #hitchani #hitchannie #annie leonhardt #my fic #aot #armin arlert

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years

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It’s The Avengers (03x14)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 14: It’s Not What It Looks Like

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: ehehehehehe

Word Count: my anxiety was through the roof this time. and that too on the thing that I know was not achievable. But noooo my boss just wants results. Well, fuck you and your boss who gave me anxiety. You will know the pain of these tears soon.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The familiar sports car shining in its red shade came to a halt right outside the door for Tony to get out and greet the lone camera covering him. "How's it going fellas?" He seemed comparatively chirpier than the last few days as he whistled his way to the boot of the trunk to take out five boxes of large pizzas along with a whole bag filled with soda and side dishes. "It's pizza party today, my lovely unicorn," he announced to the camera person; mostly because there was no one else in his vicinity.

Tony: *standing next to his car* I have come realise that I have been a bit hard on my team because of the anxiety I've been feeling ever since Y/N disappeared from right in front of me. Like last Monday. *camera switches to the video recording of Last Monday* Tony is seen in the kitchenette making detox juice for himself after a workout. Sam comes and grabs the coffee pot, looking around for a mug to pour himself some. The only mug hanging on the stand is your Brooklyn Nine-Nine themed one. "Well," he mutters to himself, "no one's using this for a while." Just as he finishes the sentence, Tony's hand slips on the juicer switch and the green spill out everywhere in the space, making Sam yell for help. "You are excluded from my will," Tony announces while looking dead into Sam's eyes before pouring the coffee from his pot into the sink and walking away. *back to present* Tony: Pepper says I went overboard but Sam didn't have to say that now did he. *makes a cringe face* Anyways. This is my way of showing them that I have made peace with the situation for now and that I trust our alien friends to get my daughter back to me asap.

Tony walked into the facility to be greeted by dead silence. "Did I miss something?" he wondered out loud for the camera while looking around the lobby and the waiting area. "I am pretty sure we were not supposed to go out anywhere thanks to that stubborn virus." He walked up the elevator to be greeted by Clint coming back from the security room with his self-regulated watch, carrying two glasses of iced Americanos- one of which he offered Tony. "Pizza-" he seemed happy to see the boxes, taking the bag from Tony- "what's the occasion? Are you firing one of us? Is there a budget cut because of the 'Rona? In that case, just know that I spot a person without a mask from miles. And I can end them right there." Tony pressed the button for the lounge and waited for the camera to record his wink and smile till the doors closed to let the other handy camera in the elevator- following Clint- take over. Clint did a survey of the bag and was quite content with the contents. Tony, still with his glasses on, walked his usual walk that displayed well that he owned the place. "No one's getting fired unless they are eating my choco-chip ice cream." "You have set the bar pretty low." "It's pretty much up to the expectations I have from you all."

Clint shrugged and went on to agree with him, walking behind the Iron Man as the elevator dinged. The camera followed Clint and Tony out to film the scene unfolding in the Lounge. Manoeuvring away from their shoulders, the camera caught that deadpan silence in the room filled with nearly every Avenger staring at the screen with the seriousness of defusing a bomb that may go off any time. Peter was hiding under Scott's arm, peeping at the screen through his hands while Scott was biting his nails, nervousness dripping from his forehead. Wanda held Vision's hand while she muttered something under her breath- most probably a chant. Sam seemed to have forgotten he was watering the plants for the water-can was already empty and yet he still went on to pour the contents while his eyes were glued to the screen. Bucky's hands were busy brushing Zuko's fur- while the pupper took this opportunity to lay in his lap and snooze- monotonously, his gaze too stuck on the screen. "Come on, come on. Do it," Steve muttered while on the edge of his seat on the sofa. The camera swivelled back to Clint and Tony- both of whom had confused looks on their faces by now. Both of them turned to the screen in sync to witness what exactly was it that had all of them in such a grim state. And it was something like this.

On the screen was a barely lit space that seemed like it could have been a small closet under somebody's staircase. In that barely lit space, you could be seen from your abdomen up. There you were, panting, sweating, your hair a literal mess, your bra strap dangling out of your tank top's straps. "Again," you panted, wiping the sweat beads from your forehead while positioning your hands on a surface where the camera was seemingly recording you from. And in that same dim light, a movement was discovered behind you. That movement was of the exposed muscles and skin that the viewers had never seen in their daily life. Well, neither had they seen that very person pant and sweat like this before as well. Green eyes shined in that bare light, as the familiar face came out from the shadows to apparently hover just above your shoulder. One pale hand was used to remove those clammy hair strands coming in his way before both arms mimicked your position and came to rest on either side of your arms. "Are you sure?" Loki's voice, breathless and heavy, questioned you with sincerity while his body did not budge from behind you. You nodded. "Again." The frame caught you adjusting your hips to position your butt right with his front- something that was not covered by the camera. He towered over you, adjusting to your height while grounded his arms on the surface. "Okay then," he whispered, taking one arm to move your butt a little closer to your frame before going back to anchor himself to the surface, "here we go."

The iced Americanos created a crackle and bang louder than expected- thanks to the already looming silence- when they hit the floor. The pizza box and other snacks? Not so much. Every other person jumped where they were to turn and watch the colours from Tony and Clint's faces drain away by the second, their jaws unhinged, their hearts at a pause and their lungs just no longer working. Steve- the only one in the room to have deciphered what had just gone down in those Dad brains- got up and raised his arms till his chest as of sign of caution. "It's not what you think. Tony, Clint it's not-" The elevator dinged and out came Natasha and Bruce with four feet long bags of Cheetos and popcorn, the former quite excited to rush out into the Lounge. "We found the snacks from the pantry! Did we miss something? Did they put it in yet?" Steve winced just as Bruce blurted out those words. Tony was already heaving audibly, no air going into his lungs as he nearly collapsed on the floor if not for Natasha holding him up like she was used to it. Clint, on the other hand, had 'disgusted' written all over his face, judging every single person in the room before storming out. "OH MY GOD!!!! OH MY GAAAAA~" the screams could be heard from outside while the camera zoomed in on Natasha's face- already bored and tired.

Natasha: If they had more than one working brain cell they wouldn't have fought like twelve-year-olds in the middle of an airport and then stopped talking for a whole year. *camera pans in on her face* *faces the camera* And to think they can procreate. .

