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whumpdoyoumean · 6 months

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Whumptober #13

This is a (very late) tag to Stranger Things 4 (:

xxx it comes and goes like the strength in your bones

Robin’s heart sinks as she stares out the window, watching as the ashy stuff floats lazily down from the darkening sky. It’s so quiet, calm almost, might be something close to beautiful if she didn’t know that it’s a sign of something terrible. She can hear quiet murmurs and shuffling behind her as others move toward the window to see what’s going on.

What’s going on.

None of these people have any idea what’s really been happening in Hawkins. The fear and grief that have permeated the little town are still just scratching the surface of the true terror that lies beneath. They’re trying to pick up the pieces, completely oblivious to the fact that things are only going to get worse.

“Steve,” she says quietly. She isn’t sure what she’s looking for--some words of reassurance, or maybe just to know that she’s not alone--that he’s as scared as she is. He doesn’t answer and she looks over at him. “Steve?”

His cheeks are flushed, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular, and she can see his chest rising and falling as he takes heavy breaths.

“You okay?” Robin says.

Steve blinks. “I don’t feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice low. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, something between a gasp and a grunt, and his eyelids flutter, knees giving way beneath him.

“Steve!” She launches herself forward, managing to catch him under the armpits before he hits the ground.

“Whoa,” Steve breathes, his eyes widening as he gets his feet back under him and stands, gently peeling himself from Robin’s grip. “What just happened?”

“Uh,” Robin says. “I don’t--”

“I think he fainted,” Vickie says from behind her. Then to Steve, “You should sit down, I’ll go get some water!”

“Is he okay?” someone says, and Robin forces a smile.

“Yeah, we’re fine!” Her voice comes out higher than she meant it to, a little frantic, and she hopes it isn’t too glaringly obvious. “Thanks. Must’ve had his knees locked. Here, Steve, let’s get you to a chair, yeah?”

Steve doesn’t say anything as she grabs him tightly by the arm and starts guiding him through the crowd. His silence concerns her. Something like this would normally embarrass the shit out of him but he doesn’t say a thing, just allows himself to be led to a table a little removed from the gathered people. She can feel the panic starting to build, the familiar tightness in her chest, the noisy racing of her thoughts. She fights through it, forcing herself to take a deep breath as she eases Steve onto a chair.

“What’s going on?” she asks quietly. Steve isn’t looking at her, and one arm is clutched tightly to his middle. Her mind flashes back to the sight of him lying on the ground, being eaten alive by those things, and she has to physically shake her head to send the memory away. She presses a hand to his forehead. “God, you’re burning up!”

Steve doesn’t respond. He seems barely conscious now, and it’s getting harder to keep the panic at bay. Vicki appears a second later, a water bottle clutched in one hand. Her eyes are wide, eyebrows pinched into a frown.

“Is he okay?” she asks.

Robin looks up at her. “Did you drive here?”

“Uh…y-yeah,” Vicki answers uncertainly.

“Good. Good, um, do you think you could drive us to the hospital?”

She looks a little freaked out, but nods. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Robin lets out a breath. “Thank you, Vicki. Thank you, I’m sorry about this.” She puts a hand on Steve’s back. “Hey, Steve? We’re gonna get you to a doctor, okay? But you need to get up.”

He nods a little, and Robin helps him to his feet, pulling his arm around her shoulders as she does. They barely make it three steps before he stumbles, and Vicki hurries to Steve’s other side, dropping the water bottle.

“Let me help.”

The three of them make their way out of the cafeteria, Steve remaining disconcertingly quiet the whole time. Robin starts scanning the crowd as soon as they make it out. It only takes her a moment to spot the familiar curly head.

“Dustin!” she calls, and he turns sharply, gaze meeting hers for only a second before he notices Steve. His eyes widen a little and he makes his way toward them, moving quickly in spite of his limp. Robin glances over at Vicki. “Room for one more?”

Vicki looks over at her and shrugs a little. “Why not?”

“Steve!” Dustin says breathlessly as he falls in step with them. “What happened?”

“He fainted,” Robin says, and Dustin’s face pales.

“Oh, god.”

“We’re taking him to the hospital. Vicki, this is Dustin. Dustin, Vicki. She’s driving.”

“Hi,” Vicki says, and then nods toward a little blue chevy. “It’s that one.”

“The one with the red fuzzy dice?” Robin asks, and Vicki blushes a little.

“It’s my mom’s car.”

Vicki gets behind the wheel while Dustin climbs into the backseat. Robin helps Steve in after him, making sure he’s all the way in before closing the door and hurrying up to the passenger seat. Vicki glances in the rearview as she turns the car on.

“He’s really out of it,” she says. “I’ve seen people faint before--it happens all the time in band, you know, people lock their knees--but he looks. He looks pretty bad. Did something happen?”

“He, uh.” Robin’s racing mind suddenly goes blank, the million overlapping thoughts coalescing into a single drone. “Um.”

“I think he got hurt,” Dustin says from the backseat. “During the earthquake.”

“Yeah,” Robin says quickly, silently thanking him for saving her. “Yeah, he must not have gone to the hospital since it was so busy.”

The car hits a bump going out of the parking lot and Steve lets out a pained cry, arm curling tight against his middle, eyes squeezing shut.

“Sorry!” Vicki cries. “Oh, god, I’m sorry. I’ll try and be more careful. Is he okay?”

“Just drive!” Dustin’s voice cracks a little and Vicki’s mouth twists to one side, her brow furrowed.

“Do you want music?” she blurts after a second. “The radio doesn’t always work but I think there’s a-a Captain and Tennille tape in the glovebox.”

“No, that’s okay,” Robin says. “It’s only a few minutes.”

“Sorry, I’m just--I’m freaking out a little bit? I mean, the town is falling apart and I was making sandwiches and now I’m driving Steve Harrington to the hospital? And this--this is all just a little bit new to me, you know?”

Robin nods, offering her a small smile. “Yeah. I know.”

Vicki smiles back, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, then turns her attention back to the road.

“I’ll let you guys off at the front,” she says as they near the hospital. “Do you want me to stay? I can park and come in. If you want.”

“We’ve got it,” Robin says, hoping she doesn’t come off as rude. “And again, I am--so sorry. Thank you, I owe you big time.”

“I hope he’s okay,” Vicky says.

“Thanks.”

Robin and Dustin barely manage to get Steve out of the car and into the lobby, and Dustin starts shouting immediately.

“Hey! We need help! Help!” Maybe it’s the urgent shrillness of his voice, or maybe it’s the fact that Steve is barely standing, but much to Robin’s surprise and relief things move quickly, and before she knows it Steve is being loaded onto a gurney.

“Can you tell me your name?” one of the doctors asks as they wheel him out down the hall to one of the curtained off areas, Robin and Dustin at their heels. Steve is still conscious (sort of) but he doesn’t answer, and the doctor looks over at Robin.

“Steve,” she says quickly. “Steve Harrington.”

“Okay, Steve? Do you know where you are? Let’s get his vitals…” He turns to Robin as one of the nurses slides a blood pressure cuff onto Steve’s arm. “Can you tell me what happened?”

How does she even begin to explain that? She has no idea, but she has to answer so just starts talking in the hopes that something comes to her.“We were volunteering at the high school and-and he fainted, just kind of out of the blue. And he’s been out of it ever since.”

“Did he say anything to you before he fainted?”

“No, but he was…He was holding his stomach.”

The doctor nods, then turns to one of the nurses. “Let’s lift his shirt up.”

Robin watches with mounting horror as they push Steve’s shirt up, her heart dropping into her stomach as she lays eyes on Steve’s bare torso. The wounds from the demobats are leaking something, and the skin around them is a bright, angry red.

“Shit, Steve,” Dustin whispers. There are tears streaming down his cheeks. Robin has to blink back tears of her own.

“Do you know how this happened?” the doctor asks.

“No,” Robin says quietly, barely able to get the word out.

The doctor’s expression is stern, and he turns to face Robin. “This is serious. If you know anything, you need to tell me. Do you have any idea what did this?”

Robin swallows, her heart hammering, jaw working. She swipes at one eye, brushing away an errant tear, and shakes her head. “No.”

The doctor looks at Dustin and he shakes his head, too. “No.”

The doctor stares at both of them for a moment like he’s trying to decide if he believes them before saying,“Does he have any allergies that you know of? Medical conditions?”

“No,” Robin says again. “He’s--he’s not allergic to anything.”

“Okay. We’re going to do what we can for him but you two need to go wait in the waiting room.”

“But--” Dustin begins, and the doctor shakes his head.

“We need to work. You can either go out to the waiting room or I’ll have someone take you out of this hospital.”

Robin puts a hand on Dustin’s back. “Let’s go,” she says quietly. “I don’t want to either, but we have to.”

xxx

The waiting room is unbearable. Robin and Dustin are barely able to find someplace to sit, and the whole place is packed. For such a full room, there’s an eerily small amount of noise, misery and anxiety hanging over everyone like a physical thing. Dustin doesn’t talk to Robin, doesn’t even look at her, just sits with his elbows on his knees as he cries, his shoulders shaking. People come and go, but there are never more than one or two empty chairs at a time.

It’s at around the two hour mark that a nurse comes in, a solemn look on her face, and says, “Mrs. McCarthy?”

A woman seated across from Robin looks up, and her expression immediately falls, grief etching its way into her features. “No.”

“Why don’t we step into the hall?” the nurse says gently, and the woman slowly rises from her chair.

“Please.” Her voice shakes. “Please, no. He’s gone, isn’t he?”

Any whispering or chatter that had existed before the nurse walked in has vanished. People looks down at the floor, or their hands. Anywhere but at the shattered woman.

“Mrs. McCarthy,” the nurse says, and Mrs. McCarthy lets out a wail that makes Robin’s chest ache.

She stares down at her shoes as the nurse leads Mrs. McCarthy out into the hall.

xxx

“Harrington?”

Robin and Dustin both look up sharply. Robin doesn’t need to see Dustin’s face to know that he’s as afraid as she is.

“Are you two with Steve Harrington?” the nurse asks, and Robin nods.

“Yes.”

“You can see him now.”

Robin lets out a long breath as Dustin lets out a small, “Thank Christ.”

Steve is propped up in his hospital bed against a pile of pillows, and though he still looks like absolute shit, he definitely looks better than when they got him here. There’s an IV in one arm, and fresh bandages wrapped around his torso.

“Hey,” he says when he sees them, giving a little wave.

“Steve, you scared the shit out of me!” Dustin cries, and Steve grimaces.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’m okay, they’ve got me on a heavy round of antibiotics which should clear things up in a few days.”

He doesn’t mention it, but Robin knows that he’s probably wondering the same thing she is. Do antibiotics even work on demobat bites?

“How are you feeling?” she says, trying to push that worry to the back of her mind.

“I’m okay…How are you feeling?”

Robin frowns. “What do you mean how am I feeling?”

“Vicki Charmichael.”

Robin sighs. “God, Steve, are you serious? You could have died! Is now really the best time for that?”

“Robin owes her a favor,” Dustin offers, and Steve smiles a little.

“Good…” The smile fades, his expression growing serious. When he speaks, it’s with obvious reluctance. “Something…something is happening out there. If shit starts to go down, like real shit, you two need to promise me you’ll come get me.”

“Steve,” Robin begins, and he shakes his head.

“No, Buckley. I fucking mean it. Promise.”

As strange and unlikely as it may have seemed at one point, Steve is Robin’s best friend. Ever since that night at Starcourt, she’s made it a point to be open and honest with him. She’s spent so much of her life lying, it’s really nice to have someone that she can just be truthful with.

It’s just this once, she tells herself. It’s for his own good.

“I promise,” she lies.

xxx

#whumptober2023 #no.13 #infection #“i don't feel so good”#stranger things #fic #fever #collapse #steve harrington #stranger things fic #whumptober #my writing #my fic #whump #whump fic

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tinyglitterrose · 5 months

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Spoiled

part three of the Princess Series

Mashton, boxboy, 18+

Bottom Ashton, Top Michael

Warnings: SMUT

---

"Hey, Ash?", Michael opened the door to the back room of their tour bus.

Ashton looked up from his phone, sitting up more straight from where he'd been lazily lounging on the long couch. Calum and Luke were fumbling around in the kitchen, trying to cook, while the bus was driving on the high way.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Not much", Michael shrugged his shoulders and walked into the room, maybe a bit too casually, "You?"

Ashton shrugged as well, turning back to his phone.

Michael just stared at him.

"You sure you're good?", Ashton looked back up, grinning lopsidedly at his bandmate.

"Mhh, well", he waited until Ashton furrowed his eyebrows to keep talking, "I think I could be. If I wasn't the only one being excluded."

"Ex- from what?", the drummer was more than confused, especially with how Michael was grinning like a menace at him. Was he high?

Michael shrugged again, sighing as if something traumatic had happened to him but none of the boys cared enough to notice it.

Ashton laid his phone down beside him, giving Mike his full attention.

"Did we do something? I'm sorry if we did something, Mike, I promise we didn't purposefully exclude you from anything."

"You really didn't, did you?", Michael's face changed to an almost pityful expression. Where was the boy going with this? Ashton looked at him, getting more lost every second, shaking his head again.

"Makes sense", Michael nodded to himself, "After all you're a little princess. Princesses are spoiled, so why would you come up to me, right?"

Ashton's eyes went big. Shit, he had thought that this was almost forgotten. It had been another three weeks since Luke had, well, fucked him with a dildo until he was crying and they hadn't talked about it again. It wasn't awkward either, everything was good.

But apparently not for Michael.

"I, uh-"

"You what? Obviously Luke told us what you two did and you know, I was hoping that maybe you'd come up to me and offer to not have me be the only one being excluded, but oh well. Gotta do everything myself."

"You-"

"Is the mighty princess busy right now or can I pledge for an allowance to touch your oh so fantastic behind?"

"Mike", Ashton winced, he didn't like his best friend sounding so mean. He didn't want him to be pissed off or angry at him.

He caught his lip between his teeth, worriedly biting on it. Should he...? It would make Michael happy again, right? But it would also be so embarrassing. Then again, it would feel good and he secretly loved the humiliation and it wasn't like Mike didn't exactly know what he was asking for.

So Ashton took a long shaky breath, then he slid off the couch and kneeled on the floor, hands claspes together in his lap.

"I'm sorry for being a brat", he mumbled to Michael's left knee.

Michael didn't react at all for a few seconds. Calum and Luke had described Ash as incredibly bratty and unwilling to obey to anything. But now he was kneeling in front of him and apologizing. Without even having been given any instructions to do so.

"Wow, Ash, you can be obedient then, huh?", he was mumbling himself.

"Just - just wanna be a good..."

"A good princess?"

Ashton nodded quickly, still not lifting his gaze and not able to say the word. It still embarrassed him too much to admit to it, that he liked being their princess. He was a man after all, a tall, fit, grown man with chest hair and abs. Being a princess was just... it was so humiliating.

"Say it, Ash"

But he didn't say anything.

"Aw, come on, Ashy", Michael leaned down to put two fingers under the others' chin, making him look him in the eyes, "Tell me what you are or I'll have to fuck the words out of you. And this door over there", he nodded towards the slide door that led to the bunk beds, "has no lock on it. The other boys could just walk in, while I'm making you sit on my cock."

Ashton clamped his mouth shut. He was too stubborn for this. And he kinda wanted what Michael was threatening to do. Wanted him to make him scream and beg so loud that Cal and Luke would come in wondering if he was hurt.

