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velidewrites · 2 years

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Summary: When 19-year old Feyre Archeron voluntarily takes her sister's place in the Hunger Games, she expects nothing but her imminent demise. But Feyre is a survivor, and as she is thrown into a battle between life and death, she discovers there are things worth fighting for.

Pairing: Feysand

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of blood and gore, Feyre being sexy and unhinged, wait a second is that Rhysand? Is he also sexy and unhinged? AKA Feysand (literally) slaying the game

Read: Chapter I || Fic Masterlist || AO3

Chapter VIII: We Deserve Better

The arrow came out of the body with a loud squelch.

“Sorry,” Feyre patted the dead elk gently, its brown fur sticky with blood. “But you’re part of something bigger now.”

With a deep sigh, she rose to her knees and looked up to the sky. The sun cast its gentle light over her face as birds flitted somewhere in the trees above—the arena, it seemed, had returned to its original state from four days ago.

Feyre chewed on her lip, considering. The Hunger Games began with a warm breeze only to turn into scorching heat the very next day. She’d rather forget the fire that followed the day after, the raging flames that licked at her feet, threatening to swallow her whole. And then, the arena became a sea of snow and ice, with the cold arms of winter embracing it tightly until the sun had set over the horizon. Until Ressina’s body went cold as well.

It was all Feyre’s fault.

She should have known the hole was a trap—should have realised that generosity was a concept foreign to the Gamemakers, that the only reason they’d manipulated the arena to her advantage was to see their own agenda fulfilled. They’re going to kill her the first chance they get, Alis had told her. And they did. With Feyre’s help.

She didn’t let herself weep—not with the countless cameras on her, watching her every move. She wouldn’t let them see how badly she’d been broken. Not yet—not until she finished what she’d started.

Ressina’s dying wish was to kill them all—and Feyre would do just that. Every last one of them, every fat, Capitol pig, would fall to their knees with an arrow pierced through their velvet-clad chests.

Feyre had a bow now.

She’d returned to Ianthe’s dead body after she’d buried Ressina and freed it from the tight grip of her cold hands. Feyre did not dare to look at the girl’s face, knowing those glassy blue eyes, however cruel, were still wide open in shock. Lifeless.

Feyre could not breathe as she walked away from Ianthe’s body. She killed Ressina was the mantra she’d repeated with each heavy step. You avenged her. You did the right thing.

None of this felt right.

Ianthe was different from the Capitol. She had a name, a face, perhaps a family just like Feyre’s waiting for her return. Had it not been for the Capitol drawing her name at the Reaping…perhaps she wouldn’t have become a monster.

She killed Ressina. And then you killed her.

Perhaps Feyre had become a monster, too.

She gritted her teeth, reaching to the quiver strapped at her back. How was she supposed to exact her revenge on the Capitol when moving on from her first kill had proven so difficult? It was easy to plan for it—to imagine herself striding into that training hall again, Eris Vanserra’s cold, amber eyes dismissing her immediately as he turned back to the lounge and the sponsors feasting inside. She wouldn’t miss this time.

But to do that—to get the rare chance to come close with the Capitol again—meant that Feyre had to get out of here alive. And to get out of here alive…

Her throat bobbed as she drew her bow upward.

To get out of here alive, she needed to embrace the monster and hold onto it for as long as she could.

Her arrow shot up to the trees above and, a heartbeat later, was met with a loud squeal.

The squirrel fell to the ground with a quiet thud, a small pool of blood gathering around it. Feyre sighed again as she walked toward it. The poor animal must’ve known its time was coming—she’d caught three of its sisters only minutes earlier, their bodies still cooling a few feet behind her. She’d kept one of them for dinner later, had tied it into her jacket before shoving it into the pit of her backpack. The shredded, bloodied garment was of no further use to her, anyway—not with the summer day right around the corner. Hopefully, everything would be over by then.

Spring, summer, autumn and winter. What a cruel fucking joke.

The Gamemakers had a strange sense of humour, apparently—she understood the lush forests of spring, and the unbearable heat of summer, but engulfing the entire arena in flames for the autumn day was an idea only Eris Vanserra could have come up with. The Prime Gamemaker, from what Alis had told her, had been getting more and more creative each year.

Creative had sure been one way to put it.

There was no doubt left in her mind that she would not survive the next winter. With her flimsy jacket gone, there was simply no chance of enduring almost twenty-four hours of the penetrating cold, the kind that seemed to pierce her skin and settle deep inside her bones. There was not a single cave in the arena that could provide shelter warm enough to escape it. Feyre had no choice—she needed to work quickly to end this sick spectacle as soon as possible.

Another animal fell from the sky—a bird, this time—and Feyre kneeled to pull the arrow out before looking around the clearing again.

So much death stained the vibrant green grass around her—animals of all kinds, from birds to deer to the elk she had killed moments ago—prey she’d hunted with a weapon the Capitol should have never allowed to fall into her hands. They never intended for her to have it, she knew that—they would’ve left more of them at the Cornucopia otherwise instead of only burying one in a sea of daggers and swords. But the bow was hers now, whether they liked it or not—and with it, she would finish this. She would finish all of it.

And so, Feyre let their blood fill the air and sink into the ground. When the Careers found it, her message would be clear.

I’m coming for you next.

***

Laughter echoed through the lounge as Brannagh sliced the little girl’s throat.

Sprawled on the plush, purple cushions, Rhysand laughed with them.

“Brilliant, absolutely brilliant,” one of the sponsors commented, his dark eyes glittering under the golden light of the chandeliers. Someone hummed their agreement.

“Vicious, isn’t she?” another asked.

The man sitting beside him nodded eagerly. “I truly think she’s going to win,” he said, looking over the lounge, over Rhysand—as if awaiting his confirmation, his brows raised towards him expectantly.

He opened his mouth, but someone’s scoff beat him to it.

“That’s because you bet half your money on her!” the first sponsor said, and the lounge roared with laughter again. Had he not been trapped in a room full of the Capitol’s elite, Rhys might have sagged with relief.

“That has nothing to do with it,” the one beside him huffed, then turned to his right—to the tall man in a golden suit, lounging in his chair with a smile. “What do you think, Spellcleaver?”

The host of the Hunger Games turned toward him, waving a dismissive hand. His heavy rings glistened with the movement as he said, his voice rich and deep, “Patience, gentlemen. The Games aren’t over yet.” His strong chin pointed at the holo, set up against the large wall in front of them. “How many times had we been surprised at the very last minute?” he questioned. “Too many to count, if you ask me.”

Hums of agreement sounded through the room again. “Quite right, quite right,” someone mattered.

Helion Spellcleaver continued, “Take the sixty-sixth edition, for example. You all bet your cards on the District Two lad, did you not?”

The man beside him frowned. “I forgot what his name was.”

“Koschei,” Rhys supplied quietly. “Anton Koschei.”

The sponsor didn’t even glance at him. “That’s right,” he said, though it was Spellcleaver whom he addressed. “He made his way through, what was it, nineteen of the Tributes?”

Helion flashed him a grin. “And yet, when you all thought he was going to win, the girl showed up.”

Something like awe filled the sponsors’ faces, their eyes glazed with the memory—as if they enjoyed coming back to it, to the scenes from eight years ago, when the arena had become nothing but a wasteland of blood and fire. When one, lone Victor fell knee-deep into ash, her entire body shaking until the Capitol jet arrived to place a crown upon her head.

“She was spectacular,” someone commented. “What a show she’d given us.”

Another sponsor nodded. “Indeed. And the way she just stood over his burning body? I get chills—literal chills—just thinking about it.”

The sponsor beside him—the gambler—narrowed his eyes at the host. “Who are you betting on, then, Helion?”

Rhysand’s head whipped to Spellcleaver, the sponsor shooting him a curious look. He forced his features into cool indifference.

Helion angled his head, dark hair falling over his shoulder, “Now, now. I shouldn’t be out there broadcasting my expert opinions. I’d hate to spoil your fun.” He smirked. “I will say, though,” he mused, amber eyes flicking back to the holo, “that the stars shine particularly brightly tonight.”

Rhysand went completely still.

“Wouldn’t you agree…” Shut up, shut up, shut up, “…Rhysand?”

What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

Rhys waved a hand, letting that lazy smile tug at his mouth again. “It’s been so long, I hardly consider myself an expert these days,” he said, turning to the sponsors to offer a playful wink. “I prefer playing with the rest of you, since you’ve made it so comfortable.”

Everyone laughed, and his shoulders fell an inch. Distracting them had never been particularly difficult.

But Helion hummed quietly. “Too comfortable, perhaps.”

Rhys shot him a look, his eyes blazing with warning, but the host had already turned to the holo, joining the rest of their company.

What was that supposed to mean?

“What’s she saying?” a sponsor called. “Turn it up,” he said to no one in particular, and within a second, one of the Careers’ voice filled the air, still heavy with Helion’s words.

“…it’s not my fault you lost him,” Devlon barked.

A snarl. Brannagh. “Careful.”

But Devlon was anything but careful—he wouldn’t have joined those murderous twins otherwise—and so he took a step toward her. “It’s the truth, though, isn’t it?” he questioned. “If it weren’t for your sick obsession with Feyre Archeron, you would’ve had the good sense to kill him the second he asked to join us.”

Another snarl, this time from the brother.

“Keep your mouth shut, Devlon,” Dagdan ordered. “My sister has a plan.”

Devlon’s head whipped to him, his eyes dark. “Your sister is a child. And so are you. Open your eyes, man,” he told him, even as Brannagh’s hand curled around the knife at her side. “Only one of us can win this thing. You think she’ll let you live after she’s done with Feyre?”

The growl that left her throat was a pure, feral sound. “You fucking…”

“What? You know it’s true—you know I’m right,” he added, turning back to Dagdan. “Leave her while you still can, or, better yet—kill her while she sleeps. You’d be doing all of us a favour.”

“I’m going to murder you cold,” Brannagh promised.

One of the sponsors leaned in closer to the screen.

The camera switched to show Devlon’s back, and someone sucked in a breath at the sight of what he held behind it. At the sword, large and powerful enough to cut the girl in half, its hilt steady in Devlon’s tight grip.

Maybe he was careful after all.

Devlon bared his teeth. “No, you’re not.”

Dagdan’s scream rippled through the arena as Devlon’s sword slashed silver and red across his abdomen.

A few gasps tore from the audience, their eyes glued to the holo as the man fell to the ground, his guts spilling out of his body and staining the fresh grass. Rhysand’s blood drained from his body.

His sister was at his side in an instant, her own face white as death. Her hands shaking, she frantically pushed the organs in, as if she could somehow hold them in place until he miraculously healed. But Dagdan didn’t stop gushing out blood, soaking Brannagh’s hands, clothes, her long, braided hair as she leaned over him, screaming for him to hold on.

Rhysand’s ears started to ring, a foggy veil draping itself over his mind as her words began to lose all meaning and the bloodied shapes displayed by the holo all blurred into one.

“You can come out now,” he said into the icy forest, into nothingness, something like amusement creeping into his tone. “I won’t hurt you.”

Somewhere behind the trees, the snow creaked under a small boot. “You promise?” came the small voice.

He chuckled softly. “Yeah. I promise.”

The girl finally emerged from the shadows, a wary look shining in her eyes despite her young age. “You are Rhysand, right?” she asked, taking another half-step. “District Twelve.”

He nodded, offering her an encouraging smile. “And you are Nephelle.” District Six. Only twelve years old—three years older than him.

Something twisted in his stomach at that.

Those big eyes narrowed, assessing. “Are you feeling better now?”

He looked to the strange, grey paste smeared over his battered skin. “You did this?”

Nephelle nodded tentatively.

“Why?”

She shrugged, as if the answer was as obvious as the moon shining above them. “You looked like you needed some help.”

“I…” for the first time in his life, he had no idea what to say. His throat felt tight. “Thank you,” he managed to choke out.

Another, one-shouldered shrug. “It’s alright,” she told him, lightness creeping into her tone at last.

He knew it then—knew right away he would protect her. This little girl, so much smaller and weaker than him, who’d had every opportunity to kill him at his lowest, chose to save his life instead. Chose to stay by his side, hidden or not, until she could make sure he survived.

He would protect her. Until the very end.

A cold, slender hand on his shoulder snapped him back to reality—to the holo sharpening into Brannagh trembling with rage and agony as she held her brother’s lifeless form; to the sounds of her screams, promising Devlon the most horrid and painful death as the camera showed him fleeing the scene. To the woman that now stood behind Rhys’s couch, her long, crimson nails grazing his skin.

“Rhysand, dear,” Amarantha crooned. “Don’t tell me you’re scared?”

The smile he’d trained over the past decade came with ease.

He turned back and covered her hand with his. “Of course not.”

***

It was nearing midnight, and Feyre was starting to give up.

Her bait hadn’t worked—hadn’t lured anyone in, even though it’s been hours since she’d set it up—and she was pretty sure it would be gone by morning. The Gamemakers weren’t exactly known for their patience—they would move to clean up her mess as soon as the Capitol grew bored with her efforts.

She wouldn’t have blamed them. Almost an entire day had passed, and she was starting to get bored, too.

Perhaps there was simply no one left to kill.

She almost scoffed at the thought—but began counting nonetheless. Two cannons had been fired off today—one in the afternoon, followed by another only minutes after. She would find out who they were soon, from the holo the Gamemakers projected over the arena every night since the Games had begun.

Obviously, she was still alive. She had no doubt the Careers—save for Briallyn—were, too. Tamlin…hopefully, he was still out there. She wanted to see him again—thank him, for what he’d done a few days ago. For everything else.

Her eyes narrowed as her mind kept on racing—after Ianthe and Ressina…and the two Tributes from this morning…

Her heart stumbled over a beat.

Eighteen.

Eighteen Tributes were dead.

There were only six of them left. Six.

“Fuck,” she whispered quietly. “Fuck.”

Could she truly survive this?

The bushes rustled somewhere, and Feyre shot to her feet, pointing her arrow toward the sound a second before Devlon stepped into the clearing.

“Shit,” he swore, staggering back as if he’d hit an invisible wall. “Where did you get that thing?”

Feyre’s grip on her bow tightened. “Where are your friends?”

Something dark flashed in his eyes. “They’re not my friends.” Feyre scoffed, but his attention drifted elsewhere—to the bloodied ground beneath his feet, to the animals scattered around them—before finally settling on her. “I’m here with an offer.”

As if in answer, the steel of her arrow glinted under the moonlight.

“I should kill you right where you stand,” Feyre told him, and Devlon’s eyes widened.

“Wait!” he called, throwing up a hand—as if that would stop her. “Wait. At least hear me out before you kill me?”

“I’d really rather not.” Not with two long daggers strapped to his side.

He followed her gaze, and understanding finally shone in his own. Slowly, Devlon reached to his belt.

“Don’t you even try,” Feyre warned, her aim on him unwavering.

But Devlon loosened his belt, the daggers falling to the ground with it.

“Here,” he offered. “See? I’m unarmed. I won’t hurt you.”

“That gives me little comfort.”

The idiot had the nerve to take a step forward. “Please, Feyre. I left the other Careers.” His throat bobbed, the strong muscles of his neck shifting. “I…I killed Dagdan.”

Feyre went completely still. “You what?”

“I killed him,” Devlon said. “This afternoon. That cannon you heard? That was me.”

Feyre swallowed hard. “That means…”

Devlon nodded. “Brannagh is on a hunt. For both of us.”

Finally—finally, she understood. Almost laughed as she realised why he’d sought her out. “You want to join me?”

“The two of us can take her,” he said, eyeing the silver bow—still drawn for his head.

“I can take her on myself.”

“Believe me,” Devlon said, “you can’t.” He shook his head, dark hair ruffling over his forehead. Was that blood splattered over his face? She couldn’t tell in the dark. “All those deaths these past few days…most of them were her. She’s ruthless—and obsessed with killing you. She watches the broadcast every night, hoping you’re still alive, only so that she gets to kill you herself.”

Feyre’s blood chilled.

“Feyre, listen to me,” Devlon pleaded. “She’s crazy.”

“And after we kill her,” she began, surprised by how steady she’d managed to keep her voice, “What will you do?”

Another step forward. “I’ll leave. You won’t hear from me again.”

Bullshit.

He knew it, too. “Please, Devlon,” she almost rolled her eyes. “You and I both know you’re going to try to kill me as soon as Brannagh drops dead,” she said, but he was already shaking his head.

“No, I…”

She didn’t let him finish. “You were ready to get rid of me only two days ago.” Surprise shone in his stare, and she couldn’t help but offer him a mocking smirk. “Yeah, I heard you—all of you. I was hiding in the tree while you ordered the others to search the clearing for me.”

Devlon’s eyes were wide with shock. “Impossible. Tamlin…”

Feyre openly laughed now. “Tamlin had been manipulating you from the start. You think he wanted to work with any of you? He saw me that—and drew you away, told you I must’ve hid by the river. He was never on your side,” she practically seethed. “And neither am I.”

She aimed for his head again.

“Feyre!”

Do it. He’ll kill you if you don’t.

“Give me a reason, Devlon.” A chance—one last chance before she had to do this. “Give me a reason I should trust you.”

Devlon moved in closer—he was so close to her now that every instinct inside her had screamed at her to run. “You can’t possibly think you can survive this by yourself,” he said, then added quietly, “Survive her.”

Feyre’s jaw clenched. “That’s not a reason. And I think I’ll take my chances.”

She saw it then—saw the glint of metal at his back as he shifted, and knew it was time.

“You should’ve accepted my help when you had the chance, Feyre.”

Devlon pulled the sword from his back when Feyre’s arrow shot through the nightly breeze.

His mouth hung open as its sharp tip cut into his neck—so fast he didn’t even see it coming.

Feyre only approached him when his body hit the ground and stilled.

Fighting to keep from shaking, she pulled the arrow out. She’d missed—she was aiming for his head.

“I’m sorry, Devlon,” she whispered. “None of us deserve this.”

***

The heat was going to kill her.

She should’ve been prepared—she had known it was coming, and yet she’d been so preoccupied with hunting and her stupid fucking bait to prepare for it.

Now, Feyre was dying.

Somehow, it was even hotter than last time. The sun prickled at her skin, and stepping directly under it felt as though her very bones were being scalded. Every inch of her clothes was soaked with sweat, the small hairs atop her head nearly glued to her forehead, dripping with salt.

It made her wonder if the winter day was going to be worse, too.

With any hope, she would never have to find out.

There were five of them left now that Devlon was out of the picture—Brannagh still being one of them—and if today’s weather was any indication, more were about to die soon. From dehydration, if not from someone else’s blade.

Water—she desperately needed water.

Thankfully—thankfully—the river was nearby. She’d heard its sparkling stream around two minutes ago, the sound practically calling out her name. Perhaps she’d hallucinated it. In this heat, she wouldn’t be surprised.

Her legs felt heavy as she braced herself to step out of the shadows—she could see it now, only a few steps away, ten, maybe fifteen. The river stretched wide as it cut through the forest, separating the south from the east, its clear surface shimmering under the sun.

The fucking sun.

She forced herself to take a breath. Then another, and another. And when the air became too thick with heat to welcome it into her lungs again, Feyre stepped out into the sunlight.

Maybe death would be a mercy. Surely it couldn’t have been worse than this.

She tried not to faint as she approached the river’s edge—tried not to shudder as she imagined the cool water filling her lungs once again.

Without another thought, Feyre stepped into the water, clothes and all.

She dove underneath the surface first, gulping on the water even as it found its way into her nose—she didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the fire in her chest slowly being extinguished, like ice over a pulsating bruise.

She’d emerged when her body could no longer handle the lack of oxygen, when the water seemed to push on her lungs, forcing them to shrink. With a loud, gurgling cough, Feyre shook her head and moved deeper into the river until the surface was at her hip.

That’s when she felt it.

Something tangled into her, like a sea of ropes wrapping itself around her, forcing her into stillness.

A net.

“Shit,” Feyre swore, but her leg only seemed to wedge itself further into it as she thrashed. “Shit!”

“Don’t bother,” a deep, silken voice reached her, calm like the sea on a clear day. “It’s no use.”

She saw his weapon first—saw the tall, forked spear she’d seen engraved into his suit that night at Helion Spellcleaver’s interviews—and the strong, dark hand gripping the steel.

“Tarquin,” Feyre breathed, relief crashing over her like a wave. “I got stuck, I—” she grunted as the current wrapped the net tighter around her. She reached for the man standing over the river’s edge. “Can you help me out?”

Something like pain twisted his expression—a momentary flash that seemed to vanish the moment it appeared. As if he forced it off his face.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” he told her, his jaw tight.

Feyre stopped moving.

“You set this up.”

Tarquin nodded. “I was inspired by your trap from the other day,” he told her. “We all heard Ressina’s screams.”

A choked sob broke free from her lips. “I—”

“We all do what we need to survive,” Tarquin said, as if his words were meant to bring any consolation. “I wish things were different, Feyre—I really do. Back at training…” his blue eyes closed for a moment as he loosed a breath. Remembering the few times they’d talked—the knots he’d taught her to tie to keep herself safe. “I think it would’ve been easy to be your friend.”