One Hour Ago Eight Hours Earlier In A Galaxy Far Away One of the camera drones stepped over a stone wall and passed over a dozen guards, buzzing its best to enter the first window it could find. Passing over ogres guarding the small galleries, another drone accompanied the first one down the maze of hallways, parting at the stairway leading down to the dungeons and up to the meeting room. The way to the dungeons was one dark path that only lit up at the very end of the hallway- few lamps burning with constant flickers. The space was divided into walls and covered with iron bars. A few of these cells were empty while others housed creatures who are only spoken about with the name of their shadows. In the last cell was a shadow that seemed similar to that of a human sleeping under the lone ragged excuse of a blanket. If one tried to focus, they could hear light snores coming out of that creature too. The drone came to rest upon one of the iron bars, sending in the live feed to the cameraman behind this whole shebang. The other fly had already found the 'throne room'. The throne- as one could make out with the setting of the hall- was made out of a tree trunk burned till all that was left was an ash-covered dead piece looking up at the sky. The seat was carved right through the middle with one of the ashened branches housing a black adder with red eyes. And in the throne sat the one person no one wanted to see. "Aellae," you mumbled in the most derogatory sense, your eyes wanting to hurt her there and then through the screen in Javier's hand. And lo! Right then the God stepped in the frame, standing in front of the witch with his usual demeanour. Well, that's what it looked like. "Why do you have to bow to her?" You whispered at him a bit viciously. White entered the frame that was recording your end. Looking at the screen he furrowed his brows and wondered how you could tell that. "He stands straight," you stressed, already sensing the question from White, "and right now he is not. And he does not not stand straight for anyone." "I see you have found yourself a fine pair of pets on your galactic travels, my love," you and White hear Aellae from the screen, bringing your attention back to her. "Just a bunch of humans and a kitten to entertain me on my way," he chuckled and shrugged a little, that Asgardian charm resurfacing in his smile. Aellae smirked at him. "On your way to where?" The question had a hint of anger even when she added a wave of curiosity, something that was easy to catch of the one who was listening to layers in her voice. Loki waved his hands in the air. "You know how it is for me. Here and there, always on the move. A nomad exploring the universe." "No more," she announced, her head high, her stare stern, "now you stay with me. You will be my advisor in the day, guiding my army to every corner of this world, with nothing to spare." She got up from her throne to walk an inhumanly seductive gait to reach the God and place her finger under his chin. "And in the night, you shall be my pacifier," she whispered, making your whole face cringe for the camera to zoom into it. "You shall satiate all my bedly desires till I the very. last. drop." Something cracked on the other side, making Javier and White turn in every direction to look at the source of the sound. Lulu too was a bit confused. You were the only person not taking your eyes away from the screen.

You: I swear to God if she was not such a bitch, I would have asked her out. Would have even gone to lengths of being her *makes air quotes* bedfellow if she was not such a fucking bitch?? Javier: *turns the camera to himself with the dazed look on his face* *signs for the camera* I am supportive and all in for this but is now really a good time for her to be questioning her sexuality? When we can literally die for just breathing wrong???

"Now," Aellae snapped everyone back to the screen, "as for those pets of yours, I'll send someone to take care of them. They are just hindrance if nothing more." "Aellae," Loki's honey laden voice was now implying a sternness. "What." "They are not to be given enough importance to be-" Loki sighed and closed his eyes- "taken care of." "All the more fun to watch them die in misery." Her eyes widened with excitement at the thought of murder. "Especially that Midgardian who is living in the illusion of being your friend." Loki's jaw tightened. "If you decide to harm h-them, I will not aid you in your irrational quests, Aellae. Going after those weaklings proves that you are still the reckless stubborn creature that I left you." There wasn't an exclamation of surprise on her face but rather that particular smirk of the devil who has walked its prey right into its trap. "So, she does mean something to you." Loki kept mum. "Guards!" she yelled for the two orcs standing outside, "bring me the head of the woman!" "Aellae, stop," he begged casually. "Enough humour." "And do whatever with the rest of her!" she ordered with her eyes piercing through Loki's soul.

The next thing you know, the last fly drone that got lost on the middle floor somewhere was recording two orcs throwing Loki into a room before shutting the door behind him. His grunts echoed through the room with no windows. All around him were walls coloured in a dusty cream shade, lamps lining up the four walls with one dressing table sitting with one of the four walls, housing heavy chains, the purpose of which Loki did not want to know. He huffed as he stood up, looking at the door before letting his gaze land on those shackles on his wrist that now seemed permanent. The tension on his jaw did not go unnoticed by the tiny roommate before he slammed those bracelets- along with his wrist- into the wall in pure animalistic rage.

Witch's Den- Down the Hall Two orcs stood guard to the entrance coming to the floor via the stairs. One of them seemed to be snoozing with all the pressure sitting on his nose and brows while the other one was trying to drive away this one stubborn fly that kept buzzing around its head. Eventually reaching the threshold of irritation, he followed the fly out towards the stairs, his curved sword being swung into the air to strike the buzzing creature; only to be taken by surprise with a bright source of light. The next thing the fly was recording was the other orc waking up to the clunk of a sword dropping, this one finding gasping and taking an attack position before the camera went dark.

But not for long.

