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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 06 part two

(Masterpost)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Bathing Boy Beauties

So, now we and Wei Wuxian get to see Lan Wangji with his shirt off. Eventually Lan Wangji will realize that his brother set this up, and will think of some way to get back at him, possibly by spending three years being stubborn in a cave or maybe by chopping an arm off of someone his brother cares about.

This is A+ Yibo fanservice but it's also a male-male version of a trope that's ubiquitous in c-drama, in which the male lead takes a bath and the female lead sees him. The purpose of the scene is almost always so a woman can look a man’s body over and decide, not to put too fine a point on it, whether she wants to fuck him.

Examples:

The Pillow Book - “Which part of Shen Ye is better than me?”

Women’s sexual agency is not often at the forefront in c-dramas, but the bathtub scenes are an acknowledgement of the female gaze, and of male objects of desire being subject to evaluation & approval.

Tientsin Mystic is a show with a lot of muscley swimming in it, In case you’re looking for your next Netflix show.

As a CGI artist I have to mention that water does not reflect or refract 100% of light. If you look at a naked dingle-having person in a bathtub full of clear water you will definitely be able to see their dingle. But C-drama water is magic and nothing is visible below the waterline, to the point that Bai Yu is modestly covering his thoracic surgery scar chest in Detective L while leaving his lower half uncovered.

Note: that caption isn’t fake; she is really saying this on her way out the door, after having a long chat with him in the bathroom. You can find the whole series on YouTube.

Seen in this context, The Untamed’s two bathing scenes are saying quite a lot. Wei Wuxian, being a boy, doesn’t display any female-encoded shyness or modesty, but he and his sword pause for a moment of admiration.

(more after the cut!)

16 years later, Lan Wangji will sit quietly in this pool and let Wei Wuxian examine his wet body thoroughly from multiple angles, in a more prolonged invocation of this C-drama mating ritual.

Carrying on - was Xiao Zhan supposed to kick his boot in the water like that? Because if not, he rolls with it like a champ.

Wei Wuxian starts trying to be direct with Lan Wangji, giving him the worst, most neg-filled compliment ever, bless his heart.

Then he says that there are benefits to being his friend, and starts taking off his clothes.

Wei Wuxian here takes his first step into the bold new world of respecting Lan Wangji’s boundaries, asking Lan Wangji to stay and saying he will keep his clothes on.

Lan Wangji actually does stay, so he's apparently not too angry with Wei Wuxian about the drinking. Wei Wuxian invites him to visit Lotus Pier sometime (see my gifset here), but the promise of lotus pods doesn’t impress him. Then Wei Wuxian tries to tell him that the Yunmeng chicks really knock me out, they leave the rest behind. This also doesn’t impress him.

You could read this macking-on-ladies talk as a sign that Wei Wuxian is oblivious to LWJ's feelings for him. But I read it as a bisexual boy being horny on main with a boy he likes, not understanding yet that some boys don’t share all of his turn-ons.

Lan Wangji is sort of mildly startled when Wei Wuxian disappears under the water. His eye makeup is good here, isn’t it?.

Ice Cave

They end up in an ice cave and both spend the rest of the episode showing how good they look with wet hair.

When the guqin starts attacking, Lan Wangji is only mildly perturbed about Wei Wuxian getting his shit rocked over and over.

Eventually he sends Bichen to protect his very bedraggled date. Lan Wangji’s sword is faster than the speed of a very slow sound wave.

Beauty's where you find it not just where you bump and grind it

Gusuship Down

I feel like there are a couple of things in this show that are so problematic the fandom has silently agreed to never discuss them. Well, I’m here to talk about this one:

There are rabbits in this ice cave and they are wearing headbands. HEADbands. On RABBits.

EXCELLENT FUCKING QUESTION, LAN WANGJI

*deep breath*

Are these rabbits lineal Lan descendants? Who makes the headbands? How do they stay on because “headband” here means “glowing cloud on forehead” without any actual band. When rabbit babies are born, how do they stay safe while they’re waiting for someone to make them baby-sized headbands? Do these rabbits adhere to the other 3499 Lan Clan principles or just the headband one? Is any ol' rabbit allowed to touch a rabbit’s headband or is it limited to parents and significant others and is that even relevant when presumably these bunnies are all fucking each other like...bunnies?

The characters are like “oh, the rabbits are wearing headbands; killer guqin problem solved.” And then they move right the fuck along with their lives and the rabbit headbands are never seen or discussed again and I just want a hit of whatever the author or creative team was smoking when they came up with this whole idea.

Headband Sharing

When Wei Wuxian tells Lan Wangji to hand over his headband, Lan Wangji understands his entire rabbit-based thought process without asking

Gen-X Joke Alert

Wei Wuxian is awfully impressed by this sword-recall trick, considering that he did it himself when they went to the lake.

I see you know your way around a sheath

Killer Guqin

When they approach the guqin I hope that the subtitles are mistranslated, because Wei Wuxian keeps promising not to touch it and then says he can't look at it without touching it. I'm not going to touch it, I just need to touch it.

Lan Wangji is going to teach Wei Wuxian some goddamn boundaries no matter how many times he has to make him fondle his sword.

Nothing suggestive here

Lan Wangji sits down to play the guqin and immediately goes off into the ether where there are seagull noises and plenty of fans. This is either a state of pure bliss, or he just really likes seagulls.

Did Lan Wangji just have a stealth orgasm?

Speaking of getting off, get your ass off of my desk

The Yin Iron

Lan Wangji does some spirit whispering, and suddenly the cave starts yelling at them. A bunch of clans are chanting in unison about a plan, which is the cultivator version of a battle cry.

Lancestor Lan Yi shows up. She is elegant and has a combination of sweetness and gravity that is similar to Lan Xichen’s. And none of Lan Qiren’s douchiness.

Search Party

Lan Qiren is worried and Lan Xichen is worried and they have sent people to look for the boys. It's really too bad nobody around here knows magic.

All these powerful cultivators search for missing people by running around outdoors yelling for them.

Yanli is excused from PE class because she’s not feeling well, so she sits on a rock in the woods instead of, you know, staying home in the first place. She gets bored sitting down and unwisely decides to walk two or three steps. Xuan Lu, seen here competing in a gymnastics event, gamely pretends she can’t climb a small rock.

Yanli falls into Jin Zixuan's arms and they gaze at each other for a long heterosexual moment.

No homosexual explanation possible

This means two things: 1. he isn't looking very hard for her brother if he's hanging out here catching wobbly girls 2. soulful longing looks from him ain't shit, because he's going to dump her in the next episode.

Lanny Granny

Lan Wangji intros himself to Lan Yi and does a full prostrate bow. Wei Wuxian does a standing bow since he's not a descendant, just a future in-law.

No I mean come on, HEADBANDS

Lan Gran explains the entire history of the yin iron. It's bad, it's full of resentful energy, no-one should use it. She’s going to dump it on a couple of 16 year old boys, one of whom has a woody for using resentful energy, because it’s destiny and her battery is about to run out.

Props to the Prop Department; this thing does look pretty cool

Xue Chonghai was the most problematic cultivator back in the old days. He killed a lot of dudes and fed their resentment to...a turtle? To the disk? I don’t know; I literally am unable to pay attention when anyone is explaining the intricacies of the unobtanium Yin Iron.

Anyway there’s a disk and it’s soaked up a lot of resentment.

Using it makes people evil. Well except..clearly this dude started off evil, yeah? If he was feeding people to his turtle.

Side effects may include: being fucking crazy

Here Wei Wuxian brings out his "resentful energy is awesome" theory and has an experienced grown-up grand master tell him that she also thought this, and has spent 100 years locked in a cave with headband-wearing rabbits because she was super fucking wrong. Does this deter him? ...nope

Baoshan Sanren

Now she name checks Baoshan Sanren, and Wei Wuxian has a big reaction and Lan Wangji has a big noticing of Wei Wuxian’s reaction. He’s very attuned to Wei Wuxian’s emotional state, in the moments where WWX lets his actual feelings show through the sass and swagger.

Lan Gran talks about her search for the Yin iron, and Lan Wangji wisely says, if you can't neutralize it, why look for it? And she says, I was filled with hubris just like ya boi Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji points out the exact same shit he will later point out to Wei Wuxian.

So now we have a parallel in which Lan Yi is just like Wei Wuxian and Baoshan Sanren is just like Lan Wangji, yeah? Which is kind of sweet; it shows how these types are drawn together and how your clan doesn't determine your personality. Also it shows how the Lan clan has room for an unorthodox clan leader. Also it shows how the Yin Iron causes some really bad breakups.

These boys are standing on snow barefoot which has got to take a pretty high cultivation level. Look how short Lan Wangji is without his stilettos, aww.

Flashback to Baoshan Sanren, just long enough to appreciate how beautiful she is.

Did OP give up on recoloring that flashback-blue-hazed image and just start fucking around with random filters? Yes she did.

We also get to see that Lan Yi and Lan Wangji have more common than just guqin, because they both like to solve problems by kicking them.

So after breaking up with her girlfriend, Lan Gran became invisible in this cave for 100 years while trying to contain the Yin iron and put headbands on rabbits.

Soundtrack: Vogue by Madonna Writing prompt: Watership Down rabbits meet Lan rabbits

Bonus extended bath clip:

Bai Yu, Detective L

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #wangxian #the untamed gifs #the untamed meta #the untamed stills #chen qing ling #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #cdrama #tw:cussing #more cussing than usual #that is #this is so long I can no longer edit it to fix my typos #even in html editor it won't save #good lord #must have fewer thoughts from now on #if you make it to the end there's a bonus bath gif

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aiyexayen · 3 years

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The ChengXian/WangXian parallel gifsets about the sad boat rides with Wen Ning made me think, once again, about how Wei Ying was worried about being the Jiang Cheng in his relationship with Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying just had so few models of relationship, and only two real models of a serious relationship involving himself--Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli. He saw himself as a caretaker in each of them.

Even Jiang Yanli, ultimately, though there was certainly more give and take there. He only accepted a very specific kind of caretaking from her, though, and we see how fraught that was in the way Yu-furen shamed Jiang Yanli for it.

But Jiang Cheng was the most complicated. He and Wei Ying were the Yunmeng Shuangjie. Twin Heroes. Both of them strong male cultivators. Their relationship was such a carefully orchestrated imbalance. Wei Ying had to take care of Jiang Cheng even to the point of making sure Jiang Cheng didn’t feel taken care of. He was stronger, but he had to make sure Jiang Cheng didn’t feel weaker.

And at the same time, he had to be able to have his best friend and brother and navigate the lines of teasing and boasting that came with those dynamics and also with his natural brash and outgoing and free-spirited personality. It’s not something that weighed particularly heavy on him until later on, of course; it’s just How Things Were.

But Lan Zhan being Wei Ying's true equal was a heady taste of something new, something he was desperate for.

Someone he didn’t have to take care of in all those tricky, sticky ways. Someone who could understand him from the outside. That equality between them--of swords and strength and wit--formed so much of their early relationship. The ways Wei Ying and Lan Zhan excelled differently weren’t seen as anything but surface-level differences, cultivation styles. They could choose to take care of each other on their own (like in the Xuanwu cave) but there were no expectations except that which they set for themselves.

The best cohesive example I can think of is the situation at Dafan Mountain. Jiang Cheng has taken off after Wei Ying, to come and find his troublemaking brother and bring him home, ostensibly being the one to wrangle and care for his brother and best friend and someday-second. But as soon as he finds them, Wei Ying is clearly the one in charge. Jiang Cheng gets locked into a shield barrier, given a verbal half-teasing pat on the head, and left behind. Wei Ying goes off with Lan Zhan to find the source of the problems and their new level of partnership is beautifully put on display through their fight (other things happen in that fight, too, but that’s another post).

Jiang Cheng was never allowed to truly take care of Wei Ying. His parents never let him. Wei Ying never let him. He tried, all the time, most of all when he gave himself up to the Wen soldiers. But even that was immediately undone, turned back around on him.

Wei Ying never figured out how to attain any semblance of true equilibrium in his relationship with Jiang Cheng, even after everything at Lotus Pier, especially after everything at Lotus Pier, either before or after the core transfer. Maybe if he had, things would have been different. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have sacrificed his core to begin with.

It’s debatable how much Wei Ying expected to keep living after his core was gone. It’s even more debatable how much he really thought about anything past his own desperation in the moment, about all the promises broken with that single act, about how that would affect his relationship with anyone else. That doesn’t seem like a very Wei Ying thing to sit and think about.

Regardless, once the core was gone, he and Lan Zhan weren't equals. It messed up his relationship with Jiang Cheng, too, of course. The resentful energy was its own kind of strength but it couldn’t make up the difference in any way that counted. It just complicated everything by a thousand times and added in all kinds of new problems.

Even though Jiang Cheng had his core and Wei Ying had nothing but the tortured screams of the lost and vengeful echoing in his head, Wei Ying was still the caretaker there.

Don’t let Jiang Cheng find out the secret. Don’t let Lan Zhan become embroiled in it or expose the secret. Make sure Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli and Lotus Pier are okay. Lift Jiang Cheng up as a leader. Win the war. Apparently still be alive welp didn’t see that coming. Protect them all. Even if it means leaving.

But as much as he scrambled for strengths and leaned on his demonic cultivation he was still weak. Able to wipe out entire outposts of Wen agents yet repeatedly brought to a point where Lan Zhan could kill him easily and we know that the only way he could hope to match him would be to use this dangerous thing that's eating his soul, so shit could really get out of hand. Which wasn't really winning in the end. Demonic cultivation for him in general wasn’t strength so much as carefully-applied weakness.

Not to mention his reputation. They got so far off-balance where reputation and social standing was concerned.

Wei Ying’s merits had been contentious throughout his life--on the one hand, they're all he had to elevate himself beyond the need for the Jiangs' charity, or anyone's charity, as his status as family was so fraught and inconsistent. Being the best made all of that a moot point as much as it could be. And it also made him able to take care of said family, fulfilling all manner of "repay debt" vibes and "I'm obsessed with justice and protection" vibes.

On the other hand, they were definitely part of what made things so difficult with Jiang Cheng. Wei Ying’s reputation outclassing Jiang Cheng’s as a prodigy, a swordsman, a hero, even as he balanced it out by getting a simultaneous reputation for goofing off and being irresponsible. He did his best to make them complementary even though they were never really allowed to be.

But Jiang Cheng said it himself when he visited Wei Ying at the Burial Mounds--as soon as he started walking a different path, all of his merits and his skills and his reputation were turned upside down and used to make him a more effective villain.

So suddenly he didn’t even have any good social standing. He was mistrusted and then hated and reviled. On a number of levels, he could handle that, because it was more important to him that everyone who wasn’t him was okay. But it put him at complete odds with the great Hanguang-Jun, which was definitely something he made a point of noting more than once so we know it really, really mattered to him.

And that knowledge crept further and further in, between the war ending, things going back to some semblance of normal when he...couldn’t, and eventually him ending up in the Burial Mounds.

It was inevitable. He was the weaker one between himself and Lan Zhan, in every possible way. He knew of only one way that could go down.

It's a fear that got tangled up along with the rest of his paranoias, insecurities, traumas, resolutions, and twisted certainties pre-timeskip. On top of that, he lost a central piece of his identity and had no idea how to replace it.

If he isn't himself, who else can he be? Who else might he turn into? Someone who needs to be taken care of? Someone who might have his agency circumvented by a stronger person who thinks he knows better?

He sure did that to Jiang Cheng, and he never really had to own up to that piece of it. He never really regretted it either but he also sure didn't want to be on the other end of it.

Aside from that, Wei Ying just didn't know how to not be the strongest person. Being equal is the closest he’d ever come. He's never been allowed to be weak and taken care of unless he's play-acting and isn't that fucking heartbreaking? Fuck.