And Michael quickly picked up on that.

"Alright then", he grinned wickedly, lifting his hips off the couch and pushing his pants and underwear down. Before Ashton cod fully register what was happening, his jaw was gripped and forced open and a half hard dick was fed into his mouth.

"Suck", Michael demanded, still holding onto the other man's jaw with a tight grip, but he slid his hand up the side of Ashton's face to then instead take hold of his curls at the back of his head, forcefully pushing him down. Not even Calum had been this rough with Ashton.

Ashton choked but didn't try to pull back.

"Alright, enough", Michael pushed him away barely two minutes later.

Ashton looked up at him with wide eyes, mouth still open. Did he do somethin wrong? Was Michael suddenly digusted of him?

But he wasn't.

"Clothes off", he said, dick still being out and crossing his arms over his chest. He lifted his eyebrows expectantly, when Ashton didn't move.

Ashton gulped, blushing heavily, but started doing as asked.

"That too", Michael grinned when he hesitated to take his boxers off. Biting his lip, the drummer obeyed, then he got back on his knees in front of Mike, hands clasped together in his lap.

Michael didn't say anything for a while, just staring at his older friend and having him sit there in front of him. Entirely naked and waiting for directions.

It was quite a sight to behold and Michael wondered if Ashton would let him take a picture if he asked.

"Tell me if you want me to stop with anything", he said seriously instead and Ashton nodded shakily. He didn't know what to expect, what might be coming.

Or who, he realized when he remembered that any of the other two boys - or even anyone at all - could just walk into the back of the bus.

"Wait here"

Ashton obeyed, not moving an inch until Michael came back. He then turned his head to look at him, but the younger one only had to lift an eyebrow to make Ashton's head whip back around.

"Don't jump", he heard him mumble right behind him. He had kneeled behind Ashton.

Ashton kned his fingers in his lap, anxiously waiting for what Michael was going to do.

He couldn't believe he was in a situation like this again, was this all just okay with his bandmates?

And why did it excite him that he wasn't sure if they enjoyed this as much as he did?

---

i haven't posted in quite some time so i'm splitting this one into a two part imagine to give you something new 🥰👀

#5sos masterlist #ashton irwin #ashton imagine #fanfic #5sos gay smut #ashton 5sos #5sos smut #bottom ashton #ashton smut #michael clifford smut #michael 5sos #michael imagine #michael clifford #mashton #mashton fic #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of smut #5sos #masterlist

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mandalhoerian · 1 year

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NO TIME TO DIE | leon kennedy x oc | 2

pairing: leon s. kennedy x oc word count: 8K~ warnings: graphic descriptions of gore and violence, mentions of past child abuse, mentions of racism, suicidal thoughts, brian irons is a warning sign himself, cringy awkward humor between two people who dont know what the fuck they're doing and suspiciously frequent mentions of leon's ass, whiplash of emotions summary: Vera is confronted with possibility of her life's greatest loss on top of her cowardice, and Leon with what the greater good in this hellhole is: to follow orders or what he knows to be right thing to do? READ ON AO3 ! CH. 3 ☆ NO TIME TO DIE MASTERPOST

Portable white curtains obscured the view to Leon and gave the father-daughter duo some privacy in the middle of the spacious main hall of the station as he geared up. Vera was slumped on a crate, elbows on knees, and hands shaking around the empty bottle of berry juice; all of her energy was going into regulating her emotions so she wouldn’t have a meltdown. Marvin was breathing raggedly at the corner of her vision but she couldn’t bear to look at him, physically couldn’t bring herself to take one look, afraid that if she saw the deterioration, it’d somehow become the trigger of reality on Marvin’s temple to take him away the moment she acknowledged it.

The ashy undertone of his once healthy brown skin flashed right before her eyes every time she closed them — the blood staining his uniform brighter than ruby, it wouldn’t leave her, stained the back of her mind, sticky red soot. “How did this happen — no, when did this happen, since when?”

The air hung heavy, bearing the answer spelled out in the silence.

Her bones trembled under how he might have been trying to hide it as they were talking over the radio acting fine and dandy. How bizarre it was that Vera went to explode his ear off from complaining even when she got the smallest scratches, and her father hid away as long as he could until it’d take one strong sneeze to knock him out. She didn’t want to think about what he was planning to do disappearing off in that condition, she didn’t want to think about the exhausted acceptance of death in his face — didn’t want to think about how Marvin had already left her behind in his mind.

Instead, she listened to him saying, “It doesn’t matter, Vera. None of that matters,” — foreign, small, shaky. A Marvin who was a stranger to her.

A Marvin who was the personification of her worst nightmares.

Vera’s eyes burned at the sheer amount of effort he put in to talk normally without letting his pain show. “It fucking does!”

Marvin scowled. “Now you know better than to use that language around me—”

He was bleeding out, how was this relevant?

“I don’t care!” Vera threw away the plastic as far away as she could, standing up in nervous energy her body couldn’t get rid of, it was a bomb clashing against the silence that came after. “What is that wound? What the fuck is it? Did they claw on you, were you—”

“Vera,” Marvin leaned back, calm, strained, eyes closed. “Enough.”

No, it couldn’t be.

That had to be a simple gash, he was simply distasteful at her implying he was bitten. Of course. “Then let me tend to this, why haven’t you put anything on it yet?”

The question itself was a dare to the worst possible response ever, it dared to be asked so the answer would be different from what it wanted confirmed.

No word of how Marvin was missing the whole time between the arrival of UBCS soldiers and Leon — and why exactly he was gone. Vera would ignore it for the sake of changing the reason altogether, if she could fix him from here on out, it didn’t matter, not right now.

“I can’t waste these resources on me.”

Spoken like a person who knew the date of his death.

Vera recoiled back, “What?”

The word left the trembling lips of a child, holding tightly to the leg of a parent who had his back turned, half gone in spirit, half ready to leave with a suitcase in hand, sand slipping away from her fingers.

He couldn’t leave her. He couldn’t go like this.

She crouched in front of him, trying to catch his eyes and clutching to Marvin’s hands like a madman, not even a thought spared to how his hands were fucking icy and sticky from blood. “There is nobody else. It’s just me, you, and Leon over there. I don’t know where David is. This is all we have left. How can you say it would be a waste? How can you ever—” She had to swallow to not choke up, shaking her head. “You’re losing so much blood, just— have you gone stupid from it?”

He glared at her, his complexion might be worrying but the energy to scold her had not been snuffed off. “I’m still me enough to know this is disrespect, young lady. Don’t play with me, I’m your father even though I’m letting you call me by my name. Understand?”

One part of her wanted to smile at this, good. She could still agitate him to this degree. “Stubborn ox. I’m patching you up,” She stood up and ignored his protesting, it broke her to see him writhe in pain, her jaw clenched, anger simmering lava hot underneath her skin. “You can complain about it all you want. I’m not letting you treat yourself as deadbeat, we’re going to get out of here and you’ll be okay.”

“I’m with her on that, Lieutenant.”

That made Vera flinch and she almost dropped the first aid kid she had grabbed — if Leon’s voice came any closer, she would have jumped too. She had forgotten he was there.

“You just met my daughter and you think that gives you the right to listen in on our private conversation?”

“Lean back,” Vera settled right in front of Marvin again, opening the box and inspecting the contents of it. They had the bandages, disinfectant and cotton she was looking for to make a temporary fix to this, what she needed was herbs — and surprise surprise, not in here. She wished she knew how to medically stitch, that would have been helpful in the absence of herbs or first aid sprays until she could gather enough courage to venture into the unknown to look for supplies.

“I’m sorry lieutenant,” Leon swallowed, “I wasn’t exactly trying to listen, it was just loud…”

“That she is,” Marvin shifted and hissed in pain, clutching his bloody gash harder. Fresh and thick blood flowed between his fingers and all she wanted to do was sit back and scream and cry like a kid. Instead, she gushed disinfectant on a cloth and pressed it hard against him and screwed her eyes shut as a broken yell ripped from him, holding him down when he sprung up from his seat.

It burned in her heart worse than his wound ever could, a selfish thought perhaps, but it was the ruthless truth, suffering double the pain of a precious someone was the price you paid for letting them become precious — their suffering became your curse, the fear of loss held your lungs hostage.

The rookie cop shuffled behind them, his silence stifling against Marvin’s choked grunts of pain. Vera kept cleaning the blood and dressing the gash, and Leon finally dropped the bomb. “Does anyone know what started this?”

Her hands stopped momentarily.

This was a brewing question, asked around too many times, and rightfully so. People wanted to know if this was divine retribution from above or something man-made and curable. Each discussion had Vera getting a little smaller where she was, shame lowering her head down low, and escaping anywhere she could from prying, desperate innocents looking for only a drop of salvation from her.

For what could she say after confirming she did know the genesis when the following question would be: “Why didn’t you do anything to stop it?”

Many excuses lined up in her defense:

I’m one person, they own the city.

What could I have done? They would have silenced me if I spoke up.

I was trying to find a better way to go about it, I swear, I had to be smart at handling this.

Marvin’s state in her mind gestured to himself, one breath away from becoming a corpse. “How could you let it get to this point?”

Because of course that question would come to mind first when preceded by Vera as the subject instead of how she even knew in the first place. She was quite the rumored private investigator in Raccoon; had her infamous ways, did a lot of helping off the record where the police were of no use. If anybody in the city would have any inkling about what really was going on, it would be Vera, that’s what she was known for, and what she was proud of once.

Her primary focus was on bounty hunting, which tied her directly to RPD, collaborating with law enforcement to find and detain wanted individuals was the forefront of her activities as a private eye, followed closely by trial preparation and civil investigations — being a registered bounty hunter, though, was how she was able to get to know most of the police officers outside of being the daughter of Lieutenant Branagh, including the newly established STARS team she got to witness being formed, in her three years of career.

At the very core of it, though, everything was a strategic move on her part to monitor the activities of Chief Irons more closely, and to gain evidence to dig his grave, quiet as a snail, boiling the water of the frog that he was so slowly that he wouldn’t notice being cooked. The man was Vera’s worst enemy as the diabolical director of the Racoon City Orphanage who made life a living hell exploiting Vera as a public wonderkid figure first, a perverted serial killer second, and the disgusting stooge of Umbrella third.

In the beginning when this wasn’t about the petrifying discovery by Vera of an unforgivable breach of human rights, and the violation the Biological Weapons Convention which the U.S. signed and ratified in 1972, Irons was only a monster figure to her child self she couldn’t stand up against in fear of being striked down and starved for days just to the limit where it wouldn’t threaten her diabetes. He hid away her friends after their adoptions, withheld the information from Vera when she asked, baiting her with one more interview to yet another news channel about her newest entry that made the robotics summit and then he’d tell, allow her a phone call too, maybe, depending on how well-behaved she’d be, how grateful she was to Umbrella for sheltering her and supporting her hobbies.

Because that was the reason she existed as Umbrella’s precious PR project, the “Doe-eyed Jane” of the headlines and the news, every parent’s dream child, her own generation’s trauma, a one-in-a-century technological genius who had taken up the US in a storm the moment Umbrella began parading her around in competitions and fairs alike to show off her projects — all to advertise her benefactor Oswald E. Spencer, and polish their image in the eyes of the public eye, gush about how benevolent they were spoon feeding an orphan, and how merry she was in the orphanage that she must call it home.

She was adorable, perfect, had a good head above her shoulders, inspired girls who wanted more out of life all over the country, adults cooed over her whenever she went, and Time magazine made her the Woman of the Year in 1986. It was a bizarre life she recalled only so little of that it seemed like she conjured everything up herself if it wasn’t for their proof of existence even down to the details she had a hard time remembering having been documented.

Back at the orphanage, though, a stark contrast to the star-framed life weaved for the cameras, she was the poor Jane Doe nobody wanted to adopt despite being continentally loved and madly gifted, all children she befriended disappeared one by one after being adopted, and she was left behind, all alone — with the director Brian Irons who took pleasure in a mere child’s suffering.

She had one flaw, he used to say, she just wasn’t milky enough. Her skin was too dirty (it wouldn’t come off no matter how many baths she took), her nose didn’t slope like a Barbie’s (it didn’t arch gracefully no matter how long she tried to change it with clothes pegs), her hair was a curly bird’s nest (it didn’t become silky straight no matter how much she combed). If only Jane were a blonde — Irons had commented once, his shadow something out of a horror movie, beady eyes shifty in their sockets as the light eerily reflected from them, how loved she would be by him, he’d have adopted her in a heartbeat even though she was a horrible, horrible child.

Nobody would have believed Vera if she had come forward with half the shit she could remember being subjected to by him after hitting adolescence in the safe custody of Marvin, and finally digesting that she wasn’t the problem. Irons had a reputation of a saint, despite being anything but.

To think all of this had started out with wanting to get back at him for the things he did to her and learn the whereabouts of her friends.

Vera would have joined Umbrella as an engineer already if her life wasn’t changed by discovering the threatening emails he sent to the Birkins while she was doing maintenance in the station.

She was barely sixteen years old then, having been accepted to Raccoon University with a major in computer engineering, continuing her internship in the main building of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals shadowing the IT Team. Irons was a greedy son of a bitch not wanting to pay anybody to oversee the technical support — and maybe, not to dare sniffing around where they shouldn’t, and saw just a kid he had molded to submission and still could call “Jane” to her face even after she changed her name to “Vera”, and the daughter of one of his officers at his service who wouldn’t take any money for her services, also loyal to Umbrella because of her position as well. He thought her harmless, despite knowing firsthand what her intelligence could accomplish, that was his hubris, he regarded her so little.

How brave and victorious Vera had felt with what she’d unexpectedly dug up. Bribery, corruption, fraud, all of them admitted over the back-and-forths between him and the Birkins. She could dangle these over his head, make it the sword of Damocles, finally confirm that it wasn’t because they all hated Vera (couldn’t stand her in the first place, she was a liability) that all of her adopted friends cut ties with her after they left, and have him tell her their contact information so she could reconnect with them. Everything was set right in the world for just a day.

Instead of uncovering dirt on the scum of the earth like she thought she succeeded in, what was unleashed ended up being Pandora's box, and Vera was left face to face with an unimaginable evil — experimentation and subject in the same sentence in William Birkin’s response to something; that they had run out, and Irons had to make the arrangements to send more.

Vera was a child genius, yes, and knew her worth, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of getting that primordial terror of implied horrors painted by an imagination running wild. All the forked rivers spreading in different directions about the possible explanations joined into one sea: That her friends weren’t adopted, they were taken away to become test subjects. Vera knew madness to be just an abstract word out of her reach, this was her unkind introduction to it, all it took was one push and she hadn’t yet seen the bottom of it yet — and that same madness led her to run away screaming from the flowery path Umbrella was escorting her on.

From a scorned but terrified kid throwing away a life of promised success in the name of wanting to be more than what Umbrella wanted — to seek out the truth but not knowing how, to a more seasoned and cynical detective who couldn’t see a way out for truth to shine through from the blindfold of a corrupt, bought city of hidden evils; it all came down to this one thing: I was scared, I’m not a hero, this isn’t a film, I’m a coward, I don’t know what to do.

It all came down to fear.

Fear of what she had discovered and not knowing what to do with it. All she wanted was to know about her friends and now she was left with the worst outcome possible. What could be about this, ever? How could someone dare to utter a letter of it when all it took was a fabricated suicide to keep this in the ground forever? What justice could ever console the grief and mourning haunting Vera’s every day with the reality she was living in? What else was left for her but Marvin? Half-heartedly helping Jill in her investigation on Umbrella was a daredevil act on her part, still held back by fear but hoping that someone would be able to do something with what Vera was sitting on, that was all she could afford. It was the last attempt, a piss excuse of an effort, a cry for help — at their core, helter-skelter because she was a fucking coward.