The fly in Loki's room recorded the God catching the sounds outside while he was in the middle of surveying the whole room for an escape route. The grunts and gasps of orcs outside have stopped, making him all the more cautious to the steps that steadily approach the door. He took one of the chains in his hand, with calculated steps, walked towards the door to catch whatever tried to come in next. With the sound of a heavy key twisted inside the keyhole, the wheels turned and the door opened a smidge to let someone in. Without losing even a second, Loki wound the chain around your neck from behind you, nearly choking you. "Not now, dammit!" you choked, trying to free yourself from the hold. "Y/N?" the surprise stirring along with confusion was a new shade on Loki that you would have appreciated any other day. "Wha-what are you doing here?" That God wasn't even able to squeak on realising it was you. The chains came off as fast as they had gone around your neck, giving you room to breathe and widen your eyes in horror. "No! No no no no noooo!!" You ran towards the door as it clunk shut, leaving you to pull at it with all your might to no avail. "The door opens from outside," you groaned with a sob, thumping your head on it with low winces before a tiny realisation hit you hard enough to stop and look back at Loki. "Ow!" He yelled at the hard slap that came for his back, looking at you in simmering confusion. "You could've waited to choke me after we got out, you fucking IDIOT!" The slaps and punches got more vigorous with each word until Loki had to gab your hands with his to stop you from wasting your energy anymore. "And what makes you think coming here was a good idea?" He struggled to keep your writhing form from hurting itself more than him. You were ready to kick him in his shins and you would have absolutely done that if Loki had not shoved you into the wall with him towering over you to restrict any movement of your limbs. The little buzzing drone came to sit over Loki's arm and capture the frame where both of you were flaming with anger and still trying to breathe enough to keep that rage alive. "I'd already told you were on your own," he grunted, his eyes drilling through your soul. "And I'd already told you I am a psychology major. I can see the denial routine from miles away, you stupid blob of six-foot galaxy brain! You think I haven't sacrificed myself to a professor for the sake of my friends?" "...what? Wait. What do mean by sacri-" "Now get off me and find us a way out of here." You pushed him back. Well, at least you thought you did. But he pushed closer to you, shooting emotions of mild surprise in your eyes before you caught yourself slipping. Fortunately, this little drone caught everything in 4K. From the veins popping in Loki's neck to the parted lips and wavering gaze of yours. "This world is not a joke, Y/N. There was a reason you were left behind. And you have done the exact opposite of that which is supposed to keep you alive." It felt as if Loki had to restrain from spilling that anger over the rim. To make that hypothesis true, he punched the wall to dissipate this emotion he did not want to be running him. And there he stood, his head hanging above you in defeat, his eyes closed and his breath wavering. "I was supposed to send you home safe," he was barely able to mutter. The drone focused on your hands coming around his torso, your arms taking as much of his frame in a hug as possible as you softly patted his back and soothed him. Loki's body twitched a little at this new touch, still like a stone before giving in with every wave of your soothing touch. "You're family, idiot. I'm not gonna leave you behind with some crazy bitch that isn't me?" A chuckle resonated through you and then the room. The next moment when you looked at him, he was looking lighter. "Now come on, use your muscles and drill through one of these walls." Raising his good brow, he judged you while tapping his fist casually on the wall. "What exactly do you take me for?" "A cheesy brooder who's all soft inside," you commented without skipping a beat, looking around to find some kind of a loophole in this square room. "Say that outside these walls and watch what this brooder does to you." "Sounds like an invitation," you sang under your breath, tapping the walls. It took a while. A while that was long enough for you to move around the room to come and sit on the lone drawer by the wall, feeling the heat of the room bursting out the sweat in your skin, other than turning your brain into an irritated mush. You groaned while taking off your top and throwing it on the floor. You wanted to cry out loud to blow off some of the unbearable heat but stopped short at the sight of that overcoat coming off. Followed by that black shirt. Muscles. No matter how he moved or what he did, his back lived in that moment to tease you with those muscles. And what was that? Sparkles? No, sweat, glistening in the dim light. Wait, why was it glisten- You looked around and realised the lamps were at their wick's end. "Same," you sighed as you looked back at Loki's back, only to find him turned around to face you. "Oh, Gods!" you jumped down from the drawer with quite the surprise in your eyes. "This is your first time seeing me shirtless?" It almost felt like he was genuinely curious. "What? No! I don't know. That wasn't the-look!" You signalled him to come closer and let your hand hang right above the drawer's top that touched the two corners of the wall. Loki mirrored you and realised it instantly. "That's a cold breeze." He looked at you with pupils expanding wide in that dim lighting. Taking over from there, he tried his best to get a look as to which section of the wall it was coming from. "There's an opening-" he immediately shifted his position to standing parallel to the length of the wall, his hands grounded on the varnished top- "we will have to either pull it-" he tried his best but the structure did not budge- "or push it towards the opening in that section." You got to work as well, standing next to him and giving your end of the small corner a good push that only ended up in failed grunts. "Okay, let's try another way," you inhaled, "I'll push the top, you be the bottom."

The drone was sitting on the drawer now, capturing all those failed attempts from every angle both of you thought possible before you nearly collapsed due to lack of air. "We're are clearly doing something wrong here," Loki huffed, his puffed-up chest, the centre of the camera's frame. You flipped your wet hair to show your tired face in the lone lamp that burned in the room. "There weren't any more of those BDSM chains inside it, were there?" Loki's breathing stopped for a moment. You looked at him for an answer. Both of you moved to open the drawers. The drone captured the disappointment in your own IQ in high definition before watching you both taking them out with nothing but pure spite. "Take a break, I'll try-" "No," you shook your head and wiped the forehead sweat, "let's do it together." Loki wanted you to stop but that you gave him was more than adequate to let anyone know you won't listen right now. "This time you stand behind me and let's use the wall behind as a supp....ort? Wait how is this room looking shorter?" You were looking around in dazed confusion while Loki closed his eyes. "It's not a normal room. Those two walls will keep closing in until..." He didn't have to say more. "Well, then what are we waiting for?" the drop of panic in your high pitched voice was evident as you positioned yourself- putting your palms on the edge. "Come on." Loki came to stand behind you, copying your position, just a bit more charismatically- and with a bit more skin- till he felt your hair come into his mouth. "One, two, three!" This time the push did budge the drawer chest a bit but your strength had been used for that movement of a centimetre. Your breaths almost felt like your lungs were on the verge of crying. "Again," you panted, wiping the sweat beads from your forehead while positioning your hands on a surface where the drone was seemingly recording you from. Loki looked at your back, clearly concerned. This time he used his hand to remove those clammy hair strands coming in his way before both arms mimicked your position and came to rest on either side of your arms. "Are you sure?" Loki's voice, breathless and heavy, questioned you with sincerity while his body did not budge from behind you. You nodded. "Again." The frame caught you adjusting your hips to position your butt right with his front- something that was not covered by the camera. He towered over you, adjusting to your height while grounded his arms on the surface. "Okay then," he whispered, taking one arm to move your butt a little closer to your frame before going back to anchor himself to the surface, "here we go." Both of you had your eyes stuck on the wall with a fiery gaze and an aura that would have burned this place to the ground. His muscles tried to take all that you could not. And just when the grunts were turning into screams, the drawer started to move from its place with a screeching noise. As soon as Loki noticed a decent enough opening in the wall to your and his side, he pushed you and himself in through the opening before the death walls came for your limbs. The drone fly followed. Both of you rolled through what seemed like a tunnel slide through the walls for a minute till that just did not seem to end. It did end though. It ended in a noisy fall of thuds and groans- you on top of him. "You okay?" you winced through your broken voice, not moving a muscle for the fear of breaking something. Also because it was awkward lying over him on your stomach. Loki replied with a quick wince. A ruffle came from next to you. Followed by a lazy groan. Your head turned to the noise. So did Loki's. "You two could have easily waited for another hour." The drone swerved around to bonk into the one that was already there, covering the dungeons. There under the rugged blanket, laid Carol Danvers, looking at the two of you with sleepy eyes. Neither of you knew what to say. She looked at her watch and put her head inside the blanket again. "Five more minutes."

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eleanore-delphinium · 3 years

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Meet Me Halfway: Chapter 2

Genshin Impact: Jean and Diluc

Previous: CHAPTER 1

Chapter 2: Time Will Make Us Stronger

Three days had passed since the last time Jean and Diluc had met, that was the night when Jean had approached Diluc to give him her answer about his marriage proposal. Before they parted ways that night, he told her to meet him at the Northeast of Danyu Ruins in Liyue on top of the mountain and that was why she was here at this moment.