So who is he without that?

He still fought with the strengths he had and pretended to have the rest of them. And in one last great act of being the protector and caretaker, ran off to the Burial Mounds.

We do get to see Wei Ying and Lan Zhan working in tandem to bring back Wen Ning, and even though Wei Ying stumbles at the end (for the first time ever, I think, into Lan Zhan’s arms?), he does it successfully. They’re still able to work together, in spite of everything that’s happened, especially when Wei Ying is leaning into his actual talents. Even if Wei Ying’s weakness is still looming over his shoulder, as we see later.

Being with the Wens, living a simple life, leaning into his strengths, being part of a community and family, taking time to work on his scholarly/inventor hobbies, all this served to calm a lot of those fears and also conveniently take Wei Ying out of the scenarios and away from the relationships that caused them. It offered him tentative new pieces of identity to grab.

But then, of course, he lost that, too.

Post-timeskip, Wei Ying is thrust right back into a world where he has to finally face those issues. Whether you take it as he still has no core, or he has Mo Xuanyu’s really weak core, he’s not doing so great where that’s concerned.

He still has strengths. We’re not actually shown any indications that this man is weak at any point, not truly. He has a better grasp on the situation at Mo Manor than all of those precious Lan babies put together.

But we are shown that he uses a bunch of hands-on crafty tricks, talismans and spells and such. And, interestingly, in counterpoint we’re shown Lan Zhan descending from the heavens with his qin. Wei Ying doesn’t use a dizi here yet (let alone sword), and Lan Zhan doesn’t use Bichen. I do think that’s lovely.

However, Lan Zhan is still incredibly strong, in more ways than just physically: his reputation is strong, his presence is strong, his confidence is high, his mastery of the qin is unparalleled, he’s had sixteen more years to grow up and develop his golden core.

From the framing, and Wei Ying’s reactions, and the Lan juniors’ reactions, it’s pretty clear that’s the impression Wei Ying has. There’s an imbalance between them (along with alllll the other reasons he might have to want to stay away from/keep Lan Zhan out of things). He doesn’t see them as complementary, just as not-the-same.

He meets Jiang Cheng next and, hey, Jiang Cheng is actually really strong now, too (also he always was but meh). Again, Wei Ying uses his tricks to outwit and outmaneuver the situation at hand. Again, he’s struck by the impressive image of someone entering the scene like a badass.

And what a deliciously awful carousel of conflicting feelings. Pride? Despair? Longing? Love? Annoyance? Delight? Relief? Pain? Fear?

But as far as strength goes, clearly Jiang Cheng has it in buckets, now. Which means even if they still had a relationship, Jiang Cheng surely wouldn't even be the Jiang Cheng in it anymore. What a horrible realisation.

It can’t be helped much by the fact that Wei Ying almost lets himself get run through and Lan Zhan enters the scene to fucking save him. Even if it’s from the kid we know he just bested.

And that’s the back and forth we see at first. Wei Ying proving his strength and his character but the framing and his reactions proving that he’s still caught in the idea that Lan Zhan is stronger and better than him.

Lan Zhan is beloved. Lan Zhan is strong. Lan Zhan would never accidentally murder people he loved more than life itself. (OKay I won’t get into that but tell me he didn’t think that at any point I dare you)

He accepts it and plays it off as not a big deal, but it clearly is. In his rare serious moments, we see that.

So post-timeskip, Wei Ying has to figure out who he is and then how he can be said person. A significant part of the character and relationship development post-timeskip is about that.

He once again finds himself exploring uncharted territory of building relationship dynamics he’s never experienced with Lan Zhan. It started because he realised they were equals. It can’t develop further until he acknowledges that they still are.

He figures out how to be weak with Lan Zhan first, that it's safe and allowed and okay. There’s nothing wrong with being taken care of. It doesn’t have to define him and it doesn’t have to be about agency or about all the twisty psychological junk that was all wrapped up in his familial relationships at all.

Then he figures out that he still has the capacity to take care of someone like Lan Zhan back, that he’s still able to be needed, and not just someone to follow around and protect.

Wei Ying has strengths, strengths that were always there and always part of him as well as new ways he's grown and changed. He’s an inventor, he’s a genius, he’s a prodigy, he has his talismans and his music and his people skills and his teaching ability and his empathy and his heart.

All this definitely comes to a head on the steps of Jinlintai, by which point it feels like one of the only remaining imbalances that Wei Ying feels so keenly is their status, which of course Lan Zhan snuffs out utterly romantically.

It’s even more poignant that that moment comes right after Wei Ying gets Suibian back. And he's not nearly as good with it--Lan Zhan has to protect him multiple times in that fight and then of course he gets stabbed. But the point is still made, that he was still able to fight, and even his failures with the sword just drive home that this isn't who he is now. And that's okay.

By the time they're at the Burial Mounds again, Wei Ying has accepted the way they work as a team and that they can be complementary. And they fight flawlessly.

I love that growth for him.

He absolutely ends up being the Jiang Cheng, in a number of ways. He runs after Lan Zhan when he’s drunk to keep him out of trouble. He ends up left behind to take care of defenseless people while Lan Zhan runs off and has an epic sword fight in an evil fog bank.

He has to be taken from Lotus Pier, unconscious, in a boat, and is held so preciously in Lan Zhan’s arms.

But. Turns out it’s not so bad when the person you’re being Jiang Cheng for isn’t Wei Ying.

I swear this is not throwing shade at Wei Ying.

But he figures out, slowly, how to actually have a relationship built on even ground, as equals, in spite of being unequal in all the ways he used to think mattered. And he only manages it with someone once he’s on the weaker side of it.

I just think that’s super interesting.

And I think it sets a precedent for Wei Ying to understand the flaws in his old dynamic with Jiang Cheng. Especially once there aren’t secrets between them.

Everything has to change, anyway. Everything has already changed, almost two decades ago, and it isn’t going back. It can’t ever go back. Everything they were to each other was bound up in Jiang Yanli’s presence, in promises long broken, in dreams long dead, in a future that has already proved to not be real. In the old Lotus Pier, a lot of it, since they never really moved on from that, either, even back then.

Jiang Cheng has grown up. He’s raised a kid. He’s raised and trained disciples. He’s been a sect leader for over a decade and a half. He’s been to other people what he never could be to Wei Ying.

He’s also proven that he still wants his brother to fix things, still expects him to be able to. Still wants to fight, still knows how to cry. Still acknowledges fragmented pieces of their lost dynamic. Probably more of the healthy ones than Wei Ying ever has, too.

Jiang Cheng still, even in the wake of learning about the golden core, even after everything he’s built and has become, acknowledges Wei Ying as a strong person. As someone as strong as he is, if not stronger in many ways. As having the capacity of an older brother.

But then, Jiang Cheng was always able to conceptualise a world where he and Wei Ying were equals, complementary if not evenly matched, just as much as Lan Zhan was.

It wasn’t a fantasy that Wei Ying indulged him in. It was a reality that Wei Ying himself didn’t know how to accept and kept at a distance, carefully juggling too many separate parts of a whole he couldn’t allow to come together until they all crashed down.

But he’s been on the other side of it now and maybe it’s enough. Maybe he can take what he’s learned in building/rebuilding his relationship with Lan Zhan and apply it to other people. Especially Jiang Cheng.

And maybe Jiang Cheng has been a sect leader and an uncle long enough to not let Wei Ying get away with shit.

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years

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DEBRIS AND MISERY

DOUBT MAKES THE STRONG WEAK ; PART 8 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.5k SUMMARY: From concussions to destruction, you find yourself developing an odd trust in the last two people you would even begin to have faith in and when the apocalypse seems unavoidable, you discover that there may be more to the mystery of the universe. A/N: Well, this chapter is long. And mainly pertains around the theme of 'doubt'. A lot more of Sylvie stuff and Loki just having heart eyes the whole time. I love this chapter and I can’t wait to write more as the story ends. Please tell me what you love, hate, anything (maybe theories lol). Thank you for showing so much love. gif from this gifset by @kamalaskhans WARNINGS: Swearing. Apocalypse. Injuries. Blood. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

You were once a fighter.

Hunter E-87 was the name you once knew, hollered through different fields and dimensions in time and space. You fought for what you thought was right, pledging allegiance to a cosmic establishment that held all power to a single timeline and never questioned the works of the Time-Keepers. The Sacred Timeline is indeed sacrosanct, too important, too valuable to interfere. You fight in the name of the single thread of time, the bark of a tree, forbidden to bare branches of a potential multiverse. You fight because the thought of alternate timelines used to scare you. Yet, if alternate universes were meant to be, the lives you took and destroyed are now in the grasp of your bloody hands. You hold the responsibility of the death of the innocent, taking part in mass genocide.

But promises must be kept.

The thought constantly haunts you in your sleep. You have dreams of death, war, destruction, and famine from across the universe. People seem to glide like specters in the world built by your imagination and mind. You have seen a lot, more than any being in the universe should, but no one talks about the aftermath of witnessing the tragedy of the universe as time goes on and on. No one talks about what it does to the mind. Music from cassettes and the wonder of human space exploration were distractions to cope with the grinding hole in you and the fact you might be turning truly crazy.

Sometimes, you would like to be human—Fewer problems and less time to live.

You blame the sickening and bizarre vivid images that come and go whenever you close your eyes as a symptom of being a hunter. The others are stronger than you. Well, they act like they are. Becoming an analyst made you sleep better but there was always doubt. Sakaar made you doubt.

Doubt makes the strong weak. Doubt makes you weak.

“You startin’ to have doubts?”

Green eyes. They watch you with curiosity with a hint of amusement. You hear yourself hum. “Would it be bad if I said yes?”

He laughs. It’s mighty. “Yeah. Definitely bad.”

A beat of silence. You feel your eyes start to sting. “I couldn’t even tell my mom.” A laugh escapes your lips despite the hurt you feel in your chest. “Did you tell anyone? Your wife?”

You see him now, blonde hair slicked back and deep-set eyes. He shakes his head. “Nope. Not even my wife.”

“She’ll be proud, you know.”

“I know...So will your mom. Jesus, you’re gonna be the first woman on—”

Wake up.

“—Is she dead?”

The voice is familiar. It pulls you back to reality but right now, your eyes are too heavy. Doubt is the first emotion that waves through your brain before the process of pain can even occur—uncertain if you are dead or alive.

You can’t feel your limbs, they are too weak.

Doubt makes the strong weak. Doubt makes you weak.

Maybe, you are dead.

“This is your fault! You’re the one who swung that sword of yours to her head! You’re careless—”

Sword...Sword...Careless? You remember a train, a fight.

“Oh, I’m the one who’s careless? You’re the one who’s drunk!”

Drunk...Who was drunk?

Then, your voice echoes in your head, images of a certain brunette with a deep frown. He called you a mewling quim. You quoted Hávamál. You then left him and wandered through the other cabins of the train. He blew his cover. He got you into a fight.

Loki. Loki Laufeyson.

Son of a bitch.

Your eyes are wide open now. All you see are the faces of Loki and Sylvie, looming over you. Just two floating heads. Then, the pain arrives, coursing through the entire back of your head. You wince in immediate reaction and the floating heads turn to you in an instant.

What a way to wake up from a concussion.

You remember everything now, but you certainly don’t recall being on the outside of the train. Must have gotten thrown out. The thought angers you, irritation practically boiling to the brim. Yet, it’s your fault. You hadn't thought to babysit the very person you wish were dead. As your palm grips onto the dirt beneath, muscling all strength left to lift yourself. Your head feels light and heavy all at once. Not good.

“Are you alright?” is the question that flies from Loki’s lips, tinged with an emotion you never knew he had for another but himself—worry. Whether selfless or selfish, you wish to ignore the complexity of Loki’s reactions and possible change in character, especially towards you. Ever since you stepped foot on Lamentis, all you felt was pain. You have never been injured so much within the last few hours than in your entire life and weirdly, you feel fine.

Sylvie is quick to stand, watching the two of you work in tandem. His grip finds the curve of your shoulders as you stick your hand out to grip him by the bicep. At your touch, you notice how his arm stiffens ever so slightly. You don’t say anything.

Some things about Loki are best left unknown and unanswered.

Today is filled with a lot of getting off the ground in the most unceremonious way possible.

A deep exhale leaves your lips, wisps of your hair drifting with the brutal breeze from your nostrils. Beads of sweat trail along the curve of your forehead and the back of your neck. Some entangled with the strands of your hair. Your hands feel clammy and dirty but you run them to push your hair back and away from your face anyway.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, pulling yourself away from his touch.

You finally get a good look at the two. Loki looks like complete shit but Sylvie manages to maintain the regalness to the locks of her hair despite her opposing overall behavior. It’s the Asgardian blood coursing through her veins. You cannot hide your ancestors' blood. It’s hard to believe the two are the same—one being. Yet, it's believable when you’re angry at the two of them.

The two messed up your career, that’s why.

Unbothered and uncivilized. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.

As your eyes shift along the train tracks that meander along a gorge with steep rocky walls that leer above it, you catch sight of a spark by your feet, glinting under the iridescent sky.

It’s the TemPad, shattered into pieces; you recognize the color gold of its border.

Your eyes grow wide, mouth agape. You don’t even feel angry anymore, it’s more than that. You stick out your hand to gesture towards the destroyed device, “Is that—Is that the TemPad?” you ask as your other hand lifts to hold the side of your head. “Or am I just seeing things from the concussion?”

Sylvie is the one to speak. “It’s not the concussion.”

You suddenly feel like you’re burning.

If it were possible, you could have instantly killed him with a look.

“You. You killed us!” you step closer to him and for a moment, Loki doesn’t exactly know what to do. “So, it’s my fault then? You were the one who left me alone in the lounge.” are the words that leave his lips. Completely useless. Trying to diffuse the tension is the exact opposite of what he does.

His silver tongue isn’t so shiny and silver anymore.

You don’t pull your blow this time. Your palm strikes his cheek, rocking his head to the side. Your hand is oddly soft. Loki winces and you stand your ground. “You’re a jerk and an asshole. You’ve probably been called that for all your life and yet, here you are. Still, the most insensitive and pathetic man I’ve ever met,” you articulate your words with frustration and rage. You don’t raise your voice like before, it’s low and frightfully intimidating. “And I’m not your babysitter.”

—

Battles, ruination, and fracas gave a sense of familiarity to Sylvie in a time of an impending apocalypse. When worlds end, benevolence is resolute. The tragedy of the end of lost souls—afraid to die. But as daunting as the apocalypse is, the beauty of their souls finally returning to the universe protrudes amongst the debris and misery.

She sees herself in the two of you, as much as she doesn’t identify as a Loki anymore, and her hatred towards the TVA. You have a temper and he doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

You’re mysterious in an almost enchanting way and possibly significant as you seemed to be at first glance. Sylvie is highly curious about you.

You don’t stray too far from the group, only to find rest by the edge of a pit made by a crashing meteor. You sit with your back turned against the very two beings you distrust as you watch the border where the bustling city of Shuroo is based. Your guard is down and you don’t care at this point. Everyone is about to die anyway.

Sylvie’s gaze finds Loki who seems to be only watching the back of your still figure, eyes glinting with an emotion unknown to her. Possibly regret? Sylvie doesn’t know what regret looks like. But fear and anger, she feels it radiating from you. She knows it. Something tells her you’re not solely angry at her and Loki.

She finds herself drifting closer to you. You don’t move. She cautiously settles beside you. “You’re not hiding a knife somewhere, aren’t you?”

You merely scoff, caressing your head, “You’re the one to say.”

Sylvie blinks. Fair enough.