“Tarquin,” she whispered, the tears lining her eyes burning hotter than the summer heat, “it doesn’t have to be like this. Please, listen to me.”

Feyre, listen to me, Devlon had pleaded, yet she’d fired her arrow anyway—had killed him in cold blood. Why did she expect Tarquin to do any better? To be any better? Who gave her the right, after what she’d done?

But Tarquin…Tarquin hesitated.

So Feyre continued, her voice trembling, “There are five of us left. Five, Tarquin. We can all live, I’m sure of it, if we—if we all stand our ground, refuse to let the Capitol watch as we murder each other…”

She could practically hear Alis’s hiss at her words. She didn’t care.

“We deserve better, Tarquin,” she begged through the tears. “We all deserve so much better.”

Something flickered in his eyes.

You’re good at this, you know, Ressina’s bright voice crept into her mind.

Good at what?

Hope.

And then, it was gone.

“I’m sorry, Feyre,” Tarquin’s lips tightened. “There can only be one survivor.”

He raised the weapon above his head. Aimed it at Feyre’s chest the same way she’d aimed her bow for Ianthe’s.

Feyre closed her eyes and thought of her sisters.

Elain’s gentle hands as she brushed through her hair, untangling it after a long day in the forest. Her kind smile as she offered to wash her dirty, bloodied hunting bag. Nesta’s motherly frown as Feyre slumped into their iron bed, immediately losing herself in sleep. The thin, patched-up duvet she pulled over her body.

And then, a loud squelch.

Feyre’s eyes shot open.

Tarquin laid on the ground, his handsome face frozen in a look of sudden, unbearable pain.

Another stifled sound marked the sword being pulled out of his flesh. Blood spilled out of his chest—spilled into the river, staining the clear water around her red.

Feyre looked to the sword—to the strong, calloused hands gripping it—and stopped breathing entirely.

The weapon fell with a heavy thud as Tamlin rushed into the river. As he dove to free her from the net’s restless snare. As he grabbed her trembling body and carried her back to land, setting her down carefully.

He kneeled beside her, those emerald eyes searching. “Are you okay?”

“Tamlin,” Feyre breathed. “You’re here.”

A tentative smile. “I said I would protect you, did I not?”

Feyre lunged into his arms and crashed her lips into his.

***

The Capitol cheered with delight as the camera zoomed in on their kiss.

Tamlin held Feyre tightly against him, his mouth hungry and not leaving hers for a second, both of them content to let the world vanish around them.

Rhysand’s grip on the armrest tightened.

When they all left—when the holo had shut off, and he was finally, finally alone—only then did he ride down to the lower levels, deep beneath the underground training halls. He fought against the urge to check inside them—see if, by some miracle, she’d snuck out there again, preparing for the brutal arena.

The elevator pinged and Rhys stepped into the darkness.

Someone was already waiting.

“You requested to see me,” Nuala said, her voice like a whisper between the shadows. He nodded.

“I need you to pass on a message,” Rhysand told her. “Tell him there’s been a change of plans.”

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @fieldofdaisiies @vulpes-fennec @houseofhurricane @reverie-tales @kingofsummer93 @melting-houses-of-gold @labellefleur-sauvage @shadowriel @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @headcanonheadcase @foreverinelysian @rhysiedarling @msfeyredarling @itisiyourfemur @to-read-or-to-read

#chapter 8/30 #acotar hunger games au #feysand au #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #feysand #pro feysand #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre acotar #rhysand #rhysand acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

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silent-sanctum · 2 years

Text

✧ Polaris ✧ - Jotaro x Reader

PART II. Conviction

Disclaimer: This au follows a narrative so I highly recommend you read PART I. before this so you could follow up on the events and get context on some details that'll be mentioned here. Hope you enjoy! ♥

cw: afab! reader, brief nightmare sequence, still sfw

Word count: 7822

Having seen your newfound delinquent friend again after one of week of his absence, you decide to follow him the moment you saw him walking out of school, leading you to discover more unexpected acquaintances and the person responsible in turning your past for the worse.

Everywhere around was distorted, blurred beyond comprehension, but you could make out certain things within a space.

You gazed at yourself at the glass- your eyes dilated, your hands quivered, and your breaths came out ragged. You disregarded looking at anything below your knees.

Heels clicked on the floor. “I knew it. I knew you had it in you.”

You flinched as her knuckles brushed your cheek as you tried to keep your breathing from shaking too much. “My little princess.”

“You may not understand it now, but you’ll be doing wonders for this family once you’re older, prettier, and… more independent.” Her voice should be comforting, but with every syllable that left her lips, it was chilling and foreboding.

“All in time, we’ll be able to pay our lord what we owe.” She huffed out a satisfied laugh, laying her cold hand on your shoulder. “For all that he has given our family.”

Right as she uttered his name in that disgusting tone of admiration, you gasped, bolting upright on your bed. The sky outside your window was dark, lit only by the moon beaming through the glass.

“Damnit. Damnit all.” You palmed your face and willed yourself to calm down and breathe. At the same time, a soft fabric wrapped itself around you the way it has before. You didn’t have to look away from your palms to know your veiled ghost friend is hovering by you.

“Why are you back…” You clicked your tongue, hands dropping onto the sheets. “Just�� why.”

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Today would be the day you’d return the favor and show Jotaro your spirit companion in full form.

However, you already knew that your usual rooftop routine wouldn’t go the way you expected it to go when on the way to school, you didn’t see the towering teenager walking the main path accompanied by his flock of fangirls.

You figured he either went too early or felt like being late was today’s vibe, and knowing him, you’d expect the latter from him. You put your disappointment on hold and hoped he’d show up at your usual hangout spot during lunch.

Throughout the morning period, as early as you stepped foot on school grounds, you could sense every pair of female eyes glaring at you from all around, a sea of gossip flooding your hearing the moment you walked into the building and into your classroom.

“Hey isn’t it that girl who walked with Jojo last week?”

“How the hell did she get that chance?”

“Ugh, she’s hogging my Jojo all up.”

“Your Jojo?!”

You couldn’t care less about some shallow, shady remarks and in turn, made you roll your eyes. Thirsty ass hoes. The teacher wasn’t here yet but you prepared the writing paraphernalia ahead of time while your mind was preoccupied with thoughts of a certain delinquent.

A couple more hours flew by and the next thing you knew, it was lunch period.

You grabbed your bento and quickly made your way up the now familiar stairs leading to the metal door opening to the roof. Wasting no time, you turned the knob and rushed in. You turned to the side where he always sat and alas-

“He’s not here.”

The disappointment you held back returned full force and you couldn’t control the way your chest clenched in on itself from what you were feeling. Did Jotaro skip school? You never recalled him ever skipping school despite his bad-boy attitude. Sick maybe? Who knows.

You sighed and sat down at your spot; a tiny bit awkward without the larger individual sitting nearby accompanied by the whiff of smoke that you’d grown used to for weeks. You frowned to no one but maybe your ghost friend as you dug into your meal.

Swallowing down the last bite, you didn’t bother stalling time and packed your stuff so you could return to your classroom. No point in staying after all. You walked down the flight of stairs, trying to your dejected face as subtle as possible. Though as you stepped off of the staircase to the 2nd floor where your room was at-

“You with the blazer uniform! Hold on!”

You tilted your head in confusion. Who’s this? The voice didn’t belong to anyone you’d met before. Though he did sound nice. You turned to see who it was and the person approaching you was yet another unique-looking fellow with his stylish red hair, cherry-like earrings, white scarf, and green gakuran.

“Yes? May I help you?”

“Actually yes. You must be the female student everyone’s been gossiping about,” he said, prompting you to be a bit on edge. You didn’t like indulging in pointless chatter.

“Your point?” You said, with a pinch of passive-aggressiveness laced in your words.

Though he simply smiled at your implied confirmation. “You’re very much aware of why you’ve been the talk of the day, right?”

“Casually walking with one delinquent seems to be a sensitive topic apparently,” you rolled your eyes. “What do you want?”

He seemed to detect the subtle change in your demeanor when he cleared his throat and waved his hands. “Ah no, I mean no ill intentions at all if that’s what you’re concerned about.” He glanced inside your classroom and assumed it was to look at the wall clock. “Looks like we have the time for introductions.”

He bowed and offered a hand. “My name’s Noriaki Kakyoin.” You bowed slightly in return, shook his hand, and gave him your name. “The reason I was bringing up the gossip was that I need to talk to your unruly companion about… something.”

There was a brief glint in his eyes that implied an ulterior motive but you decided to not bring that up in case you were overthinking. “Hm? Jotaro? Why don’t you just approach him?”

“Well, you know how he works- he isn’t exactly approachable, to begin with, and he’s always off to somewhere else if class wasn’t in session.” Kakyoin chuckled. “But somehow you got the chance to be acquainted with him.”

“And this point leads to… what exactly?” You already had an idea, but you waited for him to continue.

“I was hoping you’d tell him about this and that I’d appreciate it if he’d consider meeting up with me… within the comforts of school grounds of course.”

You hesitated, contemplating. He looked like he meant well and probably just wanted to talk to Jotaro for an interview of sorts, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that your assumption wasn’t exactly the case. And god forbid something happens to the bad boy all because you indirectly helped cause it.

However, you put up a smile and nodded. Play it off. “I mean, you know the man isn’t exactly easy to persuade even by yours truly, but I’ll try Kakyoin-san.” You pointed at him. “Though, you should consider just directly facing him yourself. Makes the process easier for both of us.”

Kakyoin nodded. “Duly noted.” He took one more glimpse at the clock behind you. “I won’t hold you here any longer. Hopefully, I’ll see you next time?”

Mind press X to doubt. “Sure thing. I’ll be seeing you around soon.”

“Lovely. I’ll be going now.” Kakyoin raised a hand in farewell as he turned to walk away.

Even as the new student rounded the corner, you couldn’t help but continue to feel a tiny bit suspicious of his sudden interest in the delinquent. Then again, you sometimes tended to be suspicious over trivial things as well so you thought this was simply just a case of overdramatizing things.

You blew out a breath of air as if it released that negative vibe out of you, and stepped inside your classroom.

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A whole week has flown by since Jotaro’s absence.

You’ve been keeping tabs on his attendance since day 1, growing more concerned as each day passed without anyone having an idea of what had happened to him… a concrete idea that is.

Having earned himself a reputation, students would start murmuring to each other rumors about the delinquent’s reason for not going to school.

“Maybe he just ditched school. He didn’t care about his classes anyways.”

“I heard he started business with some drug dealers or something.”

“My friend told me he went on a rampage one night and secretly wrecked a gang of hoodlums by himself.”

“Hey! I’ve heard the same thing from my girlfriend too! He’s so dangerous that he even put fighters in hospital beds fully comatose.”

Those were all myths they started spreading throughout school and even if you didn’t want to believe in their chat, you couldn’t put past the rumors of violence they speculated out of the blue. How could you when you know that he was capable of doing that with a spirit aiding in his aggression.

You’d heard it straight from his mouth that he was responsible for sending people into medical care with injuries far beyond a simple black eye, bruise, or cut.

And as you were left pondering about what had happened in the middle of class, you couldn’t stop thinking about his safety no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that he was fine and probably smoking like the nonchalant individual that he was.

“Bastard acts on its own most of the time.”

You closed your eyes and thought of the purple humanoid you met the other day, envisioning the grinning spirit in a fit of unbridled anger. Did you lose control of him again? You sighed.

You returned your attention to the teacher in front of you before she could notice your temporarily shut eyes.

There was no point in dwelling on things you didn’t have control over, so you could only wish he was doing fine wherever he was.

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Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

There he was again. Vision misted with anger, fists flew, pained grunts and screams echoed, and out of his own volition, he found residence on a prison bed, glaring at his cowering cellmates standing at the corner.

Jotaro didn’t mean to summon him again. He thought he had him under control when he successfully gave you your forgotten school bag.

But it just so happened that on the day he was on the way home one night and a handful of confident thugs blocked his way. He had his fists clenched, holding himself back from pummeling each one into the ground.

He’d initially planned to throw all of them against the wall so a path would open up to him, leaving them with bruises at minimum or concussions at maximum.

However, one fucker brought up the idea of ganging up on a certain female student with an expensive-looking uniform that they saw walking with him that day. They said she was rich, pretty, and ripe for taking, and Jotaro couldn’t hold his immense anger back any longer.

His spirit manifested without his command and in mere minutes, he stood over their crumpled, bloodied figures lying on the cement half-dead.

This wasn’t good. If he continued to give in to his intense emotions over and over again, chances of him keeping his violent companion at bay would grow slim to none. He had it. He swore he had it. But when they brought you up, his inhibitions were thrown into the wind.

Jotaro couldn’t afford to get too mad near his mom or you. He genuinely felt guilty when he had him punch you while he was under control. He couldn’t risk a scenario where he punches his family, or you again in blind fury.

Staying in jail was the best option. At least here, he wouldn’t have to worry about hurting his mother. Hurting you.

He could release all of those negative emotions on the faceless criminals with him instead. He wouldn’t give two shits about how they’d end up.

Though Jotaro knew deep down his plan of making prison his humble abode wouldn’t go well for too long. When he could hear the hurried footsteps accompanying the shrill voice of his sweet mother calling his name again and again in complete worry, his plan would dissolve in no time.

He gritted his teeth. Damnit. Why does everyone have to care so much?

“Shut the hell up! You’re so damn annoying, you bitch!”

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Day 8.

That would be another day that has passed without Jotaro’s presence in school and another day of you pondering over his condition and what possibly could have happened to him.

However, it just so happened that as you walked your way to school with the whispering girls close by, you halted your steps as an all-too-familiar student rounded the corner with his distinguishable golden chain and ripped hat.

You’re here! You wanted to approach him, talk to him regarding his absence and where he’d gone during that period, but you knew it wouldn’t be that simple when you two were aware of the hassle that was-

“Isn’t that Jojo?”

“It’s Jojo!”

“Hi Jojo!”

“Jojo wait up!”

The former murmuring females rushed over to crowd his space, desperately trying to grab his attention with their usual pitched voices and unnecessary arm grabs.

You couldn’t see any openings for conversation and that served as an excuse for you to walk ahead of the chatty bunch. You sped up your pace and caught up with them.

Though as you were about to bypass them completely, you could catch a glimpse of the delinquent turning his head to look at you. Naturally, you turned yours to look at him. For a moment, despite the loud students squabbling for his attention, you both held firm eye contact with an air of understanding between you two.

Lunch. As usual, right? You weren’t telepathic of any sort but you hoped that the message was sent across regardless, and as if he knew what you were trying to say, Jotaro gave one nod before casting his gaze elsewhere, tipping his hat down.

You smiled, satisfied. With no further explanation, you continued ahead and left him at his own pace.

Unbeknownst to you that those same cerulean eyes continued to watch you as you grew farther away from him.

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There were 15 minutes left until lunch period and you grew restless waiting for the class to finish in the morning. With every word that your teacher said, the more they turned into a garbled mess of words mashed into one.

This didn’t happen often but for today, you just wanted to meet up with him again.

In your head, you prepared what you wanted to say. ‘Hey, where have you been for the past week?’, ‘you slacking this early in the school year?’, ‘you know lunch hasn’t’ been the same without you’-

You furrowed your brows and shook your head. Okay, that might be a bit weird.

You let the minutes pass with whatever the lecture was bout, tolerating the remaining minutes you had left until the bell rings.

15 minutes turned to 10. 10 to 5. And 5 to-

Before the class came to a close, the building trembled underneath your feet and a resounding boom erupted with it, causing your classmates to shriek in panic. You wobbled from where you abruptly stood, grabbing hold of your desk to find your footing. Beside you, a large crack formed up the wall from below.

Was there an earthquake? The teacher, equally shocked as the rest of the students, tried to calm them down even though he wasn’t the definition of calm. The shaking stopped but it didn’t stop the alarmed individuals within the room from being on the verge of chaos.

Students rushed to ask the teacher permission to check the source of the shaking and you were about to join them until you detected motion from outside the window. You turned to see what it was and to your surprise, you identified them rather quickly.

Jotaro? And… is that Kakyoin over his shoulder? At a closer look, the latter was dripping blood from the head up, leaving a small blood trail as the raven-haired student carried him out of school grounds. What the hell? Where is he going?

You didn’t want to be left in dark again so you grabbed your things, called out to your teacher that you weren’t feeling good after the shake (a shitty excuse, you knew, but you had no time), and bolted out of the classroom, down the stairs, and followed him out the gate.

You had the feeling Jotaro didn’t want you to find out what he’d done to the new student. You decided to keep it low and made sure to trail after him in secret, walking several feet away from them so your footsteps couldn’t be heard.

Eventually, you found yourself walking in a fancy, traditional neighborhood lined with large houses that looked expensive by local standards. You followed the delinquent as he turned to enter the entryway leading into one of the traditional Japanese manors.

You couldn’t help but whistle once you felt it was clear to peek in. Rich boy indeed wow. You knew that trespassing was a no-no, but you were both a curious and stubborn individual. You tiptoed into the residence, glad that no guard hound was around to alarm your presence.

You stood close to the manor’s walls and rounded the building with the hopes you’d find some sort of window or opening to peep into. You passed by his family’s well-maintained Zen Garden and pond and were about to turn the corner, until you heard a feminine voice call out in reply to someone, possibly Jotaro.

His mom maybe? Then you realized oh my god, family members are walking around. You didn’t know how that wasn’t part of the list of precautions you made in your head, but as it did, you considered just turning back.

Though as you were in the middle of leaving, the owner of the voice walked past the corner you stood by and she made a sound akin to a quiet surprise the moment she spotted you there.

Immediately, you turned around and bowed a deep 90-degree angle, a string of apologies fleeing your mouth, but as you were about to reason out your excuse, the woman cooed and said, “Oh no dear, no need for that.”

A pair of hands reached to grab yours, prompting you to look up from your downcast gaze and see the person responsible for bringing Jotaro into the world.

My suspicions were right. He’s biracial. When you took one look at her, it was unmistakable that she was a foreigner fluent in Japanese- Blonde hair, fair skin lighter than the average melanin Asians had, and blue-green eyes that her son inherited. “Ah, I’m still sorry for following your son here and walking in like this unannounced.”

She chuckled with a beaming smile. “It’s fine sweetheart, I can see you don’t have bad intentions. You’re just an overly curious person.”

“You could say that ma’am.” You said, a bead of sweat trailing down your temple. “He’s an interesting person to be with after all the time we’ve been hanging out.”

“Oh! Are you that someone my baby’s mentioned about?” She blurted out from the blue, clapping her hands together. “I assumed you followed him here because you knew him and he had someone on his shoulder, and you wondered ‘what happened?’.”

Holy shit that’s… actually spot-on. “Ah yeah, we talk often. Wait,” you paused. Did he talk about me? “Knowing him, how was I mentioned?”

“I asked him where his bento was so I could wash it, and he said he destroyed it so he could show it to someone.” You were about to apologize again since it was your ghost story that led to the delinquent demonstrating his spirit’s power but the woman giggled before any word left you.

“You know, I was worried that he wouldn’t be able to make any friends. He had a rough time getting along with the other kids when he was younger, and him choosing to put on this bad boy image isn’t helping either.” She pouted. “But words couldn’t explain how happy I was when he met with someone who he could share things with.”

She’s so chipper. Out of context, no one would have guessed that the rude and aggressive delinquent was the son of such a sunny and optimistic woman. One could meet the other and experience immediate whiplash. “Oh, silly me! I forgot to introduce myself!” She took your hand and shook it eagerly. “I’m Holly Kujo- mother of Jotaro Kujo.”

As if absorbing her radiating energy, you beamed and smiled as you told her your name in return. “Nice to meet you Holly-san!”

“I must be holding you back from meeting with him,” Holly said, to which you shook your head.

“Oh no, I actually don’t have any plans to talk with Jotaro at this moment. I just wanted to see what was going on,” you said as you tried to not make it sound creepy. “It’s just that he wasn’t in school for the past week and I was… concerned he might not show up again.”

“Aww, you’re a sweetie, Y/N.” She cooed, delighted. “I’ll make sure to update you then about what’s happening around here.” She gave you her house’s telephone number and you gave yours in exchange. “And don’t you worry, I won’t tell him you dropped by today.”

“Thank you, Holly-san.” You bowed in gratitude.

“Oh! And dear, why don’t you drop by tomorrow morning and I’ll prepare you one of my special bento meals,” Holly said with a wink. “My son loves them so much he finishes the whole thing in no time.”

“Oh, I know.” You recalled the empty boxes that Jotaro kept hiding from you whenever you arrived, the way he faintly blushes at the mention of it, and you couldn’t help but giggle. “But you don’t have to.”

“Hush now, I insist!” She said, hands on her hips. “Take it as a token of my gratitude for giving my son a chance in friendship.”

It was oddly cute that when thinking about it, Holly was giving you a bento meal as a “thank you” statement while Jotaro gave you two as an “apology” statement. Perhaps there was a tiny bit of resemblance between them.

Endeared, your cheeks warmed and you smiled. “You sure you don’t mind?”

Holly chuckled. “Not at all, sweetheart.”