She was wearing a dress in white, dark blue, teal and gold that stopped mid calf, it was the dress she wore whenever she had to go outside as an adventurer. She found wearing a dress inconvenient, especially the one she wore on a regular basis, but having the dress above her ankles was already such a compromise with her mother.

Jean couldn’t help but sigh aloud.

“Oh, you are here.” A familiar voice said from behind her, and Jean turned around startled for a second.

“Hello.” She said and for a split second contemplated on how to call him. “Diluc.” She settled, and the man with red hair was surprised by how she called him and the familiarity and affection that seemed to envelope his name. Diluc found that it was oddly comforting and yet so abstract, quite unfamiliar in fact.

“Jean.” He called out quietly, and Jean too felt the odd sense of familiarity and affection he did when she called his name, but it was something the two would never know they mutually felt at that very moment. Their beating hearts were synced for a few seconds with a steady thunderous pace, but the one with red hair pursed their lips and the other took a deep breath to concentrate on anything but their loud heartbeats.

“Well, I have to say this now, but I do hope that is not what you wear when you go out to fight.” Diluc said, and Jean looked at him with a small roll of her eyes and a smirk.

“Of course this is what I wear. As a Gunnhildr, I was raised to be more of a lady than a warrior.” She simply replied but Diluc noted the tightness of her voice and the thin line on her lips.

“And you are unhappy about that.” Diluc simply stated and Jean snickered softly.

“Of course I am, we wouldn’t be here if I were not.” Jean tried to contain the anger but Diluc could hear it clearly.

“That is not wrong.” He looked at her with gentle eyes. “Jean.” The woman pressed her lips, the meaning this time was different, she wished her heart didn’t skip a beat when he called her name.

“How did you know that I wanted to learn how to use the sword?” Jean finally asked what had been bothering her since he whispered her secret into her ears those many moons ago-- the first time they met.

“It was the way you looked.” Hearing his calm reply Jean’s eyes flickered at him and brows came close to each other to show her confusion. “At first I wasn’t sure what you were looking at, but I observed the situation and then it became very clear-- you longed to hold the sword.” The certainty in his voice made Jean smile at him with sincerity. It was bizarre that someone she had just met would see something so personal about her in their first meeting.

“They say that if you had gotten your vision at a younger age, you would not be a catalyst user and that you would be doing greater things.” There was a sadness that passed Jean’s face that Diluc noticed but he continued on. “And seeing your longing, I could tell, you would have chosen your weapon differently had you gotten your vision at a younger age.”

“You’re right.” Jean admitted in a soothing manner as she looked away from him. “I would have chosen differently, but I got my vision when I was eighteen, this-” Jean gestured around her with her palms facing the sky. “ This is the only other option available to me.”

Diluic did not go any further for he believed she would not answer. They were barely acquaintances and yet they have already agreed to marry one another. There was nothing he could say that would probably comfort her.

“Thank you for willing to train me.” Jean softly spoke and Diluc stared at her indifferently.

“Well, first I have to see what I am working with.” Jean nodded at his words. “But we can’t really see how you would fair with hand to hand combat with that skirt. Observing your footwork to the fullest would also be out of the question.” He sighed softly, “I can, however, observe your fighting with your catalyst instead.”

“Alright, starting on our next meeting I will wear a more appropriate attire.” Jean replied but her face was grim as she thought of how she would go about her excuses to her family.

Diluc studied Jean steadily and concluded, “I think pants would suit you well.”

Jean gazed at him with clear surprise, and then the words settled into her head. A smile then formed on her lips as she chuckled. “Yes, I have been thinking about that for a while now.” Her grey eyes looked as if it was sparkling to Diluc and he could not help but take in a sharp breath of air at the sight. There was a silence that followed that Diluc decided to break.

“Well then Jean, whenever you are ready.” He said with an arm raised geturing for her to show him her fighting style in the open area. He didn’t want his mind to think about her, other than the training he promised he would give her.

“Of course.” A simple reply as Jean took her stance and her catalyst appeared in front of her as she showed him her varying attacks.

When over half an hour passed Diluc told her to stop and she followed her instructions. He observed her quietly as she wiped the minimal sweat on her forehead.

“I am curious, what did you tell your mother to be able to come out here?” He suddenly asked as the thought crossed his mind. She stared at him in mild shock as his train of thought shifted.

“Simple, I said I’m farming materials.” A steady response and their eyes locked.

“It was that easy?” He mumbled, finding it hard to believe.

“I-- of course, took extra precautions to ensure that I was not tailed.” Jean added.

“That would be something you will always be doing then-- once I start training you seriously.” Diluc unconsciously spoke aloud and Jean frowned.

“That would be a given.” She silently remarked, a fact she knew the moment she decided to take his offer.

The red haired man looked serious as he scrutinized Jean.

Suddenly he spoke, “Let’s go find some hilichurls, I want to observe you fighting an actual enemy.” Diluc stuck his hand out as if he was gripping a sword and the next moment his claymore appeared, a four star weapon as opposed to her five star catalyst. She couldn’t help but furrow her brows for a moment, wondering why a rich man like him would use a four-star weapon.

“Don’t worry I will back you up when needed.” Hearing that Jean nodded. Perhaps it was preference or sentimental value that he chose such a weapon. And yet this new information nagged at her, why would the richest man use a four star weapon-- in fact, why would the richest man be an average fighter?

She could feel that something was not adding up.

They didn’t go far to find some hilichurls to fight. Diluc instructed Jean to initiate the fight from their current vantage point from atop a cliff.

“Do you think you can defeat them by yourself?” He asked as they observed the hilichurls.

“Yes.” Jean responded with confidence and Diluc nodded, his eyes locked at the hilichurls. Jean noted his intense gaze, it was the look of a seasoned fighter. She was well aware that today was the observation day for them equally. She had long doubted his abilities being average and his micro-expressions today made her even more convinced that her hypothesis about him is right. He has to be hiding something.

“You will come to my rescue if it comes to it, right?” Jean asked nervously as she laid a hand on Diluc’s forearm. He was startled by the sudden contact and twitched because of it. He turned to look at her, the gaze of a warrior gone and was replaced with gentle reassurance.

“Of course.” His voice was firm and it gave her comfort.

“Okay, there are five Hilichurls and one Mitachurl with a shield.” Jean clearly pressed her lips when she said shield. “It’s the Mitachurl I am most worried about.” Jean mumbled as she evaluated how she should fight the group.

Diluc was captivated by Jean’s seriousness, there was a glint in her eyes that was filled with nervousness and fear and yet it was also clear that she had great potential and ability. She had the look of a warrior in Diluc’s eyes, and he wanted to make that shine even brighter.