Silence. Sylvie’s eyes shift to the handkerchief tied around your arm, stained with blood. “How’s the arm?”

You hum. “Surprisingly, fine.”

Oh, Sylvie knows it’s fine. She knows what Loki did. She decides not to mention the scratch she made across your cheek.

“Did the slap make you feel better?”

The question is hinted at near sarcasm, but genuinely, she wants to know.

“Yes, it did. You should try it sometime.”

She simply hums. “I would have but you beat me to it.”

A turn of your lips as they curve into a small smile. Sylvie watches with an odd sense of satisfaction. “You know, I’m still mad at you. For what you did to me.” Your words are slow. You find yourself swallowing. “But it’s nothing compared to what the TVA did to you.”

Empathy. Is this what empathy feels like? The moment when someone finally understands what it’s like to be alone for so long. Your lives are different but they reflect in certain ways. You have had your fair share of living in constant fear and constantly running. Sylvie finds herself wanting to tell you that she hadn’t simply pushed you into Sakaar. When it’s a mission, things are never accidental. She always has a plan.

Yet, she chooses not to say anything.

You speak again but merely whisper, fidgeting with your fingers, “Before Sakaar—did you enchant me?”

It's as if you're reading her mind.

“Are you seeing things?”

After a pause, the fidgeting stops.

“I’ve seen things all my life, images. Brief and insignificant. But ever since I was in Sakaar, it’s gotten a lot harder to differentiate a dream and a memory.”

“That’s because they aren’t dreams.”

Your hardened gaze finds hers for a brief moment, nearly growing wide at her words but in an instant, your guard is up once you hear the shuffling of feet behind you where Loki lingers. The subject is dropped immediately. He meets Sylvie’s gaze, the two share a knowing look.

Your anger is provoked and well deserved and yet, the last thing he wants is to be your enemy. Loki doesn’t know why. He has lived a life full of them.

You’re different.

He stills, wondering if you’re going to lash out at him again but when he notices your slow breaths, he decides to sit next to you anyway, awkward glances to you in his periphery. A deep sigh escapes his lips, fiddling with his fingers. “What now?”

Sylvie is the one to answer. “I don’t know. You broke the TemPad.”

“Well—”

“And that planet is about to crash into us.”

Loki looks up at the nearing planet of Lamentis. He blinks. “Well, yes, but—”

“Yes, but what?”

“Well, the entire moon is destroyed, right?”

Sylvie is trying to suppress your growing annoyance. “Yep. And everyone on it is killed.”

But Loki pesters on. “Including us.”

She raises her voice. “Yes, including us.” Loki glances at you momentarily. A pause. He furrows his brows in thought.

“What about the ark?”

“The ark never leaves because it's destroyed.”

Suddenly, an epiphany, his eyes light up. He turns to you and Sylvie, “Never had us on it.”

You suddenly scoff at his words. “Are you suggesting we hijack the ark and make sure it gets off this moon?” You turn to him to only spot a vague smile playing upon his lips. He nods in return. “Sounds like a good idea to me, Agent.”

You merely blink, watching the way his eyes shift across your face. First, you’re struck with uncertainty. It’s a risk, a huge one but you know, risks are meant to be uncertain. Risks are also vital in success. Hesitation, doubt—they make you weak. This time, you want to be strong. Strong enough for one last push to save your life.

“Okay.” is what you say, your expression reflecting his.

For the first time, since he took your hand in Sakaar, you’re starting to trust him.

—

The walk to Shuroo seemed endless. You trail behind the two, feeling like you’re about to suffocate.

“—To preserve the connection, I have to create a fantasy from their memories.”

Loki and Sylvie had been conversing about the science and functions of enchantment in a rather surprisingly calm manner. Loki hums, amused by her elucidation. “And you call me a magician.”

Her expression is unchanged as she continues to trudge alongside Loki, ignoring his previous statement. “That young soldier from the TVA, her mind was messed up. Everything clouded. I had to pull a memory from hundreds of years prior...before she even fought for them.”

Loki halts abruptly in his step, hand flying to grab Sylvie’s arm. “What? What'd you say? Before she joined the TVA?”

Sylvie blinks. “Yeah. She was just a regular person on Earth.”

His mind starts to reel, face muddled with confusion. “I was told that everyone who works for the TVA was created by the Time-Keepers.”

“That's ridiculous. They're all variants, just like us. Including her.” Sylvie gestures discreetly to you who has stopped to take a breather, hands on your hips as you blink up to the sky.

You, Mobius, all of them. All variants.

“They don't know that. She doesn’t know that.” he breathes a terrified expression.

Sylvie looks at you from afar. You’re now looking at them with a bewildered expression. “What?” you call out, voice echoing through the wide area, in a somewhat defensive tone.

She turns to Loki once more, voice nearly faltering. “I have a feeling she already knows it.”

—

Loki doesn’t realize the unfamiliarity of hopelessness. Throughout his life, he was constantly surrounded by those with unfaltering determination—His brother, family, friends who were warriors, The Avengers.

Never was it known that he would see it burning in your eyes as they reflect the growing fire of the Ark, crumbling down, tongues of fire engulfing it whole before you. His heart burns with it as Shuroo falls quiet—only the sounds of the metallic crashing of the disintegrating parts of the ship falling from above and the screams of the rich and deemed worthy to live. Every Lamentian still alive held their breath, a moment's silence for their lives must end. Everything must end.

So close yet so far.

Sylvie is gone by the minute as the city starts to descend in terror and panic. He stands behind your still form, just watching your only chance of making it out, swallowed by its own billowing smoke. He reaches out for you, tugging you by the sleeve. “We should leave,” he says with a sudden sense to protect you. There isn’t much to do at this point. It doesn't matter if you are hit by the falling pieces of the Ark because you are all going to die anyway.

But he considers it a gesture, as insignificant and small it is. The least he could do is to distract you from the end, whether for a mere second or minutes.

“I know things haven’t been the best between us and I concede I bring out the worst in you, but I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You turn to Loki with his sudden words. He watches the way your expression softens so gracefully, face adorned with gashes and wounds. Your mouth twitches as you respond with a gentle voice. “I forgive you.”

Three words. Very powerful words.

His heart skips a beat.

You find Sylvie at the brink of the city, sitting on a stretched slab of rock amongst the dirt, watching the horizon where the planet starts to meet the moon. Loki still has his hand around your arm, but you don’t complain. It’s your only source of support at the moment. It’s an unconscious move, but everything about it feels right when the two of you settle beside her, shoulders brushing against each other. It only makes sense to want to feel the nearness, the closeness of another as the light at the end of the tunnel begins to dim.

It’s impending. It’s scary.

“I remember Asgard.”

Sylvie’s voice trembles, her eyes are somber.

“Not much, but I remember. My home, my people, my life. Then, the TVA showed up, erased my reality, and took me, prisoner. I was just a child.”

You turn to her, guilt bubbling in your chest, but you don’t say anything. You let her speak. It’s only right.

“I escaped.” she breathes, blinking the brimming tears in her eyes away. ”Stole a TemPad and I ran for a long, long time, which really sucked. Everywhere and every-when I went, it caused a Nexus event.”

Sylvie turns to you with a melancholic gaze. “The universe wants to break free, so it manifests chaos. Like me being born the Goddess of Mischief. But to you and the TVA, I’m not supposed to exist.”

For so long, you hadn’t realized the consequences of your work at the TVA. You believed you were right. That erasing, resetting realities were meant to be. You cannot comprehend how it only occurred to you to question the authority of the Time-Keepers over time itself after Sakaar. All those years of being ignorant and selfish. You hadn’t realized. You never did.

But now you know.

Sylvie continues, gaze shifting away from you. “I figured out where to hide. And so that's where I grew up, the ends of a thousand worlds. Now...that's where I'll die.”

Then, silence. It sits heavily between the three of you.

“The universe—isn’t she beautiful?” Your voice is soft, eyes trained on the horizon—a fleet of asteroids, they reflect the end. But they seem to dance to the silence of the apocalypse, drifting across the stratosphere, lining the firmament. Loki’s gaze shifts to you, training on every curve of your face and the tears slipping down your cheeks. He agrees, the universe is beautiful.

You’re beautiful.

“She brings turmoil, agony, and destruction but in all her flaws, there’s beauty in her very existence.”

Your hands find Sylvie and Loki’s hands, holding on to them tightly as you fight the wavering of your voice.

“You...Both of you might be the epitome of chaos but you must know that you have such beautiful souls. All of us, we're her children...and if she is beautiful, so are we. And the Universe is always right. If she created you then we are wrong.”

Sylvie’s face is soft. Loki squeezes your hand.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I should have known from the start...that the TVA was lying to all of us. I should have questioned. I should have doubted—”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” she says, smiling with saddened eyes.

You laugh. You don’t know why, but you do. Maybe, it’s because you know you are a part of the problem anyway, even if you were just doing your job.

You find Loki’s gaze that’s already on you. You sigh and speak through a whisper. “I’m sorry for slapping you.”

His lips curve into a grin, eyes crinkling like your own. “It was well deserved, but I forgive you.”

Fingers entangled with the hands of two unlikely people, you finally realize what it truly feels like to not be alone. To be in the company of someone you want to be with.

“Now long now.” Those three words leave the very lips of Sylvie and your chest feels like it’s about to collapse.

You never knew you were afraid of death, yet here you are—terrified.

The ground shakes beneath you. It’s dark and there’s fire everywhere. A meteor collides to the ground just across the way, it sends smoke billowing to its surroundings faster than you can blink.

Even in the last seconds of your life, you have doubts remaining. What if the universe isn’t always right?

Then, through the growing dust, you see a spark, like lightning. A glint of a figure, standing before you. White, pure, and serene. You’re standing now, staring ahead. Sylvie and Loki cease to exist in your mind as they gaze at you with bewilderment. They anxiously call you by your name but you don’t hear it. There’s only silence now, you don’t hear anything but the ringing in your ears.

A voice, she speaks with dignity. A voice so familiar.

“Doubt makes the strong weak, my child.”

Then, you hear it. A soft hum—a Time Door glows warmth amid your impending death.

Suddenly, she’s gone.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

@kashasenpai

@nyxrae

@johnmurphys-sass

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson oneshot #loki oneshot #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki series #loki spoilers #sylvie #sylvie laufeyson

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 3 years

Text

House Calls (2/2 )

Hannibal (TV)

This part took much longer than the first. The muse eluded me for quite some time but it has finally returned! And the fact that this beautiful gifset from the show is making the rounds again certainly helped. ❤❤ Shoutout to @mongooseblues for inspiration for and assistance with this fic! A small note for those that read part 1, I'm retconning the fact that Hannibal had a digital thermometer that beeps. He would definitely have a mercury one.

Read part 1 here. (Recommended, it is referenced quite a few times in part 2)

Read my other works here (works best on desktop) (Also on AO3)

My asks are always open for prompts!

For the second time in one week, Will Graham was awoken by the phone ringing. Granted, a week ago it had woken him because it rang at an unusually early hour. This time it woke him because he was still getting over the godawful bug he'd caught, and he was going to bed earlier and sleeping in later.

He fumbled for the device and picked it up with a groggy " H'llo?"

"Will, it's Hannibal." The doctor paused to clear his throat roughly. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I have a favor to ask of you, if you're up to it." There was a strange noise on the other end of the line, a kind of shuffling noise-- or perhaps a sniffle?

"Sure," Will said with a yawn and a sniffle of his own, rubbing his eyes. "I've been feeling pretty good since yesterday. I can help with whatever you need."

"That's very promising. As to the favor... It appears I've left my medical bag at my office." Here he had to stop to clear his throat again and cough before he continued. "I was wondering if you would be able to collect it for me and bring it to my home. I'm… well, it seems I've caught your illness and I don't believe it would be wise for me to leave the house."

By this time, Will had slid to sit on the edge of the bed as he listened, stifling further yawns. The damn flu still had him feeling so unbelievably tired and groggy.

"I'll head out right away," Will replied, rubbing his face. "And… I'm really sorry to have put you in this position, Dr. Leh--Hannibal. I never meant to get you sick."

"Occupational hazard, and I don't regret any of my actions concerning your care. But I appreciate your assistance in getting my bag. I will see you soon I hope."

"See you soon." Will ended the call with a small sigh. Now he felt guilty *and* tired. He was almost glad there was something he could do for the doctor to help assuage his own conscience.

Less than an hour later, Will arrived at Hannibal's stately house. It had been no problem to retrieve the black leather medical bag from Hannibal's office. Due to the late hour of their therapy sessions, Will always arrived after the office front entrance was locked, so he knew the code to the building’s back door. The bag had been hidden behind a table leg and it was easy to see how Hannibal had overlooked it Now it was simply a matter of delivering it.

Already a bit overwhelmed to be approaching such a house, Will hesitated after mounting the porch steps. Hannibal hadn't told him what to do when he arrived. If the doctor was sleeping he didn't want to rouse him out of bed, but he didn't want to just walk in either. However, the safest option seemed to be to bite the bullet and knock. As he raised his hand to do so though, he realized the door was slightly ajar. A man like Dr. Lecter wouldn't accidentally leave a door open, no matter how ill he was. It stood to reason, then, that it had been left open for him. With more than a little trepidation, Will pushed the door open and stepped in.

The house was dim and still, and just as stately and pristine as everything else of Hannibal's. Will heard the sound of a harpsichord from somewhere inside. Hannibal was awake, then. At least that was something.

Will followed the sounds of the music, which led him into the cavernous kitchen. The stainless steel appliances were silent and eerie without Hannibal's bustling presence giving them life. The music was louder now, seemingly coming from the next room, and echoing slightly against the polished surfaces. A strange sixth sense kept Will from calling out that he had arrived, as if there was a spell on the house that didn't want to be broken. Will paused before he approached the corner that turned into the next room. As he did, the music stopped abruptly, and instead a different noise punctuated the air:

"HrrrrRRISHyuu! ErrrrRREISH-shooo! ISSSHH-chuhh! Hh'rrrsshh'CHHOOF!"

It was of course Hannibal who had sneezed. Logically Will knew this was to be expected when a person was sick. Yet it seemed so strange to hear such a mundane noise from such an extraordinary person. It was as if he'd accidentally witnessed something exceedingly private.

Still, the sneezing had broken the spell. The doctor said something in Lithuanian that sounded suspiciously like swearing, then began to blow his nose. As he did this, Will retreated several steps and reentered the kitchen more noisily:

"Dr. Lecter! I'm here! I've got your bag!"

"I'm in the study," came the congested reply, annexed by a chesty cough.

Will found the man where he said, seated in front of the instrument as he tended to his nose. Yet still, the doctor tried to smile warmly upon seeing him, though his shoulders had a limp sag to them, and he shivered as he sniffled into his handkerchief. He was wearing a fine blue silk robe with a plain white tee shirt and blue plaid pajama pants, neat but still a far cry from his usual suits. His hair was combed but lacked the crisp, styled look it usually had, hanging more naturally around his face. His eyes were fever-bright, and his cheeks were flushed from the same. He looked overall rundown and quite unwell.

Will handed him the black leather bag right away. Hannibal took it, looking grateful.

"Thank you so much for coming, Will. I didn't know who else to call." His voice was husky and thick, more than hinting at a miserable sore throat.

"No problem. But what are you doing out here? I thought the reason I fetched this was because you were too sick to get out of bed."

"I'm really not very ill. I was merely trying to avoid getting anyone else ill by my going out. But you've already had this illness, so you are safe from infection, which is why I thought to call you."

"That's logical I suppose," said Will wryly. "You look pretty sick to me, though."