And that cowardice was about to cost Vera her only family in the world. She had fabricated her own tragedy.

Because at the end of this road to nowhere, with no safe place to turn to and nobody for her voice to reach, she was left with no choice but to throw this whole city in the garbage, as long as Marvin was by her side she could start anew. Some savings she had were waiting in the bank, perhaps she could begin by opening a small private investigator’s office and use her connections to build a new pool of customers, if that wasn’t enough, she could always make use of her older skills and stay afloat with a repair shop — or just focus on computer maintenance, it was in demand these days. Vera was a jack of all trades type of person, dabbled in a lot of fields out of boredom back in the day as the feeling used to dictate her life. Thanks to that, though, her expertise was wide, finding a job starting out from the bottom wouldn’t be a problem for her, she loved a challenge, it could be fun.

This mindset was now bringing her karma. The world had gone to hell, and the only thing that kept Vera protecting her hope was Marvin — if she lost him too, then the next best thing was joining him in death on her own terms, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight, she would do anything to keep him alive, it wasn’t over yet, he didn’t deserve dying like this, Vera couldn’t fail him.

Marvin’s cold touch covered the hand she was crushing the roll of bandage with, pity and affection winding each other towards her, a question hidden in his gaze. Did she want him to reveal the truth to Leon, or not? When she shook her head noticeably, the motion supported by her saying no with her eyes, he gestured her to go sit down languidly.

What would Leon gain by going down the metaphorical rabbit hole to a conspiracy so vile? He was just a fresh graduate from the police academy, it was better for him to focus on saving himself, there was no point in looking for a why in the face of death, it was the trait of naive heroes that didn’t know any better.

“Not a clue,” Marvin said, tearing his attention away from Vera who had turned her face away. “But honestly, all you need to know is that this place will eat you alive if you aren’t careful.”

A fire ignited in Leon, his posture became more confident, soft edges of him giving way to purpose and motivation, Vera watched the change with interest. “Yeah… Well, I was supposed to start last week and I got a call to stay away.” He opened his arms wide. “I wish I’d come here sooner.”

“What difference would you have made?” Vera asked, some part of her was genuine. His words were full of bravado, another part of her resented the courageous intent she didn’t possess, attributing it to Leon saying that to look like a strong American man. “With you, or without you, this disease was bound to eat Raccoon alive.”

“I could have helped,” Leon shot back, sincerity clouding the slight anger. “One more person making it out — that’s the goal. I know I’m not going to magically solve the problem, but the smallest differences can mean the world for someone else.”

It was hard to breathe for a second. “That’s noble,” she breathed out. It was, no sarcasm there. “And very optimistic of you.”

“I think it’s realistic,” Leon trailed his fingers over his gun’s barrel, then slid it into its holster. “If you don’t try to save one life, you’ll never save any.” He looked at her then, eyes clear as the skies. “You might think of me as foolish but no matter the outcome, I would have chosen to come here willingly if I knew the situation from the start, even if it was certain I’d die. I don’t care about anything else.”

It was raw purity, unfiltered light, naivete cocooned in innocence of a good, honest heart, and Vera couldn’t look away from the beauty of it until it began to hurt her. Then it was sting of envy and agony of the obvious realization that she didn’t have it in her, even in the path of investigation she was always terrified of the outcome deep down, her hesitation and calculation made her move slow, think about every single step — and this new rookie had more guts in him than her struggling with this for three years now.

It wasn’t as if she went into investigating Umbrella with the conclusion of bringing them to justice: she wanted to shed light on the subject harvesting of the Raccoon City Orphanage, wanted to guarantee safely getting away from Umbrella when it was all said and done, wanted to protect what she had, wanted to defy fate and be more than their pawn. It was all about herself, self-centered, not selfless as Leon radiated like the sun, she didn’t even have the capacity. If there was an endgame, it was to ruin Irons, what came after that was never contemplated in her head because the more this case sucked her in, the more she became uncertain of seeing the end. Ben Bertolucci was meant to be an experiment to remedy that, and he was arrested almost immediately.

Vera was never the person who set out a clear end goal in mind — constantly dictated by instinct and emotion. Leon was. It was small, but it was his. To help whomever he could in an undead infested city. Respect bloomed inside her for him.

Vera’s lame response to him was, “Big words for a rookie.” She was softer on him though, body language accepting, no intent on being mean, and clearly more comfortable with Leon.

“Well I mean each and every one of them.”

“You’re here now, Leon. That’s all that matters,” Marvin interrupted, clearly not looking forward to a squabble he thought would start because of Vera’s argumentative nature. Jokes on him, she didn’t plan to start anything with Leon.

He stepped closer to them, stopping when he was just two steps away from the couch, uniform in place and all armored up, looking like he was about to go fist to fist with a riot. “Okay, Lieutenant, I’m ready.”

Vera reached for the Toughbook and placed it on her lap, tapping away on it while Marvin looked through Elliot's notebook..”Hopefully, you’ll be able to find a way out of this station. Vera here has discovered something peculiar that we didn’t take seriously before, but it’s our last resort.”

“This station used to be an art museum back in the day, all staff are required to know about it, so the computers come with a visual guide file of some sort — I know because I converted the whole thing to a pdf and sent it all to everyone. You would have discovered it eventually when you got your own PC, solitaire gets old real fast and everybody gets bored and snoops around just not to write reports, that’s how they discover this little thing, they tell me. I turned it to a Where’s Waldo game afterwards, it’s in a different folder for everyone, and—”

Marvin cut her off with an exasperated sigh, followed by a shudder. “Vera, I’m sure Leon doesn’t want to hear about any of this.”

“Oh yeah, shit, whoops, back to the point.” She automatically kept rambling because he did look interested and she’d taken his silence as indulgence. Totally not what he wanted to know. “Something about the layout of this place bothered me because the older maps of this place indicate there is an office directly underneath this statue. It was changed after Irons took the office apparently, so it got me thinking, but I couldn’t prove it since they were disposed of. I've only seen copies of it on the net-available database — which, unfortunately, can’t be accessed right now since all communications are down.”

Leon nodded and made a small affirmative sound for Vera to keep going. “So, voila, I finally found this little clue here,” She explained, and gestured to Leon to come closer, pointing at the screen. He reluctantly leaned towards her, but didn’t disturb her personal space. On the screen was an old article dating back at least thirty years about the historical significance of the same goddess statue in the hall, but something looked different about it. “You see how this space is open in the photograph?”

She looked up at him for confirmation and he nodded with the same energy. “Yeah, it goes underground.”

“This is our way out.”

“How do we open it?”

“It's a secret passageway, we discovered it requires three medallions to be opened — basically locked by a puzzle. There are three other statues around the station which have the medallions we need, but —”

“Let me guess,” Leon smiled, “Also locked with puzzles?”

Well, mark Vera entertained. “Aren’t you a fast learner?” It faded away soon enough, though, her own smile slowly dropping. “Elliot had accepted to figure them out for me, at the time I was busy trying to restore comms, we thought it was best to keep trying for multiple solutions so it’d raise the odds.”

At the mention of Elliot, Leon blinked rapidly as if seeing something else, and stepped away from the Toughbook, stiffening. Vera looked away as well, she had only heard his death while Leon had to live with not being able to save his fellow officer, she didn’t want to make him go through it again.

“This is good news,” Leon said, recovering quickly, he cleared his throat. “We can get Lieutenant to a hospital.”

“No, no,” Marvin quickly responded, scarily swift and determined in his rejection. “I am not the priority here.”

Vera set the Toughbook aside, placing it on the crate carefully with trembling fingers. “What do you mean? Yes you are. You are my priority.”

“And my priority is you getting out of here,” he hissed back, clutching the wound over the slightly soaked bandages.

“And I will,” Vera’s voice cracked. “We will. Together.”

“Honey I’d come with you, but I’d just slow you down… I can’t have you and Leon in danger because of me.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out, there has to be a way.” Vera sought Leon’s support, wordlessly begging for him to agree with her. “Right?”

And Leon came through. “Yeah, Lieutenant, I’ll go ahead first, clear the road for you.”

Marvin grimaced. “Clear the road, my ass, what road?”

“Look, Lieutenant, either way, I’m not just gonna leave you here —”

“Hold it right there,” Marvin raised a bloody hand, fingers curled in with fatigue. “You don’t stay alive with ifs or hypothetical hope or half-assed plans, you hear me?”

“Marvin—”

He shut Vera up with no regard. “I’m talking to my officer right now.” It took every drop of energy in him to sound as snippy, that much was visible, and the sole reason why Vera didn’t push it — Marvin needed his rest, forcing out draining emotions didn’t help that. She would bite her tongue. “You’re going to get my daughter out of here.”

Her nails created a row of crescent marks on her crossed arms. She would bite her tongue.

“Sir—“

“This is your first and last order, rookie. You save her first, and yourself second.”

Leon sucked a sharp breath in, glancing anguished between Vera and Marvin, he was torn and obviously didn’t know how to respond to that.

“This is bullshit,” Vera mumbled under her breath, chewing her bottom lip. Enough was enough. “You know what? I don’t work for you. I don’t care what your orders are. Fuck that sacrificial nonsense.” Marvin was about to tell her off for that, but she didn’t give him the opportunity to. “I’ll drag you out of here by your feet if I have to. I don’t care. What are you gonna do, lay down on the floor like a child?”

“I would give you one hell of an earful for running your mouth like that in front of me had Leon not been here, how’s that for a start?”

“Yeah, well, you have to stay alive for that. Something to look forward to for you, I guess? Been a while since you chased me down with a newspaper.”

Marvin was back at the good old days of a small, devil in his ass Vera screaming bloody murder as she ran away from him after causing his gun to go off in her hand while trying to explain that she only meant to take it apart to clean it and improve it just like she saw Kendo do it once. He was some place far away, fond and lonely when he tried to be stern. “I can barely take a couple steps, and you expect me to cross the city with you?”

Vera’s leg began shaking in an attempt to keep herself from bursting into tears. “I’ll load you to the wheelbarrow — I’ll go get a car, I’ll do something. You’re my dad, I can’t leave you here, don’t ask me to do that, please. I can’t, I won’t.”

Vera didn’t call Marvin father, never, ever, even with all those years after he adopted her, she shared more of an uncle-niece bond with him, the word ‘dad’ out of her mouth made him screw his eyes shut and breathe raggedly. “My only wish now is for you to be safe,” Marvin took her hands in his own shaky, cold ones, and Vera lowered her head to hide her twisting face and watery eyes. An injured man was consoling her when it should have been the other way around. How much more pathetic was she going to get? “And I know you can’t be safe as long as you keep clinging to me.”

The child in her took the microphone. “I don’t want safe, I want to be with you.”

You can’t leave, you can’t leave me.

There was no point in anything without him.

“Don’t say that honey. I need to know you’ll be able to survive on your own—”

Vera wrenched her hands away from him and shot forward, bumping into Leon roughly as she staggered away from them and from this conversation, he tried to stop her from falling by catching her arms but she shook him off, heels of her hands pressing on her eyes like she wanted to crush the tears into nonexistence. Quivering breaths rattled her ribcage and she trekked forward, only to stop and announce, “I’m on the lion medallion,” before walking off.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Lt. Branagh wheezed as Leon frowned after the girl, restlessness making him flex his fingers that she was going upstairs on her own. She wasn’t quite right in the head at the moment, this was far from safe, but the sympathetic side of him acknowledged she needed her space right now even though he wanted to go after her — the solution to stay a good distance away formed in his brain, after all, he just needed Vera in his peripheral vision to look out for her. Marvin pointed to his own shoulder vaguely, meaning how Leon was pushed away by her. “Don’t hold it against her.”

Leon glanced upstairs again. “You’re a good father, sir. She’s only focused on her own pain, but she’ll see that you’re only trying to look out for her once she calms down.” He gathered his determination. He respected authority and he respected his duties more, it was unheard of to leave a superior and a living being behind in this situation — Leon couldn’t swallow it down that he was ordered to leave a suffering man to die. The leaden weight on his throat obstructed his lungs. “That said, . I’m afraid I have to agree with her.”

“You are doing no such thing.”

“I understand what you said before, we’ll sit down and come up with a proper plan—”

“You have your orders, rookie!” Lt. Branagh basically howled and Leon had to yield to that, not having it in him to stand by what his heart told him to do. “You protect yourself and you protect my daughter. She’ll get killed at this rate because she’ll let herself, do you understand what I’m saying now?” There was something in his face that Leon wanted so desperately to obey to soothe, just go with what he was saying just so Lt. Branagh would have some peace at the moment, so he nodded.

Leon pursed his lips in silence, limbs heavy all of a sudden. “I’ll come back to take you to a hospital once we’re out.” It was his first instinct and wishful thinking to suggest a hospital, but logic and reason and what he learned in the academy told him that in a city-wide pandemic such as this, the hospitals would be the fortresses to go down first.

It must have reflected in his face because Lt. Branagh smiled bitterly. “You know there is no hospital.” He gingerly put an ashen hand over his tightly bandaged wound. “It’s too late for me, Leon.”

He couldn’t accept that. Vera’s crumbled figure was a shadow in the back of his mind. “Lieutenant—”

“Enough. Your report said you were quick to adapt and loyal to given orders, and that’s what I need right now. Not an inexperienced boy weak to his emotions, but a police officer.” Marvin coughed and it unmistakably hurt him to do so and he caught Leon looking in a way he didn’t like. “Do not pity me for one second. The dead are lost and what matters is guiding the remaining few.” Even though he had said he needed a police officer, Leon saw a terrified father in front of him, it was a direct punch to the gut. “I’m gone, Leon, I can’t have my daughter follow me too. She doesn’t deserve to die like this.”

Leon’s stomach churned. “You don’t deserve to die like this, let me help, Lieutenant. You can depend on me.”

“Defy me one more time and see what happens.”

Even Lt. Branagh himself knew there would be no repercussions, it was all a front, he was depending entirely on Leon’s respect of boundaries and inability to go against him, also knew that Leon was aware of this. It was the goddamn zombie apocalypse, but Leon still couldn’t put his foot down to save his own life, too timid and shy to convince the man that he could trust in him and he was, in fact, very capable. If there was another, more rugged veteran of this field in Leon’s place right now, would he have accepted to be escorted to safety?

While he was lost in his head, lamenting how unreliable he looked and what he could to remedy that, Lt. Branagh had forced himself to stand up, extending Leon something in his hand. “Now… you’ll need this.”

It was a combat knife, with its sheath and everything. It had to belong to the man. Leon had his trusty Matilda already, he couldn’t take away something that would keep the lieutenant safe in the long run. It was like stripping him of his last defense. “I can’t take—”

“Stop,” he grunted. “And don’t make my mistake. If you see one of those things—uniform or not—you do not hesitate. You take it out… or you run. Got it?”

Leon numbly shook his head affirmatively, eyebrows furrowed upwards ever so slightly. “Yes, sir…”

“Now go find her, she’ll be very helpful to you.” He sat back down, unable to stop his body from tensing in pain upon the movement. His bandages were getting redder as the minutes passed, but he wasn’t bleeding heavily, Leon thought it was a good sign that clots had begun forming, it meant that the wound looked worse than it actually was. Reassurance began to sparkle in him that it was the pain that held the lieutenant back, injuries on the stomach area hurt the worst, after all. There was hope yet, he would figure something out. “You two have to trust each other to get through this together.” He leaned his head back to the edge of the back of the couch and threw his forearm over his eyes like the light was hurting him physically. “Leave me to rest.”