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Would today be the day he’d finally resume school despite the bullshit that happened yesterday? Or would someone else be waiting in school to challenge him to a Stand battle?

Jotaro groaned to himself. For heaven’s sake, he hoped it would be the first. Like he’d care about what that old man just said. Good grief. Can’t anyone give me a break? Hell, he’d rather slug through hours of class and hang out with his-

Friend? Acquaintance? Fuck. Though you were more than a random chatty stranger to him. He’d rather just listen to your never-ending stories than go on some epic journey his grandfather and his Egyptian friend spewed out of the blue.

He even spared you a glance yesterday, hoping you’d get his point of continuing lunch period on the roof, but with that student intervening with his emerald tentacle Stand, he wasn’t able to meet you. Shit.

Jotaro picked up his school bag and ducked his head under the door frame, stepping out of the house. And he waited for that high-pitched “wait!” followed by his daily, annoying morning kisses.

But no one came rushing his way with any. He turned to look over his shoulder to see no sight of his beloved mother.

Strange.

The crunch of a leaf nearby alerted the delinquent to look at the source of the sound, only for him to be confused and surprised at the sight of you entering the Kujo family gate. You saw him standing there and waved. “Morning!”

“How the fuck did you know where I live?” He narrowed his eyes at you.

You approached him with a nervous chuckle. “Holly-san insisted I sample one of her delicious bento meals and told me to come again tomorrow which is today.”

“Not an answer.”

“Alright, if I’m gonna be honest with you…” You started, looking elsewhere with a not-so-guilty pout. “I… may perhaps followed you home yesterday lunch period with I think was the new transfer student bleeding on your shoulder.”

Could she be like that guy? Is she secretly here to kill me too? No, it can’t be. If that were the case, she would have done so weeks ago, but he kept his guard up and continued from what you said. “Followed me?”

“I know it sounds creepy but by all means, I just wanted to see where you were going.”

“Why the fuck did you follow me, woman?!” Jotaro growled, raising his voice a bit out of irritation that you stalked him all the way from school grounds. “Being stalked to your house isn’t exactly settling!”

“Well, what the fuck should I do when I was worried about what was happening to you?!” To his surprise, you yelled back with equal volume as his, catching him off guard at the words.

“You leave for one week without notice, combined with the fact that you had a violent spirit you still need to control and the rumors that spread around school about you being a murderer, you think I wouldn’t start getting concerned whether or not you were still okay?!”

His words caught in his throat. You were… worried for him? So far in his life, only his mother showed sentiment towards his well-being. Having someone else express the same feeling was both surprising and… endearing. “You- “

“Wow, I’m yelling first thing in the morning. Hold on,” you took a deep breath and sighed. “But listen, I know following you isn’t cool, but you know, I was looking forward to talking to you again during lunch. But after the school shook from what I assume was your spirit’s doing and I saw you heading out again, I grew concerned. I’m sorry.”

Jotaro didn’t know what to say to your explanation. He was honestly still stunned that you were worrying about his safety when in reality he stayed in prison because he was just as worried that he’d hurt people like you.

It’s odd how that works.

There were many things he wanted to refute you, but for some reason, he let their morning pettiness fade away into an awkward silence, instead of escalating it. He pressed his lips together and tipped his hat, giving you a nod as a way of accepting your apology.

Out of nowhere, a crash came out from within the house, causing the both of you to abruptly turn to the sound. Jotaro shared one look with you before taking off in a hurried jog, your footsteps trailing behind him.

He cocked his head. She really is going to play this game...

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When you heard the crash from within the Kujo household, all you could think about was Holly- Bubbly, caring, and vulnerable. Did someone break in? Did she drop something by accident? Or did something else happen that you refused to think about?

You followed closely behind Jotaro and ran in the direction of the crash.

On your way, you two came into contact with an old man as tall and fit as the delinquent despite his age, his face warped into reasonable concern. He caught a glance at you, probably wondering who you were, but dismissed it as the 2 continued.

You kept trailing behind them until you halted once they stopped before an opening into one of the manor’s rooms. A small gap between the men was made available for you to slip past and right as you did-

You gasped, hands cupping your mouth. “Holly-san…”

There she was- unconscious on the floor, lying on her stomach as translucent roses and thorns cover the entirety of her back, sprawling and squirming like living creatures. Did she… also have a spirit? An unknown man with dark skin knelt beside her, equally distraught at the scenario.

“… A Stand?” The elder adult said from behind you. Stand? Is that what it’s called? Does he know about these specific ghosts? Does he have one too? Does everyone suddenly have one? “Holly…”

Out of the blue, you yelped as the same man grabbed Jotaro by the collar of his uniform, yelling and pushing the teenager against the wall. “My… my worst fear has come true,” he said, gritted and angry. “My girl… she has a Stand.”

You had a hunch and it was correct. He was Holly’s father and Jotaro’s grandfather.

“I knew she didn’t have the power to resist.” Resist? “I knew she didn’t have the strength to deny DIO’s soul.”

DIO.

That name.

“All in time, we’ll be able to pay our lord what we owe. For all that he has given our family.”

“Lord DIO.”

You felt weak, having to lean against the wood of the wall. That… that bastard. “Tell me! What can we do?” The moment you came to the realization, you heard the delinquent’s voice reply back to his grandfather.

“There’s one thing- We must find DIO and break this curse. That’s our only option!”

At the same time, your legs gave in from beneath you and you collapsed onto your knees. You heard Jotaro call your name out in alarm, but you ignored him as your breath shook and your hands curled into fists against the floorboards. That motherfucker.

“Who is she?” The old man said through his distress, enough for you to snap out of your momentary trance. “Is she one of them? Like that kid you brought in?”

You found your composure and steeled yourself to answer. “Is that more important than your daughter’s current position?” You said, looking straight at the adult. “We have to tend to her first, put her in bed, and then we’ll talk.”

People did what was needed to be done and after at least an hour has passed since the discovery, Holly was taken care of and was now on her futon with a new change of looser clothes and a damp towel on her forehead to help with the fever.

You entered the room with a glass and a pitcher of water, placing it down nearby the futon before standing close by Jotaro, with the elder adult kneeling by Holly’s side, smoothing his thumb over her knuckles. The stranger who helped excused himself to the library.

“Just as you said,” he said, placing down her hand as he turned to you with a pointed look. “We’ve taken care of Holly, now explain yourself.”

You calmly introduced yourself as a student in the school where Jotaro was enrolled in and added in the tiny detail that you were the delinquent’s newfound friend. The bearded man glanced at the teenager for confirmation, to which the latter nodded once.

“Friend, you say...,” he said. “I’m surprised that my scary-looking grandson managed to make friendly connections at school.”

“You’d be even more surprised how that came to happen-”

“You saw it,” Jotaro said, cutting your dialogue with the adult. “The plants.” You looked up at him and gave him a firm nod.

“You know I won’t bullshit you.”

This elicited intrigue from the adult. “You can see Stands?” Though, before he could ask you further questions, Holly stirred and slowly opened her eyes, prompting everyone’s attention to fall on her. “Holly!”

She let out a tired smile. “Papa…”

You head over to the pitcher to pour a glass of water to give to her. “Holly-san, here. Don’t wanna get dehydrated.”

The blonde woman widened her eyes, probably surprised by your presence among her family members, but to your expectations, she beamed at your kind gesture. “Thank you, sweetie.” She took a sip before she continued. “I don’t know what happened to be honest. I developed a fever and passed out.”

“You had us all worried Holly.” The elder man said as he retrieves all the self-care materials near him and use them on his daughter.

With the last of her father’s coddling over, Holly clapped her hands as if she didn’t pass out mere minutes ago. “Now that I’m feeling better,” she made a move to get out of bed, causing you and the old man to reluctantly let her move. “What would all of you like-“

“Stay in bed!” All eyes were cast on Jotaro with his booming tone inappropriate to the situation. You gave him a stern look, one that sent a message that read “not now” in regards to his aloof nature. The teenager in question looked away and tipped his hat, a clear sign of immediate sorry. “I-I mean… you should take it easy until the fever dies down.”

His mother smiled in response to his way of expressing concern, only for her to faint back into the cushions, unconscious. “Holly-san!” You exclaimed, genuinely worried for her health. A mumble you’re your lips quietly. “What happened to you?”

“We don’t have time to waste,” you heard the elderly man say. “We need to find DIO and put an end to this. To start, we first need to find out his location.”

“I know where he is.” Both Jotaro and his grandfather turned to you with a sharp gaze, and you chose your next words carefully. “Cairo, Egypt.”

“How would you know?”

“Relative. I never knew why this relative of mine was obsessed with this… DIO guy, but I often eavesdropped them talking to him through the phone and when they talked about living conditions, they kept mentioning familiar places found in Cairo.”

“Judging from how constant I’ve heard about Egypt, I assume the person you’re looking for is staying there.”

“Sounds like another case of either the flesh buds doing their work or is simply one of his devoted followers.” The low voice of the stranger entered the room, a heavy book in hand. “Who is she Mr. Joestar?”

“A friend of my grandson’s apparently,” the elderly man Mr. Joestar said. “That begs the question of why. Why are you telling us this?”

Before you could offer up your honest response, to your surprise, Jotaro spoke ahead of you. “Jiji, aren’t you asking too many questions?”

“We can’t help it, Jotaro. We need to take precautions with whoever comes our way before we could trust them.” He gave you one hard glare. “You’ll never know if she’s secretly one of DIO’s followers herself.”

“I’m fucking not!” You normally had yourself kept together, but there was something in his words that felt like an insulting slap to the face, triggering some deep-seated emotions of wanting none of what your family was doing with this sketchy overlord.

Everyone in the room was caught off guard by your sudden exclamation, including your ever-so-stoic friend beside you. You were glad Holly wasn’t awake to witness your lack of composure. I’m yelling again. Get yourself together and explain. Brushing your hair up with a deep breath, you continued.

“I’m sorry but having you assume that I’m one of his lackeys was lowkey insulting.” You gave the old man a pointed look. “What I mean is that the reason I’m giving this piece of information is that I want to find out the fucker responsible for making my past life a living hell.”

“What are you saying?” The teenager asked.

“I’m saying,” you balled your hands into fists and with conviction in your voice, you said. “I want to join you guys in finding this DIO person and help you take him down- hey!”

Not even finished with your statement, Jotaro grabbed your wrist tight and half-dragged you out of the room, sliding the paper doors close to provide privacy. “What gives?”

“You’re not going,” The delinquent said, telling you directly in the eyes.

“And why not?” You crossed your arms, maintaining eye contact. “Who are you to tell me what to do and not do?”

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. Do you know why I beat up that student into a bloody pulp? It’s because he had the fucking balls to accept the task of killing me.” Jotaro said the most in quite a while. “People will target you if you plan on coming.”

“I know, I’m not stupid.”

“You’re better off watching over her. It’s safer that way- “

“What I said is final. I am coming with you whether you like it or not.” You stood your ground, proving your point as you daringly took one step forward towards the towering teenager, looking straight into his eyes. “Are you implying that I’m incapable of fending for myself?”

“That’s not- “

Another step. “That I’ll just weigh everyone down? Slow the mission?” You took one last step and you tilted your head up to make sure you still faced him. “I’ll have you be reminded that my… stand as you guys called it, won’t let anything and anyone harm me.”

Wordless, the raven-haired could only peer into your eyes with pressed lips, as if he was still trying to convince you to stay behind but ran out of words to do so. “You…”

“You said I don’t know what I’m getting myself into, but you didn’t know what I’ve been through- why I moved to Japan in the first place. And no, it’s not because of schooling or change of location.” Vague images of your childhood briefly flashed through your head, a collection of people with unclear faces doing things you refused to think about.

Jotaro didn’t say any rude remarks about your sentiments, allowing you to continue. “Being targeted? Not really a concern for me anymore.” You chuckled dryly, though the delinquent didn’t look like he found your words amusing. “But I trusted my stand to protect me and I trust that it will continue to do so.”

“So long spill done with,” you cocked your head. “Will you allow me to come with and find the motherfucker that needs to be taught a lesson for cursing your mom and tainting my past?”

Silence.

You couldn’t tell sometimes with the raven-haired teen what he was thinking, or why he kept on prolonging the silence between you two. And every time he did it, strings of questions would always flow in your mind- a repeated mantra of mostly “what ifs”. You were patient during your rooftop sessions, but you needed someone to back you up right now.

At last, he cut eye contact with you and turned to open the sliding door, his hat tipped down. “Good grief. You are one stubborn woman.”

Not really an answer. “What does that mean? Do I get to go? Yes or no?”

Jotaro threw one glance at you over his shoulder before opening the sliding doors open with one swift motion.

“Jiji, she’s coming with us.”

You couldn’t help but widen your eyes behind him, your worries of being left behind alleviated a little bit with the firm and steady voice of your bad boy acquaintance backing you despite the old man responding with a contrasting shocked expression.

“W-What Jotaro?! You’re allowing- I mean, it isn’t like you to- aren’t you worried that a pretty young lady like her would-“

“I said she’s coming old man,” the delinquent repeated.

“And what would he be worried about, Mr. Joestar?” You continued. “That a pretty young lady like me would get roughed up and be scared 24/7?” A bead of sweat trailed down the elderly adult’s temple. You smiled, albeit with hints of passive aggressiveness. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine, thank you~”

“Mr. Joestar, though it’s going to be natural for us to worry over her, if she is this determined to join us on this journey, then I believe in her conviction and that she’ll be able to help us the best as she could.” The stranger said in respect to your words, turning to you with a hand extended towards you.

“Muhamad Avdul.” You smiled and introduced yourself in return, shaking his hand.

“Oh… my… god.” The opposing member of the group said from behind, drawing out each syllable as if to produce some sort of dramatic effect. “What would granny Erina and Suzi think of this?”

“Mr. Joestar, care to introduce yourself to her?” Avdul cleared his throat.

The elder adult, clearly the most hesitant of the bunch, shifted his gaze at each of the men in the room, likely trying to find some subtle displays of disagreement for leverage. He found none and he gave in with a heavy groan. “If the young lady insists, then so be it then.”

He stretched out a… prosthetic hand? “Joseph Joestar.” You shook it only for you to notice the missing pinky finger. Joseph caught onto your gaze and said, “oh this? Blame your friend beside you.”

You threw your attention to Jotaro, who couldn’t care less, in disbelief. “Serves him right for wanting me out of jail.”

“You went to jail?!”

“I’m sorry but am I… interrupting anything?” With the voice of a newcomer, everyone’s heads turned to the door to see a familiar cherry-haired student with a bandaged forehead.

“Kakyoin-san?” You approached him. “Are you alright? Last I saw you; you were bleeding everywhere.”

He looked at you and widened his eyes in recognition. “It’s you again. I didn’t expect you to be here, nor did I expect you to reach this far into your friendship with him for you to be visiting his house.”

At that implication, your cheeks warmed. “O-Oh no it’s not that. I just came by because Holly-san asked me to.”

“Everyone! Now’s not the time for any more chit-chat!” Joseph exclaimed, slamming his fist onto the floor. “My daughter’s dying and we have at most 50 days to rid her of DIO’s curse!”

“Mr. Joestar’s right. We have to make our move as soon as possible,” Avdul said as he turned to look at Joseph with a nod.

“When are you going? I’ll go with you,” Kakyoin said, a hand on his chest.

“Why would you?” The delinquent asked eyes narrowed. You assumed that he was skeptical about the voluntary decision, but the cherry-haired student chuckled in response.

“About that… I’m not sure why I suddenly want to join you either.” Jotaro scoffed, unsure if he was still unconvinced or midway there. “I’ve regained my senses because of you. That’s all.” He pointed to his temple with a smile.

“But also,” he turned towards the feverish woman. “Ms. Holly is a woman who can calm the hearts of others. I’d want to protect those like her.”

“Having an extra helping hand would come in handy, right?” You said in support of his decision, though it didn’t appear it was needed upon looking at the contented smiles on both Joseph’s and Avdul’s faces.

With the old man having said his goodbye message to an unconscious Holly, he told his small group of Stand users to follow him out the gate just as a line of cars arrived outside, groups of people in lab coats and suits stepping out of them and flooding into the Kujo household.

You looked back at them with a confused tilt. “Who…?”

“They’re doctors from the Speedwagon Foundation. Them, along with a couple of bodyguards, will watch over my daughter while we’re away.” Joseph said briefly before attending to one of the mentioned professionals, most likely to provide additional instructions.

You couldn’t help but get on your tiptoes just to say something to Jotaro without others hearing it. Another one of your playful jabs. “You guys are filthy rich. I was half-joking when I said that last time when your lunch box was obliterated.”

The raven-haired teenager rolled his eyes. “It’s all on the old man. Don’t look at me.”

“Jojo, before we leave,” You turned to see Avdul approaching both of you, a hand reaching into his robes. “Since I am a fortune teller, I shall name your Stand.”

“Name?”

The dark-skinned man pulled out a deck of cards with a smile. “With the cards of fate- the Tarot. Choose a card blindly and it shall be decided. This will suggest your fate as well as your Stand’s power.”

You watched in intrigue as the fortune teller lays out the deck in his palm for the teenager to choose from, and once he did pick “The Star” among others, Avdul proclaimed that the muscular purple humanoid that was Jotaro’s Stand would go by the name of “Star Platinum”.

You chuckled to yourself as finally knew what to call this spirit. Star Platinum’s a cool name not gonna lie.

“Would you like to have a reading as well?” You blinked out of your thoughts to see the man hand you the reshuffled Tarot cards. “I presume you haven’t named yours?”

Looking at the deck and back at Avdul, you smiled and shook your head. “As much as I’d love to experience your fortune-telling reading, I already made mine a while back.”

You reached inside of your blazer pocket, pulling out a singular card bearing a cartoon rendition of a figure blindfolded with a flowing fabric whose ends shaped into blades, and in their sole hand hung a pair of golden scales.

Justice.

As successful as he was, your uncle was superstitious and so he shared his beliefs with you and encouraged having your life read before you left for Japan. You weren’t at his level of belief but you did admit it was an interesting experience, even if you didn’t understand it back then.

However, looking at it now, your card made sense in accordance with your current situation- Finding balance, seeking the truth, and righting what was wrong.

Avdul took one look at your selection and gave you a nod of satisfaction. The teenager glanced at it once and huffed, turning away with a mumbled “suits you”.

“Now as for the name. I kinda had one in mind for some time now,” you continued. “The tarot card’s name isn’t part of it at all, but one I just figured fit well with my Stand.” One that represented her aura of safety and mystery.

For the first time, you said her name:

Silent Sanctuary

You didn’t know how your journey with these men would turn out, nor how threatening the dangers awaited all of you on the way to Egypt, but you placed your trust in them; that all of you would make it out triumphant against the evils sent your way.

You trusted in Sanctuary above all; that she would help you in your adventure and would continue to protect you until the very end.

With the preparations complete and you standing by Jotaro’s side, you joined the men in their quest to find DIO and set off into the unknown.