"I assure you I'm fie- fine…. '' Hannibal quickly disappeared behind the handkerchief again, his breath hitching to sneeze. His shoulders leapt violently several times, and the motion made his hair fall across his forehead. However, any other sneeze side effects were thoroughly stifled into silence. After finishing the fit, Hannibal wiped his nose and flipped his hair back again with a toss of his head. Noting how familiar the doctor seemed to be with the gesture, Will could only guess at the number of sneezing fits he had had prior to this one.

Seeing the poor man’s sinuses take such abuse from the forceful stifles though made Will's own still-congested sinuses start dripping in sympathy. He hastily pulled out a tissue and wiped his nose.

"Ah, but you are still ill yourself. Where are my manners? I'll make us both tea." Hannibal quickly stood, but staggered before he could take a step, a hand going to his temple.

"Dr. Lecter--!" Will was at his side in a moment to steady him, one hand on the doctor's arm and the other at his back, just as Hannibal had steadied him earlier in the week. Will was prepared to do whatever was needed to keep Hannibal upright, though his swaying made Will more than a little nervous, for Hannibal was much taller than he, and would more than likely take them both down if he fell.

Thankfully, the doctor quickly righted himself, pulling away from Will's grasp. "Forgive me, I stood up too quickly." Dr. Lecter cleared his throat harshly, rubbing a palm across his eyes.

"Are you sure you--"

"I'm fine, Will. Now, tea." He strode away to the kitchen, effectively ending the conversation, as was his talent.

Will held his tongue for the time being and silently followed, sitting at the kitchen island while Hannibal puttered around making tea. The silence was companionable, only broken by the doctor's soft sniffles and coughs. At one point though, the doctor was overcome with a nasty coughing fit that bent him over at the waist as he grasped the countertop for balance. When the barking coughs subsided and he could breathe relatively normally once more, he flipped his hair back into place yet again and proceeded with what he was doing as if nothing had happened. Will noted all of this without comment.

Once the tea was poured, Hannibal seated himself beside Will, and they sipped together in continued silence. Will found it odd, though not unpleasant, to be sitting next to Hannibal without speaking, for their usual interactions dictated that conversation was necessary. Will found the quiet enjoyable. Yet Hannibal could not relax, for he was forced to tend to another harsh bout of coughing, turned away from Will and muffled into his elbow. His lungs sounded as if they were trying to tear their way out of his chest. Will could only look on in concern, and it was several long moments before he quieted.

"My apologies, Will," the doctor rasped as soon as he was able, the exertion having turned his face an even deeper shade of red.

"You don’t need to apologize. But you sound sick. And you look like you're running a fever. You should be in bed."

"I rest better down here with my music and my cooking. I couldn't lie in bed all day."

"I don't think you should do any cooking. You're shaking."

The doctor quickly hid his hands, which were indeed trembling with chills. "Even so. I find it hard to rest in bed during the day. I have trouble getting settled. It's too… quiet I suppose." He sniffled wetly, and was forced to dab at his nose with his handkerchief.

"Hmm." Will thought for a moment, studying his own hands, currently wrapped around his mug. "I suppose I have the same problem. And it's worse when you're not feeling well. But you helped alleviate that for me when I was sick." Will met the doctor's eyes, reddening slightly. "You should lie down after we're done with tea… and if you want, I'll stay with you for a while... If you think it'll help, I mean."

Hannibal regarded him in his penetrating way. "Are you that worried about my health, Will?"

"You're sick, Dr. Leh-- Hannibal. And I know how bad this flu is. I don't want to see you get worse."

Hannibal was quiet for a moment, aside from another moist sniffle. "That is very kind of you to offer. I suppose you are right. Some rest would perhaps do me good."

Will nodded. "When we're finished, I'll stay here and do these dishes while you go get settled. I'll come see you as soon as I'm done. But let me know if there's anything else you need."

Hannibal gave a tiny smile. "Thank you, Will." With that, he obediently swallowed the last few gulps of tea and stood, moving toward the back of the house.

"Hannibal?"

The doctor turned.

"You don't… have to keep pretending you're fine. If you are pretending, I mean. I know how badly you're probably feeling better than anyone. You don't need to fake anything for my sake."

Will watched as Hannibal's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly--a thin crack in the veneer. The sick man gave the barest of nods, then proceeded on to what Will assumed was his bedroom.

Will felt quite out of his element in more ways than one as he cleaned the dishes from their tea. Having no idea where anything went, he left it all out on a towel to dry. Once the kitchen was as clean as he could make it, he steeled himself to go check on his therapist.

The master bedroom was as luxurious as the rest of the house, and Will did his best not to gawk or make comparisons between this and his own tiny house. Hannibal had hung up his robe and was huddled in bed. He wasn't fully lying down, but was propped up against a stack of pillows, his breathing noticeably thick and raspy in the silent room. As Will expected, lying down evidently made the doctor feel the full impact of his symptoms (or perhaps he was simply done pretending). Hearing Will enter, he turned his head, lethargically opening heavy-lidded eyes. Against the cream sheets, the contrast between his pallor and fever flush was even more striking.

"It seems I'm more unwell than I thought," Hannibal murmured with a cough. "This is why I wanted to avoid lying down."

Will made a sympathetic sound. "That means you *need* to be lying down then. Have you taken your temperature recently? If not, we should."

Hannibal glanced at the medical bag he'd brought up with him. "The only thermometer I own is in there, so I have been unable to."

"A doctor that doesn't own a thermometer?" Will chuckled, moving to the bag. "I wouldn't have expected that."

"I do own one. I've never seen the need to own two."

Will deigned not to reply as he rummaged through the bag, quickly finding what he needed. He shook down the mercury as he returned to Hannibal's side. Hannibal held out his hand to take it, then shakily inserted it under his tongue. He leaned back to stare at the ceiling while Will stared at the floor, hands in his pockets.

Will waited what felt like an awkwardly long time before he finally shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. "How long does it take to get a reading? I've never--"

Hannibal held up a hand and waited a bit longer, then removed the device from his mouth, glanced at it, and handed it to Will without comment.

Seeing the reading, Will gave a low whistle. 104.1… that's high, Hannibal."

"My body temperature is always above average. This is more pronounced when I'm ill."

"Do you have some medicine? You should probably take something. Or do you want a cool rag?"

"I have just taken medication." The doctor gestured to his nightstand with a thick sniffle where there was a small collection of unmarked pill bottles. "And there's no need for cooling methods. A fever is a natural physiological response to infection. Nothing to be alarmed about." He swiped at his nose with his handkerchief, stifling a cough.

Will was skeptical, but before he could respond, Hannibal jerked forward at the waist, pressing the handkerchief to his face again:

"Gghnxt! Kppshht!"

The expression on the doctor’s face indicated that he could have (and maybe should have) kept sneezing, but he harshly pinched his nose with a wet squelch and blew, forcing the tickle to subside.

Will sighed and shook his head, then made a face upon noticing the state of the handkerchief Hannibal was using.

"That handkerchief is...sodden. It's practically dripping. I'll get you a fresh one. Where do you keep them?"

"I only have 3 others and they are in worse shape than this one. I've rather been running through them."

Will chuckled. "I can't imagine why." He rummaged through his pockets, finally producing a nearly full, cellophane-wrapped travel pack of Kleenex which he handed to the doctor.

Hannibal made a face. "I despise using these."

"I'm not sure you have an option right now. These have to be better than your soaking wet cloth ones."

"Debatable," Hannibal muttered. Still, he shook one out and gingerly brought it to his face. He gave several thick, gurgling blows, productive to the point of starting to disintegrate the tissue. Seeing this, Hannibal made another face.

"You really need to use 2 or 3 of those at a time," Will said, trying not to laugh. "But let me get you a trash can."

"There is one in the master bathroom," Hannibal croaked, looking peeved and sounding more congested than ever.

Will quickly fetched the bin while Hannibal tried again to blow his nose, using 4 Kleenex this time. The 2nd round of blowing was equally productive. When he was finished, Will held the bin out and Hannibal tossed the tissues in as if he were tossing in a dead rat.

"This is most unsanitary Will," Hannibal muttered with a slushy sniffle, yet still pulling out more to continue wiping his streaming nostrils.

Will only chuckled. Hannibal was breathing slightly easier now, but his eyes were heavier than ever.

"You should sleep, Dr--Hannibal. You don't have to stay awake for my sake. I'll be here when you wake up."

The doctor nodded, obediently closing his eyes with a sigh.

Will didn't expect such a quick response, and for a moment he watched the doctor to ensure he was truly going to sleep. When it appeared he was, Will perched on a nearby chair, unsure what else to do. It seemed he was to be staying with Hannibal in the most literal sense, for he wasn’t about to go wandering around this house by himself.

Half an hour passed, the minutes dragging slowly. The doctor lay perfectly still the entire time, but Will knew he wasn't sleeping. His frame was too alert. Meanwhile Will, with nothing to do except scroll through his phone and listen to Hannibal's deep breathing, was struggling to stay awake and wishing he too had a bed. Killing time was only making him more groggy, and his head was beginning to ache.

Getting fed up with it, Will went with his instincts and tried something else. Swallowing a yawn and rubbing his eyes, he navigated to the e-reader app on his phone and pulled up one of his favorite novels. Clearing his throat, he began to read aloud: "The year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious and puzzling phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten…."

As soon as there was another sound in the room, Hannibal began to visibly relax, angling his face toward Will even as he got more comfortable in the bed, though his eyes never opened. Slowly, slowly he sank deeper into the pillows as Will read on. Will sensed he was trying to follow the story, but it seemed the doctor's fatigue was overwhelming, especially since Will was trying to make his voice as soothing as possible. Within another 30 minutes, Hannibal's hand had gone limp around the Kleenex he was holding as he softly snored, sleeping at last.

Will finished the chapter he was on, just to be sure the sick man wouldn't wake again, before he finally closed the book. His mouth was very dry and he needed a glass of water. Before he left the room though, he turned on the white noise machine he'd noted near the bed (he had a similar one in his own room), hoping some kind of continued noise would help Hannibal sleep longer. Will then tiptoed to the kitchen, pouring himself a huge glass of water right away. As he sat and drank it, he thought about what else he should do, for he didn't want to just continue sitting around.

"What do you do for someone when they're sick?" he murmured to himself. Another moment later, he answered himself: "Make them soup, I guess."

Hannibal's soup had been wonderful, but Will was no chef. He could prepare many basic things, but spices and seasonings, and thus soups, eluded him. He cringed at the thought of preparing something from scratch for a culinary master like Dr. Lecter.

However, another idea occurred to him, and he smiled to himself as he considered it. It might work, but he would need to run an errand. He stood right away and strode to the front door, wanting to go and be back as quickly as possible. He only hoped Hannibal would sleep the whole time he was gone, for Will had promised to be there when he woke, and he intended to keep that promise.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hannibal didn't wake until many hours later, and Will was indeed at his side when he did. It was Hannibal's treacherous nose that did it. Will had noted subtle signs of him nearing consciousness again for a while, but the final straw was an uncontainable volley of sneezes:

"HRRIIZZSHH-uh! HhURRSHH-shuh! hrrRIIIZZSHHD! Hhh-KKRRCHHSSHHooo!"

The sighed exhale that followed bordered on a groan as that doctor shakily grabbed the tissues at his side and tended to his cherry-red nose yet again with several gurgling blows. Will had been at his side from the first sound, looking for any way to be useful. Eventually Hannibal met his gaze, taking a moment to survey the younger man.

"You look tired, Will."

Will huffed a cheerless laugh. "You haven't doctored me enough yet this week?"

"A physician's nature doesn't change just because he's ill," Hannibal sniffled. "And you've also been ill. I don't want you to overtax yourself on my account."

"I'm fine. But you look tired too. How are you feeling?"

Hannibal didn't reply immediately, seemingly taking inventory. A shaky breath caused him to cough harshly before he could speak, and Will winced in sympathy.

"I feel thoroughly disgusting. And ill," Hannibal mumbled through congested-sounding consonants. "My head and chest feel achingly thick. Heavy." He put his own wrist to his forehead for a moment. "Feverish."

"Here, you need to drink." Will handed the doctor a tall glass of ice water. Hannibal took it and drank it down with a grateful look, but the chill from the ice immediately caused him to cough into his fist yet again.

Will watched all of this, feeling uncomfortable. "I'm still sorry I got you sick, Hannibal. I hate seeing you like this."

Though Hannibal's eyes shone with fever, he eyed Will keenly. "This is not your fault. Illness is an expected part of the human experience. You must not blame yourself." It occurred to Will that congestion was not the only thing making Hannibal more difficult to understand--his Lithuanian accent was also far more pronounced than usual.

"I still feel terrible."

The doctor quirked an eyebrow at him, looking faintly amused. "What a coincidence. As I've just told you, so do I."

Will couldn't think how to respond, so they merely shared a wry smile. Then, without warning, Hannibal's torso whipped forward, and he exploded into another pair of thick, spraying sneezes:

"Hhht-KNNXT! hhnnxxt-CHUUHG!" Evidently his ability to stifle was weakening as his symptoms worsened. The sick doctor stayed hunched forward, blowing and wiping his raw nose for the hundredth time, looking utterly miserable as he shook the last few Kleenex from the package.

"At least that's something I can help you with," Will said, nodding at the empty wrapper. He bent down and came back up with 2 new boxes of tissues. He opened one and handed it over. Hannibal took it reluctantly.

"Those are the best ones you can get. They should be almost like real cloth."

"I rather doubt that," Hannibal muttered. "But I thank you nonetheless. They are sorely needed."

"And I plan to take your cloth ones home and wash them and bring them back tomorrow. Including the one I still have. So you'll only have to deal with these for a bit longer," Will said with a little grin.

The doctor's eyes lit up in pleasure. "I would be most grateful for that."

"Is there anything else you'd like? Either now or tomorrow?"

Hannibal again coughed into his first before he spoke, sounding thoroughly phlegmy. "I should likely take some food. I'm feeling weaker than I ought to."

It was Will's turn to light up. "There's another coincidence… I have food ready for you. Some soup and stuff."

"I thought I smelled something simmering, even through this dreadful congestion. That explains why I'm suddenly hungry," Hannibal said with a thick sniffle, leaning back into his pillows. "Thank you for thinking of it. Though I would hardly call your predicting my needs a coincidence, but rather proof of your capabilities as a caretaker. Just something to think on.” The doctor gave him a pointed look even as he sniffled again.

Will was now embarrassed and quickly moved to the doorway. "I'll go bring some for you now."

Hannibal let the subject drop and nodded weakly, closing his eyes as he massaged the bridge of his nose. Will hurried to the kitchen and ladled a bowl of chicken soup from the pot warming on the stove. He had the ingredients for grilled cheese ready as well, and a hot griddle waiting, so it was only a matter of minutes before he had a fresh, hot sandwich to accompany the soup. As a final touch, he peeled an orange and placed it on the plate with the sandwich, then grabbed the bottle of soda he'd bought, and transported it all to the sick room on a large tray.

Hannibal was clearly a bit taken aback upon seeing it all. "This is quite the spread, Will," he croaked. "Did you make all of this?"

"Define 'make', Will chuckled. "I turned the stove on, yes."

"The soup isn't yours then?"

"It's Campbell's chicken noodle, fresh from the can. The genuine, original sick day food. Grilled cheese made with the finest Kraft singles of course. An orange for the Vitamin C, no seeds. For the drink, we have ginger ale, the beverage that can cure any ailment. And for dessert, if you so desire, we also have hot chocolate."

Hannibal was speechless for a moment. Then, a tiny smile began to play across his features. "This is ...really something, Will. I haven't been served a meal quite like this in a very long time. I can't even remember the last time I had a cola."

"Only the finest. Or at least the finest I could manage on short notice."

"You bought all of this just today?"