Leon didn’t want to, but did just that, stuffing Officer Elliot’s notebook in his back pocket and jogging up the left stairs of this gargantuan place that reminded him of a mansion more than a museum or a police station. The wood was glossy in the main hall, and a healthy reddish brown, the steps were in top notch condition as well, he had spotted balconies to the side where he planned to check, and as he reached the top, he noticed doors lining up in both sides, but they had to be locked if no zombie had breached them yet. He made a mental note to check them first thing after getting to Vera.

The girl in question was crouching in front of the lion statue, feet flat on the floor, not working on solving the puzzle on it at all. From what he could see, the medallion thing was still in its place and Vera’s head was buried in the little cavity her arms had created by wrapping around her knees. Leon let out a small sigh, heart swelling up in desire to console her somehow, he didn’t exactly know what to do, though, they had just met, he barely knew her, it was his own flaw that he couldn’t handle the suffering of even strangers.

“Hey,” he called, but the girl jumped out of her skin and yelped at that, falling on her side and causing him to jerk back, surprised by her outburst.

“Oh my fuck— don’t do that!” Her hand went to where her heart was supposed to be. “I almost had a heart attack.”

“Sorry,” he said, apologetic, but unable to suppress a smile. He extended his open palm to her to help her stand up, and she reluctantly took the offer, allowing him to pull her up.

This was interesting to him the first time, and it was just as compelling now, Vera’s hand was rough but had the elongated elegant form of a musician, he’d felt it even from the loose fishnet glove covering the skin, she definitely had a job involving something related to crafting and liked a subgenre of metal or rock music the way she dressed — even played the guitar too considering the callus on her fingertips. Regarding the rest, he couldn’t exactly take his time touching the locations of the other callus to determine just what and it was highly inappropriate, but it intrigued him because of her image — she liked pink, a more feminine and vulnerable color, but she also liked black, suggesting some mystery.

Leon was particularly drawn in by mysteries, he had fun in figuring people out the most.

Claire Redfield, for example, whom he’d met on his way to the city had to be a biker, possessed the jacket for one, and she was too soaked to be traveling by car and only being exposed to the rain after getting out of a vehicle. She had a tomboyish aura to her and possessed an SLS 60, a small revolver which could indicate that she was too young and was given one for the sake of self-defense only, it didn’t seem to him that it would be her first choice in handguns. Having a cop for a brother also must have toughened her up and Leon was a 100% sure Claire was taught by him (and that gun was probably something he’d given her); he was certain she could take care of herself even from the little he’d seen of her. Leon knew she’d make it to RPD eventually.

Vera here was a bit too emotionally volatile at the moment for him to do any definitive and conclusive deduction, but he had witnessed first hand that she used humor to distract herself. The hypothesis was that it was the best way to communicate with her, and he figured it could work when she was down as well. No harm in trying, right? Leon had to help her get it together somehow.

He took out the small notebook from his pocket and waved it towards her in a friendly manner. “Looking for this?”

Vera stared at the notebook first, and then at him, face judgmental in the most mocking way possible. “Did you just take that out of your ass?”

A-ha, Leon thought. So it’s humor. Figures. Of course she wouldn’t want to think about her suffering father right now. “My trousers have back pockets.”

“I’m not touching something that was a layer away from your smelly, crusty asscrack.”

Okay. “You’re treating this as if I carried it between my buttcheeks the whole time.” Leon chuckled, flipping the pages until he ended up finding the scribbles for the lion statue. The outrageous image of a man ripped in half flooded his mind and his thumb’s nail scraped against the paper, creating a thin white line over the bloodied fingerprint left by Lt. Branagh. He could use Vera’s distraction as well, she clearly knew something he didn’t in coping with this. “It’s not a practical way of transportation.” He glanced at the puzzle. “The first image is a lion.”

“Maybe if you ever ran out of inventory, it could be useful,” Vera said, moving to spin the lock to look for the lion one. “Would reek, though.”

Leon was flabbergasted as to what they were suddenly discussing. “I’m not gonna shove bullets up my ass. That is so impractical.” That sounded obvious and bizarre at the same time, he couldn’t actually believe it was something he had to say out loud. But was he having fun? Weirdly so. It came out of nowhere, that was for sure.

“That is so impractical,” Vera repeated him, voice low all of a sudden, a bobble to her head. “Female spies carry so much in their vagina, get with the times. Men, I swear.”

Female spies carry what where now? “I don’t sound like that.”

“I don’t sound like that.”

Leon laughed but it was involuntary.

“You’re right about something though,” she wiggled her eyebrows at him, finally finding the lion. “Shoving bullets up your ass would be so impractical it’d kill you.”

“Why are we talking about my ass, what is this discussion?”

Vera shrugged, faking guilt on her face. “I don’t know, you started it.” So the blame was on him now. “We just met. That is so rude of you.”

Leon felt the heat spread all the way to the tip of his ears. Embarrassment rippled through him in waves, and he sought to change the topic. He had to change it right now. “The next one is a twig.”

Vera made it plain and apparent that she enjoyed his bashfulness, he’d give that to her just this once. It didn’t feel that great to be made fun of and he wanted to vehemently deny it wasn’t his intention to get gross with a person he just met — a girl, nonetheless, he wasn’t a guy like that, he sweared —, but if it made her feel a bit better, then he could just roll with it.

“There is no twig here,” Vera said, genuinely questioning. “You mean like dude, right? There is a lady?”

Oh god, no wonder she looked strange when he said the word, almost as if shocked he’d say that kind of thing so seriously. Leon snorted, biting inside his cheek so hard to not offend her, he really couldn’t stop that one. “Twig. Not twink.”

Vera froze. A couple seconds filled the silence. Leon had to physically try to fight the spasms of his diaphragm to not betray him. She raised one arm to him, pointer finger up. “Not a word.”

“I haven’t said anything.” Good. He didn’t crack.

“Your face is saying things.”

“This is how I usually look.”

“Like a twink, yeah.”

“You’re not winning this one,” he teased, good-natured in it, of course.

“I’ll get you eventually.” Vera turned away, huddling over the puzzle again, begrudgingly mumbling incoherent things that he caught, “Gonna twig these hands,” from. He had to take a few steps back and do a half-spin to not burst into laughter, Vera couldn’t see Leon do literal spins of struggle because her back was to him. They were in the middle of the literal zombie apocalypse, he’d witnessed tragedy left and right and still couldn’t recover, and this girl made him laugh. Actually laugh. What was wrong with him? Had his brain been fried that badly? He didn’t want to laugh, he really didn’t, there was nothing funny about the situation they were in, but he couldn’t help himself. It just bubbled up on its own and he felt terrible about it.

Eventually she spoke to him again, confused. “You sure you saw it correctly? No twig here either.” She had purposely emphasized the word.

“That can’t be.” Leon squinted to see the little doodle a bit better. Something made Vera chuckle a bit and it took that for him to realize he’d been making a face. Yet another minus point for charisma. “Yeah, it’s a twig.”

“Let me take a look.” Vera pinched the corner of the notebook and tilted it towards her, it didn’t escape Leon that she took great care in not touching him. Then, she slowly raised her head at him, there wasn’t much of a height difference between them, so her breath directly hit his face, and the smell of something fresh and spicy made him blink rapidly. That wasn’t gum. “Leon, that’s a branch.”

He recovered fast from the nice fragrance, and dumbly said, “Huh?”

“How do you mix a twig and a branch?” She returned back to the puzzle, flipping to the branch she was talking about.

“Does it make that much of a difference?”

“Twigs wouldn’t have leaves.”

“Oh, okay.” Leon said. It still didn’t make a difference to him, but that was fine. He was embarrassed again, but at least he had learned something new. “Alright, eagle next.”

She put the final symbol in, and the statue pushed the medallion forward from a latch that opened with an irritating, grating sound. “You’re not gonna fight me on that? Come on, where’s the spirit?” Vera let the bronze object fall to her hand, and almost dropped it in the process. “Damn, that’s heavy.”

“Well, if it’s a branch, it’s a branch.”

“Come on, fight me. Argue back, be a twig supremacist. You can’t be all sweet, all golden. Everybody has flaws.”

All sweet, all golden? Accomplishment and pride warmed Leon’s chest, they were jokes but if he was teased about it like this, there was some truth to the words Vera meant specifically. She thought good of him. “Thank you for the compliments.”

“I wasn’t complimenting.”

“If you say so,” Leon agreed as they descended the stairs.

“I’m calling you a goody two-shoes and a pushover.” Vera was trying to come off more persuasive in being received as an insulting individual. “Who can’t stand by his choices and defend them, by the way. That twig didn’t deserve to be abandoned like that.”

Leon stopped dead in his tracks, the stupid twig now a metaphor in his head for the lieutenant.

Vera also stopped, a couple steps above him, uneasy, tips of her nails scratching at the edges of the bronze medallion. “Hey, I’m just—“

“I know,” Leon said. “But you’re right.”

“I am?”

This girl didn’t need to be reminded of her father or have another aggravating discussion about the correct way to handle his condition. Leon would keep it lighthearted with Vera, do his best to keep her afloat and not at the bottom of her own sea of misery. Leon’s battle with Lt. Branagh was his own — yes, she was brutal about it in a way he didn’t expect being thrown his way, but Leon was really unable to disobey his superior even concerning his well-being when he should have taken the initiative. He had backed down so quickly, afraid of how he would be received, his nature was to aspire to do what the man wanted just for that immediate feeling of acceptance.

“Don't worry, I have no intentions of letting the twig down,” Leon said, melancholic, but giving her a smile anyways, and kept going down the stairs.

For a while, Vera didn’t follow him down, standing still like a ghost.

tags: @lottathoughts , @ocappreciationtag !!

#leon kennedy x oc #leon s kennedy x oc #leon s. kennedy x oc #resident evil oc #oc: vera kaplan #story: gravedigger #era: no time to die #resident evil fanfiction #ocappreciation #shai's writings

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animatedtext · 5 years

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#You get ashy knees or none of me #gif #animatedtext #transparent #purple #green

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javier-pena · 3 years

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alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

masterlist | join the tag list

The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao, @filthybookworm, @frannyzooey, @khalysa, @leannawithacapitala, @mothandpidgeon, @mrsparknuts, @mxsamwilson, @piscespussybabe, @something-tofightfor

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #star wars #din djarin #pedro pascal #fanfic #the hunt fic #yes i've queued this #yes i'm asleep right now #and yes i'm too much of a coward

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cj-sparkss · 3 years

Note

Can you write something with #2 and #4 from the prompt list for Jean? 🥺

forever yours -

jean’s masterlist

fluff prompt request #2 & #4 with jean

you guys are sitting on the beach, right in front of the vast and azure ocean, the same place you both first set foot on five years ago. the golden sun is resting in the bright sky, casting a warm, and comforting heat over the large stretch of land. the ocean is glistening under the sunlight, subtle turquoise waves crashing onto the shore, shiny seashells getting left behind as the water draws back in.

“let’s go up closer.” you grab jean’s hand, interlacing your fingers with his, standing up and pulling him up along with you. with his large hand in yours, you trek closer to the cerulean waves, feet touching the fine-grained sand. you stop where the water washes over the beach, to the point where it barely meets your feet.

“ooh!” in the corner of your eye, you spot something twinkle in the water, grabbing your attention immediately. letting go of jean’s hand, you crouch down, picking up the shiny object, shaking it a bit to get rid of the remaining water. “this is so beautiful...,” you murmur under your breath, eyes filled with admiration. even after years of coming here, you still can’t get enough of the area’s beauty.

from above, jean carefully watches you, admiring your angelic beauty. he awes at how the sun highlights every feature of your face, skin glowing in the golden sun. he can’t get enough of the view either, but in his eyes, you looked even more divine than everything else itself.

moving his hand to his pocket on the side of his pants, he palms the small rectangle box, praying silently to himself that you haven’t taken notice of his unusual quietness. using his other hand to brush his hair out of his face, he takes a big gulp, as you still awe at the delicate piece in your hands. you rise up to your full height, bringing the seashell up to the light and letting the sun reflect off of it.

it’s now or never, jean thinks to himself, wiping his sweaty palms on the front of his grey shirt. with shaky hands, he reaches into his pocket, trying his hardest to steadily pull out the velvet rectangle box. so immersed with the object in your hands, you don’t notice the tall figure crouch down on one knee, bone sinking into the sand. you somehow don’t notice him open the small box either, letting the cool air hit the even smaller object inside.

wanting to show your lover the gorgeous seashell, you turn your body to face him, extending your arms out with it in your hands. “hey jean, look at this-” you stop dead in your tracks.

eyes landing on the boy crouched on one knee, your mouth falls open, your sentence lost somewhere in your brain. you let your arms fall to your side, the seashell once in your grasp falling into the sand with a soft thump. this time, another twinkle catches your attention, but it’s not a seashell, no. it’s a ring.

eyes dropping to the object resting inside the box, you see a round, shiny diamond that sits in the middle of the silver band, blue reflections shining in it from the ocean. it’s very pleasing to the eye, simple, but also loud, just like the man right in front of you.

as jean’s amber eyes carefully observe each and every one of your reactions, he can feel his heart hammering in his heart, thumping in his ears. he swears that it’s loud enough for even you to hear. the velvet box quivers in his hold as his hands tremble, wind softly blowing his ashy hair around. once again, he takes a big gulp, mentally preparing for the actual proposal.

as jean quietly states your name, you glance back up at him, mouth still slightly agape. “jean…” once he knows that your attention is on him, he begins.

“____, i don’t think i have never met anyone like you before. the very first time i laid my eyes on you, i swear, i fell in love on the spot.” he runs a hand through his hair, the action combined with the breeze slightly messing it up.

“i never believed in that whole love at first sight thing, but you, damn you easily changed my mind. every word, every touch, with everything and anything that came from you, you easily made your way into my heart. at first i didn’t let you. with the awful world that we lived in, with the responsibility that lived heavily on my shoulders every single day, i was scared. scared to love you, scared to let you love me.” despite his aggressively beating chest, and the nervous sweat very lightly trickling down his forehead, jean keeps his voice steady, trying to gather all of his confidence.

at this point, tears are springing in both of your eyes, threatening to stream down your face. you notice his hands trembling, and you reach out your own to cover them, not like it helps much with your own shaking hands as well. looking into his amber eyes, you see the specs of green and yellow that you have grown to love with all your heart, staring right back at you through thick eyelashes, filled with love and affection for you, and you only.

“but with time, i learned that i shouldn’t have done that. i shouldn't take things for granted, and i wasted too much time. now, i don’t want to waste anymore time with you. i want to spend the rest of my life with you, i want to wake up next to you every morning. i want to be yours, and for you to be mine.” he doesn't feel the tears dripping down his face, wetting his shirt.

your own tears are now falling down as well, descending onto your hands. breath caught in your throat, you kneel down in front of jean, scooting on the sand so that your bodies are closer. he cups your face, using his thumb to wipe away the tears streaming down your face, brushing the area underneath your eye. he rests his forehead against yours, chest heaving up and down as he takes unsteady breaths.