“I’ll be here and I guarantee you, I will jump to cover for you the moment I see you struggle.” Diluc spoke and she turned to look at him. His clear voice washed away her nervousness. She was certain that he would keep his word.

Jean nodded, “Alright.” And she jumped from the cliff and plunged and attacked the Hilichurls.

Diluc carefully studied her footwork and her movements from the distance on top of the cliff. Even though he said he could not fully study her maneuverability with her skirt, the fact is he can not deny that she was more than capable. Jean seemed to always keep her distance and kept moving as she attacked. But based on how she was fighting it was clear to Diluc that she relied on back-up on her battles. He could also tell that if she wasn’t wearing a skirt, she would be able to be faster and she would find it easier to move. He was convinced pants would suit her well.

Jean couldn’t see that a Hilichurl was coming from behind her and Diluc quickly jumped off the cliff and landed in front of the Hiluchurl. Jean was startled by the sound and impact, she turned around to see Diluc slice a Hilichurl down.

She sighed aloud in pure relief seeing him cover her. When he suddenly sprinted past her and swung his sword, there was a second that she thought he was aiming his strike on her. But when he passed by her she realized that wasn’t the case, and his posture and the strength in his swing made her question his abilities again. His aim was precise, the strength he put as he swung his sword was controlled-- too controlled.

Having him cover for her gave Jean a strong sense of security, perhaps because it is what she was accustomed to, someone looking out for her when in battle. They fought side by side for a moment and when their enemies had all fallen, Diluc turned to her. His gaze was serene and thoughtful which made Jean’s heart skip a beat. She recalled how awfully perfect his strikes were, his attacks seemed a tad bit too thoughtful.

“Thank you.” She said breathlessly and his eyes were stuck on her lips for a second.

“I told you-- that I would make sure you're safe.” He mumbled and then suddenly turned around on his heel as he cleared his throat.

“Well, there is good news.” He continued on, his back facing Jean. It seemed that he was not going to turn and look at her anymore. Jean couldn’t help but press her lips together in displeasement. There was a part of her that wanted him to look at her.

“You’re skilled, I'll give you that.” He praised quietly. “You show great potential.” He added matter of factly.

“I think you are more capable than you present yourself to be.” Jean started matching his certainty, Diluc turned towards her slightly as he cocked an eyebrow at her. “Let’s stop pretending that we weren’t observing each other today.”

His low chuckle reached her ears, and Jean’s heart was beating so loudly that she almost missed his reply.

“You’re right, we are just observing each other,” He turned fully towards Jean, a sly smile on his lips that took her breath away. “You are quite observant yourself, don’t make it the death of you.”

She admits that he was rather charming, he was like a flame to a moth. She cleared her throat as she looked away. “And so, Master Diluc, how is my ability?”

He cocked an eye, “Master?” He chuckled. He actually liked the ring when she called him Master and yet, he didn’t want her to call her that too.

“Please, Diluc is fine.” He whispered and she took a step closer to him.

“But you will be teaching me, I think I should show some respect.” Jean spoke, lightly teasing him, curious how he would react. He closed the distance between them and stared down at her.

“And one day, you will be my wife, I don’t think it is ethical if you call me that and then marry me.” He said softly and Jean couldn’t refute, she was too distracted by his presence, his scent, his breath. He pulled away and turned around from her.

When she didn’t reply, he vaguely heard her sweet voice say “Yeah.”

Her reply felt like it was carried by the wind. Her ears were red from the interaction but he did not see it, something she was thankful for.

“Why don’t we go back.” Diluc suggested as he looked up at the cliff in the distance. Jean followed his gaze and observed the wall of rock.

“Alright.” Jean agreed and Diluc walked straight ahead and Jean followed him.

“Your footwork is good.” Diluc opened up after five minutes of silent walking and Jean was startled by his voice but did not know how to reply. “Really light on your feet.” He mumbled more to himself than to inform her of his findings.

“I think you truly do have potential, I would love to be the one to unlock that potential.” He said as he stopped on his tracks to glance at her. The glint in his eyes clearly showed his interest in what kind of things Jean can achieve.

Jean nervously laughed, “That seems like a lot of pressure.”

He smiled faintly and continued their small trek, “Don’t mind it.” He replied as he thought of the best methods to teach her.

Suddenly he was pulled from his path, soft hands wrapped around his wrist and surprisingly he was pulled backwards towards the perpetrator. Jean’s hand wrapped around Diluc’s wrist, her grey eyes locked on his red gaze. He felt like his breath was knocked out of him. She wasn’t that strong or heavy, and yet she had pulled him back with ease.

“I would like to know how you know about my dress shoppe.” Her gaze was serious and it was clear to Diluc that she did not welcome a lie. Diluc had to be straightforward with her, and oddly enough, he had no intention to lie to those silver eyes.

“I told you, there are many ways,” He said and she scoffed. “There is no information that money cannot buy.” He replied with pressed lips, the hand around his wrist feeling a little bit too hot. She agreed with his statement, with enough money one can have everything.

She chuckled coldly, “When I think about that night you came to me, and mentioned my shoppe, I see how I had given myself away.” Jean tightened her hold on his wrist, Diluc felt that her warmth was something that he would want to get used to, it was a dangerous thought.

“But I think about that evening, and no matter how I see it-- I saw the certainty in your eyes when you claimed that I had changed the finances of my clan. I am aware that you could have meant the joint business adventures I have under the Gunnhildr name, but when you said I could have been a good competitor to you-- I knew for certain what you meant. How could you possibly know about Esperaunce?” Jean asked, her gaze was firm. “Do not lie to me.”

“I told you,” Diluc held Jean’s hand that was wrapped around his wrist with his free hand. “Information can be bought with the right price.” A sly little smile on his lips.

He observed her study him, and it was clear in her eyes that she did not believe him.

“What you did to your dress shoppe, The Esperaunce, is a marvel.” He complimented her as he pulled her hand off of his wrist. “Flocked by all men and women, a shoppe that seemed to have been built from the ground up became famous overnight. As a businessman, I have to take note of such a successful business as yours.” He stared at her small hand in his, and he felt the pang in his chest that warned him of these hands.

Jean’s hands might be soft, fragile and small, but he could feel they could spell his end. He let go of her hand, and as it dropped to her side, Jean wished he had not let go.

“What if the owner of The Esperaunce decides to venture on a different kind of business, maybe even the alcohol business?” Diluc added and Jean frowned, not because of his words but because of the absence of his warmth against her hand. She quietly hid the hand he held behind her back.

“You are that thorough?” She asked, his thoroughness seemed beyond that of a businessman. “Afraid of a little competition?”