#jotaro x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jjba #jotaro kujo #jojo part 3 #jotaro x y/n #jotaro x you #polaris au

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voidmadisonrecs · 3 years

Text

chris evans recs

these are more for me then anyone else but here are my fav chris evans (and co.) fics, blurbs, headcanons, etc.

feel free to message or comment with suggestions that i should read and make sure to check out these writers other works because they are all amazing <3

Chris Evans

butterflies - @chanelfaerie

chris has got butterflies for you—do you feel the same?

pop the questions - @angelkurenai

you are costars and in a relationship with Chris and while on the set of ‘Gifted’, you are very clingy. when Chris sees you interact with your youngest costar, he realizes you would make a great mother

white - @agentofbarnes

chris can’t seem to function while seeing you in a white dress

ask me properly - @twittytelly

while spending time with his family, chris realizes that it's the perfect time to put his 'plan' into action

red carpet w/ chris - @avenging-fandoms

your chris’s costar with Chris and you’re both tipsy in a red carpet interview and giggling together, making no sense but just being all happy and sparking dating rumours

happy goddamn new year - @fluffymisha97

the morning after your new year with the evans’ which doesn’t go all that smooth

sweet creature - @buckyhoney

domestic shit

ass man headcanon - @agentofbarnes

chris evans sure does love ass

and then he came along - @teebarnes

you haven't had the best record when it comes to relationships, you thought you couldn't be loved. until one day as you sat on the beach shivering, everything changed when chris came along

granola bar and lots of love - @planetofawe

with the kids away, you and chris have more than enough time to practice some aftercare (smut)

claim - @cloudystevie

your husband puts a baby in you (smut)

beer gut - @violetlilysunshine

chris gets self conscious after gaining a little bit of weight and not working out as hard as he used to during his Marvel days (smut)

dumb - @agentofbarnes

chris evans makes you dumb and you are a little touchstarved (smut)

red, white, blue’s in the sky, summer’s in the air, baby heaven’s in your eyes - @cloudystevie

sunday’s are for football games and attention (smut)

the big 4-0 - @rocketrhap3000

chris being insecure for his 40th bday but reader makes sure he knows just how much she loves him (smut)

my girl - @punani

chris loves calling you his girl (smut)

the fluffer (masterlist) - @punani

it’s the 70′s and the erotic videos industry is experiencing another boom after the risen popularity in the previous decade. the studio’s are hot, gemini flanagan is a brand, and you’re a newly hired assistant at shaggin’ studios. chris takes a liking to you, altering your job description so that you get to work more closely with him. is this all just physical, or is there something more? (smut)

wedding shenanigans - @flowerbouquet

in which you and chris have a sneaky fuck in the bathroom during your best friends wedding (smut)

grocery run - @bucksfucks

innocently wearing chris’ shirt leads to you finding out just how much he can’t resist you (smut)

chain - @bucksfucks

chris tells you to bite down on his chain (smut)

home late (part 2) - @violetlilysunshine

smuttttttt

severance - @punani

the divorce process with chris is messy, seemingly never ending, and ultimately: heartbreaking. you had to be strong for your son, yourself, and eventually you wanted someone else to be strong for you, so, it seemed only natural that you would venture into the arms of another. however, sometimes the line between something officially ending or simply taking a break blurs when you’ve known someone for longer than you can remember (smut/baby fever/ex!reader)

so beautiful to me - @uprootbasic

despite being broken up and coparenting, chris still want to show you how much he loves you (smut/baby fever)

sundress season - @jurassicbarnes

in which all it takes is a pretty little dress to break his resolve (ex!reader/smut/baby fever)

mwah - @iguessweallcrazyithinktho

ur little bubba is obsessed with kissys and keeps leaning in to kiss you (baby fever)

long hair lover - @iguessweallcrazyithinktho

chris comes back from filming red sea diving resort and his baby daughter is crazy in love with his long hair (baby fever)

slobbery kisses - @iguessweallcrazyithinktho

chris wakes up to sloppy kisses by his baby (baby fever)

baby rose - @fluffymisha97

reader and chris had a little baby girl. but not everything is going that well, you're both trying to navigate life as new parents (baby fever)

eve - @kiwisomething

you drop your son off with his father and he invites you in (baby fever/ex!chris)

parenting is hard blurb - @lokiscu

chris and the reader have just had a baby and the lack of sleep mixed with lack of physical affection and time they have with one another gets to both of them and they end up fighting because of the stress (baby fever)

isla - @uprootbasic

the reader is a famous singer and always sings to her little girl. one night, chris and the reader decides to have this little jamming session with their baby. chris plays the piano while the reader sings I wanna hold your hand by the Beatles (baby fever)

the neighbours lights - @lokiscu

it’s your first Christmas with a baby (baby fever)

paparazzi - @ozarkthedog

chris evans and reader are both famous and one day they are out with their daughter when paparazzi start to follow them (baby fever)

thunder - @worksby-d

your daughter is scared of the thunder (baby fever)

she’s the one - @worksby-d

chris x singlemom!reader masterlist (baby fever)

protective stepdad chris x single!reader - @worksby-d

masterlist (baby fever)

truth be told - @kthynes

chris finds out he has a 6 month old baby because his partner didn’t have the chance to tell him that she is pregnant because they broke up (angsty??/baby fever)

not her - @agentofbarnes

chris wants a family and you just aren’t ready yet, but that doesn’t mean he wants you any less (angsty?)

the love we have - @kthynes

the reader is chris's ex wife and she's about to be married again to a guy she doesn't really love. so in the night of her bachelorette party she's really drunk and she ended up going to his apartment and tell him that she still loves him and that she wants to hate him because he was the one who file for divorce but she can't, then she leaves. on the day of the ceremony their 10 year old kid tells Chris that he should go after her before is too late (angsty??)

Frank Adler

i ruined our sweet tune - @rodrikstark

the last person you’d expect to see in florida is the hot professor from your undergrad philosophy class

buttons - @rodrikstark

buttoning franks shirt headcanon

waffles - @amylillian22

the morning after their usual saturday date night, y/n runs into mary unexpectedly. frank wakes up to find them making waffles

remember - @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

frank wakes you up at the ungodly hour of 3:30 am and will not even tell you why

breeding kink - @stargazingfangirl18

as the hot single dad everyone wants to get with, frank turns a few heads at back to school night, and well, you may get a little possessive (smut)

magic demeanor - @bloodiedskirtts

after moving back to Florida in the middle of a heat wave, things seem to be getting worse and worse. the only thing to make her days any better is her neighbour, Frank. with neither of them willing to admit that they can’t get enough of each other, a pesky shower malfunction may be the only way for them to tell each other how they feel (smut)

Ransom Drysdale

2:27 am - @cloudystevie

it’s 2:27 in the morning when ransom shows up at your doorstep, and he wishes he could tell you why

cold (third part of his return) - @kiwisomething

hugh is cold sleeping on the couch by himself

new man - @worksby-d

ransom loves to pretend he’s not whipped for you, but here he is letting you do your skin care routine on him

morning dew - @agentofbarnes

it was only supposed to be one night, but ransom can’t seem to get you out of his head (smut)

Andy Barber

the proposal - @fairyevans

andy takes the reader on a gorgeous vacation but everything goes wrong except the proposal

consequences - @stargazingfangirl18

life after your breakup with ransom (smut)

yes, mrs barber - @jurassicbarnes

in which you’re down on your knees, about to suck his dick within an inch of his life because it was the only way to shut him up (smut)

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xcrystalzero · 3 years

Text

let the rain fall

characters included: zhongli, diluc, childe, kaeya, venti, xiao

summary: it seems the genshin boys have their own preferences of how to spend a rainy day.

Zhongli:

- This gloomy atmosphere is nothing that can't be fixed with a fresh pot of fine tea and some good conversation.

- When a glance out the window makes it clear that you won't be going anywhere anytime soon, he's quick to invite you to stay for some tea and snacks.

- Despite his evident lack of Mora, he has no lack of niceties where he lives and you can only wonder who he got to pay for this high grade tea and fine china.

- He offers you a knitted blanket and the two of you sit at the table as he pours you a cup of tea. It tastes warm and homey and he even sweetened it perfectly to your taste.

- To fill the time, Zhongli does what he does best. He tells you stories about Liyue, both as it is now, and as he knew it when he was a younger god. He weaves modern stories of families warring in certain trade businesses with seemingly fantastical recollections of rock spirits carved into dragons and gods that warred between the sea and sky.

- To him, time may not be an issue, but in the hectic mortal life you live, you've never before been able to truly sit down and listen to the experiences of the man before you. Even as the sky outside clears, you can't bring yourself to rise from your seat and return to your normal life. After hearing about the life of a god, how could you?

Diluc:

- For him, it's business as usual at the Winery.

- Sure, he's probably not going to be making the treck to Mondstat to work the bar at Angel's Share if it's raining cats and dogs outside, but there's plenty of other work that has to get done that he can manage from home.

- If you do manage to pry him away from his desk, you attempt to draw him back to the bedroom to get a little bit of rest, but as you pass the study, his eyes light up and you can tell that he has something else planned now.

- Suddenly, you're sitting across from Diluc, a chessboard between you. If you have no idea how to play, he'll diligently take the time to instruct you, making sure that you're able to understand the game perfectly before he proposes a practice match. Otherwise, he comes out of the gate with that one and there's a strange competitive glint in his eyes that you've never really seen before.

- And so you play. Diluc, for all of his gentlemanly qualities, is not one to throw the match just because he likes you. In fact, that actually spurs him on even more to try and one-up you at every turn. The gameplay is accompanied by an uncharacteristic amount of banter between the two of you. Every time one person takes the match, the other immediately issues another challenge and so you play on and on.

- The maids come to check on you guys since they're sure that you'll burn out at this rate, but you seem to be having a lot of fun, and so they let you be. The weather and your responsibilities are all but forgotten about as the two of you get to spend this well-earned time off together.

Childe:

- Thinks the rain is really fun. Growing up in basically a polar tundra, he didn't really see rain all that much until he left his hometown and began his duties as a Harbinger.

- The novelty of the whole thing combined with his hydro vision and love of water means that he loves rainy days.

- Will 100% drag you out into the downpour just to play around. At first, it seems a little out of character, even for the playful Harbinger, but you quickly realize what he's actually trying to do.

- That aforementioned hydro vision comes in handy as Childe begins to move the raindrops around him, molding them into creations that you can't help but compare to the Oceanid's hyrdo mimics. He's clearly having a blast and the light in his usually flat cerulean eyes only brightens when he sees that you're impressed, or at least amused.

- He just likes to show off, but showing off in front of you is even better so he has a blast. Perhaps if you have a vision, you can join in and the two of you can cause as much chaos as you want before the clouds clear.

- It's a rare chance for you to see a more carefree side of Childe. Usually, even his boyish charm is often a calculated move in the diplomatic schemes he claims to hate so much but is just so good at manufacturing. This however, feels like the real Childe to you.

- Eventually, you drag him into your place to get cleaned up and out of your soaked clothing but even as the moment fades, the light in his eyes doesn't. He looks better like this, you think but don't say. Instead, you chose to enjoy this side of the Harbinger before it inevitably fades away once more.

Kaeya:

- Does not like the rain because of certain... complications with it in his past. He won't tell you but it's not too hard to figure out from his actions.

- When it does rain, he prefers to either hole himself up in his office, or settle happily into the corner of a tavern and burn time with his drinking buddies.

- On the chance that you decide to join him, he's quite grateful for your company. He offers to cover your tab this time if you get him the next time he's had a few too many, which you wave off. However, as he begins to down drinks at an alarming speed, you can't help but worry.

- So, you slow him down by drawing him into conversation. You begin to talk about the most random things, though you continuously bring the conversation back around to him so that it is Kaeya telling the stories and doing a lot of the actual speaking. Not only does this slow down his progress through the wine before him, but it draw the other patrons to you.

- Suddenly, you've gone from two people talking at the bar, to basically a large gathering of people, all holed in together telling their stories, bantering, and bickering, and enjoying themselves.

- It takes him a while since you were kind of slick about it, but the Cavalry Captain catches on eventually and the smallest of smiles comes to his face. A real one this time. Well well, as far as playing games goes, he's pretty sure you won this one. And he's glad about it.

- He becomes significantly more relaxed after that, though he leans into you for the rest of the night, resting his head on your shoulders or pulling you gently closer to him. Nothing spicy or suggestive. Just a gentle gesture to show that he really is grateful for all of this, and for you.

Venti:

- Decides that it's the perfect time to start singing in the square.

- No seriously, you're wandering around Mondstat looking for the guy, only to find him traipsing around at the base of his statue, singing into the sky.

- Obviously, you yell at him to come inside, mentioning that he's not going to get any coins for his songs if there's no audience out to listen to them. He laughs at that, giving you a quick lecture of the value of music outside of money.

- And then he grabs your hand and pulls you out from under the overhanging you were taking shelter under. You screech at first but it turns to giggles as he then holds his hand out to you. "May I have this dance? Hehe, I've always wanted to say that!" How could you turn away such an adorable archon?

- And so, you indulge him, letting him lead you in a dance that is more skipping and jumping about than really dancing, but it's fun and brings bubbles of laughter to your lips so you keep going. He sings throughout it, making your own music as you spin around one another.

- Your shenanigans begin to draw some looks as people begin to yell from their windows, requesting songs from Venti, along with whatever dance you decide to "choreograph" to them. Perhaps some will even leave their houses and join you, reveling in the cool summer rain and the song that seems to cut straight through it.

Xiao:

- Adepti are rarely bothered by the rain, but he notes that you don't seem particularly keen on setting foot outside right now and actually suggests that the two of you just stay at Wangshu Inn until it clears up a little.

- You're surprised by his care, though you're not complaining as you dip back under the roof, protected and dry.

- That being said, you can tell that he's getting kind of antsy and you don't want him to feel uncomfortable at all or like he's being held there for no reason. So, you decide to find an activity for the two of you that doesn't involve fighting and that you can do inside of the inn.

- It takes a little convincing but you manage to get Smiley Yanxiao to loan you guys the kitchen for a little while (he's not getting any customers either way in this weather). It's time, you decide, for Xiao to learn how to make Almond Tofu himself!

- He's a bit skeptical but you bring up that it is his favorite dish, and he does eat it pretty often, so he should probably know what goes into making it. He begrudgingly agrees and you start.

- As it turns out, having never cooked in his long life, Xiao is awful at it. You guys absolutely botch the recipe the first two times and you're sure that Xiao is going to bail on you, saying that this was a stupid idea and going back to sulking at the top of the inn. Surprisingly though, he actually stays and seems like he's invested in the entire process.

- On the third try, you guys finally come up with something tangible. After a taste, it's not quite on the level of the one Smiley Yanxiao makes, but it's still not bad. Xiao is tempted to just huff and take off, but the look of accomplishment and happiness on your face as you two share the dish you made together warms him in a way he only feels when he's around you.

-Perhaps he can afford to spend more rainy days indoors and idle, if it means spending them with you.

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #headcanon #zhongli #diluc #childe #kaeya #venti #xiao #diluc x reader #childe x reader #zhongli x reader #kaeya x reader #venti x reader #xiao x reader #genshin x reader

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secretobsessionstuff · 2 years

Note

could you possibly do a fic with dakota and blair where blair is really reeeaaallly sick like high fever, delusional, all the good stuff! sorry if this isn’t enough detail lol!

Another Anon asked: hi idk if you’re taking requests rn but i love your writing and i was wondering if you could write something about blair having a tummy bug and having really queasy burps before eventually puking in a bowl ?? if not it’s all good but i’m craving a sloshy, gurgly, burpy belly from blair !!!!

This is a continuation of my last post (HERE) where Dakota is sick. This time it's Blair who's sick. Thank you both for the lovely requests.

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

Of course, Blair caught it.

After spending all of Saturday taking care of Dakota as he vomited up the bug in his belly, it was a given that she would fall victim to it as well. So much for their quiet trip to the cabin.

Dakota had spent the first proper day of their vacation in the bathroom or buried under blankets. They were renting the cabin, so Dakota had felt out of place as he recovered in a house that didn’t belong to him. Still, it had a toilet and a bed, and that was all he really needed. From outside the large windows of the bedroom, he could see the lake, mocking and still. All he wanted was to dive into the cool water without feeling seasick. But obviously he felt sick with or without the sea.

Thankfully Blair managed to make use of the trip, reading on the dock while Dakota slept. She never got too invested in the book because she kept checking on Dakota every half hour. She would sit on the edge of the bed and feel the fever on his skin while he slept. Sometimes she came in and found him throwing up in the bowl that they dubbed the puke bowl. Blair decided that she would buy a new bowl for the cabin’s owner. She also decided that being a puke bucket family was better than bowl family. At least they never ate popcorn out of a bucket.

It didn’t hit Blair until late afternoon on Sunday. Dakota had felt well enough to swim in the lake, so that’s what he did while Blair lounged on the patio chair. The late summer sun was warm on her goosebumped-skin.

It didn’t occur to her to wonder why she was shivering under the sun, until Dakota had woken her up from her nap. The nausea hit her all at once. It had been bubbling and rising in her tummy while she slept, and now she could feel the full force of it.

She squinted at Dakota. He looked much better than he had the day before. His face wasn’t so pale, his eyes more alert. And he was smiling. He wasn’t up to eating anything big, but he was basically back to normal. Blair was just happy that he got the chance to swim. Before falling asleep, she watched Dakota swim back and forth between the wharf and the dock that was out in the middle of the water.

We should get a dog, she thought. Dakota used to have a German Shepherd. He would probably like to have another companion with just as much energy as him.

But these were Blair’s thoughts before she fell asleep. The only thought she had after waking from her nap, was that she was burning and shivering simultaneously. Her eyes were watery and hot, but the rest of her was begging for blankets. She wished the sun were higher in the sky. She wished Dakota didn’t cast such a large shadow over her body.

He sat on the reclining patio chair by Blair’s legs. “Maybe you shouldn’t have slept in the sun. Your cheeks are all rosy,” he said. “Did you have a nice nap at least?”

Blair swallowed thickly. It had been a nice nap until she realized that a stomach bug was lying in wait for her to wake up before it struck. The waiting was over, and now the virus was flooding her senses with nausea.

“It was fine,” she said, her expression twisted into a grimace. “I put sunscreen on.”

“Well, your face is red, babe.”

“I think I have a fever.”

Dakota’s smile slowly melted down his face, turning into a frown. “No. No, don’t say that. Does your stomach hurt?”

Blair gave a sad nod.

“No,” Dakota continued his lamenting. “Can’t it wait until we get home? I don’t want to be responsible for ruining your last days here.”

“I’ll submit the request at the next board meeting.” Blair’s stomach was beginning to wake up even more. And it was vocal about how much it hurt. It gave a long sick gurgle that seemed to travel from Blair’s lower belly to her throat. It came out as a wet burp that made her moan.

“Sounds like the plans are finalized,” Dakota said as he touched the side of her head. She leaned into his hand and closed her eyes. Dakota could feel the heat buried in her hair. “I’m so sorry, Bee.” He rubbed his thumb over her blotchy cheeks, hating how familiar the warmth was. The day before, that same fever was making his eyes burn. “Come inside before you burst into flames.”

“That would be nice. I’m freezing,” she said as Dakota helped her up from the chair. Dakota wasn’t sure if she meant that bursting into flames would be nice, or that going inside would be nice. He hoped it was the latter.

She began losing her balance, but Dakota pulled her into a hug to keep her from falling. Blair took full advantage of the hug and snuggled against Dakota’s chest. His bare chest was warm from soaking in the sun. He’d been out of the water long enough for everything to be dry, including his hair. She held onto him longer, waiting for the wave of dizziness to pass. She moaned from inside the embrace as her belly did a flip. The contents of her stomach had sloshed when she stood up, making her face pale with renewed nausea.

She couldn’t help the burps that escaped past her lips. They filled her mouth with a sour taste and made a shiver run down her spine.

Dakota heard the upset churning of her stomach and cooed. He was about to tighten the hug, to let her know that he felt bad for her, but then thought better of it. He remembered how sensitive his stomach had been. It had protested any movement or pressure. Judging by her queasy burps, she would not take kindly to a tighter hug.

“I don’t feel good,” Blair mumbled.

“You don’t sound too great either,” Dakota commented as a sick hiccup caused her shoulders to hitch. “Shall I fetch the puke bowl, madame?”

“Yes, please.” Blair hugged her arms around her chest when the cool air-conditioned interior of the cabin hit her. She sunk into couch—it was much comfier than the one they owned—and buried herself in a pile of blankets. There were already four blankets within arm’s reach because Dakota had used them the day before. She supposed that the cabin’s owner must rent out the place in the winter as well because they were well-stocked with all the cozy essentials. Now if only the air weren’t so cool.

Dakota placed the retched bowl on her lap and sat down beside her. He didn’t like the cocoon that she built for herself because it was only fueling her fever. But there were more pressing matters to worry about, namely the gag that burst from her chest.

“Wow wasting no time,” Dakota said he held the bowl for her. He wondered how his own stomach was going to fare against seeing Blair get sick. Oh well, he was going to find out. Blair had sacrificed part of her trip to take care of him, and now he would return the favour.

Blair groaned as saliva dripped into the bowl. Her shoulders rolled forward with each heave, but it was a slow process. Her stomach had a few more belches to get out before her actual lunch. The burps came from deep in her chest. Dakota was impressed but it did bring back memories that he wished to forget. He turned his head to the side, keeping his hold on the bowl.

“I’m sorry,” Blair choked out between belches. “This is gross—” A gag interrupted that thought. Her belly was roiling and gurgling. It ached with the need to empty itself. “Ugh, it hurts.”

Dakota looked back at her, worried by the fact that her words slurred together. Her eyes were barely staying open, and her head rolled from side to side as she suffered in pain. With a heavy belch, she brought up a small amount of sick that didn’t make it in the bowl because she was too disoriented to aim.

“Oh dear…alright,” Dakota said, realizing that the fever was making her drowsy and sluggish. With one hand, he held the bowl under her chin, and with the other he held her forehead. God, she was burning up.

Blair let out another belch, which was followed closely by a gurgling retch. This time Dakota was prepared. When the sick rushed out of Blair’s mouth, Dakota made sure that it landed in the bowl. It unsettled his stomach a little, but he never let go of her.

“Mmh, my belly,” Blair whined. “Kota…” she didn’t know what she was asking Dakota for, but his name came out of her mouth for no real reason. Maybe she was just trying to confirm that the ache she felt was real, that someone else understood how utterly horrible she felt.

And Dakota understood it better than anyone. “I know, baby.” His words of comfort turned to gentle shushes when another wave of vomit splattered into the bowl. “Oh, I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Blair shook her head. “…not okay. ‘M spinning. Make it stop.”

“You’re not spinning,” he promised her, but she didn’t believe him.

“Feels like…everything’s moving…and my head.” She grimaced at whatever sensation her body was feeling. Dakota knew how scary it could be. While lying in bed the day before, he swore that the room was closing in on him, the walls getting closer to him.

Dakota set the bowl of vomit to the side. She seemed to be done for now. He grabbed her hands, holding both of them to his chest. “Bee, look at me. I’m right here. I’m not moving.”