“i have loved you for every moment since we were 14. i love you so goddamn much, i didn’t even think it was possible to love someone like this.” he takes one final breath, the warm air fanning across your face, the box in between your bodies. “so, will you do me the honor, and marry me?”

jean stares into your eyes, searching for your final answer. heart still hammering in his chest, he awaits your response, every nervous bone in his body very active. you look back into his eyes, hand clamped over your mouth, eyes still wide in shock. you must have been like that for long, because jean starts to shuffle in place, the hand he’s holding the box with slowly sinking to the ground in disappointment.

“i- it’s okay. i understand if you aren’t ready ye-”

you immediately cut him off by attaching your lips to his, swallowing his words. after the initial shock disappears, jean wastes no time slinging an arm around your waist, pulling your body flush against his.

this kiss is not like any other shared between you. this one is the most fervent, most intense. his lips are sweet against yours, tasting you and savoring every touch, like it is the last time he would ever get to. this kiss says, yes. i will spend the rest of my life with you. forever yours.

you pull away to catch your breath, both of yours chests rising up and falling down, a lazy smile on your faces. “yes, jean. i want to spend the rest of my life with you too.”

in that split second, jean’s amber eyes light up a thousand times brighter than ever, his smile growing and spreading across his face, reaching to his eyes forming crinkles in the corner. “i love you so, so much.” detaching himself from you, he slowly takes the silver ring out the velvet box, bringing it up into the air. you extend your left hand out for him, and he carefully takes a hold of it, dropping the box to the sand.

with still shaky fingers and shuddering breaths, jean slides the band onto your ring finger, looking into your eyes with a gorgeous smile on his face.

he brings your hand to his mouth, placing a lingering kiss on top of the ring, and then across your knuckles, immediately bringing a comforting warmth to your body. more tears spill from your eyes, streaming down your cheeks. you can’t help but think, how on earth did you get so lucky?

“thank you, jean. thank you so much. i-i love you.”

“hey, hey.” once again, he wipes the tears from your eyes with his thumb, then pressing soft butterfly kisses on both of your eyelids. he chuckles, resting his hands on your upper arms. “of course you’re crying.”

you shake your head, sniffling as a soft smile grows on your face. “shut up, you were crying too.”

“hmm, i don’t know what you're talking about.” jean pulls you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face into your neck. he rubs his stubble into your skin, knowing well that the action never fails to make you laugh.

giggling, you wrap your hands around his neck, pulling him close to you.

“are you ready for the rest of our lives, jean?”

he smiles into your neck, holding you even tighter. “as long as it’s with you, i know i am.”

#jean #jean x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschtein #aot #attack on titan #aot x reader #aot jean #attack on titan jean #jean fluff #fluff jean #jean attack on titan #jean aot

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prompt-master · 4 years

Text

Bear Trap (Part 1/3)

Request fill for @hibiscuswolverine and art done by @doodles-by-noodles

The world was starting to heal.

Little by little, everyone who survived Hope's Peak Academy's killing game was bringing about change to the world. It had only just started, and they likely wouldn't live to see their vision fully realized, but there was hope. Hope the world hadn't seen since the tragedy broke out in the first place.

Yep, Naegi Makoto had a lot of work to do, but he also already had so much to be proud of. He and the survivors had already proven themselves to adapt to a world that was nothing like the one they left behind. They had been given a warning from Enoshima Junko herself, but even with the knowledge of killer robots and rampaging despair-induced rioters nothing could really prepare them for life on the outside.

Honestly, they had never expected to make it to where they were right now. Proud members of the Future Foundation, able to work together with the higher ups to take down the biggest threats against the world's progression. It felt like just yesterday they were sleeping in the rubble of what once were apartments, tightly packed together in case anything were to break in. And now Makoto stood proud and tall, going over his next mission on video call with a member of one of the higher divisions.

"I suppose I shouldn't be terribly surprised that the Ultimate Hope would be so adamant on these matters."

Makoto smiled, still as strong and inspiring as it had been back in the killing game, "Really, you don't have to call me that. I'm nothing special, just Naegi is fine."

She completely ignored him, looking over the notes he'd sent to her one last time. He and Aoi had accidentally discovered a distress call from a group of survivors in an unsafe area. There was no way he could ignore something like that, he wouldn't ignore any possibility that someone was suffering like his class did. Even if there was an equal possibility that it was a trap.

"Well, your plan asks for Ultimate Detective Kirigiri Kyoko and Ultimate Affluent Progeny Togami Byakuya to go with you. With those two, plus the Ultimate Hope, equipped with hacking guns then I see no reason to be concerned for any mishaps. Your mission is approved."

Makoto's smile widened at that, feeling a rush of pride and hope at her words, "We won't let you down! Promise!"

She didn't even look up at him, simply humming to let him know she heard. But he could tell, there was a slight smile on her face. Makoto managed to melt his fair share of hearts even if he couldn't explain how. The call blinked off, and Makoto shut his laptop gently, but with no regard to what it was running.

He let out a loud sigh, slouching back into his chair. Any and all office calls felt so nerve wracking. Each one held its own weight in importance. Every exchange oversaw the future. He pulled his arms over his head, stretching them as far as they could go.

He could already feel himself getting pumped up. A small, prideful smirk snuck it's way onto his face. The plan wasn't anything extreme, but he knew with his friends by his side it would all be ok. They were meant to go together in a group so that they could protect themselves in the event of a trap or other unforeseen circumstances. The distress call came from a fallen city mostly blocked off by a collapsed building. They would drop off inside the city's bounds, and continue on foot to find any survivors they could. They knew there would be some despaired within, but that was a given anywhere they went now.

It would all be worth it to save them.

Now he just had to tell Byakuya and Kyoko the good news

It was clear to anyone near the survivors that Byakuya, Kyoko, and Makoto were a force to be reckoned with. While the general public has no qualms with calling Makoto the leader of the group, it was more so all three of them were coleading. Each taking charge in their own way, from the start of their new lives to now. The three of them were all incredibly smart in their own ways and their combined skills lead to a team that could likely conquer any despair they faced. But it took an even closer eye to see the emotional connection the three shared with each other.

Makoto walked in front, leading since he had heard the distress call in the first place. It was certainly an interesting relationship that the three had. Although Makoto certainly didn't see himself as the leading type it seemed that Byakuya and Kyoko both trusted his guidance entirely. And he did the same for them. There was no way to describe the significance that lay underneath the floorboards of their bond. For the two most emotionally shut off of the survivors to so openly trust him? To Makoto that was enough to lay their hearts out in the open for him to see. And not to mention…

Makoto glanced back at the two. Byakuya was messing around with his hacking gun, glasses slipping down his nose, and hair nearly hiding his eyes from Makoto's view. Kyoko was taking in her surroundings, trying to figure out sooner rather than later if this whole thing was just a trap as suspected. Her eyes may be void of emotion but the color and warmth was vast. Makoto faced forward again, his face feeling just a bit hot.

They were both really pretty.

No, no he can't focus on his silly crushes. Yes, crushes plural. Because Makoto's sensitive heart was so big he managed to give it away to two different people. That didn't matter right now though, because the focus was on the mission.

The town was about as decimated as it looked from the outside. It reminded him of his first experiences out in the new world, making him wonder how many survivors might be hiding under rubble, scared to come out. So far they hadn't run into any sort of trouble. No robots, no despaired, no survivors. There was really...nothing here. It was starting to look more and more like a trap.

Makoto stopped walking at a split path, "The call said to find the convenience store but...I can't tell where to go since everything's been destroyed."

Byakuya came to stand by his side, "Not that it should matter much all things considered. Let's just get this over with so we can clear out those insane idiots and rebuild this place already."

"Togami-kun!" Makoto pouted, Byakuya may have softened up but he still had a habit of harsh thinking first, "don't say that. I'm sure there has to be someone here who needs saving. There's people who need to be rescued everywhere we go!"

"Indeed" Kyoko chimed in, "but it's not a bad line of thought. If we stage a rebuilding operation here then that increases our chances of finding survivors then if only a search team walked around."

Byakuya smirked, pushing up his glasses in that annoyingly arrogant way of his, "And to do that, we need to weed out the problems first no?"

"Yes...yes we do."

"Besides what would you rather do? Try to talk to the despaired? And get clubbed again?"

"It was one time, Togami-kun!"

Byakuya laughed, placing his hands on his hips as he looked around, "Come now, this way. All these buildings are too destroyed to make any sort of distinctions regardless. And by your sentimental logic we should be checking more than just the given location, wouldn't you agree."

Byakuya didn't wait for an answer, he walked ahead to begin searching the first building to their left. Makoto had to break into a light jog to catch up to him; damn your long legs Togami!

That marked the start of their exploration, building after building. They found nothing. Not to mention everywhere seemed like it has been residential, no sign of the store they were told the survivors were. Even Makoto felt like something was a little bit off but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. Regardless he kept up hope, he had heard those survivors speak with complete clarity in their voice. They had to be here. He wouldn't give up over a simple bad feeling.

Byakuya stepped over broken glass, moving further into the crumpled home he was currently inspecting. A surprisingly intact kitchenette caught his eye, and decided a thorough search was necessary without telling his company. Although they didn't need much prompting to understand when he went off trail again. Kyoko thought if he was going to focus on possible material goods stored away in this forgotten piece of life, then she could at least see if there was any current piece of life hiding away as well. Makoto stood at the door of the house. He'd given nothing more than a glance to Byakuya before turning toward the outdoors again. Looking for anything. Any sign of life lurking under the foreboding red sky.

Nothing.

He sighed, turning his attention down to what used to be a grass area. Not much was left of that, in fact it looked almost like any plant life besides the weeds in the street cracks were...set on fire. The ground had this grey ashy feeling to it. And when Makoto scuffed it with his shoe….yeah, that was definitely the remains of something burning. That was a good sign right? It meant that someone was alive. This couldn't have been that long ago.

Makoto opened his mouth to call for his friends, when a cold hand slapped over his mouth and forcefully tugged him backwards.

Huh

Huh?!

Makoto was immediately kicking and yelling. He bucked like a disturbed wild animal, trying everything he could to get out. Wiggling, kneeing, elbowing, even trying to bite the hand over his mouth but none disturbed the individual. The house was getting farther and farther away but his voice was too muffled to ever reach it. There was heavy breathing in his ear, the air wet and warm against his skin in a way that made his body shudder. He forced himself to look up at his kidnapper. An individual with a wide smile on their face and eyes that spoke of a spiraling psyche. Everything about them...from their expression to their actions to their lack of reaction to pain...it all said despair.

Eventually Makoto was dragged into the street and thrown down like a slab of meat. Makoto was about to scream again for help, when a hand quickly reached out for him. He couldn't help but flinch back, shoulders bunching up in an attempt to shrink away. His tie was yanked off, the force pulling his body upwards. When the tie snapped off he fell back again, he could feel rocks digging into his skin from the fall. Then his hands were tied behind his back. This was bad. This was so bad. Bad didn't even BEGIN to cover it.

His captor came uncomfortably close, having lost all concept of personal space in the madness the end of the world has provided. Makoto tried his best to keep calm as they placed their arms to either side of him so that they were above, staring down below. There was a tense moment where neither moved, they simply tried to catch their breaths so that the silence would stop being filled with panting. It felt like a test. Like they were waiting for him to even dare to try to escape. They wanted to show Makoto what happened when he disobeyed! He could see it in their eyes! In the manicale look, in the smile that kept opening and closing like a strange gutted fish. The way their arms trembled and shook by Makoto's head, just waiting with the high of excitement.

Arms still shaking, mouth overflowing with spittle and pupils pinprick sharp, they began to slowly lower themselves. Makoto held his breath, willing his body to sink further into the concrete. His heels scraped against the ground, but he willed himself not to move in fear that any sign of escape would reward him with a slit throat. Their noses pressed against each other. The captor let out a shaky relieved sigh, as if the contact was the greatest thing they'd felt in a long time. Their eyelids fell half lidded, their smirk from excited to downright sadistic.

"I've got you now, Mr. Ultimate Hope."

Stay calm. You've dealt with this kind of person before.

Makoto's nails gave a tug as he ran them against the concrete in an attempt to ground himself, dirt filling the space between skin and keratin. His heart hammered in his chest as if he were a scared rabbit, but there was no time to panic here. His life depended on it. The despaired were completely delusional...which meant..

Makoto felt a laugh rise out of him, nervous and high in pitch. A bit too high in pitch. He scraped the ground again, enough so that it began to hurt from the force. Calm down. Stay fucking calm.

"Heh...heheh! Yeah! You got me..!" A smile graced his face, "what did you...get me for?"

They pulled back, but not enough so that the pungent smell of smoke and ash left Makoto's nose. Their head tilted, daring to make an innocent face, "You know who you are, right?"

"I do. And who are you?"

Their body moved back and forth as they laughed with everything they had, their knees closing in so that Makoto could feel it against his leg. "Me? Me? Mememe?? Forget that! You're the Ultimate Hope!"

"That's right…"

"I wonder what Miss Junko would say right now. Seeing you pinned down like this?" Their eyes flickered to the sky at the fantasy that no doubt filled their mind.

Makoto tried his hardest not to cringe, and just attempted to change the subject instead, "Do you want me to do something for you?" It was a loaded question. One that made Makoto feel like he was picking all the wrong dialogue choices.

"I do!"

Progress. He wasn't sure if it was good progress, but it was, in fact, progress.

"What's that?"

Their voice dropped to a whisper, waning and cracking in excitement once again. They reached into their pocket.

"I want you to watch this"

They pulled out a little remote that looked horribly put together. Even with how much their hand trembled he could see that it was made of what seemed to be the remains of a torn apart scrap pile. Before Makoto could ask what they meant, they pressed the only button built in.

What ensued was a large explosion.

------

BOOM

A loud eardrum breaking noise filled the previous silence. Byakuya was forced to grip the kitchen countertop as the world around him shook, a sudden intense burst of wind following soon after. The heat uncomfortable against his face. He made his way to the open wall, Kyoko not far behind him.

"Was that an explosion?" Kyoko asked, not wanting to waste any time.

Byakuya looked outside at the smoke and fire that overtook the sky. It was suffocating just to look at. Shit, it was definitely a trap then. "Looks like it"

They watched frozen, transfixed on the horror as a building toppled from where it was standing, joining the others as rubble for them to walk on. They still stayed in place. They knew there was nothing they could do to prevent or help the issue.

Byakuya was so focused on the sight, thinking about how he had to call for an early pick up that he didn't even notice until Kyoko asked.

"Where's Naegi?"

------

Makoto gasped and gasped as he ran for his life. After whatever that person had rigged went off he found himself surprisingly not being pinned anymore as the person sat cackling nearby. He had managed to slip away when more despaired came over and argued with the individual who had been pinning him. Now he was running as fast as he could hoping he wouldn't get caught once again.

He struggled against his traitorous tie, feeling it chafe against his wrists uncomfortably. Untying it would have been enough of a challenge without the running aspect. Now he found himself tripping over his own feet trying to think about the two things at once.

Before he knew it, his feet had slipped right out from under him and he barely caught himself before faceplanting.

Taking the fall as a hint, he stopped to catch his breath, looking around the area to gauge where he was. It seemed like more of the same until he saw a rather structurally sound convenience store. It was surprisingly big too for how little damage it had. A smile overtook his face. Aren't I lucky? Maybe the people inside can help me get this dang tie off.