Will nodded. "This is what I used to like when I was sick. I figured I couldn't go wrong with classic comfort foods. I'm sorry I couldn't give you something higher quality. But I hope it still helps."

"Indeed." The doctor chuckled hoarsely. "This is quite satisfactory. I'm sure it will help. Thank you once again." Without further ado, the doctor dug into his feast.

To Will's surprise, the doctor easily finished not only the orange, but the soup and the sandwich as well, and seemed to enjoy them as much as could be expected. He was most skeptical of the ginger ale, but he finished half of that as well, pronouncing it "very interesting." Will also made sure he drank plenty of water to round it all out. Finally Hannibal pushed the tray away with a contented sound.

"In a practical sense, I always knew the restorative properties of chicken soup, but it's been many years since I experienced them first-hand," Hannibal managed, after blowing his streaming nose several times. "My throat and sinuses feel significantly better. As does my headache. Perhaps we should save the hot chocolate for tomorrow however, for I am comfortably full now."

Will thought he was going to say more, for he paused oddly. Instead the doctor's breath hitched violently:

"Gihh-chuuh! Chnnggh!..."

Only the first two in the fit were audible. He seemingly sneezed several more times, but he stifled them into oblivion, with only the movement of his head to indicate what was happening. Watching such forceful suppression was still painful, but it heartened Will slightly to know that Hannibal was feeling well enough after some food to worry about his dignity once more.

Finally the doctor ended his fit and fell back against the pillows with a weary sigh and a weak cough, flipping the hair off of his forehead yet again.

"That looked exhausting."

"Perhaps it would have been if I weren't exhausted to begin with," Hannibal mumbled, an arm over his face.

"Then you should sleep more."

Hannibal uncovered his eyes to meet Will's. "It would be terribly rude of me to sleep again while you are here."

Then I'll get ready to go. I'll clean up all of this then head out. Let you have some peace. But like I said, I'll be back tomorrow with your handkerchiefs." Will grabbed the tray, preparing to carry it to the kitchen.

"Will?"

Will paused, turning around.

Hannibal looked slightly imploring. "If it's not too much trouble, would you mind reading a bit more before you go? I was quite enjoying the story."

Will couldn't help but smile. "It would be my pleasure."

#Sickness #sickfic #sicknario #snzfic #snzblr #snzario #snz #Hann/bal Lec/ter #Wi/ll Gra/ham #everyone is hotter with a fever #fanfic #fandom

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yzkhr · 3 years

Text

Love Language miniseries for Shinran!

I dedicate this corny and cringe worthy miniseries to @meitanteisachi for giving me inspiration through her gifset and her wonderful fanfictions.

Acts of Service- a language that can best be described as doing something for your partner that you know they would like, such as filling up their gas, watering their plants, or cooking them a meal.

"Not sick, huh?"

Shinichi glared as Ran leaned back from the table, unamused. He was working on a difficult case in their—now only his— mansion, when she showed up unannounced after he forgot to attend school. He was wearing his school uniform but lost sense of time being too absorbed at the new case Inspector Megure gave him.

"I told you I'm fine." he avoided her scrutinizing gaze, being stubborn. Ran wouldn't have any of it however, bringing her left hand to her waist like a stressed mother.

"Fine? You're burning hot and your face is even redder than a traffic light!" she argued and his face produced an even darker shade, acknowledged.

He wanted to protest and retaliate how can it not be when she literally put her face in front of his without any sort of warning, brushing his unruly bangs upwards with her soft hand and letting their foreheads touch as he froze while she remained unbothered.

The detective restrained himself however, not wanting any further embarrassment to occur.

He heard a sigh from Ran, forcing him to turn around. She was now arranging the stack of messy papers and documents, bringing them to side.

"Oi, what are you doing?" he frowned as he stood up from the swivel chair and held Ran's hand to stop her. It didn't go unnoticed how Shinichi flinched at the coldness of her skin.

Ran eyed their physical contact before giving him a stern gaze.

"I'm fixing all of these so you can rest. You won't be touching files until your fever's gone." she effortlessly shook his hand away, continuing.

"Ran, I told you I'm fine. I have to end this case cause if I don't---"

"Then you can let Megure-keibu and the other officers to handle it until you're well again." she was consistent at putting all the paperwork aside, not even sparing a glance.

"I told you I'm fine didn't I? It's just a fever."

Finally done with her task, Ran faced him with an expression that resembled his mother way too much for his own comfort.

"You're not fine. You have a horrible fever and along with it is a terrible headache. You didn't actually expect to read all of these with those blurry eyes of yours, did you?"

She squinted, gesturing at more than fifty papers on the side. He opened his mouth to deny her claims but retreated seeing her eyes squint even more, as if challenging him to lie. Ran was right. He'd been trying to ignore the throbbing of his head and the haze in his vision while reading through the entire case.

He sighed as his misty eyes finally having the time to observe her. She was still wearing their uniform, which means she went here as soon as classes were over. He suddenly remembered an important thing.

"Wait, don't you have an upcoming Karate competition? You have training everyday after school right?" he smirked internally, finding out a plot hole.

But instead of seeing a look of panic and rushing out the of the doorway like Shinichi expected her to do, Ran simply grabbed his hand towards the door making his cheeks turn red out of surprise and something he would never dare name of.

"I'll just skip it for today. Besides, I have something more important to take care of." she squeezed his warm hand, hinting what—or who— important thing she meant.

Blushing even more at the implication certainly did not make his illness any better.

After a few stumble here and there, they finally got to the bedroom in one piece. Minutes seemed like an eternity, with his headache feeling like he was being hammered. He was freezing and sweating at the same time not knowing if he should undress or add more layers. It was good thing that Ran immediately slumped Shinichi down the bed, and started removing his blazer.

Wait, what?

"Umm..." he spoke weakly, but still complying and accepting her help. He thought that she was done but she suddenly kneeled in front of him and leaned in, making Shinichi hyper aware of everything around him. Her hands went straight to his uniform which he did not predict. She was now untying his neck tie, making their faces inches apart. She was so close that he could feel her breathing at the open part of his longsleeve. Despite his mind telling him not to, Shinichi's eyes went directly to her face, which seemed too focused at her task, with her slightly furrowed eyebrows and violet orbs concentrated at undoing the knots. He would never admit it, but Ran looked too innocent and pure that it was killing him.

It didn't help that her scent was literally intoxicating him. A combination of honey and lemon, Shinichi noticed. Flustered and a bit shameful, he looked up,having butterflies in his stomach with his childhood friends' soft and nimble hands slowly removing the fabric from his neck.

He jolted awake when she begins unbuttoning his polo however. On instinct, Shinichi took a hold of her hands before they can go further. Shocked and confused, Ran looked up.

"I," he breathed heavily. "I think I can do this myself, Ran."

As if broken by a spell. Her face instantaneously turned crimson red at the realization that Shinichi might have thought she was the one with the fever. She stood up straight away, turning around and making a beeline to the door. She had been uptight all day that he was a bit glad the usual Ran came back.

He wanted to laugh at her reaction but was too tired to do so. Even slightly moving drained him, but it didn't mean he wasn't capable of undressing himself.

"I-I'm sorry! I got lost in my thoughts! I'm going downstairs!" she squeaked and left in an instant, closing the door with a loud thud.

Now alone, Shinichi struggled to move his shaking hands to undo the buttons. After a few more attempts, he was finally able to fully strip and drag himself to the closet. Nauseated and feeling like the world weighed on his shoulders, he randomly put on a white pajama and went straight to his bed, curling a bit like a kitten. His eyelids getting heavier and heavier, Shinichi closed his eyes, immediately falling asleep.

"Shinichi? Shinichi?"

Hearing a faint voice from behind, Shinichi turned around languidly and opened his eyes, meeting a concerned Ran.

"Hmm?" he hummed, still sleep deprived.

She brought up a steaming hot bowl of food, smiling.

"I cooked you chicken soup. Sit up, you have to eat." she ordered gently.

Despite feeling pain all over his body, he obeyed, knowing that he needed energy. Sitting up groggily, Shinichi faced his caretaker.

Ran sat beside the empty space of his bed, chicken soup in her hand. He frowned at the sight of the food.

"You still cooked my favorite style? Even though you know I won't be able to taste it anyway?" she shrugged as a response, bringing a spoonful near her and blowing weakly.

"Well, you might not be able to taste it but your stomach will surely enjoy it, so why not?" something in his chest swelled after hearing such words. Still, he kept it to himself.

After a few more blows, Ran brought the spoon near his mouth, gesturing for him to eat it. Face flushing and coughing slightly, Shinichi took a bite at the soup. Albeit tasteless, he couldn't help but smile mildy, knowing the effort put in.

Ran laughed a little looking at him as well, but said nothing and continued feeding him.

After five minutes or so, the bowl was finally empty. She told him that he could have just ate half but Shinichi argued that he was hungry(he really wasn't but he would never stand having a food Ran cooked for him go to waste but he'll die before she even find that out).

He was now inclining back to the comfort of his own bed when Ran spoke.

"Seriously, don't overwork yourself Shinichi." she berated, masking her worry with exaggeration as she arranged the plate and the soup, slowly making her way outside.

"I wasn't, I just got a little busy that's all." her saw how Ran rolled her eyes at his excuse as she replied.

"A little busy? You rarely get sick. I was so close to believing you were invincible to fevers." he scoffed at her remark, being defeated with yet another fact. Maybe the pain he felt was a lot worse than he expected.

"Look, I'm glad that you're trying to save as many people as you can but you also can't forget about yourself." he winced at the obvious disappointment and seriousness of her scolding. Instead of meeting her gaze that bore holes into him, he averted his stare into the lamp.

"I'm fine."

"No you're not. And besides, if you don't take care of you, think of all the people that will need you but won't have you." he stayed quiet, getting her point. Shinichi knew it was irrational being stubborn and pushing himself to the limits but he just couldn't help it. He may be a cocky bastard as a lot of people call him, but he wasn't someone that can stand not being able to help when he clearly can.

He sighed, giving in.

"Fine. I promise I'll take better care of myself." his answer seemed to satisfy Ran as she smiled contently.

"Good." as he heard the creaking of the doorframe, Shinichi instinctively flipped his head towards the sound.

"You're leaving?"

He didn't know why, but an infallible amount of upset coursed through him at the thought of Ran leaving. She paused by the door and looked back, inclining her head to the side.

"You want me to stay?" she teased in a light-hearted manner, making Shinichi's cheeks flushed.

"N-no, just wondering.." he played it cool by keeping his voice even, now being reminded how pathetic he must have sounded like asking her if she was leaving.

"I'll stay. After all, someone has to make sure a certain mystery otaku doesn't go back to the library just because he's feeling a little better."

He glared at her jesting and turned to the other side, lying down.

"Barou, it's not like I can do that with my entire body in pain."

Ran laughed, knowing she annoyed him enough.

"Then that's more reason for me to stay right?"

Before he can even think of a reply, she already closed the door and all Shinichi could hear were the sound of her shoes walking downstairs and the erratical beating of his heart he hoped was a side effect of the fever and not..... entirely something else.

#Shinran #1/5 #Fluff #Sickfic #detective conan

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winchesterandpie · 4 years

Text

Wounded, But Not Dead (Geralt x reader)

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x reader

Word Count: 2380

Warnings: angst (really just for plot), injury, death mentions, major character almost death (Happy ending, I promise! - that’s not a spoiler, the title already tells you), poor proofreading

A/N: Ok, just a disclaimer on those warnings - the vast majority of this fic is fluff! So if angst isn’t your thing, don’t worry, it gets fixed really fast! Also, I haven’t actually watched the Witcher, but I read a few Geralt fics last week, and then this idea popped into my head and I just had to write it! Please forgive Geralt being (likely) wildly out of character, I tried to stay true to what little I know of his character from the fics and gifsets I’ve seen on here. I tried to make the reader as gender neutral as possible, but it’s possible I slipped up somewhere! Gif is not mine! Anyways, I hope y’all enjoy!!!

I didn’t even really feel the blow when it hit. I suppose that was my first clue that the outlook wasn’t good. Still, I couldn’t leave the White Wolf to fight off all of the men on his own, so I fought on. If anything, the numbness that was beginning to spread through my body lent me a certain numbness to fear and caution.

With unbridled ferocity, I struck out at the man who had landed the blow. He went down, and the remaining three circled me at a wary distance.

Guess it’s my move, then. I shrugged before lunging at one with reckless abandon.

The rest of the fight passed in a blur. I wasn’t sure if that was because it happened quickly or because of the rapidly increasing fuzziness in my vision. When it was over and the three men lay dead at my feet, the second signal that I’d been badly wounded came. Without warning, my knees buckled under me and I collapsed facedown on the ground with a pained grunt.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed before someone rolled me over. Instinctively, my hand found the hilt of one of my knives, grasping it weakly in a poor defense from whomever that hand belonged to.

Geralt grabbed my wrist, effortlessly stopping my feeble attempt to stab him. His fingers were rough but gentle in their movement as he probed for my wound. He slowly came into focus before me, his silver hair falling in disarray. His eyes were… No, that can’t be right - Geralt’s never worried...

“Dove, what happened?” As ever, he was quick to the point, not one to waste words. Had I been more conscious, I would’ve noted the near-panic in the two words.

“One of--” A harsh cough forced me to pause. “One of them got a lucky blow.”

He found it then, and I flinched away from the pressure. There wasn’t an accompanying pain, which I knew was a bad sign. He apologized and cursed in the same breath, lifting my shirt just enough to see the deep gash across my abdomen.

“That bad, huh?”

Geralt only grunted in response as he focused on assessing the options.

“I’m gonna die, aren’t?” The sudden fear clawed its way out of my throat, followed by a cough that felt wetter than it should have been.

“No.” His wolf-gold eyes met my gaze with a sharp ferocity as he said it. “No, you won’t die. I swore to protect you and that’s what I’ll do.”

“Geralt.” When he didn’t answer, starting to move away, I tried to put a little more strength into my voice. “Geralt. It’s no use.”

“Just--”

“Leave it.” He must’ve known as well as I did that this wasn’t something he was going to be able to fix, for he returned, all but falling to his knees beside me. I wished desperately that I could fix the defeated slump of his shoulders, the way his head hung low.

“I can’t… I…” The words caught in his throat as he gathered me into his arms. “Please just let me try.”

“Try what, love?”

“To save you.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Please.”

“There’s nothing you can do.” I reached my hand up to his cheek, tracing my thumb over his cheekbone as he leaned into my palm. His hand came up over mine, as if to hold it there. “It’s ok. My brave witcher, you’ll be alright.”

“I thought I was supposed to be reassuring you. I’m not the one who’s...” It was a valiant attempt at humor to hide his faltering facade, but I saw through to his over-bright eyes and the slight waver in his voice.

“When have we ever followed the normal people rules?” I smiled softly up at him. He hummed in response, and I saw the gears start to turn in his head. A sudden determination came over his features and he secured me more tightly against his chest. Tiredly, I leaned my head against him, my eyes drifting shut.

“No, no, no, you keep those eyes open, dove.”

“But ‘m so tired,” I mumbled into his leather armor.

“Stay with me, hmmm? Just a little longer.”

“Geralt, I don’t think I can,” My words were slurring together now, blackness beginning to edge in at the corners of my vision. “Find Jaskier.”

“What?”

“Find Jaskier - you were never good at being alone. Laugh at something he says, even if it isn’t funny. Promise me - at least once a week you’ll laugh.”

“Stop it, you can’t say goodbye.”

“S’not up to me anymore, love.”

“Hold on, please.”

I mumbled some gibberish response, and we held a sort of conversation that way for a while. It was odd to hear Geralt talk so much - not that I was opposed to hearing more of the deep rumble of his voice. Somewhere along the way, I picked up on the rocking gait of his jog.