“…feels like—”

“It only feels like something is wrong,” he said, still holding her hands up against his chest. He wondered if she could feel his heart thump. He hoped the sensation would ground her. He tried to breathe deeply so that she had something to anchor her. Something slow and steady and constant. She didn’t seem to gain any lucidity, but she stopped moving about. She allowed her hands to be held, and just took long inhales and long exhales.

At this point, Dakota wondered if she was half-asleep, in the thralls of a fever dream. Then Blair retched, jerking forward from the force of the heave. It was unproductive; Dakota was thankful that he wasn’t wearing vomit. Though by the looks of it, he had to move fast if he wished to stay that way.

“Where’s the bowl?” she asked, her voice distorted by nausea. It actually gave Dakota some hope that she was alert enough to ask for the bowl.

If only it weren’t full.

Dakota swore under his breath. “Bee, can you stand?” he didn’t wait for an answer and started to pull her to her feet. “I’m taking you to the bathroom. Slowly, now.”

Blair didn’t care that he was trying to be gentle. Her body didn’t care that he was moving slowly; it didn’t like being upright. Her legs buckled as soon as her weight was placed on her feet. She slammed into Dakota’s chest.

“Oh gosh,” he mumbled before scooping her up into his arms.

Her poor belly did not like that. They were halfway to the bathroom when she burped up a small amount of sick that trickled down her chin.

“Ugh, are we moving?” she slurred out.

“Okay, now we are moving, but we’re almost at the bathroom.” He said, breathlessly. His weakened body did not like the added weight that he had to carry. Normally he had no trouble lifting Blair, but he was still getting over his own bug. He set her down on the floor with a sharp sigh.

Dakota wondered if all that had been done in vain. She obviously already threw up on the way here.

But Dakota had nothing to worry about; she was nowhere near empty. Her stomach convulsed again, and this time she managed to aim for the toilet bowl. Dakota rubbed her back, feeling the dampness on her clothes. She would need a shower when her stomach calmed down. Dakota knew that she would need his help getting cleaned. But for now, he simply traced circles on her back, preparing for another difficult night.

He laughed to himself when he remembered the promise that she made when he was the one with vomit on his shirt. She had promised to make this trip relaxing. He had joked that it was an arduous quest.

Even the noblest of knights failed in their quests sometimes.

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manias-wordcount · 3 years

Text

In Silence (Kazuha x Reader) PART ONE

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗶𝗺 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝗼 𝗰𝘂𝘁𝗲

𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁: 𝗼𝗻𝗲 || 𝘁𝘄𝗼 || 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 || 𝗲𝗽𝗶𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘂𝗲

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

The boy sits alone

Whenever coming through and from Liyue Harbor, Captain Beidou would always make an effort to stop by your family home.

The house has been passed down in your family for generations. It’s right on the water with its own little dock. From the little fishing boats to the stables and the barn, everything had been built by hand and improved upon over time. Wings had been added to make accommodation for your ever-growing family. Wood planks are replaced again and again as they grow old and grow rotten. Built-up and built again, through storm and fire. Trial and Error. Sickness and Health.

Otherwise, out where you lived, it was peaceful. The nearest neighbors were always just a speck in the distance- too hear but close enough to know they’re there. In fact, just the sound of the sea, the birds, and the wind keep you company. Hardly anyone came to visit out here. It was a two-day trip by horse to Liyue Harbor. But on the clearest nights, your grandmother swears she could see the lights.

The next day, Captain Beidou and the Crux would always appear on your docks.

It’s always midday. Always with just enough time to clean the kitchen after lunch. And as your family lines up outside your home, Captain Beidou would always greet your grandparents first- bowing at them respectfully. Next, she would turn to your parents- offering a more than generous stack of Mora that they’d humbly reject (every time) before she eventually made them cave and accept it (every time). Then she’d smile at you and say, “You looking out for your crew, kid?”

And then you’d frown and remind her how you’re hardly a kid anymore considering you’re the oldest of nine, but you know your words will never change the image she has of you. After that, she’ll produce something shiny yet durable for your siblings to fight over and enter your home for a home-cooked meal and speak with your parents and grandparents about all she needs to know about her next journey. And while your grandfather would chatter about what his fishing buddies said and your mother would gossip about what she heard from the neighbor’s son, the crew of the Crux would stay outside with you. In between playing around with your siblings, they would ruffle your hair and ask to exchange stories with you. While there was hardly a dull day as one of Captain Beidou’s very own, your eight little brothers and sisters proved to be worthy adversaries to just how crazy the life of a pirate is.

When they leave, it’s under a pitch-black sky and a big, bright, beautiful moon. Your siblings will always try to stay up long enough to see the Crux sail off, but they never get the chance. In the end, it’ll always be you, your parents, and your grandparents watching them off into the night. You stay on the docks, watching them go longer than your grandfather. He walks off muttering about how he has a chill in his bones. You stay longer than your mother, who needs to deliver a round of goodnight kisses before she heads off to bed. And when she delivers a peck to your forehead, your father decides that it’s now a good time to head inside too- to clean up and to join your mother in the comforts of their own bed. You and your grandmother stay and watch the lights of the brilliant boat disappear into the distance. And when all sound of the boisterous crew is silenced by the distance, you offer up a quick little prayer to the Archons for a safe voyage. Then you turn to your grandmother, grab her hand, lead her inside and send her off to bed. That is how things have always been.

But in hindsight, you should have known this time would have been different. Because for a moment, last night…

...you swore you could see the Harbor too.

When you woke up this morning, the sun had just barely peaked its head above the waves. The sky was a glorifying blue that faded into almost sea green color as the minutes crept by. You weren’t sure what woke you up. But all you knew was that you couldn’t fall back asleep. The house was dead silent. Not a soul was up- not even your two youngest brothers who insisted on sleeping in your bed last night to fight off the big, scary hilichurls in their bad dreams. So without much thought, you found yourself shrugging your blanket off and creeping out of your room to venture further into your house.

You don’t know what possessed you to immediately look out the windows facing the water. But you’re glad you did. Because despite the heavy morning fog that blanketed the sea during the early hours of the day, you were able to see it. The Crux. Sailing right towards your home.

And never have you ever seen them arrive this early.

Without hesitation, you got to work. It’s a whole ordeal waking your family and preparing them for today. Your mother sends the second eldest, your younger sister sprinting up a nearby hill to fetch your father. He stayed the night at a neighbor’s house, helping them with their latest carpentry projects while you all slept. Meanwhile, your mother employs you to help her bathe and dress your siblings before sending you off to tend to your daily duties in a hurry. At the same time, your grandparents take over in the kitchen, giggling to themselves about how they haven’t had to run around like this since they were newlyweds.

In between bites of breakfast, your siblings help you check up, feed, and count all the animals. It’s a little hard when all the little ones want to do is pull on the dog tail’s and the older ones are more content with the idea of watching the ducks swim around in lazy circles rather than taking care of them. But one quick threat about a time-out the entire time the Crux is here just so happens to be more than enough to get the remaining seven of them into shape. By the time your chores are over, your father and sister had returned with enough time to wash up and grab a little something to eat, only two of your siblings had to change their shirts and clean their faces again, and all the animals are accounted for. Although, you did count one more cat than you had yesterday. But that’s a problem for later.

Because you could see the serious look on Captain Beidou’s face even before the anchor had lowered.

There was a boy standing next to Captain Beidou.

She bowed at your grandparents like always. Her brown hair flowing lightly behind her as the sun caught against the gold accents on her clothes as she paid her respect to them. Then, she turned to your parents with the bag of Mora. It had never been this full before. This time, your parents took it with a silent nod. There was no back and forth. There was something that needed to be done. She turned her attention to you and ruffled your hair. She didn’t call you kid this time, but that was okay.

Because there was a boy standing with Captain Beidou. And you had a feeling his appearance meant that she needed you to be an adult now. And that was okay.

Your siblings take that as an opportunity to rush her and the strange boy. The little ones, unused to strangers, flock to Captain Beidou and peek at the newcomer between her legs. As for your older ones, they hesitantly approach the boy, not-so-subtly gawking at his appearance. They reach out, almost as if they were going to touch him- to see if he was real- when your grandfather shakes his head with a stern expression on his face. There was something that needed to be done.

With that look, Captain Beidou follows your parents and your grandparents inside the house. Your siblings now distract themselves with the usual members of The Crux (who seem a little more purposely energetic than they should this early in the morning) and you’re left watching the backs of the five people you respect the most disappear into the house. Before the door closes, Captain Beidou purposely stops and looks at you.

When you catch her gaze, she stares long and hard before flicking her to the boy who stands beside you in complete silence. The kid she used to see in you is gone. She needs the oldest of nine now, and you’re more than willing to do anything for her- especially if it involves your family. Finally, she turns around and steps through the doorway, letting the door slam shut behind her. Your siblings aren’t fazed by the loud bang caused by the heavy wooden door. Neither are the members of the Crux and the boy beside you. And to be honest, you aren’t either.

But the shouting is what catches you off guard. Because the walls to your old, old home are very thick. But there are cracks here and there. And those cracks allow for the words to escape. Words like “Fugitive” creep underfoot while the word “Samurai” escapes through the window. The word “Vision” travels to the chimney just to meet your ears. And the name “Baal” makes its grand entrance by the usage of all the little chips in the walls- the very same ones that let in the cold at night. But the grandest word of them all does not bother to hide themselves. Instead, it just allows itself to be bellowed in a great, big mighty roar. And that’s what scares you.

Because never have you ever expected the word “Inazuma” to exit your front door as you watch on in silence.

#kazuha #kazuha genshin #kazuha genshin impact #kazuha kaedehara #kaedehara kazuha #kazuha x reader #kazuha kaedehara x reader #kazuha genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin fanfiction #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact fanfic #fanfic #x reader #xreader

289 notes · View notes

ghostwise · 3 years

Text

not a homecoming, but something like it

There are two men arguing in front of her home.

This is a nuisance, but not an uncommon one. Her neighbors are colorful and loud, so she’s used to people being in her way. Gente estorbosa. Normally she would’ve simply pushed past them to get to her gate. However, these are no neighbors of hers, and that makes her hesitate.

The two men are not speaking Antivan, but she knows enough languages to follow along, even with the street’s lively background chatter.

“This is a mistake,” one of them says.

“At least it’ll be in character, then,�� the other replies.

Adelmar shifts the grocery basket on her hip, waiting. They’ll move on their own soon enough, she suspects. Or perhaps they’ll notice her and confront her for eavesdropping. Oh! Then they’d get an earful.

“I am being serious. Why would she remember me, hm?”

“You remember her.”

“That doesn’t mean anything—”

“I think it means more than you expected it to. I think that’s why you’re trying to back out at the last minute.”

Adelmar is not sure what the men are arguing about. She’d assumed their relationship to be contentious but now the shorter of the two steps close to his companion, looping an arm around his waist in an unmistakably supportive and affectionate gesture.

“If you really think this is a mistake, then let’s go, vhenan.”

Neither of them moves.

Adelmar clears her throat. Fascinating as the conversation is, she doesn’t have all day. She has dinner to get started, and her basket is getting heavy.

They turn to look at her, and she drops everything.

Tinned coffee and spices, parcels of lamb, and oranges, which roll out across the cobbled street.

“¿Zevran?” Adelmar’s voice is uncertain. She never expected to speak that name again, but those eyes and that hair…

“Zevran… Chivito. No puedo creerlo.”

The man Zevran is with has begun to pick up her groceries, although somewhat haphazardly, dropping one orange for every three he grabs. “You see?” he calls out, darting after a can and swiping it before it gets rolled over by a cart. “I knew she’d recognize you!”

And Zevran, the little boy she’d read stories to in the brothel, the same brown eyes, just taller, smiles at her like she’s singing a song and he’s in her lap again.

The scene, with all its noise and shouting in the background, and fruit rolling this way and that, feels briefly absurd. Is she imagining this? She has to make sure. She needs to just look at him. Stepping across a gap of decades (but it’s really only a few feet), she reaches for Zevran. She touches his face. Notices his tattoo. Frowns.

“Ay,” she murmurs, removing her hand. It is him.

He bursts out laughing.

“Qué gusto me da verte.”

Close by and with the biggest smile, Hamal Mahariel watches, holding the basket with all the groceries Adelmar has dropped.

It had come up in conversation, casually, a few days earlier. They had been investigating a mark, and Zevran, in the midst of planning and preparing, mentioned, “You know, I grew up near here.”

Hamal blinked. Sometimes he suspected that growing up meant something different for Zevran than it did for him. Did he mean he’d become a Crow here, just thirteen when he’d first killed?

When asked to clarify Zevran gestured at the map before them. He pointed a finger just a few centimeters from their present location.

“Rialto. I lived there before the Crows… acquired me.”

“Mm,” Hamal said, mulling it over. It was always a careful balance on his part to gauge whether it was alright to press for information, or better to let Zevran share at his own pace. But he was curious. Zevran seldom spoke of his early years.

“I’d love to see it, if you’re up to visiting,” he said finally.

“Perhaps. If we have time.” Zevran smiled warmly at him. “But really, amor, the place means very little to me. I have no childhood home, unless you count the brothel my mother worked at. I had no family. No friends. None that would remember me, anyway.”

Then why bring it up? Hamal wondered.

“Consider it a sentimental request from your husband,” he said.

Zevran rolled up the map quietly. He planted a quick kiss on Hamal’s cheek.

“That, I can do.”

Adelmar’s home is small and welcoming, with a tiny patio separating the living area from the kitchen and washroom. Her husband is away for a few days. Her children, grown and gone. She has all the time in the world. She wants to hear everything.

“How did you find me?” she asks, looking at Zevran with wonder. A part of her still can’t believe he’s here.

“We happened to be in Rialto. I… asked around.”

“You went to El milagro,” Adelmar guesses.

Zevran gestures noncommittally.

“I haven’t been there for years and years. It feels like a lifetime ago. I’m surprised anyone remembered, or knew enough to send you my way,” she said. “I’m surprised you looked for me at all…”

Adelmar takes a deep breath. She’s stirring up memories—old thoughts and feelings, few of them pleasant, otherwise she would find it nostalgic.

Quickly, she catches herself and shakes off the gloom. She sets a hand on Zevran’s shoulder.

“But I’m glad you did. I really am so happy to see you. Look at how you’ve grown.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should come,” Zevran admits. “My husband convinced me. He’s nosy. It is why I keep him around.”

He chances a glance at Hamal, who is staying well out of the way. His Antivan still being rather rusty, he’s left Zevran and Adelmar to their conversation, and is currently helping chop vegetables for a stew.

“Well I’m glad for that,” Adelmar says, looking between the two men and beaming. Little Zevran—at her kitchen table and married no less!

“I never forgot you, Zevran,” she tells him. “If I had moved a little faster, saved a little more money, I would have left and brought you with me. You were so smart. You were always moving, running around, playing. In the end, it seems we both escaped to better circumstances,” she says finally, closing her eyes and sighing.

“Thank the Maker,” Zevran adds solemnly. Adelmar smiles, pleased at his manners.

“I’m so glad you’re doing well. So tell me,” she scoots closer and looks at him eagerly, “What sort of life did you have, after you were adopted?”

“Adopted?”

By the kitchen counter, Hamal catches the subtle edge in Zevran’s tone. He pauses, holding the knife in his hand as a lull falls over the kitchen table, but he doesn’t know enough Antivan to guess what’s happened.

What’s happened is this: Zevran and Adelmar came from the same place, and know enough about that life to instantly understand that a lie has been told.

“Oh,” Adelmar breathes after a moment. “You… you weren’t adopted.”

Zevran lets out a laugh. It’s his ‘stalling’ laugh, and now Hamal is looking over, arms crossed, searching his face for clues.

“I was not adopted,” he says. “But do not trouble yourself over that.” Then, smoothly redirecting, he gets up and locks eyes with Hamal.

“Shall I boil some water?” he asks, switching out of Antivan.

The tense moment is gone. Hamal nods, glancing at Adelmar. “I’ll start the fire.”

There’s a reason why the kitchen is kept apart from the rest of the house. While the soup simmers, they bring their visit to the adjacent patio, where a cool breeze offers relief. Tree branches from the outside—from a tamarind tree growing in the street—have stretched out over the wall and blessed Adelmar’s patio with shade and fruit.

Hamal makes a face when he tastes it. Glancing at Zevran, he holds his gaze and waits just long enough to make it clear he’s less than partial to the flavor.

“So delicious, vhenan.”

Zevran laughs. “Wait until you try it in drink form.”

“If you make it, I am sure I will enjoy it.”

Adelmar, knowing she’s touched upon a shared hurt between her and Zevran, makes up for it by talking about anything else. She is particularly interested in their wedding, and is scandalized when she hears they’ve only been married a few weeks.

“I missed it!” she exclaims.

“It was quite sudden, my friend,” Zevran says, as if there’d been a chance of her attending. “Spontaneous. Just the two of us. Very romantic.”

Hamal taps the handcrafted silver band around his ring finger. He gestures at Zevran. “Él lo hizo,” he says in the most accented Antivan ever. “Muy, muy… bello.”

Dinner is delicious. Despite some language barriers, their conversation is easy and effortless. It’s also, intentionally, vague. Adelmar learns that they met in Ferelden, that they’re on an important journey, and that the journey is a dangerous one.

Most importantly, she also learns that Zevran’s heart has survived its rocky passage into adulthood, whole, if not unscathed. The core of the little boy she’d known in the brothel is there, even if he himself does not realize it. It brings her immense comfort.

The visit ends all too quickly, and though she asks them to stay the night, she isn’t surprised when they decline.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Hamal tells Zevran, who relays the message to Adelmar.

“You and Hamal are welcome, always,” Adelmar assures him. “Will you visit again?”

“If it is less dangerous,” Zevran says. “We were not followed here. But repeated visits might be difficult. Risky.”

“I understand. Not right away, then. When you can. We still have so much to talk about.”

“I would like that,” Zevran agrees.

They share one last hug, the three of them, and Adelmar watches them slip into the night.

“I need to brush up on my Antivan,” Hamal says. “But I enjoyed meeting her.”

“She liked you a lot,” Zevran says, smiling. Hamal laughs.

“You talked about me?”

“Of course. I had to show you off.” He winks at him. Then, with a soft intake of breath, Zevran looks away with his brow furrowed, the lines of his tattoo tense.

“… They told her I’d been adopted. All these years, and she had no idea. I’m almost sorry she had to find out otherwise.”

They’ve traveled for hours, leaving the city behind. Bright points of light shine overhead. The night sky of Antiva smells of jasmine and the distant sea.

“That’s awful,” Hamal says, looking at him.

“What a farce,” Zevran says bitterly. “Just like everything the Crows do. Operating in the open, but hidden from view. Buying children and lives while people look the other way.” Earnestly, his brown eyes black in the dark, he shakes his head. “It must end. It must.”

Hamal touches the lines of his tattoo, calloused fingers grounding him.

“Ma nuvenin, Zevran Arainai. It will.”

A short piece to introduce my OC, Adelmar Provencio. If you ever read my WIP For Suffering is Such a Part, you’ve met her through flashbacks already. While I love the idea of Zevran taking down the Crows alone, please consider, Zevran taking down the Crows with the support of a community, strengthened by the bonds he’s made in his life...

Adelmar plays a further role in the story, so hopefully I can write more for her!

#dragon age #zevran arainai #mahariel #zevran x warden #rinnywrites #oc: hamal mahariel #oc: adelmar provencio

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travellingarmy · 4 years

Text

║Childe║So Long

Zhongli is here as well.

Angst.

Word count: 2k

---

"I don't think I can keep up with this.." The words that came out of his mouth made your heart ache and worried. You didn't understand what he was getting at, or maybe you did know what he was saying but just didn't want to admit it. "What are you saying, Tartaglia?" you asked to make sure, feeling your heart slowly deteriorate. You reached your soft hands and cupped his face, trying to make him look at you.

"I know you're smart, (Y/N)." He looked up at you with cold eyes, no love could be seen in them at all. "I'm breaking up with you."

Those words. The words you so desperately wished you never heard from the person you loved came out of his mouth without hesitation. At that moment, your whole world came crumbling down as easily as the Anemo Archon blowing the snow of Pilos Peek away.

"You're not serious, are you? This is one of your pranks, right?" You clutched his collar and looked desperately in his eyes, to look for any signs of his mischievous glimmer. He avoids looking at your now tearful eyes. When you couldn't, you pleaded and pleaded for him to be joking and saying that it wasn't a funny joke. Then, "(Y/N)." The call of your name in his cold tone and the hand on your wrist said it all to you.

On that beautiful morning, you got up to make breakfast, expecting Tartaglia home from his work as a Harbinger with bags underneath his eyes. Who knew that that bright blue sky above you had something else in store for you. Instead of it greeting you, it was there to comfort you of what was to come that day.

You let go of his collar, staring down at the ground as you watch your tears hit the wooden floor. "I see.. I'll pack my things." You packed your stuff in less than half an hour and was at the door with your belongings- which was only your clothing in a bag since you thought it would be best to leave home items with him. "I've made you breakfast.. Make sure you eat it and get some rest."