After letting his breathing calm down he made his way toward the store. Elation filled his heart, a familiar hope that kept him going. He knew it couldn't have all been a trap! Almost there now. Once inside he'd have someone untie his hands, and then he'd find his friends and-

His friends. He hoped Byakuya and Kyoko were safe. He had no idea how far the damage of the explosion traveled, but if it was enough to collapse an entire building there was certainly the risk of them being in hot water. Not to mention the multiple despaired that were walking around, who knows what sort of danger they could walk into. Then again, if anyone was capable of holding their own it would be Byakuya and Kyoko. But he should probably focus on his own safety instead of imagining Byakuya and Kyoko taking down their enemies in the most attractive way possible-

He was right there. He'd reached the convenience store. All the windows were covered up so that he couldn't see inside, but he knew someone inside was waiting. He just had to- huh? What's that?

Makoto looked down to see a familiar, very unwelcome sight. It was a Monokuma with yellow and black stripes. At the top of its head was a red siren. And they were making eye contact.

"Shi-"

Instinctively he reeled back at the loud, sharp noise. The sound raised and lowered it's pitch smoothly, reminding him of tsunami drills he had to do back when he was in school and the implications it brought were similarly horrifying.

So much for being lucky. Makoto felt himself panicking again, the siren was loud enough to hurt his ears. He couldn't tell if his ears were ringing or if the siren was just that obnoxious. But he didn't have time to complain about that. The noise and the light… no doubt others would be coming soon.

"Shh...shhhh!! Stop it!" He couldn't break the machine with his hands the way they were...he had to settle for getting help.

Makoto stopped in his tracks before he could approach the door of the convenience store however, because there was someone watching him through the window. They'd opened the curtain to check what the commotion was. Makoto saw no madness or instability in their eyes...the survivors really WERE here. Makoto smiled, wishing he could wave and gesture for help, but he had to hope his expression was enough.

The survivor frowned, eyes fixated on the Siren Monokuma. Without looking at Makoto again they closed the curtain.

No one was coming to help.

Makoto backed away. That's ok. There was still a chance. If he ran quick enough maybe he could get away before reinforcements arrived.

The growling he heard mocked his fruitless thoughts. That was the deranged sounds a Beast Monokuma made…he couldn't hope to outrun one of those. They were like real rabid bears but worse because they never got tired. They never stopped running once they had you in its sights, just like this one.

But Makoto tried anyway to flee, only to end up taking a riot shield to the face from a Guard Monokuma.

"Oof!"

He fell back hard feeling all air leave his lungs. The snarling and pounding of the Beast Monokuma was getting louder. Too loud. Makoto rolled onto his side, scrambling to get up. He winced as a claw grazed his cheek, first blood of the night welling up.

He felt like an insignificant worm with how he desperately rolled on the floor, hoping to find good enough footing in his panic to stand. But when he got to his knees he was met with another riot shield. He almost didn't react in time to dodge another slash from the Beast, managing to get the tie around his wrists cut.

He'd never gotten to his feet so quickly before in his life. Bits of gravel stuck to his palms and blood ran down his right arm. He scrambled to find something -anything- to defend himself with, but he was already surrounded. It was too late to even bother going for the Siren Monokuma. How the hell was he supposed to-?

He yelled out as sharp metal claws dug into his back, seemingly deep enough that he feared for his spine. The claws rake along his back as the beast removes them. If that wasn't enough to bring him back to reality, he was quickly overwhelmed, bruises being beaten into every inch of his skin from the shields, and slashes from regular Monokuma's on his arms. And worse of all the Beast Monokuma that was trying its best to chomp his head off with it's twitchy manic movements. He tried his best to fend it off, pushing at it personally with his bare hands despite the continuous relentless assault he was receiving.

Another good hit with a shield and his hands slipped. In a split second moment that he didn't even get to think about, he reached a leg up and kicked at its face. He only had a moment of victory.

It bit down on his leg and didn't let go.

Now the interesting thing about Makoto is that even though he doesn't seem capable, he's grown to be able to keep himself calm when it mattered. Even at his own execution, where he was slowly heading towards his untimely demise, With frequent reminders of what was about to come, he had managed to keep as calm as possible. Even well he fell stories down into the garbage. He refused to make a peep and panic when every one of his friends could see. But right now no friends were watching.

Naegi Makoto screamed.

-----

"I'm going to kill Naegi my damn self for running off when we find him." Byakuya was, as per usual, annoyed as hell.

Kyoko sighed, "Calm down. I'm sure there's a reason, you know he isn't like that."

Byakuya rolled his eyes, but didn't say a word. Kyoko was completely right, but he would never give her the satisfaction of admitting that. His silence was enough.

They had made way for the source of the explosion only to find the path to the other side of the city was completely blocked off by the collapsed structure. Due to the closed off nature of the cities remains that left them with only one option: go the long way around and hope those entrances aren't blocked as well.

When it was just Kyoko and Byakuya there was always this weird silence. Sometimes comfortable, sometimes tense. Makoto was always the one to fill it, he was like the bridge between the two. Kyoko wished he could tell Byakuya to cheer up -his attitude was getting on her nerves- but Makoto's absence was the whole reason for it in the first place.

"Keep your guard up" she reminded, her own hand staying close to the pouch strapped to her thigh. Inside was an all weather purpose mini notepad and a handheld taser. She quite liked her taser, it was both heavy hitting and satisfied Makoto's wish to not kill anyone: even the despaired. "I'm certain that explosion was rigged up by a person."

Byakuya scoffed, "I am Togami Byakuya" he kindly reminded her. Kyoko rolled her eyes, she'd heard that way too many times to count. "My guard is always up and my reaction time is perfect. Maybe you should worry about yourself instead."

"Incorrigible as usual, I see."

He glared back down at her, still walking forward with overconfident strides, "I'll have you know-"

There it is. Another rant which consisted only of Byakuya boasting about his own skills. She shut him out without a second thought, focusing on her surroundings instead. It's not as though Byakuya would provide any sort of new information anyway.

"Wait." She interrupted, which Byakuya hated, but his feelings be damned, "do you hear that?"

Byakuya paused, facing towards the direction she was looking. There was a sound in the distance, something familiar. It was far, but if he focused hard enough he could figure it out.

Kyoko and Byakuya looked at each other, both having recognized the siren's undeniable screech at the same time. With a nod, they began to run. Makoto or not, whoever was caught by that Siren Monokuma was in danger. Byakuya steadied his hacking gun in his hand and Kyoko effortlessly pulled her taser from it's bounds. Despite their great desire to find Makoto meer seconds ago, they hoped that anyone else would be caught by the Monokuma's. But, this was Makoto after all.

It took an undetermined amount of time for them to loop around to the convenience store, but the time spent felt uncomfortably long to them both. When they did arrive they found it was a chaotic mess. There was a group of Monokuma's huddled together over one unseen person. There was blood scraped across the concrete as though someone was dragged with their horrible injuries and all. But there were no sounds of a struggle. The sight was more akin to school yard bullies gathering to kick a victim than a genuine fight.

Without wasting much time Byakuya fired at the Siren Monokuma, destroying it without a second thought. "Damn noise was getting on my nerves" He said.

Kyoko shook her head, "Focus" she pointed her nose towards the pile up. Byakuya's uncaring attitude toward the situation showed that he believed the person was already dead. One by one the machines fell apart or destroyed themselves. And in their wake was a small, bloodied mess in human shape. The smell of copper and the sickening sight of messy pink was one they had gotten all too used to over the years. But that didn't make it easier when you recognized one of those bodies as someone you cared about.

Byakuya felt harsh, furious breaths of air pushing in and out of his nose. The action was an almost unconscious response. He couldn't help but let anger well up at the sight of Naegi Makoto laying on the ground curled up on his side.

He grit his teeth, "Is he…?" Dammit. A Togami didn't hesitate. Certainly not Byakuya.

"No." Kyoko's voice was barely more than a whisper, and for a split second he thought she was simply in denial. But no, she had caught sight of Makoto's chest moving up and down. She made way to him, hands hovering over him unsure of how deep his injuries ran. The first thing she saw were vicious claw marks running down his back. There were bits of debris clinging to the wound. They were ugly and jagged things. She wanted to roll him onto his back to get a better look at him but was it even safe to move him at all? She didn't want to risk paralyzing him. Not to mention she'd be pressing his wound to the ground. She glanced to his leg. A complete mangled mess, she could tell the unit that attached itself to his leg was relentless in its attack. Shaking and thrashing and the like. The fabric that once covered his leg was all but torn to shreds leaving the whole injury on brutal display. There was blood pooling underneath where he lay on the ground. His skin was pale from blood loss, breaking into a cold sweat that made her certain shock was already setting in. Almost all exposed skin was blossoming into a different, unnatural color indicating a plethora of bruises. His breathing was quiet but heavy, he'd already lost a lot of blood. When her eyes finally trailed up to his face she felt a small bit of relief that his features were marred by only a small cut on his left cheek, with a lazy stream of blood pouring from it.

Byakuya and Kyoko were two individuals with a massive disconnect of their emotions brought about by their upbringing. Byakuya turned any emotion he felt into anger and disdain. Kyoko snuffed out most emotions she felt so that nothing would show. They had the emotional resolve of steel, it wasn't easy breaking down their walls. Makoto was that strange part of the equation that ruined all of that. He managed to get Byakuya to be intrigued by someone so seemingly insignificant and he managed to get Kyoko to act pouty and almost childish during the game. Yes, their entire lives were spent crafting these defenses. And now they had to fight to keep it all together with only elmers glue in their arsenal.

Kyoko was up close and personal with all the gruesome details of his attack. She tried to shove it all down so that she could completely focus on ensuring Makoto's survival. But he was looking up at her with a dazed half lidded look, as though any second the world would slip away from under his feet. And despite that Makoto smiled when he caught eyes with her. Kyoko's heart cracked.

Byakuya could only watch with his fists by his side. He had set out to ensure all the survivors of the first killing game continued to survive and here we are. He forced all these feelings to be translated into anger. But he knew the underlying causes. He knew there was a part of him that simply was scared for his friends sake.

The two of them both understood the others emotional grievances. And that's exactly why Byakuya's heart skipped a beat when Kyoko looked up at him with fear vibrant in her eyes.

"It doesn't look good."

#naegirigami #naegamigiri #makoto naegi #byakuya togami #kyoko kirigiri #whump #fanfic #dr #dr:thh #danganronpa #im so peeved because tumblr wont show this pic in the main tag #dangaronpa #dangan ronpa #naegiri #naegami #dr3 #dr 3 #bear trap

480 notes · View notes

weallsimpfordabi · 3 years

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Switching Sides (Part Three)

Find the other parts here

A/N: Thank you guys so much for the support 🥺 I really do appreciate it! Also, the next chapter will be some fluff and then it’s gonna get crazy from there, so I hope you’re ready for all that! 😇

Pairing: Dabi x Reader, Ex!Bakugou x Reader

Word Count: 1,933

Warnings: SMUT, jealous ex boyfriend, cursing, yelling, choking, fingering, bruising, oral (male receiving )

Tag List: @platinumbelle @sweet-bunny-writing @bunbunsblog

———

Of all things you could wake up to, Katsuki looking through your phone with a hurt and confused expression was not one of them. You hoped to your core that you were still dreaming, but he noticed your eyes opening and looked right at you. Your heart dropped, not sure what you should do in this moment. He looked so angry, which was normal, but there was also pain in his eyes. You slowly sat up, keeping your eyes on his. You reached for your phone, but his large hands wrapped around it completely and squeezed, and that’s when you knew you were absolutely busted and most likely screwed. You had hoped the day off you got because of some maintenance would be peaceful, but of course, probably the worst thing had to happen instead.

“What the hell are you doing, Y/N?” He bore his eyes into yours, making you feel as if you were shrinking right in front of him. You felt the back of your throat start to burn as tears threatened your eyes. You shook your head, putting on a confused look, hoping he would let it go. He growled, standing up from the bed. “Fucking hell, Y/N, you’re one of the smartest people I know! How could you go out and even consider associating with one of...them?” The last word fell from his lips like poison. You stood as well, stumbling over the words that refused to come out.

“‘S-Suki, what are you talking about? I’m not...doing anything.” You tried to lie, but you already knew Bakugou was the absolute last person you could do that to. He quickly unlocked your phone once again, showing you your texts with Dabi. You immediately felt sick, he really had figured it out.

“Are you seriously hanging out with one of the people that want to kill us? I mean, for fucks sake!” He threw your phone against the wall, making you jump. Your hands started to shake as anxiety set it. He knew, and you were fucked.

“I swear it isn’t like that, ‘Suki.”

“Then tell me how it is! How am I supposed to believe you when you won’t even tell me what the hell is going on!” You looked up at him, your shaky hand reaching up to his cheek. He jerked his head away, glaring at you. You recoiled your hand back to your body, crossing your arms.

“I can’t. I can’t tell you, because if I do, we’ll all be in danger. You’ll just have to trust me on this one, okay?” He suddenly got very quiet, looking away. He then swung his arm, an angry shout following it as he slammed his fist into the wall beside him, leaving a deep hole. Both of you were now breathing heavily, and you looked at him in shock. That vein on his forehead popped out, and you knew you were about to get screamed at.

“What if the teachers find out? You could be expelled! Or arrested for being an accessory! Fucking idiot! Why are you jeopardizing your future as a pro for someone like that?” He looked at you, and that’s when you noticed his eyes were glazed over. He was suddenly deep in thought, keeping his eyes on your face. Then, something hit him. He scoffed quietly, biting his lip, contemplating his next move. He then wrapped his free hand around your neck, staring daggers into you. His grip wasn’t tight, but it was enough to let you know that he was upset and wanted your attention. His eyes narrowed, the darkness behind them being fueled by his jealousy.

“Are you telling me that you think a fucking villain is better than me? I guess I need to remind you of a few things, teddy bear.” His voice had become gravelly, sending familiar shivers to your core. You furrowed your brows, his change in attitude almost giving you whiplash. But, at the same time, this is Bakugou and his ego’s been hurt. That’s a recipe for either destruction or, in your case many times in the past, very rough sex. You swallowed thickly, lips parting as your breathing deepened. He pressed his lips to yours forcefully, your breath caught in your throat.

An almost whining moan left his lips, vibrating against yours. Your hand found its way into his hair, fingers curling into those ashy blonde spikes on top of his head. His hand moved from your throat to your hips as he pushed you to the bed. You fell back, looking up at him as he got a devilish grin on his face. You blushed, pulling the hem of his shirt so he fell on top of you. He connected your lips again, his knee pushing between your thighs. He bit your lip, his hand finding its way to your waistband. You whimpered, needing more. He moved his lips to your neck, biting down before sucking on the same spot. It hurt, but you both knew you loved it.

He wasted no time, fingers slipping past your underwear and into you. You moaned, head falling back as he continued marking your neck. His fingers curled inside, hitting a spot that made your body tense in a very good way. It was like heaven, being touched this way again. You moaned once more, and he lifted his head to look at you.

“Quiet, teddy bear, don’t want other people to hear you, right?” He covered your mouth with his other hand, the pace of his fingers picking up speed. As much as you wanted to keep quiet, you couldn’t help it. His hand muffled your noises as the pad of his thumb started drawing circles on your clit. Your eyes fluttered slightly as you felt your high coming close already. He noticed the look in your eyes, humming to himself. He pulled his hands away from you, much to your protest. “You don’t get to cum yet, teddy bear.” He started to take off his pants, and you followed suit. He was already hard, watching you undress in front of him. “If you wanna cum on my cock, you have to suck it first.”