“Not afraid, intrigued-- and should be prepared.” Diluc corrected, his hands by his side, still feeling her warmth and the softness of those pale hands. He thought for a second that it would be such a pity to have those hands become calloused because of the sword. He should prepare good gloves for her.

“I see.” She mumbled as she saw that he would not answer fully how he knew about her secret.

Diluc looked at her with pressed lips and then said, “Then please explain to me how your dress shoppe fits into whatever plan you had in mind before I came into the picture.”

There was a glint in Jean’s eyes when she heard Diluc’s query and she could not help but laugh as she covered her curled lips with her fingertips. It resulted in a sensation in Diluc’s chest that he could only describe as a gentle and warm flutter.

“I had initially planned to take the earnings from my shoppe and run away- hence it is under an alias.” She confessed and noticed Diluc’s red brows twitch as if they were going to be drawn near one another, but they never did. “Runway, change my name, have a new identity and train with the sword.”

“Don’t you think that is a very drastic response?” He said as a brow was raised in her direction with his arms crossing over his chest. “You could just ask your mother to train you.”

“I couldn’t find the courage to.” Was Jean’s simple response but her voice had cracked and so Diluc could not push the topic any further.

“I have another query for you.” Her gentle voice was like music to Diluc’s ears, he found that he preferred that she kept asking questions, even though he knew she would be asking things he cannot answer. “What would a businessman like you need a potion that alters people’s memories of you?”

He smiled cunningly at her and then laughed, “Why not? I am a man with a lot of money. I fund multiple projects simply because I have spare change.” He loosely shrugged his shoulders.

When Jean heard his reasoning she wanted to refute, but it is true, maybe he indeed was just a businessman who had extra Mora to spend, why not have something innovative that he could potentially sell.

“And yet that potion is sold in the black market.” Jean mumbled and she clearly saw how Diluc’s gaze turned dark as he narrowed his eyes on her.

“If you obtained it in such a way, I advise that you stop buying such a product.” Diluc warned.

“But you and I both know I need it.” She remarked and narrowed her eyes.

“Then I will provide it for you, dear future wife.” He replied coldly, even though he called her wife, Jean could feel how unfriendly his tone with her has become.

“Alright, husband.” She replied firmly and Diluc looked startled at being called husband. “Do not think that I will back down now. I will marry you no matter what, as long as you hold your end of the bargain.”

Diluc frowned at her words, “I am a man of my word.”

His reply made Jean want to scoff and tell him the rumors told her otherwise. But the nagging feeling that Diluc was more than he presented himself tugged at her heart and gut so heavily that she maintained her silence instead. Well, perhaps for now, she shall see what he really has to offer.

She recalled how he had fought the Hilichurls, thinking of the scene, she could see that he was well versed in battle, so why is there rumors that he was an average fighter?

“A deal is a deal, Diluc.” Jean spoke as she stuck her hand out toward him. He gazed at her with narrowed eyes and shook it.

“A deal is a deal.” He repeated.

“Well we can’t do much now, especially with that skirt,” Diluc’s red eyes glanced at Jean’s skirt. “Therefore we shall continue in two days' time.” Diluc said as he retracted his hand. “I have devised a plan, and we shall meet at Liyue for your training.” Diluc said and Jean tilted her head in thought as she crossed her arms.

“As you can see,” He gestured around them. “Liyue has a lot of open fields that are far from any civilization, an ideal place to train you whilst keeping it a secret.” Jean nodded as a breeze blew past them. “We won’t be staying at the same place, we will keep moving. After each lesson, I will tell you where we will meet next. I will have the spot scouted and make sure it is protected, so you do not have to worry about being caught as that is your wish. But with your current ability, we cannot jump into sword training, we need to work on your reflexes and hand-to-hand combat.”

His tone as he scrutinized her ability made Jean wonder if all average fighters would have that kind of tone and insight or was it something only master fighters would have. If it was the latter, then Diluc has been playing the entire people of Teyvat as fools.

“I understand.” Jean replied, no matter if he was a good fighter or not, at least now she had an actual teacher to teach her and a future husband to sate her mother and the people. When she can prove that she can master the shortsword her dream will soon be fulfilled.

~.~.~.~.~

Two days later Jean arrived at the appointed meeting place. She wore a pair of black pants, black boots and a white poet blouse. The appointed meeting place was in a secluded area, far from a Teleport Waypoint at the North of Qingxu Pool at Liyue.

Jean had arrived a bit earlier than the intended time, but Jean had no choice, she wasn’t sure if she would make it in time if she had not gone out earlier. She admitted that she was slightly afraid. What she was doing-- what she will be doing had been her dream for so long.

“You’re early.” She turned around with wide eyes to find the owner of a familiar male voice. They had only met four times and yet she could recognize his voice so well already.

“Well, I had to make sure I wasn’t tailed.” She replied as she studied the man before her. He looked calm and laid-back, quite different from the man she had met at the balls and the man in the rumors.

“That seems like a lot of trouble.” He remarked casually and she pressed her lips.

“I don’t want to be caught.” She simply said in a soft voice, and he looked at her with a vaguely raised brow.

“You know, you could just try and ask your mother to teach you swordsmanship.” As he finished his sentence a strong gust of wind blew across the field and both their hair blew into the wind.

Jean tucked a stray hair strand as the gust of wind disappeared and with casted down eyes she said, “It isn’t as easy as you think.”

And Diluc simply shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s good to see you wearing pants.” She stared at him with a slightly tilted head. “I have to evaluate your reflexes again without the obstruction that is your skirt.” He added and a fist was suddenly aimed towards Jean’s face, with widened eyes she was able to dodge it. There was an evident displeased expression on Diluc’s face.

“Let me see your stance.” He commanded as he stood with his fighting form. Jean showed her fighting pose and he narrowed his eyes taking note of her posture. And he threw weak punches as she dodged them perfectly. Soon he put more power on his punches and she was still able to dodge them. And the cycle continued until his punches toward her were too strong and too fast that Jean could barely dodge them. A fist was going towards Jean’s face, and she froze because she knew she could not dodge it and that it would surely hit her. She closed her eyes, anticipating the blow but it never came.

When she opened her eyes she met Diluc’s steady gaze.

“I wouldn’t hit you.” Jean couldn’t help but smirk at such simple words.

“Well, Jean.” He said his eyes stuck on her lips still seeing the smirk that has long passed. And for Jean her heart couldn’t help but skip a beat when she heard him say her name. “Your reflexes are rather impressive. Your footwork is also quite good. I find it hard to believe you have never trained.” His eyes suddenly looked at her silver eyes. Jean was startled and she blinked a couple times as she waited for him to continue.

Diluc sighed softly and then said, “You must have trained a bit.”

With evasive eyes, Jean confessed quietly. “I did a little training from within my bedroom walls.”