"So long, Tartaglia."

That was the last time you last spoke to him and the last time you saw him. You returned to your parents for a couple of months before disappearing one night to Liyue, not giving them a single clue as to where their beloved child went.

When you arrived at Liyue, you started a whole new life of independence and to get away from the place that holds the most memories of Tartaglia and you, forever.

Although you had a lot of mora- considering as you are from Snezhnaya- you didn't want to spend too much on a place to sleep. Finding shelter was the easy part, it was finding a job that was the most difficult part of a independent life, especially in Liyue. It wasn't until one bright day, when you were out shopping, that you landed yourself a job at Wangsheng Funeral Parlour.

You saw a tall, ombre-haired, and well-dressed man fumbling around in his pockets and an impatient look of another person just a few metres away. Curious, you walked closer. "I, I'm sorry. Could you please hold on to that as I come back with my wallet?" the well-dressed man says, almost pleading to the one behind the stall.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we have a lot of customers; we can't simply wait for you to come back," they answered, crossing their arms. You see that the ombre-haired male looked a bit saddened and out of the kindness of your heart, you intervened. "Oh, hey, there you are," you greet, acting as if you knew the male. You pretend to curiously look at the items and acted as if you knew what was happening. "Ah, did you forget your wallet again? Here, let me pay for his things."

You took out your wallet and paid for the things the male brought, which wasn't that much. Again, you're from Snezhnaya. When you two were far away from the eyes of the impatient person, the man thanked you. "Oh, it's no problem. I just felt kind of bad and wanted to help," you said, smiling.

"Is there any way I can repay you? I can get my wallet from my house and-" You waved him off. "It's fine, trust me. I really just wanted to help," you reassure the man.

He stares at you in silence with his unique eyes, inspecting you from head to toe before finally saying something. "You're not from around here, are you?" he asks. You shook your head and answered, "No. I actually moved here not too long ago."

You see the male's eyes light up. "Then, I'm assuming you don't have a job, am I correct?" he says to which you nod. "This works well with me. Then, come to Wangsheng Funeral Parlour tomorrow." He didn't give you a chance to say anything as he quickly bids goodbye, leaving you questioning until the next day.

It wasn't hard to find the funeral parlour with the help of locals to point you to the right direction. When you got there, you see a woman in Liyue esque clothing in front of the door. "Um, excuse me." You walked closer to the female, getting her to turn her head towards you. "I was told by someone to come here today."

With just those words, the woman's eyes lit up and gave a small smile. "Ah, I've heard about you from Mr. Zhongli." You gave her a quizzical look. Was that his name, you thought. "He said that the person who comes to me in your description and looking for him, to hire you on the spot." It felt surreal to you, but the woman reassured you that what she said is true.

Since then you and Zhongli have gotten closer and passed the point of acquaintance and co-workers. In just a couple of months, you two became lovers and in years, you were engaged. You thought you would never have the heart to love anybody else but Tartaglia. Who knew that your fated person was just a sea away? You two were very happy, but then he came into your life again and the still healing heart cracked a bit.

Zhongli said that he would be leaving the house earlier today, but that he'll see you at work. You didn't question him and gave a quick kiss on the lips before he left. After a few hours, it was time for you to also get out of the house and go to work.

You expected to see Zhongli already at the parlour, but when you asked the female at the front, she said that Zhongli hadn't entered the building once. You didn't mind it, of course, and went to do your things. It wasn't until lunch break that you went searching for Zhongli.

It wasn't hard to spot him out on the streets since he was very tall. His back was facing you and could see that there was a person in front of him, seeing a bit of their shoulders. A smile tugs your lips at the sight of him and jog towards him. "Zhongli!" you called out. The male turns around and a smile soon appears on his charming face. "Ah, good afternoon, my dear," he says, cupping your face and kissed your forehead. "Sorry, have I made you worried by not showing up at work?" You shook your head, knowing that you have full trust in him. "Ah.. This is awkward.." The voice that was soon to be a whisper in the wind suddenly howls back into your ears.

Zhongli slightly turns his body so that you could see the person whom he had been talking to. Your eyes widened and felt your heart drop into the pit of your stomach and many questions arose. "Tar-"

"Oh, right. This is Childe," Zhongli says, cutting you from your soft whisper. You look at Zhongli and knew that he knows nothing of the past history between you and Tartaglia and you decided to keep it that way by not saying anything about it. "Childe, this is (Y/N), the one whom I'm happy with."

You didn't want to talk to him, but if you said nothing, Zhongli might be suspicious. "Ah, hello, I'm (Y/N)," you greet, putting on a forced smile full of bitterness and hate towards the male. "Hey, I'm Childe." He puts on a smile which made you wanna gag. "I've heard about you from Mr. Zhongli over here."

"I'll join you for lunch after I'm done talking to Childe here, alright, my dear?" Zhongli says and you nod quietly and stood beside him, counting seconds until they were done and had to part.

You didn't want to bring Tartaglia up once in your new and happy relationship with Zhongli so you talked about different things that won't be tied anywhere close to the man who broke your heart many moons ago. It was difficult though, since Zhongli has been talking to him more often and he's freely walking the streets where you two might cross.

You thought you could keep it up, until one evening, when you were passing by the harbour. You see Tartaglia by the docks, staring out at the vast, blue see before him, eyes dimmed as if he was staring off to space. It was very unfortunate that you had to walk pass the male but you had to go home. "(Y/N)."

The call of your name from his mouth made you stop on your tracks. He turns around and stares at your side profile. You bit the inside of your cheeks and stare at the ground. "Hey, listen, can we talk?" he asks. There was a tone in his voice that made you want to hear him out, but you thought to yourself of the day he broke up with you in a cold tone. "Please?"

You sighed and walked towards him, head still not meeting his eyes. You too just stood there as your head remained on the ground and his eyes were staring off into the distance. Then, "I guess I should congratulate you in your engagement," he starts off, his voice soft. You hummed in response.

"Uhm, your family is worried about you in Snezhnaya, you know? They came to my house and asked where you were," he said. You didn't know where he was getting at but let him continue. "They are still looking for you even after so many years."

"Why are you saying all this, Tartaglia?" you say his name with venom, finally meeting his eyes with hate. However, his was gentle and soft. "Ah, I, I don't really know," he says and looks at the ground slightly, putting his hands in his pocket. "If we're done here, I'm leaving." You turn around and walked away, but then stop to look over your shoulders at the male whose body was faced towards you, eyes reflecting the moon and stars above.

"Forget that we were ever a thing and pretend that we are no more than mere acquaintances. Isn't the reason why you broke up with me is because you were tired? Well, I've done the moving on and wish nothing more to never have met you." It was your turn to stare at the man before you with cold eyes and devoid of light. "After you're done here, leave. So long, Tartaglia."

Looking at your back that will never turn around to look at him with the same eyes, Tartaglia knew that what he did many years ago really broke you. He never wanted this to happen and when he knew of your engagement with Zhongli, his heart broke. If only he was stronger back then to protect you, you two would be the one with rings meant as promises to each other.

"So long, my love."

---

#genshin zhongli #genshin impact #genshin impact oneshots #gender neutral #genshin childe #childe oneshot #childe x reader #angst #genshin angst #x reader

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supercorpkid · 4 years

Text

What the hell, you’re in hell.

Part 2 of T is for Trauma - The Series

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 2040.

Warnings: kidnapping. Injuries. Angst.

Previously on the series – part 1

Things have not yet fallen into place with your moms. Of course that, as a family, sometimes you all say things you didn’t actually give too much consideration and end up kind of hurting each other’s feelings on the way. Most of the time, there’s a big apology, hugging and crying. You haven’t done any of those things during the night, and in the morning, you were kind of late for school so you didn’t have time to talk to them. To be fair, you didn’t even see them since your big blow out.

So, after school you say goodbye to Jamie, and decide to walk to L Corp. Since people are now paying more attention to the sky, you don’t want any more pictures of you flying around for a while. You don’t know how your momma pulls off not being recognized just by using glasses and a ponytail, but you sense you might not be able to do the same.

You’re on your way to L Corp to finally talk to Lena. You know that you hurt Kara too, but you did worse with Lena saying you didn’t expect better from her. That was shitty of you, and you know it.

Sure, there were also a bunch of things that you said that were totally true. Now that you think about it, you were only trying to convince yourself that you didn’t care that they never show up at your science fair, physics decathlon, or anywhere else in the school aside from the principal’s office to hear something bad about you. You don’t know why they stopped doing that when you got older, but not seeing their proud and loving face in a sea of people that hate you, really did a number on you.

Jamie has obviously noticed that this was the reason you left in the middle of the event, and she went all therapist Olsen on you and told you, you should tell them the truth. Tell them it hurts, that you miss them there, and apologize for saying it so aggressively.

So, your plan is talking to Lena first, and then buying some donuts and flying to CatCo right after, so you can talk to Kara. You could never know none of these plans would come true.

You’re walking, when you pass a black van parked close to the sidewalk and you feel something burning in your body. That’s so weird, you’ve only felt like this once. And only when you’re shot with a Kryptonite bullet.

You try to run, but your legs feel wobbly, and you can’t go very far before your legs give in and you fall on the ground. You look behind you, to a guy leaving the van, and going towards you. You take off your glasses to see inside the van, but you can’t see anything.

“Lex was right, Kryptonite always works.” You hear when the guy is in front of you, but you can’t see his face, it is covered with a black mask. You know they have kryptonite, but you have to call your momma for help. You put your hand on the watch and he notices your movement. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, child.” He easily lifts you up by the wrist, and takes the watch out.

He is not just a normal guy. You can see by the way he lifts you up like you weigh nothing. He either has super strength or some other kind of power.

“What do you want from me?” You manage to ask and he laughs right at your face. He walks back to the van, you’re still hanging a few feet off the ground, by the wrist. You look around to see if no one is seeing this clearly evil person carrying a girl to a black van, and your answer is that no one is. And the ones that are, certainly don’t care.

“Why would I want anything from a child?” He throws you in the van and you look around to see the kryptonite. It’s so close to you now, that you feel the burn going inside your bloodstream, and you whimper.

You look outside at the man’s hand, and you see him dropping your watch on the ground. He was smart, not to take it with him, ‘cause Kara could track you with it. Your hand goes instinctively to your necklace, as long as you still have that, Lena can track you.

“What do you have there?” One of the other guys notices your hand and tries to take it away from you. You fight, punching him with all the strength you have left, and he falls back with a hand on his nose. But you can’t fight all three of them, not while being exposed to Kryptonite. So, they snatch the necklace out of your neck and dump it on the street.

“No, please, no. It’s just a necklace, it’s my grandmother’s necklace, please.” You cry out, but they take no pity. They close the van and drive you away for good.

You want to take the high road, you really do. You want to go quietly and pretend that you don’t care about the fact that you’re being kidnapped right now, but if there’s a slight chance that Kara can hear your cry for help, then you don’t really care about taking the high road.

So you cry and you scream. You do everything you can to get help before you’re taken to Rao knows where, but help doesn’t come.

You try to use your x-ray vision to know where they are taking you, but, and you can’t believe you’re thinking this, these kidnappers are kind of smart, because they covered the van in lead, so you can’t see out, and Supergirl can’t see in.

“So you work for Lex Luthor. Why is he sending people to kidnap me?” You scoff, with not so much strength left in you.

“I don’t work for Lex!” He yells looking extremely offended by your insinuation. “He simply gave me some ideas, but I’M the brain of this operation.”

“Ok. Then what do you want from me?” You ask again, not satisfied with the last answer. “If you want to fight, stop the car and I’ll fight you!”

“No offense, but I can’t fight you. You’re like twelve.” Offense very much taken, excuse him. “I can’t fight a kid. And I don’t want to anyways, I want Supergirl.”

“Why?” You should’ve known. You always knew someday you would get into serious trouble because some evil jackasses are trying to get to your momma, but right now? While you’re in the middle of a fight with her?

“You’re too young to understand!”

“I’m not too young!” He scoffs like he is sure you’re twelve and you huff. “I’m sixteen!”

“Boss, you said we were kidnapping a kid.” Says one of the other men, looking at you in shock.

“It’s not my fault she looks so young.”

“So you’re ok with kidnapping a kid, but not a teenager?” You ask one of the guys and he looks back at you.

“Shut up, I think you broke my nose, you stupid shit!”

You open your eyes, and look around. You don’t remember closing your eyes in the first place, so it is very surprising when you open them and find yourself in a low light lit room. The only thing you see clear is a chair, and the ‘brain of the operation’ in it.

“Hello child.”

You want to punch his face so badly, but you can’t. They have you wrapped in chains with kryptonite in the middle. It burns so much you can’t even get up from where you’re lying on the floor.

“How long do you think it will take for Supergirl to find you?” He mocks and you try to use your x-ray vision to find out where you are, but it’s all made of lead. “I do think we made it too hard for her. She can’t track you. She can’t see through lead… I wonder if she will find you before the kryptonite kills you because of over-exposure.”

“Let me go.” You grunt, your voice almost gone and you hear laughter in response.

“Your mother put me in jail for years. I had a child too, you see. Now he is a man, and wants nothing to do with me.”

“Is there where you met Lex?”

“Why are you so interested in Lex Luthor? Oh, yeah. He is your mom’s arch enemy” He tilts his head to look at you. “I told him all about my hate for the Supers, so he gave me some ideas. And I guess he was right. I mean, just look at you. You look like you’re dying and I didn’t even have to hurt you.”

“You shouldn’t follow Lex’s footsteps. He is sentenced for a lifetime.”

“I thought you were dying, but you are way too talkative for someone who’s dying. Should I black you out again?”

“Supergirl will find me and you’re going back to jail to keep Lex company for the rest of your lives.” You growl between your teeth.

“I might. Or you might die first and I’ll have the last laugh. I guess we'll see.” He walks to where you are. “I must say, it’s an incredibly powerful feeling to make a Kryptonian bleed.” He stomps on your head, and you see nothing after that.

When you wake up again, you can taste the blood on your mouth. You feel weak and nauseated, and your ears are ringing loudly. You don’t open your eyes, because you also hear muffled voices. It’s hard for you to make up the conversation with the constant noise in your ear. You focus on the conversation, and try to forget the pain you’re feeling.

“She’s totally green. Look at her. She looks like Shrek.” Laughter. “Maybe she died already?”

Nope, still pretty much alive and suffering, thank you.

“Maybe coming to Gotham was a little much. Supergirl will never find her.”

Gotham? Fuck. He is right, your momma might not find you before you die of over-exposure.

“I’m so bored. Let’s go grab something to eat. She’s either dead or dying, so who cares?”

Well, he is right. You are dying.

You open one eye, the one that was not directly stepped on, and you see you’re indeed alone. Ok, you’re dying, but you’re not dead yet. What can you do?

There’s not much in the dim lit room, or at least not a lot you can make out with your one watery eye, anyway. There is one thing, only one thing that can help you. An old radio system. The best kind.

You force yourself up. Your head is heavy and you barely can’t leave it up. You can’t stand up, so you crawl to it. The taste of blood is strong on your mouth, your stomach is twisting and growling inside, you know you’re minutes away from throwing up all over yourself and passing out again.

You open the radio, you’re not even sure how, do you still have super strength? Is it just poorly made? It doesn’t matter, the only thing that matters right now is that you are able to pass your location to someone.

- - . .. -

-- .. -- .- -.

You press the button a few times and close the shell again, crawling back to the place you were, and laying down while panting because of the pain and the effort. You close your eye, and pray to Rao your message is received by them. You pray they’re looking for you. And you pray you don’t die before telling them you’re sorry for all the things you said, and that you love them more than anything in the universe.

It doesn’t take long until you hear the men coming back to where you are. You stay completely still, and even hold your breath to make sure they don’t notice anything.

“See, I told you. Dumb girl didn’t even move. She dead, man.”

She ISN’T dead. But if she gets out of this, you might be, you stupid shit.

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp #kara x lena #supercorp fanfic #supercorpfamily #kara x reader #lena x reader #supercorp daughter #reader insert

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littlemisspascal · 4 years

Text

Death and an Angel part 7

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Maybe you should have tried harder, or held onto him tighter. Maybe then you wouldn't be feeling this gaping hole in your chest where your heart used to beat.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,297

Warnings: Description of a dead body, major character death (but technically you already know it happened, just not how it did...so...), heartbreak, major angst, a bit of fluff at the end, a couple familiar faces may or may not show up

Author Note: Seriously, you all are the best readers I could ever hope to have. The response to Part 6 was unbelievable and I can’t thank everyone enough for the support, especially when I continue to be evil and end the segments with such horrible cliffhangers.

Links to Part 1 and Part 6 and Part 8

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

Maker, your head hurts.

It throbs angrily as if a mudhorn has impaled your brain on its horn. In fact, your whole body feels like one giant bruise. Grimacing, you take a deep breath, only to enter a coughing fit when you inhale a lungful of smoke.

Cracking an eye open, panic seizes you when all you see is smoke. Ash gray and thick, it obscures your immediate surroundings from view. You can’t even tell if it’s night or day.

What the kriff is going on?

Swallowing against the dryness of your throat, you slowly sit up and feel pieces of grit and rubble dig into the tender flesh of your palms. A quick look shows no blood, soulmate mark unaffected, and you sigh a quiet breath of relief. But then worry starts to sink in when you realize you can’t remember where you are or what knocked you unconscious. Before you can spiral into a panic attack, the ground beneath you starts to tremble, causing the tiny fragments of gravel to wildly bounce around.

A shrill metallic screech pierces your ears followed immediately by a massive burst of vibrant orange flames erupting in the distance. You yelp, hastily pushing yourself onto your feet and start to run in the opposite direction, ignoring the howl of protest from your aching body.

You can’t even see two steps in front of you, effectively ruining your attempt at a quick escape as you clumsily skirt around piles of debris that appear out of the smoke and threaten to block your way. Every breath is a wheeze, lungs making it painfully clear they cannot draw in enough oxygen from the smoky atmosphere to support your chosen pace. But the mere thought of dying here in this nightmarish inferno is enough to urge you to keep moving, keep putting one foot in front of the other, even as it simultaneously creates a tight, anxious knot in your stomach.

Another explosion detonates behind you. The ground quakes and groans, cracks appearing at an alarming rate as if the planet itself is being torn apart by the chaos. Your foot catches on one of the rifts, eliciting a cry of shock to tear itself out of your throat when you’re unable to reclaim your balance and plummet forward.

Except it’s not the ground that rises up to meet you.

No.

It’s a body.

A dead body, to be precise. Burnt to a blackened crisp, as if the person had been dropped directly into a sun. Their skeletal features are frozen in an expression of torture, mouth gaping wide in a silent scream. The stench of their seared flesh overwhelms your nostrils and ingrains itself in your brain, ensuring you’ll never forget the horrific smell for the rest of your lifetime.

Whimpering, you scramble backwards, curling your legs tight against your heaving chest. You look around, bile rising in your throat when you glimpse through the sea of smoke more charred corpses surrounding you. It’s as if you’ve stumbled upon a mass grave, and again the thought crosses your mind: what the kriff is going on?

You stand up, not wanting to linger another second in their presence, and continue moving forward, each footstep slow and careful as you maneuver around the bodies. The smoke is marginally thinner the further away you move from the fiery blasts, just enough for you to make out the faint outlines of collapsed buildings on either side of you, homes of families destroyed for reasons you don’t understand. Gut instinct keeps insisting that everything you’re seeing is wrong, that none of this destruction and carnage should have ever happened.

Again, you attempt to string together your memories, forcing your brain to comply despite the pounding ache it produces in your temples. Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if you had a concussion.

Details slowly start coming to mind, little and meaningless by themselves, but when put together form a grander picture. You came here to visit your best friend. ‘Here’ being a Mid-Rim planet with a ridiculously long and multisyllabic name you couldn’t pronounce then, and your poor head certainly can’t identify now. The transport flight had been long and you’d arrived later than anticipated, verging on late afternoon when you’d stepped off the craft.

On your way to your friend’s house, the sun had abruptly gone dark. Everyone had stopped to look to the sky, yourself included. A light cruiser, kite-shaped and unmistakable, hovered directly overhead. Its presence was ominous, evoking the crowd of civilian spectators to murmur amongst themselves.

Then its weapons unleashed a storm of hellfire.

Oh, Maker. How could you have ever forgotten the screams?

You’re pulled out of your dismal thoughts by the appearance of a dark shape ahead of you, its outline standing out as noticeably different than the surrounding rubble. Gradually, your brain starts to distinguish human features: a head, broad shoulders and limbs.

It also occurs to you that they’re coming straight at you.

Before you can decide whether to flee or fight or do anything remotely conducive to increasing your odds of survival, the human-shaped blur barrels straight into you, hitting you with such force you instinctively grip onto their coat, just above their wrists, to keep from falling backwards. The feather-light grazing of the edge of your palm against their skin elicits a buzz of shocking warmth, as if you’ve touched a live wire instead of flesh.

It’s you, the thought pops into your head unprompted, like a fact you’ve always known since you were born. The feeling is breathtaking and electric, a lightning bolt striking the center of your heart. Every cell in your body is radiating exuberance and cheering: it’s you, it’s you, it’s you! The one I’ve been waiting for!