You nodded, getting into a comfortable position in front of him before slowly taking him past your lips. He moaned, holding your hair back so he could watch you. You moaned, vibrating your mouth that took him in completely, all the way to your throat. His hips started moving gently with your pace, hissing through his teeth as you hollowed your cheeks to suck harder. Your name fell from his lips like honey, and it only made you want to keep going. He groaned, grabbing a fistful of your hair while he watched you.

“Your mouth feels so good and warm, baby, fuck.” He pulled you off, pushing you back onto the bed. “But I know your pussy feels so much better. Fuck waiting, I wanna feel you get all tight around me.” He kissed you deeply, positioning himself at your entrance. You wrapped your legs around him, and he took the opportunity immediately, slowly pushing himself into you. You both moaned together, his muffled by him burying his face into your neck.

His pace was slower than you thought it would be. It was like he was milking the moment for every single thing he could. He wrapped his hand around your neck again, rocking his hips against yours. He was slow when he pushed into you until he almost bottomed out, then he shoved the rest of it in, making your head spin.

“Fuck, I miss this.” He whispered against the skin of your neck, right underneath your ear. It made your stomach flutter hearing him be so vulnerable. You scratched down his back, making him arch deeper into you. You had missed this too, you couldn’t lie. It was like coming home after a long day of hard work. You moaned his name, making sure it was right in his ear. He shivered, starting to pick up the pace.

“You think a villain is better than me? You think he can make you cum like I can? Huh? Nobody can fuck you better than me, teddy bear.” He choked you tightly as he slammed into you. It didn’t take long for you both to get your highs. He fucked you hard as you came, making both of you see stars. He collapsed next to you, breathing heavily with shivers interrupting them every so often. As if it was an instinct, he wrapped his arms around you, trying to be as close as possible to you. You bit your lip, letting him hold you for a minute or two before you pulled away from him.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s bad timing, but I have to go. If I don’t get to patrols I’ll be in trouble.” You avoided his gaze as you put your clothes back on, quickly leaving the room to go to patrols, just as you said. Though, if he knew you were going to see Dabi, he’d probably lose his mind. As you made your way to the building, you tried to get the hurt look on Katsuki’s face out of your head, not able to deal with the guilt you felt.

———

“Hello, little mouse. You look like you're glowing, I’m happy you’re so excited to see me.” Dabi smirked, making you roll your eyes once again. He walked over to you, brow raised. “Find anything out today?” He moved a piece of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. You didn’t flinch this time, though you weren’t really sure why.

“The school let us have a day off today. Apparently they’re fixing something with the security system. That’s all I have. Can I go now?” You turned away, but he grabbed your wrist with enough force to leave a bruise.

“No,” he said darkly, turning you towards him. He grabbed your neck, turning your head so he could see the marks that Katsuki had left on you. He furrowed his brows angrily, looking at you with such a menacing glare that you thought you could just die in that spot. “What’s this, little mouse? You letting somebody fuck you?”

“That is none of your business, Dabi!” You pulled away from him, but he still had a death grip on your wrist.

“You’re mine, baby doll, and that means that if you fuck anybody, it’s me and only me.”

“I don’t even know anything about you! You don’t even know me! You have no idea who I am, and honestly? I’d like to keep it that way. Now let go.” He looked down at your wrist, noticing that the circulation had started to be cut off. He did as you asked, sitting down on the couch. He bit his lip, looking off for a second.

“What do you wanna know?” You looked over, raising a brow.

“What?”

“What do you want to know about me? You could ask a question, and then I’ll do the same. You’re right, we don’t know anything about each other, and that doesn’t make for a very good business partner, does it?” He patted the seat next to him, wanting you to sit next to him. You were about to refuse when you realized that you really didn’t have a choice in this. You groaned softly, sitting down next to him. The scent of cigarettes and some kind of cologne hit you as he leaned back.

“Alright, you first, little mouse. Ask away.”

#angst #dabi is touya #dabi my hero academia #dabi x y/n #smut #x reader #mha #mha x reader #bnha #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki #dabi #dabi x reader #reader insert #anime #fluff

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ikeromantic · 3 years

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Fox Hunt

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic. This scene doesn’t really occur in Ch. 11 of the Romantic Route but it’s one I imagine happening a hair before. So, another between chapters scene! Yay! Approx. 1700 words.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Interlude - Before the Hunt

Mitsuhide felt odd having a companion as he visited his informants, picked up letters and sent missives out to agents in the field. This was always a secretive space for him, one that even Kyubei only glimpsed - as needed. Now his little mouse tagged along beside him with her wide-eyed innocence. It made him feel . . . wary . . . in ways he never had before.

Was his contact at the Kyoto court making note of her? Had that street tough looked too long in her direction? Had she attracted too much attention when they stopped at a tea house to meet another of his spies? It left him on edge. Worried for her, worried because of her. And yet.

She had only to touch his arm, or say his name and he felt better. Besides, if they were apart, he thought, he’d only worry for her more. At least this way he knew the threats to her happiness and safety and he could deal with them.

“Mitsu, you’re frowning again.” The chatelaine pulled his attention from the door where two armed men stood, staring into the tea shop.

“Am I?” Mitsuhide allowed himself a slight smile. “I’m afraid it’s the natural consequence of planning out this mission. But I will always have a smile for you.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead.

She sighed. “You don’t have to force it. I am worried too, you know. Ashi-”

“Don’t use names,” he reminded her.

“R-right. Shark-eyes is out there somewhere, plotting revenge. Only we don’t know where or what. And it’s mostly just me and you to stop him. Feels kind of . . . overwhelming.”

Mitsuhide patted her hand. “I have some thoughts on that. We may have more allies than we think in this fight.” He stood. “I just realized I need to step out for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

His little one looked up at him, clearly worried he would escape her. Silly girl. As if he could simply walk away. She didn’t protest though. Only nodded and looked down at her cup of tea.

Out front, the two armed men smiled at Mitsuhide as he stepped out to join them. “Been hoping we’d run across you, kitsune.” One of them spoke while the other spat into the dirt.

“To think you and I shared a hope. It is truly a frightening idea.” Mitsuhide gave them a thin-lipped smile. “But I believe our meeting today may yield benefits for us both.”

The man that spoke before drew a short blade from under his clothes, letting the edge catch the light. “I’m seeing this ending one way for you, and one for us. But I’ll make it quick and painless if-”

Mitsuhide didn’t let him finish the threat. He slammed a fist into the man’s side, his knuckles bruising against the thug’s ribs. He held the other at bay with a swift kick to his knee, sending him into the dirt beside his spittle.

The two men gasped in pain and surprise.

“I don’t need tricks to deal with you,” Mitsuhide sighed, wiping his hands on his cloak. “Now put that blade away before I stab you with it. I have an offer that I think will please your captain more than bringing him my head.” It took only a few moments to outline his idea for the thugs. It was light on detail and heavy on speculation, but then, Mouri wasn’t known for his focus on the details. He could only hope his offer would capture Motonari’s interest.

They limped off when he finished, a little ‘gift’ in hand. Mitsuhide found that flattery and a bit of gold always got further than raw brutality when dealing with minions. Usually a combination of the two was effective.

He went back in and sat down beside his little one.

“Your hair got mussed,” she smiled. And gently fixed it with her fingers. “Did you have a nice walk?”

Mitsuhide nodded. “I was able to sort some ideas I’ve had. Are you done with your snack?”

She tipped back the last bit of tea and popped a rice cracker into her mouth. “I’m done now.”

“Then we have an appointment to get to.” Which wasn’t much of an appointment since the servants at Ashikaga’s Kyoto manor had no idea they were coming.

The estate was busy with cleaning and packing, putting away the finery that was only used when the shogun was in residence. The servants watched anxiously as Mitsuhide and the chatelaine entered.

“Are we supposed to be here?”

“I don’t see why not,” Mitsuhide replied. “I am, afterall, in the shogun’s employ.”

“You were but . . . Honno-ji?”

He waved her objection off. “I doubt he came back here to personally inform the servants of my employment status. Though I’m sure our presence will not make them happy.”

They made their way past the audience hall and into the private rooms. It was here that they were finally stopped by one of the vassals. An educated scribe, probably barely out of his teens, thin as a twig and pale from too much indoor work. But even so, he stood in the middle of the hall and faced Mitsuhide.

“A-Akechi, you - you aren’t allowed in the - the lord’s study. He w-wouldn’t want you there.” The scribe shook and stuttered as he spoke, clearly terrified.

“Is that so, Riku? Do you think you know what Ashikaga wants?” Mitsuhide smiled at the scribe as if he really were a satori from the stories. “No. You don’t know, but you hope. You hope that if you stop me like this, in front of the other servants, that Ashikaga will notice you. Elevate you.”

He took a step closer to the shivering vassal. “You imagine yourself a head scribe. Perhaps wedded to one of Yoshiaki’s cousins or nieces. You imagine yourself proud. But you know that all of this is only your fantasy. That Ashikaga will never notice anything you do, nor appreciate it. So tell me, Riku, do you really want to stand between me and what I want?”

“N-no.” Riku bent his head and stepped aside, pressing his back against the wall as if to sink into it.

Mitsuhide patted the scribe on the head. “You are smarter than you credit yourself for.” Then he brushed past and into Yoshiaki’s inner rooms.

“You’re really scary when you do stuff like that,” his little mouse whispered. “Like you just pulled the thoughts right out of his head.”

“More like right off his face.” Mitsuhide bent to look through the shogun’s desk. It had already been cleaned out, completely. He searched for any kind of hidden latch or secret compartment. There were two - but both as empty as the rest.

While he searched, the chatelaine went to chat up the servants. She was quite good at it too. With her easy smile and kind laugh. By the time he finished going over Yoshiaki’s office and bedroom, she was sitting in the kitchen with Riku and four other house servants, commiserating.

Mitsuhide listened from the hall as she drew out their stories of what it was like to serve the shogun. A cold man that gave no praise, only punishment. These were not happy vassals, but rather frightened victims of Ashikaga’s whims. One after another recounted tales of his cruelty. One maid nearly beaten to death for a dusty scroll. Another with a scar for letting the tea cool. Riku’s arms were covered in scars from his ‘training.’ But perhaps this too could be useful.

The kitsune warlord finally came in, once it seemed the well of sorrows had run dry for today. “Come, my little mouse. I wasn’t able to find anything of use.”

Riku stood, still shaking a bit. “My lord -”

The chatelaine interrupted, tugging Mitsuhide’s arm so that he turned to look. “They’re worried that if Ashikaga hears you got in and out without a fight, he’ll have them killed or punish their families.”

Better and better, Mitsuhide thought. “I will do what I can to protect you,” he told them. “But you must do two things. First - you must continue to work for the shogun as you always have.”

Riku and the maids nodded. “Of course, but h-how does that h-help us?”

“By bringing me to my second requirement. You must trust me. Completely.” Mitsuhide watched them squirm beneath his golden gaze.

It was the maids that agreed first, giving him low bows. Riku was the last to accede, with his voice trembling and his bow unsteady.

Mitsuhide smiled. “Excellent. The first thing you will trust me with is the names and locations of your family - those the shogun would have ready access to.”

“Aren’t you going to ask us w-where he’s gone to?” Riku stuttered the question out.

“No. None of you were given his destination, so there is no point.”

“H-how did y-you-”

The chatelaine patted Riku’s arm. “He does that to me all the time.”

It took a few hours for his little mouse to scribe down the names while Mitsuhide and Riku set about constructing a fake battle at the gates. It was all quite convincing, and to make it stick, Mitsu gave the scribe a black eye. Altogether, nicely done.

It was almost sunset when the two of them left, following the road to the west out of Kyoto.

“Why did you have me take down these names,” his little one asked.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he told her. Which was only half the truth. He’d need to send agents to each of the estates specified, with gold and promises - that was the half he knew he would do. The second part still had too many unknowns to disclose, but when it came together . . .

The chatelaine leaned her head against his arm. “It feels good to be traveling together again, no matter where it is we’re headed. But I do wish we could finish shark-eyes off quick.”

“Oh? Are you delaying your very important plans for my little mission?” Mitsuhide teased her with a too-sweet tone.

She smacked his arm, giggling. “No - not exactly. I was just thinking I can’t wait to have you all to myself. Without worrying about assassinations and plots and murderous shoguns . . .”

“Ah. Well, if that’s your definition of having me all to yourself, it may never come true.”

“Maybe not, but a girl has to have some goals in life.” She smiled up at him and Mitsuhide found himself agreeing with her. It did sound like a nice life. A peaceful one.

He stopped long enough to give her a light kiss on the lips. A taste of that impossible future.

Next: An Uncertain Alliance

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen mitsuhide #Mitsuhide Akechi #otome boys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic

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captainderyn · 2 years

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Fictober Day 17: “I’m with you, you know that.” [I Was Lost Without You]

Category: Fanfiction

Fandoms: Mass Effect (Mass Effect 3)

Pairings: None

Characters: Female Commander Shepard

Rating: Mature

CW: Spoilers for ME3 opening, implied (child) character death

AO3 LINK

—

Earth fell to pieces in front of her.

Wind ripped around Ryn, yanking at her ponytail as water from the river sloshed and frothed over the platform. Ash stung her eyes, mixing with the wind into tiny projectiles.

Only then did she hear the sound of a crying child. Found him hiding beneath the wreckage of two walls leaning together.

Ryn stooped down in front of the child, a little boy, and used her body to block what she could of the descending Reapers. The young boy’s brown hair was mused and ashy, his large brown eyes craning to see around her.

“Look at me.” Ryn ordered gently, pointing two fingers at her eyes, “On me.”

The boy pulled his eyes back to hers, thick tears welling and slipping down his cheeks, “I’m scared.” he whimpered.

“I know you are,” Her heart thumped in her chest, she could hear the sound of the Reapers recharging to fire again, “I am too. But I’m going to get you out of here.”

A rush of acrid smoke rushed over them and the little boy cried out, flinching.

“Hey, hey.” His attention darted back to Ryn as she held out her hand, “I’m with you—I’m going to keep you safe.”

His hand was so small and shaky in hers that something deep in her chest shattered. The waver in his voice made her eyes burn,

“My parents tell me not to go with strangers.”

Despite the battle racing on, Ryn dropped from a crouch to a knee to be more eye level with him. She removed her helmet and tucked it under her arm.

“I’m Commander Ryn Shepard, I’m with the Alliance Navy.” She introduced herself, giving a little shake to the child’s hand. It seemed to ease some of his worry and he gave the smallest giggle, “What’s your name?”

The child mimicked her, giving a small shake of her hand, “Sammy.” he said bravely with a puff out of his chest.

Ryn smiled at him, despite the tremor of another Reaper landing rattling through her, “Nice to meet you Sammy. We’re going to work together to get you back to your parents. Are you ready to be brave?”

Sammy gave a nod. But his face paled when he saw the Reapers behind her. A terrified noise escaped him.

“Sammy—“ Ryn stepped back in front of him. The Reapers were getting closer and she could hear the chatter from her helmet increasing. Anderson could wait. James could wait, “Can I pick you up?”

Instead of answering, he stuck up his arms, and Ryn swept him into her arms. Not daring to look back, she took off at a run towards the shuttles nearest her own rendezvous point. They were already beginning to hover off the ground.

Sammy bounced in her arms, his arms locked around her neck so tight he might begin cutting off her breath. He was crying softly, she could hear his sniffles in her ear.

“It’s going to be alright.” She soothed, “I’m with you.”

His grip tightened, “Are you really Commander Shepard?”

“I sure am.” Troops--Cerberus troops of all damn people—popped up from behind cover. There was no way she was engaging in a fight with a kid in her arms.