Diluc had a displeased look laced with sadness but just pressed his lips and said nothing about the matter.

“It would be best to train everyday and correct your reflexes.” He thought aloud. “But I am certain we are both pretty busy people, right? The best thing to do is try to train together as often as we can, maybe once every two days if it is possible. And then you try to practice at home yourself.” He looked at her keenly.

“Yes, that seems to be the only possible thing to do.” Jean replied and he nodded his head.

“With that said, punch me.” Diluc instructed and she followed. He blocked her punch but held it gently where she had aimed. “You see, you should not be standing like that, and your fist should be, excuse me--” Diluc then lightly touched her as he corrected her stance. In all honesty Jean couldn’t consider it a touch, as it was as if he was afraid to really touch her.

They spend their day just like that, Diluc correcting her stance and discussing the best way to go about defending herself. He would then let her continue to do the same movements to try and reconstruct her bad habits. He was surprised how her potential shined even more now that she was not wearing a long skirt.

After a few hours, Diluc offered that they take a break and Jean nodded in response.

“I’m curious about something.” Jean opened up as she caught her breath and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Diluc raised a brow at her, a gesture for her to continue on.

“Why would you want to teach me?” She asked as another gust of wind blew through the field. Diluc couldn’t help but chuckle at her words.

“I would say: you were not exactly hiding your interest in learning the sword.” And Diluc laughed when he saw Jean vaguely pout and glare and she was startled by his laughter that the pout and glare disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “I saw your gaze and I thought that: it was interesting, a lady like you, that interested in the sword. I happened to see the glimmer in your eyes everytime you so happened to glance at a sword a few times, which then resulted in the evening of our first meeting. ” Their eyes were locked at one another, and the silence that came was comforting.

“A lady like me?” She echoed the words softly, and Jean found it odd that she did not find those words offensive as normally she found some kind of offense in those kinds of words.

“The moment I realized your desire, I felt that you were destined to be a great swordsman. That spark I saw-- that was the look of a warrior-- a natural fighter.” Jean’s eyes slightly widened at his voiced out expectations of her. “And now--today, I know without a doubt that you will be a great swordsman.” The certainty in his eyes baffled Jean, and she felt a warmth in her chest that she could not explain.

Their previous meeting in Liyue was intense in it’s own way, and yet today their interaction was more subdued, almost as if they were afraid of one another, but there was still an intensity that was difficult to subdue. It was like they felt that they should keep each other at a distance, but the reason why they are even here in the first place required them to always be touching, to always be close. It was rather stifling.

“Then, let’s go take a break.” She agreed to his suggestion before their conversation as it seemed like it was the only thing to diffuse the sudden tenseness in the air. Diluc guided her under the shade of a tree and Jean sighed as she sat down against the tree’s trunk. She grabbed a small towel and wiped her sweat off.

“Here.” Diluc offered and she looked up to find him holding a cup of apple cider.

“Oh, thank you.” Jean replied as she took the drink. Once she accepted it Diluc leaned on the other tree to her right and closed his eyes quietly.

Jean was aware that he did not want to discuss anything with her anymore, it seemed that he was troubled, but she had no right to ask him. So she kept her silence as she caught her breath and sipped the apple cider. She suddenly closed her eyes as she felt a nice gust of wind stirring, and then a pair of red eyes opened to gaze at the blonde woman.

A gust of wind blew towards Jean, Diluc was shielded by the tree’s trunk. He studied how her lips curled a bit as she enjoyed the wind.

This was still their fourth meeting, but he can already feel the shift in their relationship, he was convinced that Jean could feel it too. She truly was dangerous.

After thirty minutes of resting in silence they continued with their training till three in the afternoon.

“I still think it would be best to meet everyday, but considering how busy we are, every two to three days will have to suffice.” Diluc said again to Jean and she nodded. “You are surprisingly a very quick study, it truly is a shame you did not choose to learn the sword earlier.”

Jean frowned at his comment but kept her silence, Diluc noticed her reaction but did not prod into the matter. The two had to be cautious around each other, and try to limit their interactions, at least they should.

“I have been curious since the last time we met, but when you go out for your adventure’s, are you normally with a party?” Diluc spoke, diverting the topic instead.

Jean glanced at him with furrowed brows, “How did you know?” She asked but quickly regretted it as he was likely to tell her that there were ways to know such information.

But Diluc surprised her by saying, “It was your fighting style. When you fought the Hilichurls and the Mitachurl your fighting style seemed heavily reliant on back up.”

She nodded at his observation, “That is the truth. I recognize how vulnerable I am when I am alone, it is why I wish to know how to use the sword. If I can use the sword I can still cause some physical damage with my weapon alone, I would feel much safer.”

“Is that your drive?” He asked her, slightly sounding displeased but she shook her head which was unexpected.

“It isn’t that alone.” Her voice was calm and sincere and Diluc was somehow touched and proud at hearing her response. He felt that once she masters the sword, he would be a very proud teacher.

“Then where shall we meet next?” Jean inquired and Diluc responded.

~.~.~.~.~.~

On the day of the next meeting of Jean and Diluc, Jean was summoned by her mother to discuss something at the drawing room. Jean was sitting on the couch waiting for her mother, tea and treats were laid on the table in front of her.

“Jean.” Frederica, an older woman called Jean as she entered the room. Her blonde hair was similar to that of Jean’s but was wrapped in a low bun and her eyes were blue like Barbara’s. This was Barbara and Jean’s mother, Head of the Gunnhildr Clan and special advisor of the Knights of Favonius. She wore black fitted pants, a white blouse, black boots. She unhooked the sword on her waist as she approached her eldest daughter.

“We must talk.” She sounded awfully serious, that Jean was a tad bit worried, but she maintained her calm. Frederica’s heels clacking as she made her way to Jean.

“Of course, mother.” She replied as Jean carefully poured her mother some tea in an empty cup as Freerica approached her daughter. Jean was not surprised that they had to talk, after all her mother had summoned her and Jean was very aware of the rumors out in Mondstadt.

“There are rumors, Jean.” Frederica said as she sat on the seat on Jean’s left and as she placed her sword against the table. Jean simply raised a brow at her mother as she lifted her tea cup. “It’s about you Jean.” Her mother’s tone made Jean think that she should be worried about these rumors because it was very detrimental to her, but Jean wasn’t.

Of course, she did have a say on the details of the rumor, and she had played a part in it, but that is something her mother would never know. To Frederica, however, she had thought that it was just her daughter acting nonchalant as always.

“Mother, the ones that I am looking for a spouse?” Jean asked as she took a sip on her tea, feigning ignorance calmly.

“No, child, that you are already matched!” Frederica said with a slightly raised tone, it was clear that Jean’s mother was annoyed at the rumor.