In hindsight, his newfound talkativeness was probably an attempt to keep me conscious for longer. In the moment, it was all I could do to notice the weightlessness I felt in his arms before the blackness enveloped me.

. . .

I didn’t think I was supposed to open my eyes again. Then again, I suppose I’d never been dead before, so I wasn’t entirely sure what dead people could or couldn’t do. The room slowly came into focus, a little odd, since I was pretty sure I’d died in the middle of the woods somewhere, but again, I had no experience with being dead. It was bright enough that I could believe it was some sort of afterlife.

Then I sat up.

Tried to sit up would be a more accurate description. I barely started to shift any weight onto my elbows when pain shot through my abdomen and I was forced to fall back with a grunt. That felt a little more like real life, though that shouldn’t be possible.

A rustling noise came from beside me, sounding almost like… like someone shifting in a chair, I realized as I turned my head to see what made the noise.

“You’re awake.” A familiar deep voice filtered over my ears.

Geralt. I saw the silver-white hair now, more disheveled than usual.

“Yes, it’s me.”

So I must not be dead then, somehow.

“Wounded, but not dead, indeed.”

Wait, did I say all that out loud?

“You did.”

Slowly, my eyes grew used to the light, taking much longer to adjust than I felt it should have. He came into focus, leaning forward from a chair pulled next to the bed I lay in. There were several half-healed cuts on his face that I could see. I tried to sit up again so I could see him better, apparently having not learned my lesson from last time. Geralt was quick to support me as I shifted, moving additional pillows behind me so I could sit up a little better. Once I was situated, he passed me a cup of water to ease my desert-dry throat.

“I didn’t die?”

“No.”

“Good to know you’re back to your chatty self,” I joked weakly. His lips pulled up into the slightest smile, and I could see the relief in his eyes. “What happened back there?”

He sucked in a breath, releasing the air in a long sigh before answering. “You passed out. I carried you here. The mage in town happened to have the skill to heal you. You’ve been asleep for two days.” I wished for the strength to reach up a hand and smooth the crease that formed between his brows as he spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

“What on earth are you sorry for?” The furrow only deepened with my apology.

“For worrying you.”

“You almost die and the first thing you do when you wake is apologize for scaring me?” Geralt let out a huff of breath that I could only describe as a laugh. “Only you, dove.”

Slowly, carefully, I reached out my hand to grasp his, intending to pull him to sit on the bed beside me. His hand met mine before I could stretch too far, but instead of coming toward me, he lifted my hand to his lips, where he pressed a feather-light kiss to my knuckles.

That put my hand close enough that I could fulfill my original intention. Slipping it from his grasp, I lifted it a little higher to trace over his cheekbones, then up to his forehead, smoothing over the furrow between his brows. He huffed out another breath of amusement mingled with relief.

“Why would you do that?”

“I don’t like when you’re stressed, love.”

“No, not that.” He shook his head a little, his hand coming up over my hand to hold it there - mirroring the interaction in the forest when I’d been dying. “I meant why were you even in that fight? I told you to stay back.”

“There were four of them that came sneaking up… it would’ve been behind you, I think.” Honestly, my memory of the time was a little bit muddled. “They passed by where I was, and I thought it would be easy enough. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know I started teaching you to use a sword, dove, but one on four?” He released my hand, standing to pace back and forth across the room.

“I didn’t want--”

“I heal! I could have handled it! You…” Geralt was half-shouting now. “You almost died! What would I do if you had?”

I didn’t really have a response to that. I didn’t think I’d spent particularly long thinking about it, just jumped out to attack them in the fear that there were too many for him to face alone. I knew this was the delayed anger that came from fear - I’d seen it before. What I didn’t know was how to respond. For a long moment, there was a tense silence between us.

“You’re right, Geralt,” I offered tentatively. When he didn’t immediately react, I continued. “It was reckless and I almost died. But I couldn’t just leave you to fight on your own! And I’m alright. It’s like you said - wounded, but not dead.”

He exhaled a long sigh, striding back over to my side and sitting on the edge of the bed. Almost immediately, he pulled me close to him, mindful of the bandages wrapped around my middle. His face was buried against my hair as his arms tightened around me, as though he was reassuring himself that I was really there. My fingers found their way into his silver mane, combing through the tangled strands.

“I’m here, love,” I murmured as I felt his shoulders shake ever so slightly. “I’m alright. You saved me. It’s ok now.”

“I was terrified.” The words were barely a whisper in my ear, a rare admission of vulnerability that few were ever allowed to hear from the White Wolf. I didn’t speak, just wrapped my arms around him more tightly. I turned my head slightly so I could press my lips to his chest through his shirt. His shoulders gradually stilled as the grip of those emotions loosened. Eventually, he twisted enough to touch his lips to my hairline, resting there in a soft kiss.

“I’m safe now,” I reassured when I felt he was calm enough for me to pull back slightly. One of his hands moved up to cup my cheek delicately, like he was holding fine china. I kissed his palm, feeling him almost shudder at the feel.

“I’m sorry, I should be comforting you.”

“Why’s that, love?”

“You’re the one who almost died.” He said it as though it were obvious, and perhaps to some, it was.

“I’ve always thought it harder to be left behind… Or almost left behind, in this case.” His honey eyes wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Besides, as long as I’m with you, I’m not too worried about how I’ll fare.”

“I was there when you nearly died too. Doesn’t sound like much of a good luck charm.”

I started to lean forward to rest my forehead against him but flinched when it pulled the skin around my wound. Immediately, Geralt pulled back further to look down at the bandages, starting to reach a hand toward it before he stopped himself. No blood came through the white bandage, and he relaxed a little, though he still avoided my gaze.

“It’s alright, I’m fine. Just moved too fast.” I settled myself slowly, leaning against his broad chest before continuing my train of thought. “But yes, you were there. And that’s why I’m even here to be having this conversation with you. Because you were there. Because you, my brave, sweet, determined witcher, refused to give up on me.”

His cheek came to rest atop my head as his arms wound back around me. “When did you get to be so wise, hmmm?”

A joke was itching to roll off my tongue, but I refused to burst the atmosphere of Geralt’s rare vulnerability just yet, sensing he still needed something. Instead, I simply shrugged, knowing he could feel the movement.

“Promise me you’ll be more careful, dove.” There it is.

“I’ll do my best,” I sighed. “But careful is rarely an option in this line of work.”

Geralt grunted, effectively ending the moment of vulnerability.

“I’ll at least try to be less reckless. All things considered, though, I think this proved I’m a natural with a sword.”

Geralt heaved a long sigh, but I heard the hint of a smile in his voice. “One of these days, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Someone has to keep your life interesting.” That drew a full chuckle from him, and I grinned in silent victory. “You should teach me more sword moves. Then you might not have to worry so much.”

“We’ll see about that when you’re healed, alright? For now, just let me look after you, dove.”

“I hope that includes entertainment - you know how quickly I get bored on bed rest.”

“Hmmm, no.”

“Just a little dancing?”

“No.”

“Singing then?”

“Absolutely not.”

“... Fine. Funny faces?”

He only let out yet another long-suffering sigh, one of the first of many during my recovery.

That’s all, folks! Hope you enjoyed!

Forever tags:

@riddikulus-obsessions @addictionmarvel @peppermint--teas @mercedesbarnes @javapeach

Tag list is OPEN! Let me know if you want to be added!

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher x reader #the witcher #reader insert #fluff #literally I haven't seen this show #please don't be too hard on this!#geralt x reader fluff #geralt fluff

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katierosefun · 3 years

Note

hi how are u : )

quick writing q, how did you come up with original characters? are they star wars characters or just like general?

i feel like i have ideas but like. struggle to make them into people. if that makes sense.

hiya!!! i’m good, hope you’re doing well!!! (and thank you for asking this question because,,,you should know i geeked out temporarily because someone’s asking me about original characters??? whooo boy!!!)

also...things got lengthy (again), so i added all this under the cut!

okay, so i have like one (1) star wars original character named eiko, who i introduced in time, wondrous time. introducing eiko took a while and it was a lot of me being super anxious and kind of lowkey scared because...star wars fans tend to be a little protective, and sometimes original characters aren’t that well-liked, especially because of that fear of “mary sue”-ness and etc.

so in the case of a star wars original character and to avoid the problems specific to and inherent to all the problems we run into with original characters in fanfic writing, i just kind of. make sure that she’s actually got some traits that! people can mostly relate to!

so for instance, eiko’s just a very anxious kid who wants to be a good padawan, but:

how do you be a good padawan anyways when there were already so many amazing jedi who walked the path before you?

how do you handle those expectations?

are you harder on yourself because of it? probably.

do you glow when given compliments? absolutely.

and i guess when making a star wars original character, or an original character in any pre-established fandom, then you really want to make sure that if they’re connected to a canon character in some way, the canon character gets a storyline of their own.

the canon character and the original character can rely on each other from time to time, but i think it would be kinda boring if the original character just followed around canon characters and never figured things out for themselves.

basically: we want your original character to have some independence away from the canon characters.

how do they act when they’re alone?

what do they do in their free time? those are things to think about when you’re trying to better grasp an original character in a pre-existing fandom.

but in terms of writing original original characters, i have this thing where like. i just take a singular personality trait that (usually) i have and dial it up to 100000. because, as one of my own friends likes to say, we contain multitudes. there are so many lives and so many different facets of you that are sometimes fighting for the spotlight--and sometimes, i like to give those different facets a little bit more of a voice in original characters.

because really, chances are, those little bits of you that are still hiding around the corners? those traits are sometimes more exemplified in other people. so, like, if that was confusing (which i know it was), a quick example:

i will be the first to admit that sometimes, i can be an incredibly rude person. (idk how much of a surprise that is to people. i hope it’s a bit of a surprise, because i don’t like to be rude.)

and of course, there are tons of very, very, very rude people in real life. the reason why i’m not rude 24/7 is because there’s a part of me that dials it down a quick notch. but there are people out there who don’t have that dial, and they’re able to exist relatively freely just being the rude people they are.

so that’s kinda where i start in making my characters feel a little more real/also a little more diverse in character!

because as one of my creative writing instructors once told me, writers tend to be a quiet bunch. and i think anything we write--including characters--tend to reflect huge parts of ourselves, so imagine if we just had a cast of quiet characters who twiddled their thumbs all the time. that’s not a good story, and those aren’t always very dynamic characters. so have fun! take one singular trait that you find intriguing about yourself or in in others and say to yourself, “okay, but what if i dialed it up?” see where it gets you!

but i guess if we want to talk more about how to make characters feel like more real people, then i guess it goes down to the age-old question all writers need to ask when looking at their characters:

what does your character want?

think about it. anything your character wants is what is ultimately going to drive them forward to do what they’re going to do. act the way they’re going to act, say what they’re going to say.

there’s a story that i wrote a while back about a girl who’s the daughter of an assassin. she wants to be a lawyer, while her mom wants her to follow the family business and become an assassin as well.

so how does the mom act? the mom does everything in her power to get her daughter to be excited about being an assassin--lets her in on interrogation rooms, takes her to a shooting range, gets increasingly frustrated and turns up the denial denial denial mode every time her daughter talks about the possibility of law school.

the daughter? the daughter does everything in her power to make sure her mom knows that she doesn’t want to be an assassin. she deliberately lounges around during the interrogation, she misses all the targets on the shooting range on purpose, etc.

so, in essence: your characters have to want something first. as soon as they want something, the rest will slowly come to place. even if you’ve never been an assassin or the relative of one, you still probably relate to at least the feeling of wanting something badly, and all people know that feeling too! it’s real, and it’s human to want something.

combine that want with, idk, the type of background you have for your characters (and there’s a ton of different resources on developing that specifically), and soon, you’ll find yourself writing/communicating/tearing your hair out with a much more fleshed-out character.

and, if you’ve done all these and you still want to know a little more about your character, another thing to flesh out original characters/stories:

1. write fanfic of them. no, seriously, do it. sometimes you can’t really write your big story/novel/whatever right away, but you have a very specific scene or you want to reimagine them in a different setting and just play around with them. that’s okay! what are they like in a modern day high school au? in a coffeeshop au? play around with it, and see what’s consistent (do they meet the same people in the same manner over and over again? do they like to listen to one specific kind of music? do they still talk funny? do they still wear x?)

2. make playlists! like...music is personally one of my big inspirations, so this is where i usually throw in some good old playlists. more times than not, i’m able to write with my original characters with my original character’s specific playlist playing in the background. (and it’s wonderful! i have one character playlist that’s almost solely musical/disney music because she’s a very innocent kind of gal, while another playlist is very heavy punk/rock because that’s Just How She Is.)

3. write incorrect quotes! you know the ones i’m talking about--there are so many incorrect quote blogs on tumblr. i have a separate, private sideblog here on tumblr that’s completely dedicated to writing incorrect quotes of my original characters. i sometimes post screenshots of them here too, although i haven’t done that in a while. but incorrect quotes are fun, and they might give you a good idea of the kind of characters/archetypes you want them to fit into!

(and, because i can’t resist, here’s an example from my own original characters:)

galen: andrea, i need you to swear to me--

andrea: shit

galen:

galen: i meant swear like promise, andrea //

rosalind: crushes are the worst

dae: yeah, whenever i’m near one, i just start acting nervous

rosalind: you’re always nervous

dae: ...don’t think too hard

myung, tired: bold of you to assume rosalind thinks

4. alternatively, make a whole private side blog dedicated to your original characters and reblog/tag the posts that remind you of them. like, you know the “[x] characters as tumblr posts”? yeah. i do that a lot. so, just because i really can’t resist, some more examples:

“Bro, We Are Rivals . Its Ok To Pin ME Up Against A Wall . Im Ur Nemesis . I Hate You . ... Bro, We Are Kissing Now . . No Dont Stop Bro .. Bro ... // @gayarsonist

oh so you’re just going to wear a black turtleneck?? like some kind of slut?? // @allergic-alien

and sometimes, i’ll use that blog to also reblog poetry that resonates with my original characters/gifsets of actors/actresses that i would fancast as my original characters. (like,,,did i look at ewan mcgregor in mortdecai and gratuitously tag him as a villain character in one of my wips? yeah. yeah, i did. it’s fun writing that villain character now, though. :))

and those are all the tips that i have!!! i hope that helps!!! have fun writing, friend!!

#answered #anon #maybe i should start a tag called writing tips?#adsdsf i dont feel qualified to give writing tips though #but #just in case #writing tips #(also wow caroline stop writing...esssays challenge)#(but also im super excited about this can you tell)

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x-exo · 3 years

Note

*slides into your asks with a rose in my mouth* why hello, tis me!

Apologies for the long wait but your favorite long asks anon is here and OOF so much has happened. Let us break it down one by one lol

Monsta x our beans, welp we can officially say we are army wives for them because shownu is now at the military and just welp this feels weird lol. I lowkey forgot he was meant to enlist so when the news came out I went through so many emotions. Its why the latest comeback feels a bit bittersweet to me. It is their BEST for sure and for this year, I agree so to not see him perform right before he left is a bit sad. I don't blame him of course (if anyone does i am fish slapping you) but just a shame. I'm happy we do get content with him still? Seems pre-planned so that is nice!