You’re pushed sideways, a small cry of surprise escaping your lips.

“Get out of my way.” It’s a masculine voice, sharp with impatience yet it wraps itself around your heart all the same. He doesn’t spare you a second glance as he continues heading in the direction you’ve been coming from.

“Wait,” you protest, because it’s not supposed to be like this. You’ve started shaking, from adrenaline or the shock of his dismissal, you’re not sure.

The man pauses, keeping his back facing you. His dark clothes are conspicuously clean, and you can’t help comparing them to your own which are sooty and torn in places. For the second time, your gut instinct is telling you something is wrong, but this time you ignore it in favor of listening to the screaming of your heart urging you to never let this man out of your sight.

“We’re soulmates,” you say, desperate for him to stay.

His fingers curl into fists, the only forewarning you have before he snaps your heart in half as he mutters, “You could never be my soulmate.”

And then you’re watching as he disappears into the smoke, not once looking back to gauge the aftermath of his rejection. You had always been a hopeless romantic, dreaming that you and your soulmate would meet and live a long, happy life together until Death came to reap your souls. In less than thirty seconds, your soulmate had just cruelly crushed those dreams without either of you exchanging names or seeing each other’s faces.

Maybe you should have tried harder, or held onto him tighter. Maybe then you wouldn't be feeling this gaping hole in your chest where your heart used to beat.

Acting on impulse, you start running after him. If you can just have a second chance to make a better impression, maybe you can change his mind. Maybe you can convince him to accept you as his soulmate, agree to take your hand and never let go. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll fall in love with you, deeply and profoundly, just like every soulmate pairing you’ve heard about.

With a head full of maybes, you don’t even hear the bomb drop.

It hits the ground with a resounding thud, and then your world is an explosion of red and orange heat, consuming you whole without leaving behind any evidence you’d ever existed at all. Your vision shifts and blurs, memories of your lifetime flashing by too quickly to recognize each one, but through it all you hear a voice, his voice, echoing those dreadful words over and over again.