She threw the strongest biotic shockwave she could in their direction and several went flying off their feet, others fell backwards as debris from the ground rained down onto them. Drawing more power, knowing there was only so much more her implants could take, she pulled a biotic barrier around them.

Of all things to not be afraid of, Sammy just mumbled “Wow.”

She supposed if there were choices between human enemies and Reapers, she wouldn’t be scared of the humans either.

“Commander Shepard’ll save me.” Sammy declared as they approached the shuttles, “You can do anything.”

Ryn cringed inside, everything in her recoiling from the idea. She couldn’t do everything, but she’d damn well try.

“Hold on!” she bellowed to the shuttles, waving them down with one free hand, “I’ve got one more!”

There was a collective cry of “Wait!” and the shuttle paused as Ryn handed off the boy. He clung to her for a moment, not wanting to release his safety.

“You’re going to be alright.” she promised, “It’s all going to be okay.”

—

There was nothing they could do.

Not as another Reaper landed, its brutal body shining in the light of the sun and burning fires. Not as the shuttles struggled to take off.

Ryn swore she made eye contact with Sammy.

Swore she heard her heart shatter to pieces in her chest as she ran to the edge of the shuttle, catching herself against the frame of the open hatch. Her body was already leaning into a jump, already preparing to brace herself for the landing, when James caught her arm.

“Shepard, no!”

Ryn’s eyes widened as the Reaper’s red beam fired, cleaving the shuttles in two.

“No!” The scream that ripped out of her was ragged and James then had both arms wrapped around her, holding her back as she screamed and wailed with all the fury of watching life get vaporized in an instant.

The shuttles fell to the ground in pieces and Ryn’s knees gave out as their own shuttle ascended out of the Reaper’s reach. James eased her to the ground.

She needed to pull herself together, she thought to herself, she couldn’t be breaking down like this in front of her soldiers. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

But she had promised that little boy she’d keep him safe.

You’re Commander Shepard, you’ll keep me safe.

They rose towards the safety of the galaxy as the Reapers descended onto Earth.

You’re Commander Shepard, you can do anything.

Ryn hunched in on herself, her forehead resting against the cool metal of the floor.

Earth had fallen.

People were dead.

That little boy who’d trusted her so wholeheartedly…gone.

Ryn banged her fists on the floor, a shout harsh enough to burn her throat and dissolve into a ragged sob tore out of her.

#captainderyn writes #fictober21 #mass effect fanfiction #me3 #female commander shepard #femshep #oc: Ryn Shepard #fic: I Was Lost Without You

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ardett · 3 years

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Courtings and Crossroads

Description: “Have you seen my daughter?” Demeter rasps.

Hecate debates lying. She owes nothing to Demeter. Her desperation has given Hecate more mortals than ever to bring to the Underworld. But Demeter is more than the Goddess of the Harvest. She is a mother. And in her eternal life, Hecate has seen enough mothers mourn.

“I know where she is,” Hecate answers. She summons her torch and holds it to the open flames, lighting it. “You’ve been looking in the wrong domain.”

in which Hecate is Persephone's guide and companion in the Underworld

written for the @greekmythszine !

You can also read this on Ao3!

Hecate feels a twist in her gut, a warping of the natural boundaries between the Underworld and the mortal realm. Someone is crossing between the worlds. As the Goddess of Crossroads, the Goddess of Boundaries, transitions are her dominion.

She has guided many down paths of destruction and of triumph. Sailors and shepards alike burn food in her name, asking for safe passage. Sometimes she listens, letting the blaze of her torch light the way forward. Other times she does not.

Mothers and fathers pray to her when they lose a child too soon. She has led innocents peacefully into the Underworld when their bodies hadn’t undergone proper burial rites and Charon refused to ferry them.

She has never led anyone from the Underworld back to the surface.

Hecate concentrates on the feeling. She knows exactly where the line is going to be crossed.

She goes.

But when she arrives, nothing seems amiss.

The sun hangs high in an empty sky, guided by Helios’ chariot. The heat beats down on a girl in the valley. A goddess.

Persephone wanders the field. In each footstep blooms narcissus flowers and mint.

Hecate recognizes the sacred plants of Hades a moment before the ground distends and out of the gaping hole bursts the God of the Underworld. The field beneath his chariot withers and dies. The bones of his steads rattle louder than Persephone’s startled scream.

Hades snatches her from the ground.

Hecate tenses. She feels the boundary straining. She could close it but she risks much. If she gains Hades' contempt, he could stop allowing her to guide the penniless dead to the Underworld. She imagines rows of ghostly children waiting at the shore of the River Styx without the coin to travel onward to eternal peace.

Besides, the Underworld has always welcomed her when the Olympians scorned her. Zeus allowed her to retain her power, the only titan to do so when her parents, Leto and Tartarus, had been defeated with Cronus, but the mistrust from the gods remained. Perhaps it was time for the Oympians to realize what it meant to lose.

Persephone is just another innocent traveling to the Underworld. Hecate can at least make her transition easier.

Hecate twitches a finger and Persephone falls asleep in Hades' arms. The ground seals shut behind them. The boundary settles. As Hecate leaves the scene, the narcissus flowers begin to wilt.

Ten long days pass. Ten rotations of the sun and sky. Ten days of Demeter scouring the Earth for her daughter.

Demeter ravages everything that stands in the way of her search. All the while, Hecate watches. Each path Demeter traces is like a brand upon her skin. She is acutely aware of where the goddess goes and she knows that while Demeter still hunts in the mortal realm, she will not find what she’s looking for. It’s hard to pity Demeter when all Hecate sees is the destruction she leaves in her wake.

But on the tenth day, Demeter makes an offering to Hecate. The smoky scent of burning grain lures Hecate forward to the fire. No Olympian has ever given her an offering before.

When she arrives, she sees Demeter face to face for the first time since Persephone’s abduction.

Demeter is devastated. Her cheeks are wet with tears. Her hair is tangled with branches and burrs. Her hand shakes around the burning stalks of grain she’s clutching. She looks older. The lines in her face look deeper.

“Have you seen my daughter?” Demeter rasps.

“I know where she is,” Hecate answers. She summons her torch and holds it to the open flames, lighting it. “You’ve been looking in the wrong domain.”

Hecate bears her torch and guides Demeter through the darkness. They wind through forests, over hills and valleys, until Hecate’s flicking light reflects off a narcissus flower on the ground. Hecate hears Demeter’s breath catch in her throat. A footstep ahead is another, and then another, and another. The scent of mint wafts through the air as sprigs are crushed beneath their feet.

Then suddenly, the footprints stop. Demeter looks wildly around for the next one before she sees the ring of dead grass. Her face hardens.

“Hades took her,” she intones. Hecate nods but offers no other response. Demeter demands, “You can take me to her.”

“I cannot.”

Demeter takes a step forward. “You can. Do not lie to me. No gate is closed to you. You will take me to my daughter.”

Hecate doesn’t flinch. The night presses in on them as the flame of her torch begins to dwindle. “We would not survive it. Hades would end us for trespassing in his territory long before we were anywhere close to your daughter. Then what home would she return to?”

This makes Demeter pause. In her eyes, Hecate can see the glisten of unshed tears. “I cannot leave her down there.”

“You cannot save her.” Hecate gentles her voice. “Hades wants to court her. He doesn’t seek to hurt her.”

Demeter sinks to the ground, knees turning ashy gray as she kneels in the circle Hades left. Her fingers dig into the dirt. “Then I will grieve until she is returned to me.”

Hecate feels Demeter make her choice and take a turn at her personal crossroad like the breaking of a rib. Blight spreads from Demeter’s body. As far as the eye can see, plants fade to brown and shrivel. Seeds stop spouting. Life stops growing. As Hecate looks to the sky, the first snowflakes begin to fall.

The severity of Demeter’s choice takes time to set in but soon enough it becomes clear that without the Goddess of the Harvest, all of Olympus suffers. Scores of humans freeze in the bitter cold. Those that do survive don’t have enough food to spare for offerings.

Hecate tries to visit the Underworld but Hades is on edge. Even she is unwelcome in his kingdom.

Finally, Zeus intervenes. He demands that Hades return Persephone to her mother. The resolution they come to is not without consequences.

Persephone ate the food of the dead, six ripe pomegranate seeds. For the six seeds, she must spend six months of the year in the Underworld.

Demeter accepts the compromise and though the snow doesn’t melt just yet, the winter storms lessen. Hecate is surprised to smell burning grain again. She hears Demeter’s prayer to her. She pleads with Hecate to protect her daughter.

This time when Hecate tries to enter the Underworld, she slips in easily. When she begins to approach Hades' home, he appears before her, stepping out of the shadows.

“You’re awfully far from the shores of the Styx,” he states, voice low.

“Demeter sent me.”

The shadows surrounding Hades deepen. The ground rumbles. “We agreed on six months. My time is not up.”

“I know. I’m not here to take her back,” Hecate placates. “I can help with her transition. Let me act as her minister, as her companion. She’ll need one if you want her to be content here.”

Hades considers her for a moment. Hecate holds his gaze. He waves a hand and a skeleton rises from the dread soil. “He will take you to her,” he declares.

Hecate follows the skeleton into Hades' personal palace. He leads her to a grand guest bedroom. The room is decorated with the Underworld’s finest, practically dripping in the gold and jewels of dead kings, but none of it fits the goddess who’s confined there. In all the hard edges, her organic form is lost.

Persephone turns when she hears the door open. “Who’s there?” she calls from where she sits on the bed. She tilts her head. The motion is like that of a bird. “Hecate? Is that you?”

“It is. Your mother asked me to watch over you.” Hecate walks inside. She hears the bones of the skeleton click against the stone as he leaves.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to take me back, are you?” Persephone asks. Her voice is almost petulant.

“No, not yet.” Hecate notices a pile of courting gifts at the foot of the bed. Mirrors, combs, jewelry. None of them have been touched. “How have you been adjusting to life in the Underworld?”

Persephone falls back onto the mattress, her forearm covering her eyes. “Oh, it’s terrible,” she groans. Hecate tuts in sympathy, thinking of the goddess’s abduction, but Persephone continues, “The Underworld is just so dreadfully boring. I’ve never been somewhere so dull and dreary.”

“Ah,” Hecate vocalizes. She asks carefully, “And what about Hades?”

Persephone peeks up at her. “What about him?” Hecate raises an eyebrow at her. Persephone rolls her eyes and sighs. “Oh. Well, yes, the kidnapping was in poor taste. He hasn’t exactly been blessed by Aphrodite. But I suppose I’m stuck here now.”

Hecate takes a seat on the silken bedsheets besides the other goddess. “Do you think you might grow to love him?”

Persephone’s nose wrinkles. “Perhaps. Better courting gifts would be a good place to start at the very least.” She kicks at the pile and something clangs to the ground. “All this metal. Everything here is dead.”

“Yes,” Hecate concedes. “But everything that was once living is here now.

Persephone frowns. “So?”

“Maybe I’ll get to show you another time.” Hecate stands, dusting herself off. Persephone sits up.

“Are you leaving?” Her eyes are wide and green. “Will you be back? You’re the only one who I’ve talked to since he took me down here. Hades doesn’t even speak to me. He just sends gifts with his skeletons,” Persephone huffs.

Hecate is suddenly struck by how young the goddess is. All the Olympians are so much younger than her. It seems like it’s not the imprisonment that bothers Persephone so much as the loneliness. Six months to an immortal being is merely a dip in the water, the passing of an ocean wave. However, this is surely the first time Persephone has ever been deprived of her mother and the earthy wonders that she is the goddess of.

“I’ll return,” Hecate promises.

She goes to find Hades.

“You’re back!” Persephone bounds up to Hecate when she knocks on the door. She holds up a vase of yellow flowers. “Look what the skeleton brought me this morning! These are extinct on Earth.” She sniffs at them, eyes bright. A soft smile graces her lips. “I’ve missed them.”

“What a thoughtful gift,” Hecate comments diplomatically.

“Yes, thoughtful.” Persephone places the vase back on the table, arranging the flowers just so. “And entirely Hades' idea, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” Hecate echos.

“You know, if Hades were to have any other ideas, perhaps he should think about visiting me himself instead of sending his silly skeletons.” Persephone twirls a flower between her fingertips. “After all, how am I supposed to get to know him if we never see each other?”

“I wouldn’t want to speak for Hades but I believe he might be, shall I say, apprehensive. The circumstances of your meeting weren’t the most amenable.” Hecate gives her a pointed look.

“Perhaps I could forgive him if I could speak to him,” Persephone suggests airily. Hecate only nods.

The next time Hecate visits, the room is covered in flowers. There are even garlands strung across the ceiling. Since they are the souls of flowers, they don’t need water or sunlight to survive.

“Certainly seems like you’re doing well for yourself,” Hecate notes.

Persephone admires her handiwork. “Yes, it looks much better doesn’t?” Then she glances over at Hecate and pouts. “I must say though, you’re not doing a very good job convincing Hades to visit me.”

“He’s very busy,” Hecate contends.

Persephone huffs. “Doing what? The dead aren’t going anywhere.”

“No, but you are.”

Persephone perks up. “Is he doing something for me? What’s he doing?” she asks.

“I suppose you’ll have to wait and see,” Hecate says evenly.

Persephone groans. “Fine, if I must. As if I’ve done anything but wait.”

“Well while you continue to wait, would you like to meet Hecuba?” Hecate sits cross legged on the ground.

Persephone gives her a confused look. “Who’s Hecuba?”

“She used to be the Queen of Troy. Now she lives on as one of my familiars.” Hecate summons the black dog to her side. Persephone squeals and falls to her knees next to the animal.

Hecate managed to negotiate with Hades for Persephone’s freedom within the palace. As they walk Hecuba through the halls, she notices Persephone peer out the windows a couple times but Hades is being careful to keep his latest project hidden.

Hecate isn’t there to see the first meeting of Persephone and Hades since the abduction. That was something Hades had to conquer on his own. It seems to have gone well though because she glimpses them walking in the garden Hades built for her.

The amount of time and care Hades spent on the garden is evident. He wanted to impress her and had waited to see her again until he was finished with it. It’s a stunning menagerie against the dark landscape of the Underworld, filled with flowers both living and extinct. The paths are tiled in jewels from Hades’ personal collection. It’s a beautiful union of their two domains.

As Hecate hears Persephone laugh bubble over the grounds, she hopes for the future.

When the six months is passed, Persephone leaves Hades with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. Hecate guides her back to the surface and witnesses a heartfelt reunion between mother and daughter. Olympus rejoices and revels. The Earth thrives.

Six more months pass. A couple days before she is to leave for the Underworld, Persephone calls Hecate to her side to ask for her advice. When she arrives at Hades’ palace, she comes bearing a gift.

Hades places Persephone’s flourishing pomegranate tree in the center of the garden where it can be admired during their many walks together.

A few months later, Hades crowns Persephone Queen of the Underworld. She accepts. All of Olympus comes to witness the ceremony.

Hades sees them off at the end of the six months. Before they leave, he says to Hecate, “I’m forever grateful for your help easing Persephone’s transition. I hope you know you will always have a home here in the Underworld.”

“You could even have my old bedroom,” Persephone winks.

“That’s very generous of you. It means more than you know.” Hecate tilts her head in a slight bow. Hades returns the gesture.

Hecate has been stuck at a crossroad for an eternity, pulled between the gods and the titans, the Underworld and Olympus. At last, she has a path to travel.

#thewar #Greek Mythology #Persephone #Hades #hecate #myth retelling

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