Onto legends exo, fantastic comeback. I cannot stop listening to the album, its just bops full of bops to me. They broke so many records and I'm over here sipping my tea because fudge yes. It isn't a full member comeback, 2 of the members featured in the comeback are off playing call of duty and they still did THAT. While having lay properly in the comeback!? (Or at least some form, better than tempo era!) Kyungsoo my beloved, the man that can swoon you off your feet, his proper solo album. Omg I am just in love? The album feels like a Playlist that you hear while taking a walk or on a raodtrip? I love it, I just love everything about this with how much thought was given. It makes me feel warm and I'm so proud of him (I think he even got a first win) but sadly xiumin got the it shall not be named virus D: I feel so bad and I can only hope he gets better! It makes me worried because I keep seeing more and more idols getting sick and I can't help but wonder why don't the kpop entertainment just put a pause with stuff? Of course that is VERY unrealistic, I am aware that is naive for me to think but its just so idk how to word it properly (my English brain is not working I am sorry) I cannot help the feeling of while I get people are being safe and yes we need to still live like normal beings, is it worth risking idols health just for some entertainment? Idk how to explain my thoughts properly but maybe I hope I made sense!!

Onto svt! That is perfectly fine to not vibe with a comeback! I will admit, I didn't fully vibe with this comeback and it shocked me because every comeback was a hit to me. Even fear, left and right or homerun where I know many fans were split on, I liked but RTL was a grower. For me, listening to it without watching the mv, helped it alot and it is a song I like. Is it their best? No I don't think so but it is alright to say "hey I didn't bop to this, not my cup of tea" (imo I blame the mv? The mv REALLY didn't do the song justice at all, I am sorry if I sound like a fake fan but this mv Just is bad in all aspects. Sure we have some pretty shots but like it just doesn't fit at all?) So if anything listening to the song or wishing the live performances does it better. Seeing the choreography amps the song up more, cannot go wrong with their dancing. As for the rest of the songs, I admit game boy is my top favorite? Idk if it is because I am a gaming nerd and found all the production of the song so creative but yeah. We can wait for the next comeback! Svt always have something up their sleeves, plus we do have their music projects to look forward too (I wonder when we will get one? Seeing as RTL promotions stopped) some positive news with the boys is they resigned like a year before their contract ends and I'm a bit emotional :') I'm excited to see the boys future projects. We did have caratland recently! Did you watch it if I may ask? We did get in the soop confirmation so I'm excited to watch that, the boys deserve that nice break (even if it was filmed for a show fjsbsns)

Ok I think that is it for kpop updates? XD I do hope life has been treating you kindly! Life has been a bit all over the place sadly so I hope it wasn't like that for you as well! Until next time my bean!

hii!!!! omg sorry for the late reply i've been pretty busy these days 🙈

indeed so much has happened! and much more since you sent this ask omg!!

our shownu is at war *looks into the distance* *wipes away tear* *sighs* by now I got used to enlistment news (see what happens when you stan 2nd and 3rd gen groups) but STILL [[IT HURT]] when they uploaded the monchannel videos of his goodbye day like ????? what kind of twisted mind diuhdfuihdifuhs but the boys were all so cute and soft but they seemed so sad they didn't want to let go of their super leader :(( I hope he's learning lots and making new friends (and also we've got our international super spy yoo kihyun giving us small updates on him every now and then so everything's fine!). Yeah I totally get you it felt empty without him this comeback and at first it didn't really clicked with me but when the enlistment news came out i understood he had to take care of his health and thoroughly check on his eye sight in order to be 100% ready for the military so it made sense he had to be absent :( everything was so close (the comeback and enlistment) that I'm sure there was no other way for doing it I'm pretty sure he couldn't maybe postpone the enlistment day any further

onto exo! my ksoo my soft boi my romantic boi 🥺 his album is so him SO HIM i can't explain it bur it's just HIM you know it's the type of album you'd play on loop on a summer afternoon when you've taken your papers and paints outside in the garden to paint a bit with the warm soft breeze moving the trees lightly 🤧 and he signs in English and SPANISH (he did it for me) my multilingual king he's a native. Also I've been watching Honeymoon Tavern with Jongin these days and OMG i could d word for him really (if you haven's watched it go do it when you have time) he's SO SOFT and SO CUTE and he works as a waiter and a wedding planner and helps with the room preparations and is also a tour guide and he's just so cute so happy al the time the way he interacts with everyone is so 🥺🤧😭 onto more serious stuff now: yeah i was so worried about minseok catching covid omg but i'm glad he went through it with our any major complication and the rest of the boys are safe too! I guess the industry doesn't stop bc that would mean a huge loss of thousands and thousands of dollars/won/etc so as long as the gov doesn't prohibit going out or gathering like at the beginning of the pandemic, they'll keep on going with the idols' schedules otherwise the industry would just shut down having no way of earning money to sustain all the companies and idols.

as for seventeen! yeah i like the songs too! the mv sure ruined rtl and listening to it without watching it has really helped it grow on me more but still it feels kind of meh to me idk i really like anyone i think it's my favourite from the album. AND NOW WE'VE GOT A COMEBACK IN OCTOBER!!!! yayyyyy i can't wait they seem to be preparing very diligently (i hope they release a sexy bop) it's a shame junhao aren't gonna be present for this comeback but i'm soooooo happy they have the opportunity to visit their families again omg they have spent 2 whole years without seeing them in the flesh they must be so happy to get back to them again!!! it's so funny seeing them be bored at the quarantine hotel and doing lives every day duhdfiudhfiuh i hope it passes quickly and they can see their loved ones finally! and I did watch Caratland!! omg the unit switch song was the best thing ever hhu doing lilili yabbay and not being able to stop laughing idfuhdifuhs perf team doing chocolate and owning it????? hello??? performance team more like main vocal team wow! and the vocal team being a complete mess during check in lmaooo i loved it! In The Soop has finally started!!! I love these kind of "normal life" concepts I love seeing the boys being themselves cooking and relaxing I've watched the first and second eps as of today and also few clips from the third and omg mingyu and jeonghan drowning in the pond dfuhidfhidfs lmao they're so dumb i love them 🤣 i'm glad they could go away for a few days and spend time together away from their hectic schedules!

I hope you're well now and if not hang in there it'll all pass soon enough! 🥰💕 bye bye!!

p.s.: I got your request for the svt this or that gifset and i promise i’ll do it one day i just don’t feel like giffing these days dhbduusi i’m out of energy

#ask #my super nice lovely anon

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shijiujun · 4 years

Text

tell me baby

A gratuitous sick fic for Inspector Qiao, and he finally eats from the spoon Lu Yao offers him because third time’s the charm - Inspired by this gifset

===

It’s a slow day at the station today with all their leads dried up, but Youning and Lu Yao are investigating outside right now and Chusheng doesn’t doubt that the both of them will turn up with new evidence soon enough, if not have the whole case solved when they return at the end of the day.

There isn’t much to do but to sign some papers and ensure everything is properly documented. When Boss Bai first asked him to be Inspector, Chusheng hadn’t quite thought about the ridiculous amount of paperwork that passes through his hands every single day.

Still, his tasks for the day don’t take much physical activity, but seated in his chair at his table, it takes everything Chusheng has to concentrate.

His limbs are numb for some reason, and every single movement makes some part of his body ache. It’s not like they’re in the deep of winter or even anywhere near autumn, so there’s no reason for him to be feeling this cold.

Exhaling shakily, he wonders just what the hell is wrong with him today.

Chusheng swallows with difficulty, his throat bobbing with the action. Glancing at the empty mug at the corner of his table, Chusheng is certain he just took a large gulp of water, so why is his throat this parched?

“… Inspector? Inspector Qiao?” asks Ah Dou, who’s standing in front of him with a confused look on his face, “Are you… okay?��

He doesn’t feel okay, but Chusheng doesn’t know why he would feel anything but.

“Hnn,” he makes a noise of assent, clearing his throat with a frown. “Just leave it there, I’ll look at it later.”

He’s finding it a little hard to breathe and with frustration, Chusheng tugs at his tie, loosening it. Ah Dou still hasn’t left, staring at him with his brows furrowed.

“What’re you still doing here?” asks Chusheng, leaning into his chair. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yeah but… Inspector, you really don’t look so good,” Ah Dou persists, which is very unlike him. “I think you should go to the hospital if you’re feeling unwell-“

“You’re not usually this nosy,” sighs Chusheng, sounding more tired than reproachful. “I just have a headache. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll get you a cup of warm water then,” Ah Dou says, oddly considerate today, but Chusheng isn’t lying about the headache, and all he wants is to be left alone.

Standing as Ah Dou picks up his mug and starts to walk in the direction of the coffee table where the water flask is, Chusheng begins, “Ah Dou, I don’t need-“

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence because he’s keeling over in the next moment, nearly braining himself on the surface of the table if his hip didn’t strike against its edge first, and he lands in a messy pile on the floor instead. The ceiling slants above him, and gosh, he’s so fucking thirsty-

Someone is calling for him, but he can barely hear anything outside of the ringing in his ears. As dark spots fill his vision, Chusheng thinks maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to skip a trip to the hospital yesterday night after that ambush at the docks.

Right before he slips under, all he remembers is promising Lu Yao that he would pay for five baguettes today.

===

“Are you an idiot? Did you not bring your brains out to work today?” is the first thing he hears when he wakes up.

Disoriented, Chusheng blearily surveys his surroundings, dazed. He’s floating a little and everything seems overly yellow and green, and it feels like he’s been asleep for a little too long. He doesn’t usually sleep in, always up at the crack of dawn to train and keep in shape.

Turning to the side slowly, that’s when Chusheng sees San Tu seated in a chair next… next to his bed.

The man looks displeased, his arms crossed over his chest and looking more petulant than angry, and Chusheng knows he’s in trouble.

If he tells anyone that he, Qiao Chusheng, one of the Eight Martial Arts Masters of Shanghai, is a little cowed by Lu Yao’s frown, they would surely laugh at him.

Memories of how he landed in the hospital resurface in his head. Chusheng looks towards the glass pitcher at the bedside table, and luckily Lu Yao isn’t too angry to ignore him. The man pours him a glass of water, before helping him to sit up a little, fluffing the pillows behind his back as Chusheng drinks slowly but liberally, because he’s really, really thirsty.

“How long have you been doing this?” Lu Yao asks then.

Confused, Chusheng blinks, “Doing what?”

“This is just like that time, when Zhi Qing-ge kidnapped me and you rescued me but refused to tell me!” Lu Yao snaps, and Chusheng winces. “At least you went to the hospital then with Youning. Guess what the doctor said to me earlier? That the wound on your right side was infected because you didn’t treat it properly and it was continuously bleeding when it needed stitches!”

“You said you didn’t get hurt in last night’s raid,” Lu Yao says, glaring at him.

“I-“ Chusheng begins, but Lu Yao cuts him off, “And then the doctor says you’ve got other scars on your body that look rather recent, ones that even Youning didn’t know you had. How long has this been going on?”

“San Tu,” Chusheng sighs, “It’s okay. This is nothing-“

“Nothing? Ah Dou freaked out when you fainted on him earlier! What were you thinking? He said you looked unwell all morning and refused to listen to him when he asked you to rest. Qiao Chusheng, do you think this is a joke?”

It’s not the time or place for this, but hearing Lu Yao utter his full name for the first time, Chusheng feels a chill run down his spine. No one has ever dared to call him out like this.

He likes the way his name sounds on Lu Yao’s lips and how angry his San Tu looks right now.

Clearing his throat, Chusheng musters a smile instead, “San Tu… I’m used to this. I just miscalculated and I’ll be more careful next time. Don’t be angry. I’m the patient here, you know.”

“Next time?” Lu Yao asks, incredulous. “You’re thinking of a next time?”

Knowing that Lu Yao will probably go on if he doesn’t do something, Chusheng reaches out and tugs at Lu Yao’s arm until the man sits down quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Chusheng repeats, and frankly, part of him is a little touched that Lu Yao is so angry at him. He’s never had anyone angry at him for something like this.

“San Tu, if you don’t stop yelling, the nurses are going to come in and-“

“Chusheng-ge!” a yell comes, and both men flinch.

Lu Yao sits back and relaxes as Youning storms in. Chusheng pales, and his hand raises as if to facepalm, but Youning is quicker. She looks ready to give Chusheng hell on Lu Yao’s behalf too, and that she does.

===

Lu Yao, when he’s not distracted by antique wares or expensive restaurants or his English books, is a pretty self-sufficient person who can take care of himself. He’s a little vain, timid and dumb on some counts, but the man can cook very well, knows how to clean up after himself in a way that Youning still forgets to sometimes.

Chusheng himself can cook, but he eats takeout or heads back to Boss Bai’s house for the occasional meal more often than not, so when he wakes up next to the aroma of pork ribs and old cucumber soup, he has to pause for a moment.

“You’re awake,” Lu Yao says, glancing at him with narrowed eyes, probably still pissed off that Chusheng tried to hide his injuries from him. “Eat up. The doctor said you should have some soup.”

“Where’s Youning?” he mumbles, still groggy from the drugs and this is exactly why he hates hospitals.

“She went back home first, she’s got a draft to rush out tonight. This soup was on the stove for more than four hours. Man-jie told me that I should cook it under a smaller fire for more than three hours, so you should try it.”

Lu Yao scoops out a spoonful and blows gently at it, before bringing it to Chusheng’s lips.

When the man simple stares at him, Lu Yao glares, “Why would you- you don’t want to eat again? I cooked this myself when I could have been sleeping and even Youning helped to stare at the fire for an hour, and you still don’t want it-“

Chusheng cuts him off mid-rant, leaning forward and eating from the proffered spoon obediently.

“… how is it?”

“Hnn,” Chusheng hums, looking at anything but Lu Yao, “It’s passable.”

Suddenly, Chusheng realizes how close Lu Yao is next to him seated on the bed. He’s not used to being in Lu Yao’s care- or anyone’s care for that matter, and this whole thing is jarring, to say in the least.

“Passable?” Lu Yao scoffs, but scoops up another spoonful for Chusheng anyway.

Chusheng bends his head to reach the spoon again, and at the last moment, it dawns on him again how strange this whole thing is. He moves back, saying, “I can eat on my own-“

His eyes go wide as Lu Yao ducks in and kisses him, cutting him off. Chusheng can swear his mind goes blank.

When Lu Yao finally pulls away, there’s a hint of a blush on his cheeks, and he’s not looking at Chusheng either. Clearing his throat, he puts the bowl into Chusheng’s hands.

“You should finish the soup,” Lu Yao says, picking up his jacket from where it is lying over the chair, “I’ll settle your discharge with the doctors.”

Chusheng looks up, blinking, “San Tu-“

“And you better not do this again,” Lu Yao finally meets his eyes again, though the blush doesn’t go away, “Youning and I are going to check you over after every fight. You better not hide another injury from us again, and I’m dragging you over to the hospital if you so much as have a cut!”

That seems a little of an overkill, but Chusheng can’t help but smile.

“And if I don’t listen to you?”

Lu Yao blinks. “Then- Then I’m never-“

“Never going to kiss me again?”

“Never going to make soup for you again,” Lu Yao enunciates firmly, but his ears are now red too as he turns on his heels quickly to escape the room.

Chusheng laughs to himself, shaking his head. Licking at his lips, he wonders if Lu Yao would give him a repeat performance later, but he supposes they have all the time in the world for that now.

===

The next time they get caught in a shootout, as promised, Lu Yao and Youning (and even Ah Dou, hovering a few feet away and trying not to get caught looking at him) make him take off his jacket, roll up his sleeves and lift his shirt a bit to show that he’s fine.

The rest of the officers pretend they’re not looking, even though a shirtless Chusheng at the station is nothing new.

Of course, when they get home, Chusheng lets Lu Yao do a close-up inspection.

In the privacy of their room of course, so that Lu Yao can inspect every inch of his body thoroughly.