You could never be my soulmate. Never. Never. Never.

~~~

You wake up with a jolt, throat raw as if you really had been inhaling smoke. You’re drenched in sweat and you push away the heavy blanket covering you before realizing it is definitely not your blanket nor are you currently in your own bed. Looking around, panic begins to prickle along your nerve endings when you fail to recognize anything familiar about your location.

You’re in someone’s home, that much is obvious from the furnishings. The ceiling overhead is made of overlapping metal and is slightly rounded, reminding you of a cave or burrow. There is a lantern hanging on a nearby hook, but the light it emanates is dim compared to the sunshine pouring in from the four small, square-shaped windows cut into the wall behind you above the bed. The view through the windows is slightly blurry, but you can make out the blue sky and what you think is a corral of some kind.

Rubbing a hand over your face to wipe away the lingering exhaustion, you’re surprised when your hand encounters something rough covering the side of your forehead. A bandage. Strange, you must have hit your head somewhere—

The past comes back in flashes: Din confessing his feelings, touching his hand, the spark of warmth, falling unconscious on the floor.

Where is Din?

“You are awake.”

The voice is expressionless and mechanical in tone, stating the obvious. Even so, you jump, not having noticed the droid sitting in the far corner of the room during your initial survey. Its red sensors and dark colored plating would make it look menacing if not for the tray it clutches in its hands, balancing cups and a pitcher.

“I am IG-11,” the droid says as it approaches.

“IG?” you echo hoarsely, sitting up with alarm. “As in one of those assassin droids?”

“I have been reprogrammed as a nurse.” It considers you for a moment, internal mechanisms whirring, and then the tray is held out closer for you to reach. “Tea?”

Hesitantly, you pour yourself some and hold the cup with both hands as you take a sip. The tea is warm as it slides down your throat, flavorful and far more exotic than the kind you’ve tasted back home in Umbriel.

“Where am I?” you ask after you’ve swallowed two more gulps.

“Arvala-7.”

You blink, barely familiar with the name which only intensifies your worry about Din’s absence.

“Okay, but like, where exactly on Arvala-7?” you press, gesturing around the room. “How did I even get here?”

“Your current location is a moisture farm owned and operated by Kuiil,” IG-11 says, moving away to set the tray on a nearby table, though its head remains facing your direction. “Death brought you here unconscious with an injury to your central processing unit.”

“My central…” you trail off, squinting. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

“Yes. It was meant to put you at ease.”

“Right.” You nod to yourself, reaching a decision. Downing the last of your drink, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and make a move to stand. “This has been great, but I’ve really got to go find Death so—”

A wave of dizziness washes over you, forcing you to sit back down. Kriff, you think, closing your eyes until you’re certain you won’t be seeing double anymore.

“You won’t find Death here.” A new voice, crackling with age, informs you. His words are ominous, but his tone isn’t one of malice or ill-intent.

Turning, you see an Ugnaught approaching from the entrance of the house. He stops beside IG-11, green eyes peering at you from beneath bushy white eyebrows, but you don’t feel threatened by his nearness.

“I am Kuiil. Death entrusted me with looking after you until his return from Nevarro,” he says, sitting down upon a stool with his arms braced upon his knees. “You must continue to rest until you are well. I have spoken.”

You press a hand to your chest, feeling a pang of hurt at Din’s decision. “He left?”

“Death is bound by creed to the universe to reap the dead. Nothing, not even his soulmate, can be put before it.”

You choke on your spit. “Soulmate? We’re not—”

“Even if he had not told me,” Kuiil interrupts, unwilling to hear your dissuading opinion when he is certain of his own. “I would have known it from how he stubbornly stayed at your side and by how loathsome he was to leave you behind. In all my years, I have not seen him behave in such a twitterpated manner.”

“He…” Your voice wavers, torn between hopefulness and disbelief. “He really told you we’re soulmates?”

Kuiil, reaching towards the table for the pitcher of tea, pauses and slowly turns back to look at you. “You were unaware of your matched connection with Death? Did you two not touch hands as most fated pairs often do?”

Any reply you might have said falters when you look down at your hands in your lap. More specifically, your left hand. The one Din had grasped. The one that in your past life had brushed against your soulmate minutes before you died.

Right there in the middle of your palm, innocently gleaming like it’s always been there and therefore isn’t at all responsible for the rapid increase of your heartbeat, is a soulmate marking.

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @eleine-t1d, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk, @captain-jebi, @aerynwrites, @promiscuoussatan, @stilllivindue2spite, @coaaster

#my fic #death and an angel #din x you #din djarin x you #din x reader #Din Djarin #mandalorian x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #soulmate au #my writing

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painless-innit-colourful · 3 years

Text

After Wilbur leaves, Tommy’s legs give out, and his panic takes over, feat. the rest of the Bench Trio. TW for suicidal ideation, massive amounts of self-loathing. Also, spoilers for today’s stream.

---

"What did you do?"

He falls to his knees, and for a few minutes, the world goes blank.

What has he done? He's doomed them all, that's what he's done. He let one of the only people that believed in him get killed, he failed in his mission, and now he's almost single-handedly released one of the biggest sources of pain and misery back onto the server. Any moment he expects some righteous punishment for what he's done: a cruel hand, the final blow from a sword, the divine arrow, another damn lightning strike, because why not? Why should he get to sit and cry like a baby when the whole server will soon suffer for what he's done?

The reason they had to kill Dream was just like Ranboo had once said: 'If the villains can come back, then what's the point in winning?' Ranboo, whose presence he can feel, vibrating angrily mere metres away. It's like when you agro an enderman; Tommy expects the hit to come, he wants it, he deserves it, because Ranboo was right! They can't win. Not anymore. All Dream needs is the body, and they can welcome back all those they banished to the other side. Wilbur was supposed to be gone. That was supposed to be done with. It can't be happening again. He can't be back.

His mind whirrs, trying for any solution to this mega-problem, no matter how outlandish, but it returns nothing. Wilbur defeated himself last time. They can't conquer the prison again; besides, Sam will kill him if he goes near it again. Sam, who helped him build Jack Manifold's (his, his, his) hotel, who built him a robot that helped him gather materials and work for himself and protected him and refused to hurt him. Sam, who nearly just took his last canon life several times, who told him he should be dead, who told him he caused all the problems at the prison, on the server, hell! Why didn't he kill him? Maybe the server would be safer that way. Perhaps Wilbur isn't the first villain Dream's resurrected.

He'll never sleep again. Partly because he has to find a way to stop this, has to put an end to everything even if it kills him, especially if he can take them all out at the same time. But also partly because that look Wilbur gave him, the fire that burns nations to the scorched earth underfoot dancing behind his eyes, already haunts his dreams. He already knows which words he'll hear when he tries to rest, which crazed looks, which gestures he'll never forget; he doesn't want that. He wants to sleep in peace, without the ghost of a villain returned beckoning "Let's be the bad guys." and "Why not?" and "My hero, Dream!" The roles have reversed, the blackstone table has turned.

"You wanna be a hero Tommy?" He thinks he'd rather have died one than become... whatever monster stares back at him in the glass beneath his feet. Glass that protects the crater of a nation. A nation that he died twice for. That caused so much pain and strife. That ultimately was razed so far down that the earth will never forgive its creators for painting upon it a target so large and flammable. It was never meant to be, indeed.

And he cries. The tears make tiny 'plinck, plinck, plinck' sounds as they hit the glass, forming a small puddle as the once-proud soldier puts his head against the grave of his home, and himself, Prime knows how many times, and sobs. The ground is unforgiving, the silence carries his weeping out to sea. He shed tears like these for Wilbur once. He wants him back. He wants to go back to the Void. And with a whole server of people about to wake up to the news of the impending chaos in the form of one persuasive former president, he doesn't think it'll be long before he returns. He wants to go back to the Void, and play Competitive Solitaire with Wilbur forever, and maybe, just maybe, that'd be enough to give his friends the peace they need to build lives in the shelter of the shadows. In the runoff and the rubble, they could grow old. And maybe they'd mourn him occasionally. He doesn't see the point.

He doesn't deserve their love anymore. He's fucked up. He's fucked up, and he should pay the price. He should march up to Wilbur, and kill him, and die in the process. But if they both woke up, what then? Who knows how many canon lives zombies have anyway.

He doesn't deserve kindness, or love, or affection. He watched the sweet, innocent ghost be slaughtered because of him. A man he might've accidentally called 'father' should've killed him. Ranboo, dear Prime, patient, forgiving, compassionate Ranboo stared at him with eyes full of disappointment and betrayal and anger and stormed off. He doesn't deserve anything but his ruined city's sky, not anymore... But he wants it. Needs it. Needs it, or what is there left?

So when Tubbo stands at his side, his scarred face barely reflected in the glass, he doesn't compel him to leave. When he kneels and puts an arm around Tommy's shoulders, the younger boy does not ask for Wilbur's end. And when he is scooped up in arms that no longer tremble, he does not try to escape. He merely buries his face in his best friend's coat and waits. Waits to be let go. Waits to be thrown from the clifftop. And somewhere along the journey, he blacks out again.

---

"Would you?" "No, but-" "Exactly! He's fucked up, we can't-" "We can't just abandon him, he's my T-" "The whole server'll be out for blood within the week! We can't hide him here!" "Why not? We have basements, and secret rooms and tunnels and-" "They'll find him, Tubbo."

Ranboo puts his hands firmly on Tubbo's shoulders, staring right into his eyes. Tubbo freezes, as people often do when eye contact is maintained. They're silhouetted in the doorway, haloed by the light spilling in through the ajar curtains. "They'll tear this place apart if they think they'll find him here. We can't do that. We can't let them do that."

"But-" "Michael. That's who you're putting at risk if you do this. People'll tear Michael's loft apart if they think we've hidden him up there, you know they would! They'd frighten the life out of him." Tubbo puts his head in his hands, quickly wiping his hair back from his face. "A life for a- a life. That's what you're saying, basically. They'll kill Tommy. No question." "They'd kill Michael too!" "Would they? Who the fuck is this 'they'?" "Literally the whole server- Look, I haven't been around here as long as you have, alright, but I know enough. They'll come for Tommy, and they won't have mercy for anyone caught in the crossfire."

Tubbo looks up at his husband for a long time, his expression becoming guarded while his posture straightens. "You're right. People don't care who they hurt around here; it's all means to an end. But-" And his eyes dart towards Tommy, Ranboo's following, and while Ranboo looks shocked and maybe a little embarrassed to see Tommy awake, lying awkwardly dumped on the guest bed, Tubbo's expression doesn't change. "-I won't leave him. I did it once, and it was the worst damn choice I ever made." He sighs, taking Ranboo's hands and staring down at them while they speak. "I don't know what to do, truth be told. I won't let anyone hurt Michael, and if they want to try then perhaps I should get back in the nuke lab. But Tommy's a part of my family as much- as much as you are." His eyes flick to Tommy, and the barest hint of a smile appears. "Looks like it's us against the world, again."

He leads Ranboo with one hand into the room as he sits beside the mute, exhausted form of his best friend. His best friend that leans into the arm he puts around his shoulder and tries not to start crying again. "Us against the world." Tubbo repeats. "And I ain't leaving you behind."

Tommy looks up at Ranboo, who's staring at him with an impassivity that borders on scary. "Did I tell you you have mesmerising eyes? Because I actually think they're very intimidating." The enderboy's face softens. "Where did you find him." He asks Tubbo drily as he also sits on the bed, the other side of Tubbo, who smiles. "You'll have to-" He cuts himself off. "You'll have to ask Wilbur." He says softly.

"Don't sacrifice yourselves for me." Two heads snap in Tommy's direction, and Ranboo tries to answer first. "Oh, well, we weren't exactly planning on-" "I mean like, your happiness." He quietens again. "Don't lose lives, don't jeopardise Snowchester because of me." "How about you let me decide what happens in my nation." Tubbo's voice has regained some element of its smile. "You focus on surviving, alright Big Man?" "Don't- Please, don't let me ruin all this. Again."

‘I don't deserve your support. I don't deserve a place in your family. I don't deserve you.’

"You deserve another chance."

They make no promises in the half-dark. There are no agreements made over the steaming teapot. There are no settlements reached as the minutes tick by, and nothing comes of the quiet hours spent by a warm fireplace. But there are enough things said in the silences to fill the whole house. And even if Tubbo can't make his best friend fall asleep anymore, he can still hold him close somewhere that maybe, once was, once could've been something like a home.

#crim writes #dream smp #dsmp fic #tommyinnit #tubbo #ranboo #bench trio #clingyduo #i really have to go to sleep #but i couldn't not #i missed writing late night reaction fics like this #anyway if this makes sense i'll be amazed #and if you read the whole thing? thank you so much #look after yourself and have a nice evening

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riverscyberwife · 3 years

Text

The First Time She Met Daryl Dixon

Part of the 'Call Me 'Darling'' Series

(Daryl Dixon x unnamed female character)

The first time she met Daryl Dixon was not pleasant.

“Fucking Shit!”

It wasn’t long after the fall. The time of indescribable horrors. The day the dead began to walk the earth.

“You useless shit” a feminine voice rang out in exasperation, met only by the greenery that surrounded. Tears pricked at frustrated eyes as small, dirty fists beat aimlessly at the soft earth beneath. The roots of a nearby tree grazed along knuckles, breaking the skin there. An unintentional hiss left trembling lips as sad eyes observed the fresh blood appearing.

She had found herself alone in a dense wood somewhere near farmland in Georgia, drifting aimlessly, no destination in mind. Attention on the songs of the wild birds. The music of the forest being the only company had in days.

In dazed wandering, clumsy feet had met a large tree root protruding rather rudely from the ground. It met her right foot violently, causing herself to stumble harshly while holding the appendage prisoner. The attached ankle twisted painfully as her warn body was thrown forward and forced to spin, landing unceremoniously on her obnoxiously generous behind.

An advantage only when the clumsy feet betrayed her. Something that happened more often than her ego would like to admit.

A glare that could almost kill, along with some less than lady-like language was aimed at the battered ankle. It lay life-less and throbbing next to the offending root, almost mocking with its silence.

A twig snapped far too near for comfort. A rustling of leaves alerting to a nearby presence. In such a vulnerable position, the woman mentally chastised herself for becoming too distracted to hear the oncoming intruder. Almost definitely one of those undead fucks stumbling across a yummy young lady laid out like a buffet.

Her head whipped around to peer behind with enough force to cause the joints of her neck to let out a crack. A sound that went unnoticed as a sharp gaze found a man staring at the crumpled heap she currently was. He seemed alive enough as he pointed an intimidatingly large weapon at her head.

Is that a crossbow? The thought shot through her mind before returning swiftly to the danger that was presented. It wasn’t something you’d ever expect to see in real life, let alone have pointed at you. Far more intimidating than a gun it seemed due to its unexpectedness.

The man holding the weapon was rugged. Short brown hair and clothes had seen better days. Gaze locked with the most vibrant blue eyes. An intense silent battle taking place between said eyes and her own.

“Ya kiss yer mother with tha’ mouth?” His voice was gruff. Deeper than expected. It held a soothing quality even in its accusing tone.

“Not if she was alive” A deadpan tone returned, eyes narrowed as the gaze turned cold. He only grunted in response. A shiver ran unexpectedly down her spine. Probably just caused by the very pointy stick he had ready to be catapulted through her skull.

“What are ya doin’ round here?” he questioned more aggressively this time. The hints of playfulness had disappeared. This man meant business and she didn’t doubt he would shoot her with the intimidating weapon if he felt the need to.

“I’m having a teddy bears picnic, can’t you tell?” An overly sweet voice quipped back unwisely. Suspicious eyes only narrowed in return as the grip seemed to tighten on the bow.

“Okay” A tired sigh left dry lips. “I was just wandering, looking for her next meal and place to sleep. I fell over this damn tree”. Trying not to feel embarrassed by the statement, her gaze wandered the muscular upper arms visible due to the missing sleeves that seemed to have been forcefully ripped away.

“I take it by your defensiveness that your camp is near here” she queried. “Don’t worry, I won’t go near it.”

“Better not. Now get outta here before it ain’t a choice.”

Eyes rolled at his threat. “Not very welcoming are you?” The question was met only by silence.

“Fine, I’m going.” She stated as weak arms pushed herself to her feet, forcing the rapidly bruising ankle to take the weight. Attempting to ignore the pain in refusal to look weak in front of this rude man. The backpack that slid from aching shoulders during the fall was slung back into place and the dagger that had saved her life numerous times secured in a determined grip.

“Nice to meet you” her defeated voice rang sarcastically before turning and limping away as fast as able.

“Asshole”

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

Many months passed without a thought about the rugged man. Surviving alone could be very distracting after all. Jumping from abandoned house to worse smelling abandoned house with the hopes of a safe nights rest. Never knowing where the next meal would come from or even if there would be a next meal.

The weight dropped off at a concerning rate. Concerning only because there was a good chance of being eaten by the dead because her trousers fell down. What a way to go. She died as she lived. Falling over.

Eyes raked over the forest floor in search of life. Trusted dagger held securely in her dominant hand, poised ready to strike should dinner appear suddenly. An unexpected commotion seemed to begin somewhere to the left. Ears guiding rushing feet towards the sound in hopes of a large animal to catch. The grumbling of her stomach agreeing with the silent statement.

Upon the arrival at the scene, crouched down behind a shrub, her small body was easily hidden by the undergrowth. In immediate sight was the back of a man. Keen eyes would not have recognised him so immediately if not for the missing sleeves on the dirty brown shirt. He was facing off with four of the dead. A knife raised high in his right hand seemed to be his only weapon. A glance to the side revealed the crossbow a few feet away. Far less intimidating when not pointed at ones head.

Logic said he couldn’t reload the damn thing in time to shoot the fuckers one by one. She however had not been spotted by the dead and was only about 3 feet from the weapon.

Daryl began to panic as what felt like a never ending amount of walkers came at him. He couldn’t kill them all at once and his knife wasn’t doing much good. He’d resorted to desperately shoving them backwards.

The walker directly in front of him was big, standing at least 6 foot tall and charging with a purpose. It managed to knock him to the ground, the snapping jaws aiming to rip Daryl’s face cleanly away. It was prevented only by an increasingly weakening forearm to its neck.

Thick black blood oozed from the tear in its jugular, dripping grotesquely onto its struggling prays jaw and throat. Should Daryl open his mouth he’d be treated to a very unfortunate final meal.

‘This is it’ thought Daryl as he frantically felt around for the fallen blade. ‘I’m gonna fuckin’ die.’

Daryl’s rapidly beating heart seemed to stop dead as a bolt from HIS crossbow shot through the top of the walkers head to protrude from the now permanently dead man’s mouth. The sharp tip pointed directly between sky coloured eyes.

With a confused sigh, his head leant back to peer behind at the crossbow which lay exactly where he had left it. The unsightly corpse was shoved unceremoniously off of the hunter as he realised suddenly that there were no walkers after him.

It took a few seconds to come to his senses as he observed the 3 other walkers already dead on the ground nearby. Steely eyes flickered up to the small woman standing a few feet away, casually wiping a bloody knife on a large leaf. Confusion only grew as he stared at the calm woman who acted like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. A look of boredom on her face.

Smug eyes flickered to the side where the rugged man still sat stunned on the ground. An involuntary smirk forced its way onto her face. It was so difficult to keep the bored look when the handsome mans jaw was practically on the floor.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” This seemed to snap him out of his daze. His mouth clamped shut audibly as an irritated expression took over.

“Daryl” was all he said as he made his way slowly to unsteady feet.

“Well Daryl” she chimed nonchalantly “You’re welcome” before turning and once again walking away from the shocked man.

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

Most nights she dreamt of the undead. Snapping jaws, inches from her face. Dirty, broken nails on rotted flesh, grabbing at her skin. Thick black blood filling her mouth and claiming her lungs.

Sometimes she would dream of family. The life lived before. Laughing faces and sweet smiles. Little girls with pigtails and pink dresses. School days sat on the grass in the sun. Underage drinking in the park. Splashing in the cold sea. Golden sand between painted toes. Faces not seen in years.

And sometimes she would dream of the most beautifully pure blue eyes. Those eyes were the most haunting.

Stayed local to the area, familiar terrain was an advantage. It was only a matter of time until she stumbled across it. The prison. The opposing grey buildings would have been of little interest had it not been for the suspicious lack of dead ones.

Upon closer inspection there appeared to be crops growing in the grounds. A variety of luscious plants living in neat rows. Every so often a mop of brown hair would appear within the greenery. A slender teenage boy who tended the food.

Witnessing silently from the branch of a nearby tree, never daring to make a noise or risk being seen. People were after all, dangerous.

Many others appeared within sight in the hours observed. Some seemed to be on lookout. Some pierced the skulls of dead ones through the fence. Many simply socialised and basked in the sun. Although not terribly interesting, it was the most entertainment had in weeks. Quite like a trip to the zoo, watching them in their natural habitat. There seemed to be little of concern and just as the tired woman considered slipping away to find her own refuge for the night came the startlingly loud rumble of engine.

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

Far louder than that of a car, approaching the fence that opened in entrance to the structure was a motor bike. Another thing unexpected at the end of the world. The more shocking factor however being the slim figure and mop of brown hair that sat astride. The fear-provoking weapon strapped to a wing adorned back. Her rugged man.

Any idiot with half a brain would know not to approach the prison alone unless they desired an arrow through the head. But there was something about this man. The incessant need to see him again. To hear the drawl of his voice. To see that pretty face up close even in the snarl that was sure to be aimed at her. Luckily, Mr Dixon, hunter and gatherer extraordinaire didn’t seem to spend that much time in the prison. The outdoors suited him far better.

Daryl treaded stealthily through the thicket, bow aimed low and eyes alert. His ears strained in search of a living creature. He swore his heart leapt from his chest at the sudden noise slightly behind and above him. Startled feet spun so fast he stumbled.

“I like your hair. Suits you”

The feminine voice presented no unease due to the deadly weapon pointed directly at the source. A raised eyebrow prompted Daryl to lower the thing before accidentally shooting.

“Bloody ‘ell woman, where’d ya come from?”

“Bit of a personal question. Don’t you think? You don’t even know my name yet” the voice quipped with a smile. Feet landing gracefully on the ground in front of the alarmed man as she dropped from the low branch.

Daryl grumbled, dropping his eyes which only caused her grin to widen.

“What’s yer name then?”

“Can’t tell you that. Stranger danger.”

“Think yer the only danger ‘round ‘ere.”

“You think too highly of me, Darling.” Lips smirked as light fingers gently raised Daryl’s chin to meet devious eyes.

His shining orbs widened comically at the gesture. “Darlin’?!”

The outraged tone of the statement served to strengthen the ever present accent.

“Oh I do like that.” Smirk turned to a full grin. “Call me Darling.

----------

They couldn’t seem to keep away from each other. Well she couldn’t keep away from him anyway. He’d always go in search of food and the menace would always appear seemingly by magic. She intrigued the man and she knew it. The way his eyes followed her form was like he wanted to figure her out. Solve her like a walking puzzle.

She craved his voice. It soothed something inside her. Somehow made the state of the world forgettable. Hours were spent together without notice. He didn’t speak much but he always listened intently and usually had a smart remark to counter her regular jabs. Teasing Daryl Dixon was always her favourite part of the day.

He never asked where she was going, was staying or why she was always alone. He didn’t seem to want to burst the secret little bubble they’d made for themselves. Something both were happy to keep intact as curious eyes secretly watched the prison.

It was getting progressively more difficult to live alone in the wild. When Daryl went back to his cosy home with his friends at the end of the day her tasks were to go in search of food and a place to rest her head. She would never confess her struggles. He would want to help and her pride wouldn’t allow it.

At her lowest she found herself slumped in a corner of a dingy old house, curling in on herself. The small fire haphazardly made almost burnt out, the strength to go in search of more kindling evaded the weak woman.

Just as she hadn’t seen the face of her favourite person, her body hadn’t seen water in days. Food even longer. If this was how she was to go out then so be it. She’d survived this long alone and that’s all that mattered.

Her vision swam as black spots appeared. There was no control left of her body as it slumped sideways, striking her head against the wooden floorboards as unconsciousness consumed entirely.

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

Daryl panicked when she wasn’t at the usual spot. She was always there when he went to hunt. He had no idea how she knew when to find him but she did. He often questioned if she was real. This mysterious girl that no one else had ever seen could so easily be part of his imagination.

He remembered how Rick had seen Lori for so long after her death. He’d spent so much time alone out in the woods that it wouldn’t surprise him if his mind had made up the annoying woman that he couldn’t stay away from. No, she had to be real. Even Daryl’s mind couldn’t tease him like she did.

He began by wandering in the direction he had last seen her go as they parted, knowing there was a nearby town that could offer some food and protection. As gravel crunched beneath old boots in place of the usual dirt and neglected buildings began to rise on either side of the man, it became clear that the area was empty. Motionless walker bodies lay scattered around, each seemingly had received a knife through the head.

The smell was overpowering as the hunter contemplated why they hadn’t been burned. Perhaps she was only passing through. Perhaps she simply didn’t have the strength.

Tracks were clearly visible all through the town. Mostly bloody, they led into every single building. Daryl sighed. He was sure by the small stature of the print that they were hers. The woman that so desperately clung to his mind had clearly been here. Yet he had a feeling she was still here. She wouldn’t just leave him, would she?

Daryl could almost hear Merle’s voice echoing in his head, calling him a whipped little bitch. He scowled at the thought but just couldn’t stop. What if something had happened to her?

----------

Sharp eyes scanning the area, he could clearly visualise the woman clearing the place, killing walkers and scavenging for the food. His eyes drifted to the last house to the left. The windows were boarded and the door was shut. A trap lay set in front of the building. It was clearly the most secure place. His feet carried him almost involuntarily towards it. Towards her.

White light pierces blackness. Heart beat rising. Blood rushes ears. Footsteps sound a million miles away.

Gentle knuckles brush cheeks. Rough fingers press pulse point. Fluttering eyelashes attempt in vain to open.

The earth tilts sickeningly as her body is forced into sitting position. The sound of ringing slowly transitions to the calling of her name. The familiar voice causing an upturn of lips. Her rugged saviour.

Cold liquid is raised to parched mouth. Gulped down greedily without thought. Hands fly to grab the bottle. The best water ever tasted. An appreciative groan as eyelids are forced to rise. Blurred vision soon clears to reveal shaggy brown hair that begs to be touched.

His name leaves her lips in struggled whisper. His eyes are hard with judgment and underlying concern.

“Why the hell didn’ ya tell me?” some form of food is held to her chin.

She doesn’t take not what as her eyes shift away in shame and her arm weekly brushes it away.

“I don’t want your food”

“Well ya clearly need it. Ya look like hell.” His teeth grind in annoyance at the usually stubborn girl. Her head shakes in response, causing the black spots to momentarily return.

“I don’t need saving, Prince Charming.” He guffaws at the name.

“I aint no prince, nor ‘nything charmin’.”

She needed him gone. She couldn’t bear the look of pity in his eyes. The worry on his features. She wasn’t anyone’s problem.

“You shouldn’t be here. Just go back to your damn prison. The irritation clear in her voice. Almost missing the way his vibrant eyes widened.

Shit. She realised her mistake a split second too late.

“How the fuck do you ya know ‘bout tha’?” She’d never heard him sound so angry and even a little scared. Knowing full well that if they found she knew about their home that they wouldn’t just leave her alone. She was dangerous to them.

Nervous eyes flicker everywhere but at the face that stared her down.

“I’ve been watching. Had to know if you were dangerous.”

“An ya didn’ tell me”

“Would you have let me go?” It was Daryl’s turn to look away in shame.

“Nah. Would have to tell ‘em ‘bout ya” He sighed defeated.

“Exactly.” Their eyes clashed in a battle of wills, silently debating what would happen next. After a beat, his eyes shined in a way that determined a decision had been made.

“Yer comin’ with me” He stated assertively.

“No” she countered plainly, offering little room for argument.

“Wasn’ askin’.” Before further refusal could leave her, strong arms surrounded her. He rose to his feet, cradling the surprised woman to his chest. Her bag hanging from his right hand where it curled around her knees.

Her malnourished body was slow to react. Sluggishly moving to press at his firm chest in protest. He easily made his way out of the house and to the far end of the street where the bike sat undisturbed.

The fresh air aided in clearing her senses. The situation she was in becoming evident to her irritated mind.

Gently set down on the leather seat, she was released from the sure grip.

“Fine.” A resigned smile as the cogs of her mind began to spin. “I’ve got another bag though. Brown satchel. Must still be in the lounge.”

He nodded. “Alright, I’ll be right back. Don’ move.” Turning and jogging back into the house.

The moment his right foot made it over the threshold, the loud roar of the bike engine caused his heart to sink.

“Son of a bitch!” Fast feet threw him back out the door and half way down the street but it was too late. His mysterious girl was gone and so was his bike. A lone bag lay in the spot it had previously been in. His own bag containing the water and food he had offered her.

The walk back to the prison was long, made worse by Daryl’s rising anger. Refusing to interact with anyone upon his return, he had his way into the empty cell where he refused to sleep but went to for privacy. Throwing himself down onto the lumpy mattress, he glared at the underneath of the top bunk. His mind swirling with images of her devious smirk.

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

Two days later he was woken at the ass crack of dawn by Glenn frantically calling his name. As the sun had appeared over the horizon so had his bike, propped up on its stand just outside the gate. Next to it lay a cardboard box full of baby formula as an apology.

Daryl of course went looking for her, but she no longer appeared. Weeks were spent without a trace of her until another box of formula appeared outside the gates in the dead of night. Sat atop this one was a small stuffed elephant, the perfect size for little ass kicker. Soft and clean as if straight from a baby shop.

Next to it a small piece of paper. In loopy handwriting it read ‘Stop looking for me, darling. It makes me miss you more.’

He thinks he can let her go. Thinks he can carry on living. Barely thinking of her during the busy days but she appears in his dreams. Reliving the sweetest moments between them behind closed eyelids.

“Come back with me.” His sombre voice breaks the silence.

They had somehow ended up leaning against a railing on the edge of a rooftop. Forearms against cold metal, they basked in the glow of a setting sun. Features basked in orange light, he watched her shyly.

They both knew that they should retreat to safety before darkness fell but neither could bring themselves to leave the others company. Peace consumed them as they absorbed the view laid before them like a renaissance painting.

Her head tilted as her eyes searched his face contemplatively.

“Ya always leave me.” His dejected words caused an ache in her chest.

“Why won’ ya stay with me” He asks earnestly.

“I can’t” Eyes cast downward at the sudden urge to shed a tear.

“Why? They’re good people. Rick an’ Carol an’ lil ass-kicker...” His fists clench as the unfamiliar emotions stir within him. His stare fixed on the setting sun.

“Exactly. You’re a family. I don’t belong there. I can’t. I can’t lose anyone else.” Her eyes squeeze shut as pain consumes her.

“So I don’ mean nothin’ to ya?” His voice strains.

“You shouldn’t” Her voice is a soft whisper.

His head turns to question her answer but she’s already gone.

“Darlin’?”

He’s woken suddenly by the sound of Judith’s cries. Greeted only by the sight of the bunk above him. He decides he’s going to find her. He has to.

But he doesn’t. Because soon enough the sounds of gunfire and screams is all that’s heard as the prison falls.

A/N - Here it is, the first thing I've ever written recreationally. It was so much for difficult than i expected. I feel like i'm handing over a steaming pile of rubbish but here you go! I hope you enjoy.

@pandorahurtsx @winchestershiresauce @sunflxwerbullet @holliss @haruhey @lilythemadqueen @dixonextracts @daryloverdixon

#Daryl Dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x y/n

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dreamsmp-au-ideas · 4 years

Text

Guess it’s good brother dream brain rot time now that we’ve pretty much canonized phoenix Tommy in it. I must now do my proper due diligence. Adding in my two cents and furthering the spread of my brand, phoenix Tommy.

When Tommy is a little tiny thing Phil does everything in his power to try and keep it quiet that Tommy isn’t a regular avian hybrid, but a phoenix. Things like phoenixes, dragons, or other mythical avians are extremely rare mutations that happen seemingly without any reason but will often reoccur within the same bloodline more often than not.

Phil is something mythical. Maybe a dragon, maybe a griffin, maybe even something a little less well known like the zhenniao, yatagarasu, or alicanto. Either way he’s something mythical, it runs in his blood. It ends up running in Tommy’s too. Phil is one of the few mythological avians who doesn’t hide his features because people are usually far too fearful of both him an Technoblade to do anything. Unfortunately, what people weren’t scared of was the idea of trying to kidnap a child.

There were attempts to steal away Wilbur when he was little. Before he started presenting and turned out to be just your regular avian. There were fewer attempts when it came to Tommy. There was unfortunately one attempt that ended up being successful, he was stolen from the cradle and subsequently lost in a skirmish when Techno and Phil caught up to the man who took Tommy.

Dream found baby Tommy floating along in the river, figured the kid was probably abandoned since he’d heard of orphaned children being floated down rivers and never seen again, and subsequently took Tommy in.

Everything was fine and okay for a couple years and Tommy was quickly accepted into the family. Unfortunately when Tommy turned five his traits started to come in and he nearly burned down the house. The family didn’t want to abandon Tommy but realizing he was a mythical avian was a problem to say the least. So Dream, having recently become an active admin, gathered up his things and left with Tommy. He didn’t blame his family for their worries but he wasn’t going to abandon his little brother either. Not when he’d found Tommy. Not when he’d been the one to practically raise Tommy.

Dream and Tommy were very distrustful of strangers still for obvious reasons and Tommy was pretty much stuck wearing the mask in order to protect himself, but Dream did what he could. Dream didn’t originally wear a mask actually, he decided they should match as a way to make Tommy feel bad for always having to wear the mask when he didn’t want to. He found private places that were safe where Tommy could practice flying and stretch his wings since Dream was super concerned early on about them atrophying and never being able to properly carry Tommy. Sure, it was too dangerous for Tommy to actively go flying often, but Dream didn’t want to accidentally ruin Tommy’s chances of ever being able to fly. The most important facet of their relationship is that he wanted to protect Tommy but never cage him.

When Dream first took control of the Dream SMP it was originally so he could make it a safe space for himself and Tommy, only allowing his few friends who knew about Tommy and what he was to join, like Sapnap and George who have a super good relationship with both Dream and Tommy in this au. Dream is still super jumpy and protective of Tommy and Tommy trusts people a lot less, but Tommy also acts as something of an ambassador in Dream’s interpersonal relationships, keeping Dream from becoming too jumpy and letting them decay. Similarly Dream taught Tommy to be a lot more cautious of strangers and this Tommy is a heck of a lot stronger having grown up with a pvp legend like Dream.

When other people started joining it was still a controlled enough environment that while cautious, Dream let Tommy “play” for lack of a better word. Three canon lives is a rule everywhere that everyone has to abide by, regardless of what admin you’re living under. The admin doesn’t get to decide what’s canon either, it’s something seemingly up to chance. Or maybe the gods. No one knows what makes being pushed off a cliff by your mortal enemy so different from falling off one by your own stupidity, but some people theorize it’s the intention of the action.

Obviously this isn’t a rule that applies to Tommy. They both know it, him and Dream. And here’s the thing. Some legends say that there are no draw backs to a phoenix dying. Others say that too many deaths too quickly will slowly harm the phoenix. Both of these are false. A phoenix needs deaths. Canon deaths. The same way that kids needs to be tossed in the air and spun around to help develop their brains as really little kids, a phoenix needs to die repeatedly for their brains and bodies to properly mature fully and in a healthy manner. It’s an actual necessity for them to die, in fact, too few canon deaths run the risk of a phoenix getting sick and dying permanently.

So when new people join the Dream SMP, Dream doesn’t hesitate letting Tommy side against him. It’s an unspoken rule between them. Good brother Dream goes pretty similar to canon up until Pogtopia actually. Dream doesn’t hesitate to take those two canon lives and Tommy intentionally misses during their duel. He ends up with way more canon deaths than just two, and he keeps secret what they are from the rest of the SMP, saying the two times Dream killed him were the canon two. Each time he dies his magic gets a little stronger, his feathers taking on an even glossier coat. He still gets pissed at Eret after the betrayal because everyone else doesn’t have unlimited canon lives, but Dream shushes and reassures him that if anyone does die permanently then he’ll help Tommy bring them back.

Phoenixes are creatures tied to the frayed and broken bridge that crosses life and death. Just like they can’t die and have dominance over flames, another power of the phoenixes is that they’re uniquely skilled when it comes to necromancy. Real necromancy. Not the human equivalent that brings back soulless husks with a tendency for destruction and malevolence. A phoenix is the only creature that can bring a soul back from the dead in tact. Tommy knows this by merit of instinct, and did it only once before for the sake of Dream. Regular people know this by merit of books like the one Schlatt tries to trade Dream.

So Dream and Tommy mostly put on an act while the war is happening but then act all buddy buddy and like actual brothers off the battle fields which confuses everyone (besides the already aware George and Sapnap) and mildly upsets Wilbur, but everyone just kinda gets used to it.

Until Pogtopia. Because we need some kind of conflict I’m giving Schlatt a very special role. Schlatt was a hybrid who got captured by poachers as a child and sold into the hybrid slave trade. He was one of the lucky few who turned the tables and managed to earn his freedom, ultimately turning towards being a poacher himself. Schlatt comes to L'manberg and becomes president with the intention of selling every hybrid in the country, in the Dream SMP as a whole, to his traders. The reason he chose the Dream SMP specifically? Well, wouldn’t you know it, he’s heard rumors that apparently there’s a phoenix hiding around somewhere. Not to mention the Dream SMP is absolutely loaded with hybrids because of Dream’s rather public policy about hybrid tolerance (he isn’t a hybrid, but he knows the affect being a hybrid has had on Sapnap and he still fears for Tommy so he tries to make somewhere that maybe one day Tommy can be open about what he is.)

Schlatt can’t immediately tell it’s Tommy who’s the phoenix because Tommy himself is an even rarer variation of phoenix called a soul flame phoenix, which is why his eyes and wings are a soul fire blue. Schlatt came in expecting crimson and our boy is out here with wings that look like the place where the sky meets the sea. Schlatt even dismisses Tommy initially and starts investigating some of the people who look human or avians with orange and yellow feathers. This is also why Phil can’t immediately recognize Tommy when he joins the SMP. While he can hide them with magic, Tommy usually has his wings on display since the Dream SMP is designed to be a safe space for hybrids. This Dream doesn’t have a ban on flying (he thought about it, maybe setting aside specific areas where winged hybrids could exercise, but it was quickly scrapped via Tommy repeatedly throwing himself off cliffs and then remembering he wasn’t supposed to be flying, immediately letting himself drop and die. Some of those ‘accidents’ were even canon and Dream just gave up on the rule.)

For this AU, I imagine that Dream would be a bit more in tune with people and empathetic so he’d probably call in Techno and Phil for help when he sees Wilbur starting to take a dive. Both out of worry for his own younger brother who’s sticking by Wilbur and consideration for the fact Wilbur himself took something of an older brother role. Sure he was a little jealous, but he understand well enough that everyone who meets Tommy either falls into one of two categories. They hate the kid and want him dead or they want to be his older sibling who’d burn down the world if he asked them to. George and Sapnap can both attest to the fact there are only two types of people in this world when it comes to Tommy and people usually start as the first before slowly becoming the second.

So Techno and Phil show up early which is really good because Schlatt finally reveals his true intentions and neither Techno nor Phil are very chill with them. I dunno how the reveal will go between them and Tommy yet. I don’t even know for Good Brother Dream if we’re having Techno be a family friend or older brother so hard to say.

Anyway, I think that’d probably be where the main plot kinda starts to kick off so I’ll stop there for now. If I go for too much longer I’ll just end up wanting to write it…

#dream smp #dream smp au #good brother dream au #philza #ph1lza #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #dream #dreamwastaken #sapnap #georgenotfound #jschlatt #technoblade #submission #snapdragon & firefly

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