“Oh? And who is my lucky match?” Jean asked as she chuckled and took another sip from her tea. Jean was the epitome of calmness. The unworried state of Jean made Frederica feel that her daughter was not taking this seriously.

“Jean, this is regarding your future!” Frederica said the anger in her voice could not be denied now. Jean sighed and set her tea cup down.

“But isn’t it your wish that I find a match?” Jean said feigning perfect confusion as if she had no hand to what kind of rumor would spread about her.

“You aren’t matched yet, but with these rumors that you are, there is no man who is willing to consider you as their spouse anymore.” Frederica’s hands were evidently shaking from anger. “This is your future that I have worked hard to protect-- your image!” Frederica looked like she was about to burst into tears.

Jean sighed, “Mother, do not think that I do not understand your worry,” she rested a hand on her mother’s shaking hand, she almost felt guilty for the role she played. “But-- perhaps this is a blessing in disguise.”

Frederica glared up at her daughter when she heard her opinion. Frederica looked as though she was ready to bark at her daughter, but she kept quiet waiting for her daughter to continue instead.

“I have been contemplating for months now-- how to break this to you,” Jean looked hesitant as she avoided Frederica’s blue eyes momentarily. “But now that the situation has become like this, I find that this must be the only way I can tell you now.” Jean carefully spoke which made Frederica frightened.

“Are you truly with a lover?” Frederica asked in disbelief, she had not raised her daughter like this and yet-- Frederica did.

Jean gently shook her head, “No mother, on the contrary I have no lover, but that is the thing mother--” Jean took her tea cup and took another sip, Frederica quietly observing her in anticipation.

“Daughter, what is it?” She couldn’t help but ask when Jean was dallying.

Jean sighed again, setting her tea cup down, looking very much distressed, “Mother, I wish to choose who I marry.”

The sigh of relief from Frederica was loud, “Oh Jean, why didn’t you say so?”

Jean was genuinely surprised by her mother’s reaction, that the hand that had reached out for her tea cup froze.

“I have always thought that you wished to choose your spouse, but as the years passed and you have not said anything, I took it upon myself as your mother to seek a spouse for you.” Frederica looked so relieved that she finally glanced at her tea cup with a faint smile on her lips. “Thank you.” She added as she picked up the cup with tea.

“Is there someone you have your eyes on Jean?” Frederica inquired and she saw the glint in her daughter’s eyes when she asked.

Jean saw how her mother’s gentle eyes became observant, she knew she had given herself away.

“No mother, there is no one as of the moment.” She replied cautiously as she kept a keen eye on her mother, it was evident her mother did not believe her.

“Of course.” Frederica replied, hiding away her scrutinizing gaze. “I am glad you have the courage to tell me, it is unfortunate that it had to reach this extent for you to tell me. But Jean, I am always wanting what is best for you.”

Before Jean could reply the door opened revealing a long haired man with blonde hair like Barbara’s. His eyes however, were like Jean's beautiful silver eyes.

“Frederica, the Knights of Favonius are looking for you.” Came in the voice of Jean’s father. Both women frowned, and with a sigh Frederica got up while picking up her sword.

“I must see to this situation, Jean. I am glad that this situation was cleared up.” Frederica said and Jean could see the little plot her mother had through Frederica’s blue eyes.

“Seamus, the situation has been handled.” Frederica said as she walked towards him.

“Oh?” He replied, glancing at the calm countenance of his daughter on the couch.

“We shall do nothing about the rumors.” Frederica summarized and Seamus raised a brow.

“Oh?” He repeated in shock and Frederica nodded, she placed a hand on Seamus' shoulder.

“I think it best that our daughter explain why.” Frederica suggested and he nodded as he watched his beloved wife walk away, holding her sword. Seamus stepped into the room and closed the door once he saw that she was meters away.

“What is this about not clearing this rumor, my dear?” Seamus asked sincerely as he walked to where his wife had previously sat.

“I wish to find my own spouse father, to get to choose, this rumor will just aid in this venture.” Jean smiled warmly at her father.

“Oh, my dear, then I wish for nothing but your happiness.” Seamus’ grey eyes crinkled in delight at the thought of his daughter marrying for love.

“Like you and mother.” Jean whispered and Seamus smiled at her.

“Marriage comes with difficulty, Jean. Do not forget that.” Seamus said, his grey eyes looking sad for a moment.

Jean did not know how to respond to his father, but with pressed lips she quietly said, “Yes, father.”

That day Jean was unable to mean Diluc due to her mother’s heavy surveillance. Jean could tell when she had her discussion with her mother that Frederica Gunnhildr was suspicious of her daughter’s claims of not having a lover. She tried to act calmly and tried her best to shake off the extra eyes on her, but it proved to be rather difficult and she was going to be late.

Jean sighed and simply stopped trying to shake them off. She hoped that Diluc had not waited for her for hours, and hoped that her tardiness was a clear indication that she would not be able to be there for training. Instead, Jean went about her day as the daughter of the Head of the Gunnhildr Clan. She managed the finances and checked on business ventures that she established under the Gunnhildr name. In the evenings, in the darkness of her room, she would be practicing what Diluc had taught her prior.

However, her tight security did not lessen as the days passed and Jean could not escape the men that her mother had placed on her. Jean had even gone so far as to hire a party so that she may consistently farm materials as was her excuse when she would meet Diluc at Liyue. It was unfortunate that she had no means of contacting Diluc without alerting her mother, so leaving a note at Angel’s share was not an option.

Jean was certain that Diluc must already be aware of her situation, especially with the kind of resources that he seemed to love to flaunt to her. All Jean can do now is patiently wait for her mother’s interest to vanish and if not, she will confront her mother herself.

“Sister.” Barbara suddenly came into her room worried and Jean turned to face Barbara in confusion.

It had been over a week since Jean had last seen Diluc. Barbara carefully closed and locked Jean’s bedroom door. Barbara approached Jean who was on her desk reviewing the numbers on their family ledger.

“There was a note left,” Barbara whispered once she got close to her sister and then leaned near Jean’s ear and quietly added, “at The Espauraunce--” Barbara held a white envelope to her sister secretly. “It had no addressee or anything but the instructions were to give it to the owner but--”

Jean grabbed the paper and opened the note due to the worried tone of her dear younger sister. She quickly opened the envelope and unfolded the letter and in a neat and obviously feminine handwriting, it said: I hope you are doing what we have discussed, Jean.

The letter did not have a signature at the top but Jean was certain this note came from Diluc. Jean couldn’t help but smirk, he went out of his way to remind her to train.

“What does that mean?” Barbara asked worriedly.

“It was just someone reminding me of a business venture.” Jean looked up at her sister with a sweet smile.

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