#my roommate is a detective #民国奇探 #qiao chusheng #lu yao #chuyao #fic #mriad #ignores canon #set sometime after all the drama and politics go down #and lu yao's fam is begrudgingly ok with lu yao in shanghai #solving crimes

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littlespoonevan · 4 years

Note

“please stay” for gallavich 🥺🥰

ok so the other week i saw gifset of the policeman telling ian mickey escaped prison during s7 and people were discussing the suggestion ian had visited mickey more than once so obviously i had to write it. so here’s a little snippet of ian visiting mick in juvie/prison over the years - i hope you like it

(this got angsty in the middle lol sorry)

Ian had been nervous when he’d first shown up tovisit Mickey in juvie, too afraid that Mickey might refuse to see him and notat all strong enough to deal with that kind of rejection. But Mickey had agreed to see him – not only that,he’d seemed happy to see him.

Well, as happy as Mickey ever allows anyone else tosee.

Sure, Mickey scoffs when Ian says, “I miss you,” butIan can see the way he hesitates before he starts throwing out threats, thequiet surprise in his expression before it melts into something else. Ian is convinced it’s understanding.

It’s what prompts him to reach out, to reach forMickey even though he can’t touch him.

“Take your hand off the glass,” Mickey says and Iandoes but he still has to bite back a smile.

He lets Mickey change the subject then, happy to lethim complain about his inmates. It’s inane conversation that doesn’t mean much– even Ian can tell the majority of Mickey’s threats are empty ones – but hestill revels in listening to Mickey talk.

He really fucking misses him.

All too soon their time is up and Ian has to fightthe way his face falls at the warden’s warning.

“It was good seeing you,” he says hesitantly,watching the way Mickey’s expression flickers before going carefully back toneutral. “Can I come see you again?”

Mickey huffs, “Do what you want, man, I don’t care.”

Ian nods, trying not to let himself feel dejecteduntil Mickey’s fingers tap against the glass once – so quickly you’d miss it ifyou weren’t looking. Ian blinks in surprise, gaze shooting up from whereMickey’s hand has disappeared from the table to Mickey’s face.

Mickey nods silently and hangs up the phone.

Juvie the first time had been shit but relativelymanageable. Juvie the second time was torture.

The first time he’d been able to pretend he didn’tmiss Ian, pretend he didn’t care about him and that they were nothing but fuckbuddies. And in spite of all that he’d known Ian would wait for him in somecapacity. Even if he’d been off fucking other guys he’d still want Mickeybecause what they had was good.

Now…

Ian probably hates him, the last words Mickey had saidto him were that they were over, and Mickey misses him so fucking much he feelslike he can’t breathe.

When he’s told he’s got a visitor he assumes it’sMandy since it’s always Mandy, what he doesn’t expect is to see Ian sittingthere on the other side of the glass. He’s got a fresh buzzcut and hisshoulders look bigger with the way his t-shirt stretches across his chest butit’s the look on his face what gets to Mickey the most. The look of nervousdetermination like he’s more than willing to tell Mickey, “fuck you,” if hequestions him for coming.

Christ, Mickey wants to touch him.

He sits down heavily in his seat, putting the phoneto his ear and gripping it too tightly. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Ian says back, voice carefully devoid of anyemotion. “How’ve you been?”

Mickey shrugs, averting his gaze, because lookingdirectly at Ian after so long hurts his eyes. “I mean, it’s juvie.”

Ian nods like he gets it even though he’s neverstepped foot in this place unless it’s to visit Mickey.

“You?” Mickey asks then, unsure of how to navigatethis conversation when he’d felt so angry the last time he saw Ian.

You’renothing but a warm mouth to me haunts him at night. Ian’snot a warm mouth. He’s warm everything. He’s the only fucking thing that’s evermade Mickey feel warm.

Ian lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug. “Okay, Iguess.” He falls silent for another beat before looking up at Mickey under hislashes. “For what it’s worth, I think Frank drank away whatever brain cellsregistered what we were doing. He hasn’t brought it up since – I don’t eventhink he remembers.”

Mickey swallows hard, forcing himself to nod. “Kindafigured when my dad didn’t sic anyone on me in here to send me to theinfirmary.”

Ian’s mouth pinches into a tight line and Mickeywants nothing more than to reach out and smooth it out.

“Would he really do that?” Ian asks and Mickey wantsto scoff or roll his eyes or call Ian fucking deluded but he’s too tired so hejust nods.

“Yeah,” he says, resigned. “He would.”

Ian’s quiet as he absorbs that, expression unreadablewhen he turns the full force of his gaze on Mickey again. “How long you gotleft?”

“Six months, I think. Maybe less if I get out on goodbehaviour.”

“Okay,” Ian replies, voice too soft, and Mickey wantsto remind him where the fuck they are but he can’t get the words out.

Ian taps the glass just once, seeming more like anervous habit than anything else, but it sets Mickey’s heart pounding in hischest for the rest of the night.

This is probably a mistake. In fact, it’s definitelya mistake.

But Ian feels like he’s drowning in plain sight andnobody can see it. He’s hollowed out inside and raw and broken and he just reallyfucking wants to see Mickey.

He hasn’t since the last time.

When Mickey showed him the tattoo and Ian had liedand said he’d wait. But he thinks he’d been lying more to himself than toMickey.

It’s just- fuck, he doesn’t want to put Mickeythrough this. Over and over again. He doesn’t want Mickey to see him like this.But he also can’t breathe and Mickey’s the only person who knows how his lungsare supposed to work.

Mickey freezes on the other side of the glass when hesees him, hand gripping the back of the chair where he’d been about to pull it outto sit down. Ian wouldn’t blame him if he threw the chair at the glass andstormed off. He deserves worse.

Mickey doesn’t do any of that though because Mickey’sa better person than him. Instead, he sits down, faltering for just a momentbefore he picks up the phone and puts it to his ear. “Fucking hell, Gallagher,”he breathes. “What happened?”

“Hey Mick,” Ian replies quietly. His voice doesn’teven sound like his. It seems to be permanently hoarse from disuse lately.

Mickey’s initial shock seems to have worn off,replaced by a deep-rooted look of concern that Ian feels all too familiar withnow. “Ian,” he says, like the name’sbeen ripped from his chest. “What’s wrong?”

Ian shrugs, hunching his shoulders. “Jus’ been a badday,” he mutters.

“Uh huh and how long’s this bad day been going onfor?”

Ian closes his eyes because Christ, Mickey knows him. Mickey sees through him everyfucking time.

“A month or two,” he admits finally, swallowing hardat the sadness in Mickey’s eyes.

“You takin’ your meds?” Mickey asks likes he’s afraidto even say it.

“They’re not helping,” Ian replies tremulously.

“So try different ones,” Mickey murmurs, voice asoothing balm on Ian’s soul. “Ian, you can’t pull yourself out of this on yourown.”

Ian nods, staring down at the table in front of himas he takes a steadying breath. “I know that.”

Neither of them speak for a moment and Ian isoverwhelmed with how much the yearning he feels for Mickey consumes him. God,he just wants to hold him once more.

“I’m sorry,” he says then, voice wavering as he meetsMickey’s eyes. “For trying to push you away. For what I said. For everything.”

Mickey seems so surprised he forgets to keep hisguard up and his face is too open, too vulnerable. Ian has never despised thepanel of glass between them more. “You mean that?” he asks eventually and Iannods fervently.

“I thought you’d be better off without me,” hereveals, ducking his head self-consciously.

“Ian, when the fuck have I ever been better offwithout you?” Mickey asks tiredly and Ian closes his eyes, forcing air into hislungs and back out again as he pushes back the burn behind his eyes.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with me when I’m likethis. It shouldn’t be this for therest of your life.”

Mickey stares at him, mouth working. “How ‘bout youlet me make that decision for myself, huh?”

Ian nods as his eyes travel across Mickey’s face.Fuck, he misses him. “I miss you,” he sighs.

“I miss you too,” Mickey says, almost choking on thewords. His eyes are shining when Ian looks at them and he doesn’t think when hereaches out, just presses his curled fist against the glass.

Mickey takes a shuddering breath as he watches himbefore his own knuckles mirror Ian’s.

“Eight years is really long time,” Ian whispers, thelump in his throat making it hard to speak properly.

“Yeah,” Mickey agrees, opening his mouth to say somethingelse before closing it again.

“Ian, can you just- Please stay,” he requests finally,shoulders hunched and head bowed like he’s already expecting a rejection.

“I’ll stay,” Ian replies quietly and Mickey suddenly seemsto breathe easier.

Ian stays until visiting hours are over, neither ofthem really even talking – just watching each other, committing one another’s facesto memory once again.

“I’ll come back soon,” he promises, forcing himselfto stand when the warden starts eyeing him irritably.

He touches the glass one last time and Mickey’s stillgripping the phone so hard it looks like it’s going to break but he nods.

Ian’ll come back.

Mickey had felt sick to his stomach stepping backinside prison. It hadn’t been the usual fear – it’d been different.

Fear of rejection tangled with nerves andanticipation.

It had all melted away the moment Ian had looked athim though.

It’s been hours since then and Ian had climbed downoff his own bunk the second the guard had done his last check, crawling intoMickey’s and kissing him until both their mouths were raw. Now Ian’s lying onhis side against the wall, head pillowed on Mickey’s chest and Mickey can’tfucking believe this is something he gets to have again.

They’d talked before, not about much beyond how thefuck Ian ended up in here and muffled, “I missed you”s in between kisses. But theystill haven’t really talked about them.They’re quiet now, Mickey’s fingers gently trailing down between Ian’sshoulderblades and back up again.

Ian reaches for his shirt then and Mickey doesn’t getwhy he’s tugging at it until he catches sight of his own tattoo peeking outfrom behind the fabric. Mickey feels shame and embarrassment burn through himand he’s about to pull Ian’s hand away until Ian’s pushing up on his elbow abit and kissing Mickey’s heart, right where his own name sits.

Mickey swallows hard, hand coming up involuntarily totwist in Ian’s hair.

“I’m sorry,” Ian mumbles into his skin. And it’s notthe first time he’s said it but it still makes Mickey’s chest tighten.

“I know,” he says after a beat.

“It never went away,” Ian tells him, gaze boring intoMickey’s. “Loving you, I mean. It never went away.”

Mickey wets his lips and tries not to let hisemotions get the better of him. Searching for something to say, he lifts hisfree hand and reaches for Ian’s, folding their fingers together on top of hischest.

“I know that too,” he mumbles.

It never went away for Mickey either.

#gallavich #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless #my fics #Anon #asks #meme thing

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deancaskiss · 3 years

Note

I'm sorry to drop this in your askbox but I'm feeling pessimistic and trying to be realistic at the same time (and I need someone I can talk to about this): I feel like we all are in denial and trying to make some kind of sense to this mess when we should simply accept that the ending was just shitty and be happy that, at least, we've got Cas's confession. As much as it's a burry your gay trope, even if Dean did reciprocate Cas's feelings in 15x18, I'm pretty sure the 2 next episodes wouldn't have been different from what they gave us because Jensen said he hated the ending from the start, not because he is a heller (I'm not saying he isn't, because HE IS) but because of the way they ended Dean/the show. Still, I'm pretty sure Misha and Jensen knew how the love confession was important and did everything they could to make it as romantic as possible, which I'll be forever grateful ❤️ Also I wanted to thank you for the fics you write, they always melt my heart 😭

Hi there nonnie. First of all, I want you to know you don’t have to apologize for dropping this in my askkbox. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, okay? I’m here for you- to listen and to talk. Secondly, I want to thank you for reaching out, and for choosing to pick me to reach out to. I know these kinda of struggles can be hard to deal with, and so you’re so brave for sending this message, and I’m just really grateful that you chose to open up to me. Thank you for trusting me.

Thirdly, let me start by saying you are not alone. And I don’t mean that in the placating way. I mean it literally. So many fans, including myself, have been struggling with the same feelings and thoughts you described. Your feelings and thoughts are valid. I understand what you’re feeling, because I have felt the exact same way. After the finale aired, I was so gut wrenchingly broken that I couldn’t enjoy the rest of my vacation. I stopped eating and sleeping because I was feeling so depressed about how things ended. And even now, I still can’t accept the ending. I don’t think I ever will.

And if you can’t accept the ending, then that’s okay, too. Myself, along with many others I know, are simply ignoring 15x20. It’s okay if you never want to watch the finale again. It’s okay if you never want to reblog any gifsets from the finale or write or read any fics associated with it.

Do i think a lot of us are in denial? Yeah, I do. I think there are people grasping at straws to find ways to make it better. And you know what? That’s okay too. The biggest thing to remember is everyone copes and reacts differently. That’s the beauty of humans. How I react may be different than you, which may be different from the majority of fans. And that’s okay. It’s all okay. We are allowed to grieve. We’re allowed to desperately clutch at small hopes as we move through the grieving process.

Was the ending shitty? Hell yes it was. Have I started to accept that? Yeah. Have other people accepted that? Maybe yes, maybe no. Like I said, everyone processes things at different speeds and reacts in their own way. So if you’re ready to move on and try and be happy with Cas’ confession and to focus your energy on that, then do that. You have every right to. You’re allowed to be happy about that moment and to find happiness in Cas’ confession. Don’t let anyone tell you any differently. Find your happiness and don’t let anyone take it from you.

Some people will adamantly say it wasn’t a bury your gays trope. Some people will go to their grave swearing it is. Do I think it was? Yeah, I agree with your thoughts on the matter. I definitely feel like it was a bury the gays trope, but I don’t think Misha intended for it to be that way. Maybe that’s just hopeful innocence, or maybe he was so excited to give us this moment that he didn’t really see the negative connotation that could come out of it. And I think that’s okay, to want to focus on the happiness and freeing moment and to be thrilled to see Cas’ acceptance and journey to opening up and expressing his truest self.

You’re probably right in saying that even if Dean did reciprocate on screen, it might not have changed the ending. Maybe it would have. We’ll never know because we’re not the writers or producers or creators. Would it have been fulfilling to see Dean say it back? God yes. Would it have changed Dean’s story and his ending? I don’t know. I can definitely see why Jensen didn’t like the ending, especially when he put his heart and soul into this character and he wanted to see justice and a well-deserved ending for the character he’s held close to his heart for 15 years.

I completely and utterly agree with you that Misha and Jensen must have known how important that love confession scene was to us. Everything they’ve said in interviews and the way they acted on screen screams it in big bold capitals letters to me. They gave that scene their all- they tapped into emotions and drained themselves in unimaginable ways to give us the scene they wanted to express. I’m 110% convinced they had private conversations about the scene prior to shooting, after shooting, prior to airing, and after it aired. This scene meant a lot to them, and it meant a lot to us, and they knew that. They poured their heart and souls into that confession- they wanted us to know the explicit romantic implications. I am totally with you in being forever grateful to Jensen and Mish for what they did for us in that scene ❤️

Lastly, wow, thank you for your sweet words about my fics! I’m so grateful and honored my fics can melt your heart! 🥺😭 sometimes it can feel like I’m writing into the void and that no one cares, so just hearing you say you like my fics means the absolute world to me! Thank you so much! ❤️ I’ve honestly found my writing zone here with destiel. I’ve written fics since I was about 15 (9 years ago now) but I’d never really been dedicated to writing a certain ship or fandom. I’d write a few things for something and then move on. I’ve never connected with a ship like I have with destiel. I’ve never wanted to write so much and been so inspired to write for a ship until I found destiel. And I’m so glad I did. It’s been such a pleasure and such an honor to write and post my destiel fics, and I can promise you I have no plans of stopping writing for Dean and Cas anytime soon! 💙💚

#asked and answered #anon #anonymous #long post #long reply #sorry for this super long reply #i didnt mean to essay write #thank you for this ask #thank you for reaching out #youre so brave #and you are not alone #i promise im here to listen and talk #everything you feel is valid #you are so brave and strong #you can do this #youre going to be okay #youre part of this family #we're here for you and we love you

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